#ghstrp contest

[cinders-at-midnight]

Joining the Order of Phoenix meant three things:

# 1. No one's safety was guaranteed # 2. Loving someone doesn't mean being able to see them all the time # 3. Relationships built to last could easily disappear

Marlene McKinnon learned that it also meant a fourth thing:

# 4. The meaning of "home" changes entirely

Because four walls and a roof a home does not make, even if it contains his favorite mug, CDs, and those stuffed animals he won for her at the local fair. Because four walls and a room a home does not make, even if the rumpled sheets of their futon still smelled of his sweat and cologne. Because four walls and a roof could only mean shelter from the physical storms that rage during the London winter, but not from the raging hurricane of shadows lurking in the dark and whispers of a war waiting just beneath the surface of peaceful waters.

Marlene McKinnon learned that "home" for her was the crackle of static as she scanned the radio, searching for a station that no ordinary folks could find. Once she found it, it's sitting back into the seat of her beat up old Ford and closing her eyes to count the seconds before she could hear the sound of his voice on the radio.

"This song goes out to Marley McKay, you know who you are, I love you, babe."

And she'd smile and know that he's safe.

And as long as he was safe, she was home.

[firebreathingdel]

day #2: the devil

your fellow orphans, the silly children that you enticed into the great yawning mouth of the cave, (because your charm and your wit sloughed off you in sheets, even as a boy. they trusted you. they always trust you, even when that panicked little voice tells them no, no, no. run away. they never do. they never run.) they tried to stay brave, even when you blocked them in with a soft movement of your hand that they mistook as a shifting of the mountain above them, they tried to stay clever--the boy stepped beside the girl and put his arm around her shoulder, and the girl crossed her own arms, jutted her hip, and tried to look sour but they were panicked, panicked, and oh how scared. you salivated watching their outlines tremble in the dark--

you called to the serpents. you asked them to come. that you had friends. they had been too curious, your little friends. and the serpents came. just as you had bid. they slid from the waters to coil down in front of you, small scaly springs with eyes flashing in the low light. you spoke soothingly to them. you called them beautiful. you called them kind, and you called them wise. the little boy said you hissed like satan. the little girl stopped being sour and she withered a little at the edges. in a whimper she asked if you knew the devil.

you had smiled, though they could hardly see it. you smiled and chided them for their silliness. you were not satan, and you'd never shared any secrets with him. you were really quite the opposite, and your words were wiser and more potent than the fork-tailed bogeyman they spoke so fearfully of.

just no one knew it yet.