Both find themselves in a graveyard. Rowling recognizes the spot where Cedric Diggory was killed. Shelley recognizes the spot where she lost her virginity. Pleasantries are exchanged and Rowling takes the first swing. She makes a jab Shelley’s writing career being overshadowed by her husband’s. Shelley yawns and retorts by insinuating that Rowling (allegedly) plagiarized Le Guin’s Earthsea.
Rowling accuses Shelley of being a one novel pony. Shelley asks how the reviews of her latest novel is looking. Rowling criticizes Shelley’s feminism because of her association with Lord Byron. Shelley asks how Graham Linehan is doing. Rowling façade is cracking. Shelley seems almost bored with the debate. Rowling is seconds away from an unforgivable curse and a strange tweet about Hagrid’s relationship to manscaping.
Before Rowling has a chance to go all Umbridge on Shelley’s ass, she’s distracted by Shelley engaging her in a conversation about trans rights. Rowling flips her lid. She begins ranting some drivel about there being only two genders and wizards shitting themselves. While Rowling attempts a twitter teardown of Shelley, the latter writer swings Percy’s calcified heart at Rowling’s head.
J.K. is knocked out cold by a heart that’s warmer than her own. Like the writing contest she entered Frankenstein in, Mary Shelley is Victorious.
J. Rafferty is a redhead, a godfather and an eejit. His poetry has previously been featured in several journals including the Wellington Street Review, Sage Cigarettes, and Capsule Stories. When not losing games of pool he, sometimes, writes stuff.