There once was a Girl made of thunder

Whose eyes misted over with tears.

And from her tears were formed raindrops,

Fat, wholesome things which fell from the sky

And as each struck the ground

The thunderous Girl found

The sound echoed in harmony with her cries.

“why, o why, did They send him to me?”

Lamented the stormy Girl.

And They looked

They watched

Pensive.

“why should he have been blessed with such beauty,

and not i?”

What the Girl made from thunder did not know

Was that she possessed beauty too.

Not the kind warm and golden, which he had in clear abundance

Nor the kind that radiates, soft and buttery

And sweet,

Nor the kind which surrounds you like a

Printemps breeze, rippling through your clothes

But she possessed beauty indeed.

A miraculous beauty.

Beauty of the sort which is crafted from stone

Of the sort which has been described

As striking,

And striking it is.

They found it somewhat ironic, in fact

That the Others could not meet the Girl’s eye

For what the tempestuous Girl did not realise

Was that the beauty her face encompassed

The perfection she wore undisguised

Was so overwhelming to the Others

That it was found to be terrifying.

They found this funny.

Their amusement did not stem from cruelty,

Although of that They were more than capable.

Nor were They entertained by the Girl’s naivety

For stupid she was anything but.

They knew this, of course, as They know all things

As They know why the clouds move so slowly

Yet a storm can take hours or days to pass.

As They know why the water in rivers is fresh,

Yet the sea is composed of salty brine.

They know. They have always known.

The Girl, however, did not know

And her lack of comprehension made Them think,

And so They thought back

To her creation.

The night had been cool and calm

The sky a black canvas on which a map of stars

Had been laid out

By the Cartographer.

And on this night of serenity

They had decided to have

A party

And no party is any fun without a game.

They would have to find some entertainment.

They stood, hands linked with hands -

In fact, no.

“Stood” is not the right word,

Nor has there ever been a word which can truly describe

Them

But “stood” is how you may imagine Them

So “stood” is what shall be said.

They stood, hands linked with hands

And They planted Their feet on the ground

And from Their feet, came light.

And so the ground struck the sky

Illuminating all earth and sea and night

And the world was Enlightened.

From this Enlightenment

(en-light, in light, to enlighten, enlightened, enlightening)

Came lightning

And this was the birth of the Girl.

Face, sharp and clear and smooth.

Skin, dark and shining with gold.

Hair, long and curly and wild

Yet contained in its textured groove

As the stormy Girl cried

They tried to reply

And thanks to Them the Others began to move.

“The Others, now, have left her”

They muttered.

Again, “muttered” is simply wrong.

The words They spoke were not spoken,

Nor uttered,

Nor chuckled nor whispered nor

Screamed.

Perhaps, in fact, the words were

A mixture of

All three.

Or perhaps it was nothing, not a sound at all,

But more an impression - if that.

Regardless, They knew what They said.

Their actions must not be mistaken for kindness

For They do not pity the Girl

Nor is she envied by Them.

But They watch her, as They watch all of Their creations

And the Girl was most interesting to watch indeed.

As the Girl lay weeping

They remembered him, sleeping.

He was like honey to her,

Hot and sweet and thick, delicious

And smothering.

When he took her in his arms she

Melted, as she had never done before

Unmothered

Unwanted

Alone.

A teaspoon of honey

Is the life’s work of twelve bees

And nothing came free to the Others

So why should she enjoy him à gratis?

Honey, treacle, milk

Heavy and sickly and sticky

Just like he loved

He was sleep to her freezing.

Warm and bright and merciful

Before him her life had never been easy.

But he left her

Renounced, forsworn, rejected.

So alone and weak and broken

She cries,

Divine, yet disowned.

Now They watched as she sat

Under her tree as she

Stared at the sky They

Called home.