The story of the birth of Jesus is probably the most famous account in human history. After all, we set our calendars by it, and probably two thirds of the world's population celebrate that birth, in one form or another. But how accurate are the details of this monumental event? Furthermore, does it matter if what we believe about Jesus' birth is based on truth or tradition?

To those of us who do not believe in God, it should be important to establish what the facts are, simply to enable us to make a judgement about whether we can place any credibility in the account as genuine history. On the other hand, for those of us who do have faith in Jesus and his teachings and accomplishments, it should be of vital importance to know the truth about his birth and his life. Jesus himself was a champion of truth, promising those who listened to him “You will know the truth and the truth will set you free.” Jesus plainly stated that he came to the earth "To bear witness to the truth."

So let me examine the story of Christmas and find the facts, the truth of it. Since the account of Jesus' birth originates in the Bible, let me base this evaluation on the Bible alone, referring to established historical details to fill in any gaps.

The first question which arises about Christmas is “When?” How do we find the actual date of Jesus' birth?

It seems strange that if Jesus had wanted people to celebrate his birthday, he would have included it's date in the Bible. Yet it is not there. However, it is possible to narrow the date down to within a couple of days, using the Bible.

Daniel’s prophecy (Dan. 9:24-27), shows that the Messiah, or Christ was to arrive at the end of 69 weeks of years, these weeks beginning in the Autumn of 455 B.C. and ending in the Autumn of A.D. 29. The prophecy spoke of the sacrifice the Messiah would offer “In the midst of the week,” (or half a week, 6 months). We know from the priest inauguration laws that men could not act in worship until they were 30 years old. Jesus was 30 when he was baptized in the Jordan. Therefore he would have been 33 and a half when he gave his life. Since it was actually in the spring of A.D. 33 that Jesus Christ was executed, then three and a half years (or, half of a seven-year week) would take us back to the beginning of the week in the autumn of A.D. 29 for Messiah’s baptism.

John The Baptist's father, Zechariah, was told of the birth of John while he was in the second round of the eighth course of the monthly priestly duties. Upon completing his priestly duties in that allotted course, Zechariah returned home to his wife Elizabeth and then their son John was conceived. This would have been at least in late June or early July of the year 3 BCE. About six months later (in our December), Jesus was conceived. Nine months after that Jesus’ birth would occur about October the 1st in the year 2 B.CE.

So where did the date of December the 25th come from?
That date was adopted by the Roman Catholic church (overseen by Emperor Constantine). This was done to merge the growing movement of Christianity with the established Roman form of worship. The date of the 25th was already established as the birthdate of the Roman god Saturnalius. That event was celebrated with drinking, feasting, decorating homes, and the exchange of gifts. (Sounds familiar).

What about the “Star” that led the wise men?

Regarding the “Star” itself, this causes much confusion among believers and scholars, not only about the date it appeared but, also about how it appeared and from whom. History, and the churches have always treated the account of the star as emanating from God, guiding the ”Wise men” to the place of the Messiah's birth.

Yet, the Biblical evidence strongly suggests otherwise. Consider the men who followed the star. They came from the east. They were not “Wise men” but astrologers, a practice forbidden by God's laws. Furthermore, they were the only ones who saw the star. They were led by it, not to the infant but to Herod, an enemy who tried to slay the child, and as a result, hundreds of children were slaughtered. Furthermore, the star “Came to stop above the stable.” Have you ever heard of a star that could place itself in orbit above a building? If the star was sent by God (breaking his own laws) then why were the shepherds who were in the fields that night not aware of it or told of it? According to the Bible they were told by the angel "And this is a sign for you: You will find an infant wrapped in strips of cloth and lying in a manger." There was no mention of a star.

Could there be any other Biblical explanation for the phenomena? Consider this; The Bible describes the chief enemy of God, the “Resistor” and “Slanderer” - Satan, as a “god” of “Crafty acts” in which he “Keeps transforming himself into an angel of light,” whose operation is “With every powerful work and lying signs and portents” This manipulative spirit was able to make a serpent appear to speak, and was described by Jesus as “The Father of the lie, who is misleading the entire inhabited earth.”

