wizened_cynic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wizened_cynic) wrote2006-05-08 12:09 am
wizened_cynic) wrote2006-05-08 12:09 am
Entry tags:
天國的女兒
I'm supposed to be on sabbatical and all, but I figured out this doesn't count because it's JOA-related rather than stupid Alex/Lorelai-related. After much prodding by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fewthistle, I finally got around to writing JOA fic again. I'd forgotten how much FUN it is to write Joan.
I always wondered what would happen if Joan told people she talked to God and they actually believed her instead of sending her to Bellevue. This fic is an attempt to answer that question. 595 words, first and last lines supplied byflying_peanuts.
Illumination
Frail as a fallen nest, she lifted --- hovering, weightless over a field of nails --- the burden of having been chosen. She bore it on her shoulders, keeping her head bowed like a servant in a primitive country, driving the plough through stubborn fields at the break of light.
He should have warned her. He should have told her it would end up like this.
He wouldn't have.
Joan wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. All that time she'd spent worrying she was crazy, worrying people would think she was crazy. In the end she told them the truth and they believed her.
They believed she talked to God.
Now she was here, in an ivory chamber overlooking the Tiber River, an ocean and a half away from home, away from her parents and brothers and Grace and Adam. Away from God.
(God doesn't live here.)
People were willing to believe now, after the outbreak in southern California and the storms in the Africa. The way hills and forests couldn't stop burning. It was supposed to be a good thing --- faith is always a good thing, he said --- but somehow Joan got caught in the middle.
No one called her by her name anymore.
(Bride of Christ. Daughter of Heaven. Prophet. Messenger.)
She just wanted to be eighteen, to go to college, to get a boyfriend, to cram for midterms and drink too much coffee.
She didn't want any of this, and the worst part was, he had left her here, all alone. People expected her to deliver his words, but how could she, when he never showed?
At this point, Joan could probably make anything up, declare an International Gelato Day or whatever, and people would still listen to her, no questions asked.
Somehow, having this much power wasn't as much fun as it seemed.
She had to be careful now, about everything she said or did.
(Actions have consequences, and to be in denial of that is to be disengaged from the laws of the universe, which renders you powerless and vulnerable to an inordinate amount of pain.)
He told her that secret in damp, dusty basement of Arcadia High, and she learned it well.
She was playing her own game now.
It's just that she always thought he'd be around when she did.
(I'm everywhere, Joan.)
She spent her days wandering around the marble halls, looking at squares and circles of colored glass that joined together to form pictures of a god she didn't know. She knew him as a big-bosomed woman wearing a hair net, an old man with a gang of dogs at his ankles, a red-haired little girl on a swing. A boy in a tan jacket with a cat-grin on his face and his hands in his pockets.
Where was he now?
(Trust me, even in the silence.)
It should be easier to believe in him now that she had seen him. It was harder, though, to keep faith, because knowing God was like living in light: everything was illuminated. Nothing could be hidden. You saw the bad as well as the good.
Joan had faith, but she needed company. She needed a friend. She needed him back with her, to walk her home like the time after the piñata incident, to lend a shoulder for her to cry on.
(Joan shouts: ollie ollie oxen free!)
(Learn to see, Joan, even in the dark.)
He called her name and she heard.
In the distance, she looked for a miracle of God invisible.
Anyway. Back into my hole I go.
fewthistle, I finally got around to writing JOA fic again. I'd forgotten how much FUN it is to write Joan. I always wondered what would happen if Joan told people she talked to God and they actually believed her instead of sending her to Bellevue. This fic is an attempt to answer that question. 595 words, first and last lines supplied by
flying_peanuts. Frail as a fallen nest, she lifted --- hovering, weightless over a field of nails --- the burden of having been chosen. She bore it on her shoulders, keeping her head bowed like a servant in a primitive country, driving the plough through stubborn fields at the break of light.
He should have warned her. He should have told her it would end up like this.
He wouldn't have.
Joan wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. All that time she'd spent worrying she was crazy, worrying people would think she was crazy. In the end she told them the truth and they believed her.
They believed she talked to God.
Now she was here, in an ivory chamber overlooking the Tiber River, an ocean and a half away from home, away from her parents and brothers and Grace and Adam. Away from God.
(God doesn't live here.)
People were willing to believe now, after the outbreak in southern California and the storms in the Africa. The way hills and forests couldn't stop burning. It was supposed to be a good thing --- faith is always a good thing, he said --- but somehow Joan got caught in the middle.
No one called her by her name anymore.
(Bride of Christ. Daughter of Heaven. Prophet. Messenger.)
She just wanted to be eighteen, to go to college, to get a boyfriend, to cram for midterms and drink too much coffee.
She didn't want any of this, and the worst part was, he had left her here, all alone. People expected her to deliver his words, but how could she, when he never showed?
At this point, Joan could probably make anything up, declare an International Gelato Day or whatever, and people would still listen to her, no questions asked.
Somehow, having this much power wasn't as much fun as it seemed.
