Thor flinched. He knew that voice too well. He turned restlessly, trying to force it out of his head. But it was there, always there, in his heart.
Thor’s elbow hit the TV tray. He cursed, throwing a plastic plate across the room.
“Get out!” he shouted. “Go away. Just leave me.”
He didn’t mean it. Not really. But he was tired and the pain was no easier. Loki, that cursed son of an ice giant. He saw him hanging from Thanos’s hand, fighting for air, for life. He heard his brother’s hoarse voice:
“You—will never be—a god.”
His death was too sudden. Thanos had thrown his body at Thor’s feet, so still and broken in a way that Loki was never broken, never finished. It was pretend. It had to be. Thor had bowed beside his brother, praying for some trick, some miracle.
Summer’s lease is short
But if he had compared her
To a cloud we’d know
It was true for clouds
Somehow are never
The same but always
Under the eye
They are always
Just the same
Emily knew the minute she went around the corner that she was about to get an earful.
“It’s that time of the year again!” said the elf. He sat as if he’d been waiting for her, his hands clenched on tree bark and his green eyes seething petulant fire. “I’m never going to get the ribbons out of my hair!”
Emily glanced at the elf’s tree. The connection between him and the tree was still a mystery to her, but like most things about wild folk, she didn’t bother questioning it.