Was Jesus a baby in a manger when the astrologers found him?

The word used to describe the child of Joseph and Mary was Greek for “Infant.” This meant a child, not a baby. To confirm this, consider the gifts that were brought for Jesus – Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh. These were very valuable things that would have been worth a small fortune. Yet, after Jesus was born, Mary went to the temple to offer a sacrifice, as required after birth, under the Mosaic law. The law required a lamb to be sacrificed. However the law did allow those who were poor to offer instead a dove. What did Mary offer? A dove. This shows that she was still poor. But she would not have been poor if she had already received those gifts. That is why King Herod demanded the deaths of children “Up to the age of two” because he knew that the child that had been born was no longer a baby. Also, the scripture describes the astrologers entering the “House” not a stable (see Matthew 2.11).

Another important question we might ask is – Did God and Jesus ask us to celebrate Jesus' birthday?

Jesus was an Israelite, a Jew. He would have been circumsized on the 8th day, like all other Jewish boys. He would not have celebrated his birthday because it was not a Jewish custom. Neither would his Apostles have celebrated his birthday. There is no mention in the Bible of anyone celebrating Jesus' birthday. The only event that was commanded to be remembered and observed was Jesus' death. The Bible says that “Better is the day of one's death than one's birth.” Why would it say that? Because, at birth, a person has no reputation, no relationship with God and no activities to be judged on. But at death, a person has established a lifetime of behaviour, and has demonstrated by their life course, if they are loyal to God or not. Jesus lived and died completely loyal to God, his Father. His death and sacrifice accomplished incredible benefits for the human race. But his birth accomplished nothing.

But some might argue that it doesn't matter when Jesus was born, as long as we worship and remember him. Although that sounds like a noble sentiment, it is a little misguided and it contradicts what Jesus himself commanded.

Jesus urged us to “Worship God with spirit and truth.” What did he mean by that? Well, to offer praise to God, to serve Him on His terms (not ours), we need to make sure that our behaviour and our expressions are in keeping with God's spirit, that they are clean and acceptable to Him. Furthermore, it is essential that our worship be based on absolute truth. The God of the Bible, and His Son, Jesus do not tolerate lies, in any form. We cannot celebrate God's goodness using deceit.

When the Israelites were waiting to enter the promised land, they became impatient and made a golden calf for themselves. They celebrated and created a festival, calling it a “Festival to Yahweh, Jehovah” (God). What was God's reaction to this? - Anger.

When we consider the overall facts about the festival of Christmas, it doesn't seem to bear any resemblance to the pure truth of Christianity instigated by Jesus himself. Would Jesus approve of having his name associated with an event which is shrouded in lies and superstitions, an event which encourages overindulgence, pagan customs and the accumulation of crippling debt?

I think all of us - religious or not, Christian or not, know the answer to those questions.

In establishing the truth about Jesus' birth and life, Christianity is not diminished but, rather, it becomes clear and powerful, free from myths and lies. The real joyful message from the Bible was not about Jesus being born as a baby but, him being crowned as King of God's Kingdom. When he was on earth, Jesus demonstrated on a small scale what that kingdom would do for future mankind. Jesus taught us to always keep that kingdom in mind and to pray for it -"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven." When God's kingdom comes, it will do wonderful things, as the Bible fortells;
"Death will be no more, neither will sorrow, nor outcry nor pain."

In the meantime, "Christmas" is a poor imitation of the blessings planned for us by God and his son. This is particularly true this year when every gathering could result in somone's illness or death. In my country, England, the nation will be throwing caution to the wind and embracing "Christmas" once more. This is hypocrisy from a nation that is predominatntly atheist and a land where all other religious non-Christian ceremonies are banned during lockdown. So much for an "inclusive" society. At least in the USA most peole do actually believe in Jesus.

So I had this dream last night,
We were supposed to go on a date,
I so wanted to fight,
Cause you came really late.

