The Goddess

Looking down at the hustling, scampering feet screeching against the polished wooden floor gave her an inkling of a yearning, even a realization about what she feels makes her different from all the rest. Five and half to six feet above the floor sat a girl in a pair of light blue jeans, ripped in locations, and a T-Shirt she didn't remember what had on it. She had almost forgotten that she had music isolating her head from the reality that cornered her from every angle.

Like a predator her eyes followed the match with this height advantage; the top of the closed bleachers was nearly a perfect throne. It felt nice, for once. It felt nice to think in another life they all would be competing for her amusement. As she assessed her peers, she pictured an ancient court with perfect humans, the strongest and fastest men and women, running around competing to please their queen. And yet, there she sat, no adrenaline or sweat, no blood or tears, protected by her bubble of comforting solitude.

The song blasting into her ears re-emerged into her consciousness as her thoughts were to their own devices while her boat was approaching the shore of her mind. It reminded her of her fondness of the singer as well as it reminded her how much time has passed each time a different song played. Soon enough she drifted again. Her hand excavated through her ragged backpack to find a hair tie that would know the burden of keeping all that hair tamed. There was ten minutes and some change left until the class was over, but she made herself comfortable up there, crossing one bruised up shin over the other scraped knee and holding her phone in her lap. She felt odd, eccentric. This must have been how they felt, the forgotten pagan gods who were once worshiped with reverence and piety, now not even known by name. This girl's body provided a perfect vessel; under the radar, full of rage, and full of pain. almost like taking the soul from a baby, perhaps even easier.

the match taking place below her would be legendary, one of them would make it out alive. none of them would. they would pay for their ignorance and their pride. they would realize that before them was a holy figure, that of majesty and beauty and patience. Like chickens gathering to the feed, they put away their gear, and that was her cue to come back to Earth.

She flew down the vertical bleachers, her backpack's weight causing her landing to echo and shake the ground. An entirely different song was playing, but her phone was seconds away from death. She didn't mind. Her perspective from down here had brought her back into focusing on not focusing on anything. She no longer felt as powerful down here, and of course she would never say a word on her thoughts ever again. Besides, she didn't have to take part that day, so that was a victory on its own level. It didn't matter anyway. There was a saint among them, under the rags of penury and tough meat that covered her bones yet hid beneath her soggy shoulders. In this world, for kings, for queens, for servants, for infants, for sinners, and for saints, there was always work to be . There was no time to wonder what could have been.