REDEMPTION
Jaiden Thompson
You find God atop a moon-kissed hill. The skies burn above you, catching your hair like a famished disease. & she simply glows: pupils kin to the autumn sunset, lips the color of a fresh blackberry. The clouds leak into her pores; she smells of wine. You're sure she was painted alongside this landscape, for her skin compliments the darkness of the wind & the pearls against her breast giggle with the moon.
"My gods rest here," the girl sighs. "There’s one, smoking a cigar & smiling at a cherry blossom tree. & another! She’s crying. For one of her own, I suppose; they do not cry for you humans." She doesn't tell where these entities are, only darts her eyes, still facing towards you & the city. "This one lies on the grass with no garments other than those woven by the sun. Lovely, isn't she?"
You nod, squinting. The sun’s cloth holds no goddess that you can see. Still, you say, "She is beautiful. They all are. You are a master of your craft."
"My craft?"
"Creation."
"Are you an idiot?" Her pearls exchange laughs with the moon again. "You mean, I am a master of all crafts; not my craft. All crafts require creation.”
You nod again & now look as idiotic as your words. Every time she stresses her omniscience as if to say ‘why did they send you?’
And you say, “You know you must kill these creations.”
“Even the sun-dressed goddess? She reminds me of my mother.”
“You have no mother.”
“I suppose not.” She furrows her eyebrows. “Well, I’d rather kill you, but I keep my promises.”
You frown then smile then laugh then don’t know what to do, so you pace the hilltop as she stares at the see-through deities. Your bare feet confuse themselves as they walk on bumps & loose dirt. “This is an awful hill,” you tell her. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? We’ll have trouble building a sturdy foundation.”
“All the other churches had shit foundations. You’ll make do.” She glares at the buildings beyond you, her pupils barely hanging on. “She reminds me of myself, really. They all do, no matter how hard I try to tear my flesh from their body. So I shouldn't bother, but I always do & you think I’m pathetic for it.”
"I’m sorry." You say as you take a plump breath of the wine-stained air; berries, is the fragrance & you picture yourself ripping her cerebrum apart like a fresh fruit before remembering she can see it too. But her pearls just laugh & laugh & laugh & laugh.
about the writer
Jaiden Thompson (they/he) is a young writer walking the line between poetic genius and foolery. They have poems published or forthcoming in Jupiter Review, Superfroot, NECTAR, and Southchild, among others. They are also an editor for Interstellar Review. Check them out on twitter @jaibird_writes.