But the moment I saw your cute face,
I just melted in your arms,
Hugged you so tight and said,
"It's okay if you forgot,
or if you had a bad day,
Cause I could wait all night for you,
I'm happy you're home and you're safe. "

So tell me are you okay?
Did you have lunch?
Was everyone good to you at work?
And what do we do now?
I haven't cooked anything,
And also the restaurants must be shut.

Then you held my hand and said that you were okay now and happy that you were home,
You said you would do something,
That I should go and rest,
You will wake me up in no time,
And promised we will sleep together,
Also that we will cuddle all night.

I did exactly what you said,
Removed my heels and lied on bed,
It took me 2 minutes to sleep,
And I was dreaming in the dream.

Knock knock.. Baby it's time..
Let's go outside the food is waiting,
I said I wanted to sleep,
So you grabbed me by my waist and took me out in the hall to eat...

Damnnnnnnnnn.........

It was, it was so so pretty,
As if I had seen the stars,
The house was glowing,
It was saying that we could never part.

As if the moon was shining bright,
You looked over at me and smiled,
I wanted to ask you if you could read my eyes?
They wanted to tell you something,
That you are precious and that you're mine.

The way you take care of every little thing,
Makes me fall in love with you every single day...

Then you asked me to have a seat,
I sat graciously and felt as if I had wings.
We had dinner looking into each other's eyes,
Then you came softly towards me,
Held my hand and asked me why?
Why this night had to end?
Why not dance all night?

So we danced,
On all our favorite songs,
I remember losing myself in your arms.. I knew where my heart belongs,
I remember falling asleep in your arms..
I was falling once again, and this time way tooo strong..

But, the sun rose this morning,
You disappeared, leaving me here alone,
I’m still waiting for you to arrive,

Come back and please take me home....

With my binoculars scanning the starry sky
Focusing on the far-flung Constellation Shield
Six thousand light years drawn by my magnified eye
East of the star cloud midpoint, a cluster revealed

Three thousand stars forming a diamond shape patch
Within which a celestial triangle vee
Star gazer naming an imaginative match
Wild flying ducks winging in a galactic sea

Wild Duck Cluster, tightly compact but loosely bound
With pulsating and eclipsing binary stars
A formation of ducks in a stellar surround
Migratory astronomical avatar

Please Read Before Reading THE Story

-there is some graphic stuff in here so be warned before reading

-this is a bloody story

-it's a long read

-please comment how you like this and stuff you'd like me to change, I appreciate and like the feedback you give me. It helps to improve my writing. Now sit tight and enjoy