She had to be careful now, about everything she said or did.
(Actions have consequences, and to be in denial of that is to be disengaged from the laws of the universe, which renders you powerless and vulnerable to an inordinate amount of pain.)
He told her that secret in damp, dusty basement of Arcadia High, and she learned it well.
She was playing her own game now.
It's just that she always thought he'd be around when she did.
(I'm everywhere, Joan.)
She spent her days wandering around the marble halls, looking at squares and circles of colored glass that joined together to form pictures of a god she didn't know. She knew him as a big-bosomed woman wearing a hair net, an old man with a gang of dogs at his ankles, a red-haired little girl on a swing. A boy in a tan jacket with a cat-grin on his face and his hands in his pockets.
Where was he now?
(Trust me, even in the silence.)
It should be easier to believe in him now that she had seen him. It was harder, though, to keep faith, because knowing God was like living in light: everything was illuminated. Nothing could be hidden. You saw the bad as well as the good.
Joan had faith, but she needed company. She needed a friend. She needed him back with her, to walk her home like the time after the piñata incident, to lend a shoulder for her to cry on.
(Joan shouts: ollie ollie oxen free!)
(Learn to see, Joan, even in the dark.)
He called her name and she heard.
In the distance, she looked for a miracle of God invisible.
Anyway. Back into my hole I go.
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2. DO NOT GO BACK AND READ MY JOAN FIC. Except for the time travel one, which I like. No, seriously, my JOA fic includes time traveling, rape, and transvestites.
3. re 1: You are SO BOSSY, like really.
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2. I'll save you some time. Read: http://community.livejournal.com/arcadian_tales/36308.html
http://wizened-cynic.livejournal.com/71679.html
http://wizened-cynic.livejournal.com/97309.html
http://wizened-cynic.livejournal.com/112396.html
and http://wizened-cynic.livejournal.com/91034.html
The rest you can skip. Really.
3. SQUISHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! My feet are cold.
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Oh, my sweet Lord, this is so lovely. I am really overwhelmed at the delicate beauty of it, the sense of such immense loss, of longing for a world where the need for God is not so great, and God is not so absent. Where faith really is sufficient.
God, I LOVE this. Really. Post it on EA. I don't care if it is femslash or not. It's my and Peanuts comm and you can post anything that we say that you can, and I say post this. I know she will not disagree. Please. This is simply too too beautiful not to share. I insist.
Thank you for this. So very much. I cannot tell you how lovely it is, and how it has left me feeling as lost as Joan. And this made me stop breathing for a second...or thirty.
Where was he now?
(Trust me, even in the silence.)
It should be easier to believe in him now that she had seen him. It was harder, though, to keep faith, because knowing God was like living in light: everything was illuminated. Nothing could be hidden. You saw the bad as well as the good.
And listen to Peanuts!! She may be bossy, but she is right and that cancels out the bossy! Post it!!
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Also, I totally wanted to put more Roman roads in the fic for you. But I couldn't work it in. The best I could do was put Joan in a room overlooking the Tiber River (OMG REMUS AND ROMULUS). I have no knowledge of Italian geography, however; I also wanted to add snarky commentary about how the pope lives in VATICAN CITY, and not in Rome, as Joan Osborne so dictates.
The Jew is making me flesh out another idea your prompt gave me, so look for that in the future. I AM LIKE A KINDER SURPRISE. Or herpes. The gift that keeps on giving.
HAVE FUN IN CLASS! DON'T SLAP YOUR STUDENTS.
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And yes, I am now marginally happy!! I will be happier when it is posted and happier still when I get the next story!! ;) I'm greedy, what can I say?
And tell your lovely Jew thank you for making you write me more JOA. I really really adore this one. More each time I read it. This part has been grabbing at me, like a stripped down twig catches at you as you walk in the woods, snagging your sweater. I ADORE this.
She spent her days wandering around the marble halls, looking at squares and circles of colored glass that joined together to form pictures of a god she didn't know. She knew him as a big-bosomed woman wearing a hair net, an old man with a gang of dogs at his ankles, a red-haired little girl on a swing. A boy in a tan jacket with a cat-grin on his face and his hands in his pockets.
And I love the gift that keeps on giving *g*.
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I forgot to tell you in my last comment, a SECRET about this line you liked: because knowing God was like living in light: everything was illuminated. Nothing could be hidden. You saw the bad as well as the good.
I will tell you later. In email or in the lair of Hortense the Ventroliquist Vagina.
I have nothing else to say, really. I just wanted to use this icon.
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And cool, tell me later.
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And you can beat her hourly if it gets the fic out of her. Oh, God, I really am the Evil Stepmother ::sigh::
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Hourly beatings? Sounds fun! I'll begin as soon as she returns from her tv watching.
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How's that? *laughing again*
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*points to icon of Cynicmonster*
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See? Isn't it nice to take a break from A/L once in a while? All that crack can't be good for your brain...
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It is, sort of. They ran off to Aruba, but left their kid for me to babysit though.