This one went off the rails as I wrote it. It was fun, though.
The prompt is:
GOD’S FINGERS
“God’s Fingers” is what the guidebook called it, but the mountain had many names throughout the millennia. The weathered and fractured chunk of granite was the object of reverence for all the indigenous people who had lived in the surrounding valleys for thousands of years. In this modern age, however, it had become simply a tourist attraction—the subject of a million cellphone photos every year. To the subterranean god who had thrust his hand into the world of humans, it was infinitely boring.
“Don’t do it,” his sister had exclaimed as he reached upward.
“It’ll stick that way!” his mother warned.
His father simply swatted his hand away.
But to an impetuous child of only half-a-million years, it was a temptation he couldn’t resist. So, one day when no one was looking, the Finger God—a ridiculous name, that one—thrust his digits skyward.
At first, the warmth of the summer sun was wonderful, and he wiggled his fingers—a process that took almost a month.
“Take that hand out of there!” His mother became more and more strident as the weeks passed.
His sister, jealous of the attention, spit, “I hope it freezes like that!”
All summer and into the Fall, he basked in the adoration of the passing hunter-gatherer tribes, each stopping to marvel at the slow-motion movement of God’s Fingers. So enraptured was he that the falling temperatures of the coming Ice Age went unnoticed. It wasn’t until the unrelenting snow and ice had locked his fingers in place and turned his hand to stone that he realized there was a problem.
“Told ’ya so,” his sister giggled with glee.
“Damn fool kids, these days,” his father grumbled.
Mom just gave him her best disappointed look.
He sighed. At least ski season was coming soon.
THE END