Chapter Three

The track through the woods to get to the outlaw camp became more and more familiar. There were little landmarks I started to recognise my way by. It could be a tree thicker or smaller than the rest, or even a berry bush that had small, red, fruit. There was also the decaying corpse of the general, or knight, or whatever you call his status, my first ever kill.
The outlaw camp also began to grow. Before it was about three hundred, now it was about four. The amount of newcomers was startling. I had only been in the camp for one year and I was considered one of the elder group members.
Frank, Tyson, and Hazel were the group I mainly was around. Frank and Hazel were married and I couldn’t have been happier for them. They actually had the ceremony at the manor my family now owned.
It had been grand. There were rose petals everywhere and the local priest made them husband and wife. I was even invited.
My days of an outlaw wasn’t all cupcakes and rainbows though. I raided manors around the large forest. It was mainly a one man or girl job.
It was a crisp morning. I woke up in my tent, groggy as ever. Tyson was a few meters away from me, still sleeping. We were up at the front while Hazel and Frank were near the back.
The tent was littered with gems and gowns that we had taken from raided manors, and to be honest, most were my contribution. There was a fireplace for the winter months where it became unbearably cold. The summer though, it was mainly hot, and we used fans. The floor was a silk rug that, again, was from raided manors.
Most of the items that we got went to Nico, the Thief Lord. Thief Lord was a persona that only outsiders used. He normally prefers to be called Nico, unless he’s in one of those days where others messed up. If you got caught and spilled the beans, it wasn’t the royal knights you’d be scared of, it was his rath.
I reached over to Tyson and shook his shoulder.
“Wake up Tyson, it’s time to get up,” I whispered.
“Ugh, just one more minute?” He responded, groaning.
“The last time you said that it wasn’t one minute, it was an hour, now get up. Nico won’t like it if you waste the time snoring.”
“Well it felt like a minute,” he huffed.
“Of course it did,” I said, rolling my eyes, “You were sleeping.”
Eleven more shakes and three slaps to the leg finally got him rolling. He sat up and looked around like he was in an unfamiliar place. I suppose his dream made him think it was real. My test is to think if it’s too good to be true, and if it seems like so, it probably was. I had tried teaching that technique to him but he never caught on, nor had he ever wanted to use it.
Hazel and Frank were much easier to wake up though, they had always been light sleepers.
“Wake up, Frank.” I said
He jumped up waving his dagger that he kept in his pants at all times.
“Wa? Who needs killing, come and get some ya blindin’ blunderin’ idiots! This blade had your name on it ya punks!” He shouted like a maniac I had already learned  to not shake his shoulder like I did Tyson. I had done it once and my fingers had almost become stumps.
“It’s just me, Frank.”
“Oh, I thought you were about to, ya know.” He made a gesture with his finger going horizontally across his throat. I couldn’t blame him, I had almost killed him once. There was a long scar going across it where my blade had pierced.
“Wake up Hazel, I’ve already got all the others awake. Plus, she’s your wife, so get to it.”
“Ya, got it.”
Soon everybody was up and ready for action. There was a morning line up to see if everyone was still there.  There were two types of raids. The first was the day raids as they were called. Or there were also the multiple day ones. For the second you needed special permission from Nico. If you got captured on the day raids, you would most likely not come back in a day. If that happened, you would be tortured until you either died, or you admitted that you were in league with the king and would be executed.
The clearing had grown. The sheer amount of trees cut down could supply a number of five hundred for 7 years. There was a shocking pile of lumber at the north side of the camp.
Hazel, Frank, and Tyson joined the huge spiral of people. Roll call was relatively short considering the large number of people.
The leaders for each tent would go up to the person counting and say if anyone wasn’t in the camp. The spiral was for when people wanted to go out and raid manors. You would step up and your leader would say how many people wanted to go out. We did this so that a leader couldn’t say you wanted to go on a day mission when you wanted to go on a multiple day one. Some people don’t exactly like who they’re in the tent with.
I stepped up for a one day raid. I intended to raid a manor to the north east. The ones near the forest that the camp was located were already raided years ago. We controlled those, sort of like a puppet state or county.
We were mostly allowed safe passage but not always. Some of the time, the leaders we put in charge didn’t like giving us half of their products, so we raided them again and appointed one of the outlaws landlord.
My parents always allowed traffic to come through. Though they might kill one or two that wanted to kill the former king and queen for the glory of it, you know how it is. Dad always killed them with his sword if they tried.
My family were to the north east and I intended to raid a manor past them, I could probably say a hello on the way to the raid site.
I walked into the forest. It was still as thick as ever, only letting strands of light from breaks in the leaves. The bark was dark, or it only looked that way because of the shadows, I wouldn’t know. The leaves were pale green and turned the shade of blood in fall.
