Estelle's Writing

  To be like God, the Devil knows, must burn,                 As golden juice runs thick inside their veins                 And knowledge seeps around their brains like chains, To know, to care, and yet still love the spurn Of mud-piles you just made, who made in turn                 Your breath a game, your love their lost campaigns.                 “I should rejoice for causing You such pains,” The Devil thinks, “for I have made them Learn. I did the one thing that You never would: It is finished, Your world is made anew. I take, and look, and see that it is good. And I alone, have saved them all from You.” Instead, the Devil feels as numb as wood And wonder...

  The first part starts, as most school trips do, with a speech from the teacher. It also starts, as many lives do, with a grey sky. The wind races flat against the rock and into our watering eyes as we stand, backpacks fastened to our shoulders, in front of the gaping chasm. The teacher speaks about tectonic plates. About rock formations. About the salted rainwater that seeps through the permeable earth and slowly, slowly, slowly moulds it into stalactites and stalagmites and subterranean rivers. About the differences between a chasm and a cave – caves start horizontal, you see, while chasms begin with a vertical drop. I stare at the deep black hole that will soon swallow me up.             “Cool,” I say.             Lesson number one: most of the information you learn in school isn’t really useful. But it can still be interesting.      ...