Word count: 80
He's a hero, I know.
So I shouldn't think this way.
They think I resent him because he had her heart,
and took it with him when he went.
That's not it.
I know what scared us, what scares me.
I know what's hard, and what's easy.
I know the pain, at what he had to do.
But more, I know the relief, at what he would never have to do.
Scarrans are nothing.
He left me Scorpius.
Some hero.
Word count: 92
This is a battle, this thing between us.
I've heard his voice, rough with need, tell me his secrets.
I've felt his hand tremble with desire as he touched me.
I've seen his eyes, unguarded as a child's, hiding nothing.
I know how much he loves me. The other told me.
I know how much he needs me. The other showed me.
But he wasn't there, to hear my voice, to feel my hand, to see my eyes.
He doesn't know how much I need him.
That means I'm winning.
Doesn't it?
Word count: 98
Dad explained it to me once,
As much as you can explain these things.
First, memory brings only pain,
and you want that one loved one back.
If I'd been with her then, I don't think I would have been strong
enough to turn away.
Then, memory is locked away,
so not to see anything to remind you.
But I'm with her now, and I know I'm not strong enough to leave.
Finally, memory resurfaces bringing gentle smiles,
and you want to find a love again.
I hope I'm strong enough to live to be with her then.
Word count: 99
When the mushroom bloomed in the desert,
the first lap in a race towards death,
its creator watched and thought,
"I am become death, and shatterer of worlds."
So began an age of suspicion,
of fingers on buttons and children under desks,
of life as always, yet limned by fear
that the world might end tomorrow.
A man who wore my face for a while
touched a star and told me I could fry an entire solar system.
So is it really thinking too much of myself
to consider Oppenheimer an amateur?
He only had one world
to shatter.