You're too ugly for the Heavenly Trireme

no offense ; (

There was once a god named Taker who was so ugly he was thrown from the Heavenly Trireme like a deformed baby bird from a treetop nest.

He didn’t start out ugly, of course. No god starts out ugly. He was once a beloved helmsman, using his beautiful arms to guide the skyboat through puffy clouds and perilous storms. His jaw was hewn marble. His skin golden brown. His lashes black and thick. His brooch made of sapphires. And his pecks. His pecks!

The other gods, rowers and commanders alike, turned in their seats to drink in his form, his smile, his ease. To look upon him was to feel great pleasure. This was especially true for gods, who loved beautiful things so much they spent their days marveling at encrusted circlets and falling sunbird feathers as if their eyes were thirsty and could only be quenched by delicious and perfect things. Taker was both.

And then the storm came.

Taker steered the Trireme through the dark, boiling abyss of a thunderhead. Rain fell in torrents and Taker shouted over the whipping winds for the gods to ROW! ROW! The rowers pulled at the air, groaning and bemoaning the ugliness of the grey hues all around them and the way their hair fell slick and wormish down their necks. As much as the gods loved beautiful things, they loathed ugliness even more.

They entered a pocket of peace. A lull inside the storm cloud. Thunder quieted, the rains turned light and sweet, and Taker stood on the Trireme’s stern gripping the steering oars, majestic and strong, silhouetted by the light of ten thousand far-away lightning bolts. There was a flash of white. The skyboat began to spin in circles, faster and faster. Impossibly fast. The gods called out in their blindness.

Steady us, Taker!

But Taker had collapsed onto the deck. The Immortal Trireme whirled in circles until Circadia and Livacious crawled to the helm, over Taker’s crumpled body, and grabbed hold of the steering oars. Though they did not know how to steer, a generous updraft carried the Trireme over the cloud anvil and into blue skies again.

Only moments passed before the gods were laughing and chattering again, remarking at the lovely day. They released their oars and took to draping themselves over the benches, holding their jewels up to the sun and watching prisms of ruby and azure dance over their skin. They kissed each other back and forth and back and forth, only to decide again that Wisteria’s lips were the softest and fullest.

It was not until many hours had passed, as the Trireme drifted lazily and the sun dipped beneath the hull horizon, that Hollis scanned the deck for a drink of Taker’s heavenly form. But Taker was not at the helm. And Hollis considered that Taker had not been at the helm for some time. He stood from his bench and strode down the deck until his bare foot fell on something black and wet.

A hand. A steaming, bubbling, blackened hand.

Attached to the hand was a body, strewn across the deck. The back was marked with jagged scars like veins or tributaries or leafless trees. The hair was a patchy white. The face was bulbous and engorged. It was the ugliest thing Hollis had ever laid eyes on. He tried to shout for the other gods, but retched before a word could come out.

He bent over, against his wishes, and saw that the foul thing had thick, cloud-white lashes.

“Taker?” Hollis whispered. “Taker!” he shouted.

Taker did not move. But the gods were curious now. They loved a show. They rushed over, craning their necks, gasping and gagging and poking at Taker’s electrocuted body.

It did not take long for the smell of his flesh and the look of his knotted nose to whip the gods into a frenzy. They thought to cover him with a robe until he was healed. They considered cutting the black off, but no one was willing. So they heaved him up onto the balcony of the ship. Just before they released him, he woke, and lurched forward to exclaim, “Where’s my brooch!”. Then they let him slip away, into .

A freewrite inspired by Fantasy Prompt #15
Time: 90 minutes
Song of the day: L’Enfer, Stromae

Fantasy Prompt #16

Let’s write together. I love reading your creations.

• Find a comfortable space

• Set your timer for 20 minutes

• Sink into your imagination

• Remember: It is safe to write from the depths of your soul

Describe your everyday life as a very sentient and sensitive bug. What is it like to be you? Where are you going? Are you safe? Are you unusually colorful or stinky or gigantic? (I know I have a bug fixation.)

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What’s new in Writerland?

Hello my beautiful Campers,

There are more than 900 of you here at Fantasy Camp now :*) I’m building treehouses and crocheting hammocks and glass-blowing geodesic domes as fast as I can to accomodate you. Don’t worry, there is always room at Fantasy Camp.

And guess what—it’s been 177 days without a lice outbreak!

Can I tell you something? I am glad you’re here. I believe you have creativity and wonder and grief and memories stored inside you beyond my wildest imagination. I hope this place will help you come alive in new, unexpected ways. And I’d love to hear what you’re working on or thinking about.

“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting.”

I’ve been feeling a bit low this week. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. Maybe it’s that familiar realization that we’ve all been dropped onto this lovely yet troubling planet without explanation or consent? Or is it the rainy weather in San Francisco? The tail-end of my period? Missing my childhood dog? The fact that I’ll probably never get to meet Jane Goodall or see a Tasmanian tiger in the wild or play the drums on tour with Doechii.

It’ll pass. (If you’ve watched Flea Bag, you’ll find this triggering).

You know what lifted my spirits? Doing this freewrite. If you were here last week, you’ll know I never arrived at the premise of the prompt: a story about a villain who becomes beloved. Instead, I accidentally wrote Taker’s villain origin myth.

Here, let me tell you what I think happens next: Taker lands on Earth and enslaves swaths of innocent humans, forcing them to build statues of him out of precious gems so the gods will take notice of him again and scoop him back up onto the skyboat. He is so ashamed of his ugliness.

But wait, there’s more! Taker experiences such radical love and acceptance from the people he enslaves that he forgets about the gods altogether and decides to live out each day with generosity and complete acceptance of himself and the imperfect people around him. I don’t know why I thought I could accomplish this feature-length film in a short freewrite, but a gal can dream.

Maybe a freewrite could life your spirits too?

If you’ve read this far, I have a final poll for the audience: what is the most impossible-to-pronounce name you’ve ever encountered in a sci-fi or fantasy book? I must know! It’s for science.

Love, laugh, live by the Sword,
Madeleine