how to teach the universe // alas begins our flight
Title: How to teach the universe
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: the Doctor
Rating: G
Prompt: Here on the poetry meme
He finds his pupils and whisks them off for a crash course in everything, time and running and physics and not wandering off. He takes their hands and shows them the universe, its gleaming cities and muddy fields, its celebrities and its most ordinary citizens. He's not the teacher who sits you down three times a week and pushes words at you, textbooks and lectures and long-winded tirades. He's the teacher who never lets you sit, who brings you out on field trips every day of the week and throws you his words, in short bursts and rambling explanations that really don't tell you anything at all. To plant a seed in a patch of soil can tell you more than studying it under a microscope ever will (unless it's some sort of radioactive sentient seed, which has happened to him, twice) and when you pass his course with an 'A' in everything, there's no gold star on your paper because you've already seen them all.
*
Title: Alas Begin Our Flight
Fandom: Greek mythology
Characters: Icarus, Daedalus, unnamed goddess
Rating: PG
Prompt: Poetry: Any, Any, All girls are born with wings / They never tell you these things.
Laughter peals across the fields of Crete as you race across them in your bare feet, arms outstretched and flapping happily. "Father," you shout, "Father, look, I'm flying!"
"Of course you are, my son," he says, bent across his workbench, and so he doesn't see the goddess that scoops you up in her arms and carries you above the trees.
-
You cling desperately to the narrow palace roof, your palms bloodied and your face alight. "Father," you cry, "Father, see how high I've climbed!"
"Come down from there at once, you idiot boy," he snaps at you from the ground. He's like a bug, so small and far away down there on the mortal plane, and your early manhood keeps you stubbornly clinging to the rough-hewn stone. Your sandal slips, you tilt to the right, and your goddess is there, gentle hands fluttering across your back as she steadies you. From the ground, Father sees nothing.
-
You've worn holes in your sandals from the pacing, and it's only a matter of time before the floor marks your path as well. "Father," you moan, "Father, when will they be ready?" You crave the sky, to feel the sun on your skin, to see your goddess swooping across the heavens.
"Soon," he tells you wearily. He scratches at Minos' seal on his skin, the scabs and patchy redness testifying to his hatred of the brand. "I'll have them finished soon." Your goddess will never reach you in this place.
-
Aeolus the wind tears past you in his hurry to bring news to Olympus, and whips your voice away with him. "Father," you whisper, "Father, look, we're free."
"Don't fly too high," he warns, but the wind god has stolen his voice too, and you're drunk on freedom, giddy as you soar away from the island that was your prison. Your goddess hovers above you, laughing, reaching, and you fly higher. It's taken too long but you have the wings to match the ones she's always had, and you ascend beside her as Aeolus snatches away Father's cries behind you.
Feathers melt from your wings, one by one, drifting down. They create a halo of white around you when you plummet, crying out, reaching for your goddess. She perches in midair and watches as you fall to the sea and his mercy.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: the Doctor
Rating: G
Prompt: Here on the poetry meme
He finds his pupils and whisks them off for a crash course in everything, time and running and physics and not wandering off. He takes their hands and shows them the universe, its gleaming cities and muddy fields, its celebrities and its most ordinary citizens. He's not the teacher who sits you down three times a week and pushes words at you, textbooks and lectures and long-winded tirades. He's the teacher who never lets you sit, who brings you out on field trips every day of the week and throws you his words, in short bursts and rambling explanations that really don't tell you anything at all. To plant a seed in a patch of soil can tell you more than studying it under a microscope ever will (unless it's some sort of radioactive sentient seed, which has happened to him, twice) and when you pass his course with an 'A' in everything, there's no gold star on your paper because you've already seen them all.
*
Title: Alas Begin Our Flight
Fandom: Greek mythology
Characters: Icarus, Daedalus, unnamed goddess
Rating: PG
Prompt: Poetry: Any, Any, All girls are born with wings / They never tell you these things.
Laughter peals across the fields of Crete as you race across them in your bare feet, arms outstretched and flapping happily. "Father," you shout, "Father, look, I'm flying!"
"Of course you are, my son," he says, bent across his workbench, and so he doesn't see the goddess that scoops you up in her arms and carries you above the trees.
-
You cling desperately to the narrow palace roof, your palms bloodied and your face alight. "Father," you cry, "Father, see how high I've climbed!"
"Come down from there at once, you idiot boy," he snaps at you from the ground. He's like a bug, so small and far away down there on the mortal plane, and your early manhood keeps you stubbornly clinging to the rough-hewn stone. Your sandal slips, you tilt to the right, and your goddess is there, gentle hands fluttering across your back as she steadies you. From the ground, Father sees nothing.
-
You've worn holes in your sandals from the pacing, and it's only a matter of time before the floor marks your path as well. "Father," you moan, "Father, when will they be ready?" You crave the sky, to feel the sun on your skin, to see your goddess swooping across the heavens.
"Soon," he tells you wearily. He scratches at Minos' seal on his skin, the scabs and patchy redness testifying to his hatred of the brand. "I'll have them finished soon." Your goddess will never reach you in this place.
-
Aeolus the wind tears past you in his hurry to bring news to Olympus, and whips your voice away with him. "Father," you whisper, "Father, look, we're free."
"Don't fly too high," he warns, but the wind god has stolen his voice too, and you're drunk on freedom, giddy as you soar away from the island that was your prison. Your goddess hovers above you, laughing, reaching, and you fly higher. It's taken too long but you have the wings to match the ones she's always had, and you ascend beside her as Aeolus snatches away Father's cries behind you.
Feathers melt from your wings, one by one, drifting down. They create a halo of white around you when you plummet, crying out, reaching for your goddess. She perches in midair and watches as you fall to the sea and his mercy.