Sometimes we publish fiction here at Tweetspeak Poetry. And we definitely give a place to student writing. This co-written series qualifies as both. If you’re a fan of The Avengers or the Thor movies, you’ll be more prepared to enjoy The Loki Goodness Campaign. If not, you’ll still recognize a fun story when you see it. For those who don’t follow the Thor and Loki characters, it might suffice to say that Thor is the good guy and Loki is the bad guy. Except? There really are many people who campaign for Loki’s inherent goodness. This phenomenon inspired our student writers to come up with an actual Loki Goodness Campaign. Well, an actual fictional campaign. Read on.
Back at his house, Loki decided he was bored. He needed a new idea, so he wandered down into his underground, magic-shock-wave-proof bunker and looked around speculatively. He went over to the worktable and began tinkering with things. There were a few odds and ends left over from his last experiment. It seemed to have been evolving while he was away. There was a mixture of sleeping draught which looked to have melded with a potion for encouraging inspiration (he called it “The Inspiration Elixir”—or he would, if he ever got it to work) glowing faintly luminescent and hovering a few inches off the table. He pushed it back down, and began prodding it with a fork.
He got so caught up that he didn’t notice the hours flying past as he perfected his design for cement potatoes. They would look, feel and smell just like ordinary potatoes, but they were in no way food…
By the time dawn came in the crack of the half-opened door he was deep into his project, not even noticing the light until it crawled over to his workspace. All at once he realized how late it was, and that he was completely exhausted. He set down his work, thinking about taking a nap, but then realized in a sudden panic that he had somewhere to be, and he’d completely forgotten. His job at the hair salon! They would be missing him, and he made a point to never be late.
Loki rushed out of the room, only bothering to padlock the iron door behind him, dashing out the house as he summoned a glamour to hide his disheveled appearance. He skidded into the salon right on the dot and straightened up, entering leisurely and haughtily.
The first few hours passed well enough, but as the time wore on, his hunger and exhaustion began to show in his shaking hands. He glared down at them, annoyed. His stamina had never been the same after he’d recovered from his should-have-been-mortal wound, and it grated on him that he now had to eat and sleep almost as regularly as a mortal. He was above them in every way. But it was becoming more and more obvious that styling hair wasn’t going to go very well. Matilda, with her sharp eyes, noticed this, and when lunch break came, she ushered him into the staff room.
“Here,” she said, “there’s a half a sandwich—oh now, don’t complain! After that you are free to take a nap. I’ll wake you when you’re needed.”
Loki glared at her but complied sulkily.
* * *
It was a few weeks since Loki had tried out the new idea of being a hairstylist, and he was liking it immensely. It was a chance to put his great knowledge to use and impress people. In Asgard it really wasn’t proper, but he’d always loved doing people’s hair. He did his mother’s and Thor’s whenever he could get away with it. (His brother’s hair styling was pretty miserable without him. He let it grow all stringy and always let it fall into his eyes. And never brushed it enough.) Loki stared off into the distance. He was jealous. Sure his green eyes were beautiful and entrancing, but Thor’s were… well, he didn’t get all that attention for nothing. And it certainly had nothing to do with his sparkling wit. He imagined Thor on a high balcony on Stark Tower. The sun was going down and the sky was glowing redly.
Thor gazed out over the city lights and sighed. “I miss home, brother,” he said.
Loki stepped beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes I want this to be over,” he said quietly. He could not look at Thor’s face. Instead he stared out over the tall edges of the skyscrapers, grey in the waning light, windows reflecting the sun’s last rays.
“It will be. In time.”
Loki turned. Thor was still, gazing out across the land, silent but for the sound of wind. For one moment, Loki saw him as a stranger; he caught his breath, an inexplicable fear filling him. “Yes,” he said, the word seeming to die on his tongue, but Thor heard him all the same.
“I have my friends,” Thor continued, following the thread of a conversation Loki could no longer remember. “And you.”
Loki looked away. “Always,” he said.
In the sky, the sun vanished, replaced by whirling nebulae and far-off stars.
“You have secret passages between worlds. Can you not take me back to visit for just this one night?”
They were standing close, Thor facing him unheeding, feet scarce inches from the edge.
“I have a passage to somewhere better,” Loki said at last.
Loki smiled, and pushed.
Thor fell, wind racing past him, toward the street below.
“Loki!” he called, pleading.
“No.” Loki whispered.
His eyes flew open.
“Good dream dear?” asked Matilda.
“No.” he said sharply. “A nightmare, actually.” He shook himself and exited the staff room.
Browse the earlier chapters:
Art from Superbwallpapers.com. Story by Sara Barkat and Sonia Joie.