Hammer Legend

I’d wheeled my wheelchair by the statue several times. Those several times, it had gone unnoticed.
Until now.
I sat there studying that statue, and I pondered. What was so different about it today. I thought back to other times I’d sat watching the statue. Then it hit me.
It was the hammer.
Once in the statue’s hand raised above his head as if calling down the lightning, the hammer now lay at his feet, the handle pointing upward.
Eyeing the hammer, my mind recalled the legend of Mjolnir. How it says that the only one who is deemed worthy may wield Mjolnir in his hand. Reaching forward I touched the handle with my fingertips, lightly running them half way down its length.
My body jolted.
I can’t begin to discribe what went through my body. I removed my hand from a handle that was no longer marble like that of the statue. But of a rare wood carved in fine detail of every curve and design of a craftsman. Detail I’d never noticed in all the times I’d viewed this statue.
I felt drawn.
Staring at that handle, I ran my fingers along its length as I had done earlier. Then wrapped my hand around it, compelled to pick it up, not considering that it’s part of the statue.
It’s in my hand.
I sat there holding it. Staring at it. I held the hammer to my chest. I looked to the sky, in my mind I wondered. I closed my eyes and the images came flooding to me. The mighty Thor wielding Mjolnir high above his head in battle. I saw the lightning come down, charging the hammer with its great power. I watched in my minds eye, Thor falling to one knee, bringing the hammer down and the ligtning spreading from its precious mettle. I saw the great hammer, Mjolnir spreading it’s lightning power throughout the battle field, causing the enemy fall as their lives so abruptly ended.