of the Writer's Club Writing Tournament. Don't know if I'll get to the last, but... at least I can try.
The theme is Sanctuary, which should be interesting to mull over. I'm glad I have around a month to write.
i don't need to be an atheist to love scifisomeone told me the universe has no room for my godsi don't need to be an atheist to love scifi by RedMeg
someone told me that there's no such thing as a good thing
that can also be a big thing
well i'm not too good with words but um
i subsisted on stories of an elephant-man that held the universe in his belly
planets, stars; they did not deny the existence of space
my gods dance among the stars, with bodies made of dark matter.
loki blew fire into the sun when the void threatened it and
odin was the original person who looked up and looked further
and maybe said 'hey look at that i think we could use a planet there'.
you see - i think we can pilot our ships through the birfrost
and whisper a prayer to ganesha on the way to planet x
i set my course by stars named after gods and imagine
that if we could reach the edge of the universe they would rejoice
where they live in dark-matter halls lit by supernova skies
and give us tips for time travel.
Where the map endsMy father told me I shouldn't pilot out intoWhere the map ends by RedMeg
that blank space on the map, despite its
emptiness is not inviting it is a warning
(and pulled my five-year-old hand back as I tried to walk my fingers onto
the clean yellowed stretch of paper)
that there are things there that cannot be represented in pen and ink
and therefore should be avoided by all God-fearing folk.
But I, I told myself
(young with my chest barely curved with womanhood and the nerve to steal a boat)
That I did not fear God
and I did not fear empty spaces.
They caught me with the mooring-rope knot in my teeth, trying to untie it
the oar in my hands
the taste of salt lingered on my tongue and my teeth ached
like the splinter embedded in my palm. So I did not forget.
Despite the stern-eyed laws inked out for me in school
that left marks on my hands because I was a messy child
unbothered by the idea of copying neatly
skeptical of any sage's experience laid out on the page.
I was more concerned with
Slytherin girlThere are snakes entwined with my childhood, threaded throughSlytherin girl by RedMeg
memories of a girl scrawling monsters onto the edges of her homework, saying
someday I'm gonna be famous.
in a child staring starry-eyed at her idols, swearing
someday I'm gonna be there.
There were, perhaps, seeds of greatness to be found in
the kid who always took the 'wrong' side
rooted for the wrong character,
held an unpopular opinion.
Because ambition is wrong
although none of those stories ever quite explained why
and I wondered if that was all ambition was, if the hand held to the fire only got your fingers burned and there was only a slippery slope, no middle ground, only hate. And greatness always meant you'd be alone.
Discovering serpents again took a while, between the pages of books that were not too kind to them
but when I cried in anger at a death not fit, seemingly, to be acknowledged in theaters,
a sacrifice with a flourish, a martyr with a cool head and a scornful smile