The crunch of nettles that blanketed the forest floor was muffled by the dead leaves. It was like a symphony just walking on it. The leaves rustling made the long walk very relaxing. You could spend a month just listening to the music nature provided.
“Right at the boulder,” I muttered to myself. Just one of a few indicators of where I was.
The boulder came into view and I turned right.
“Next, the small tree after heading straight for five minutes, head at a forty five degree angle left to get to the manor.” I said
Soon the tree came into view. I headed toward my family’s manor. The trees came less often and there were more breaks in the canopy of leaves.
I saw the olive trees come into view. Then the smell of the corpse hit me like a tidal wave. The odor of rotting flesh made my eyes water.
Then came the sight. The skin had decayed while the bits of moldy flesh were visible. Some bones were peaking out and the skull lay three feet away from the body. The eye sockets were mostly empty except for the rat eating away at the eyeballs. The jaw was bone and the teeth were disgusting. Flies zipped around the decapitated head like moths attracted to a flame.
I almost gagged. The sight was so revolting that only someone who has actually seen it with eyes and not words could understand. There hasn’t ever been a death blamed on a horrid smell or a sickening sight, but I felt like I was going to be the first.
I started sprinting to fresh air, and in a few seconds, I got it. The body continued to gross me out, even to this day. Dead bodys have always been a sore subject for me, or at least since I was eleven and realized why, “Daddy couldn’t bring us home now.”
The olive trees had a refreshing smell to them and my body rejuvenated. That stench was unbearable. I navigated through the large trees that were so familiar, though they seemed to have grown a bit taller in the year I had been away.
My parents had moved into the house the landlord used to live in. After they cleaned up the blood and body that is.
I knocked on their new door. It swung open only three seconds after.
“Oh, Helen!” said my mom.
“What do we owe the honor?” asked my dad.
“I was just stopping by.” I answered, “After, I'm gonna start, uh, outlaw stuff, ya know?”
“Oh yes we do know. I’ve had to kill at least ten of your buddies.” said dad, scowling.
“Oh, sorry about that, I never said first to kill any of you gets one hundred gold coins,” I said sarcastically.
“Not funny,” he said.
“Oh lighten up dear,” said Mom, “We’re richer than we ever were since the palace was taken. It’s fine if we kill one or two people a year if we get to keep this life. Plus, if you don’t want to continue killing all the strays who try to kill us, I can do it myself.”
“Your drama,” I respond, shaking my head.
“You’ll have this one day.” said dad.
“I won’t name my kid Leo,” I retorted.
“What are you talking about?” asked my mom. She didn’t know about my half brother, Leo.
“Oh nothing Mom.”
“Good, because I was quite sure I named you Helen, I hope you haven’t changed your name. Helen I think is a very beautiful name, one that justifies her beautiful looks,”  snapped Mom, glaring at Dad.
“You know I always wanted a son. Leo would have been the name, but she came out as a girl!” shouted dad.
“Your girl is nothing to be ashamed of! She is just as good as a boy and maybe even better!”
“What are you talking about?”
“He wanted you to get married,” said Mom.
“Married?” I said with a laugh.
“Why do you think the old landlord was so into you?” she said. Then she looked around, astonished about what she just said. She put her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. She walked out without another word.
I slowly turned to face my dad. His face had drained of color and it looked like he had just seen a ghost.
“Well, do you care to explain?” I hissed, barley keeping in the rage that started boiling up inside of me.
“I agreed to allow him to marry you if we got a bit of money, about twenty five coins if I remember correctly.”
“And?” I asked in a low whisper.
“He agreed,” my dad said shortly.
Wow, this news was shocking.
“We tried to get you another match but nobody wanted you as their wife. They found out about how you killed the last person you married and left me saying ‘come back, she’s not all that bad!’ Soon we gave up hope. No person in their right mind would marry you. You're a better failure than you are a daughter.”
Tears started welling up in my eyes, “You said that?” I asked, heartbroken.
“And I meant it. And you've turned out worse than I ever expected.”
“Why, what did I ever do to upset you?”
“For one, you weren’t a boy.”
Tears started streaming down my cheeks like waterfalls. I couldn’t believe he was saying this.
“Since when has that ever mattered to you?” I said almost screaming.
“Since you were born. My throne needed a male heir, and a male heir quick. It was miscarriage, after miscarriage, after miscarriage. That went one after another until finally your mother bore me a son. His name was Chandler. He died one year later.”
The tears were coming more frequently.
“Then it was another miscarriage, then came you. I heard my wife had finally given me another child and I rushed over to see my baby boy. Then I saw a girl held tightly in Thalia’s arms. I was repulsed. I hoped you would die just like Chanler did. Thalia seemed to love you though, you always were a reflection of your mother and I hated it.”
I kept a list in my head, failure, repulsive, hated. These words had never been uttered in front of me before, and I had no idea that my father who I had grown up admiring and loving would hate me so much.
“A year later I was sick of having only a girl as the child frolicing around my castle. It was a girl I had to care for, it was a girl that was the only royal child. You were the only person who was in line for the throne and I despised that fact.
“So I went in search of a young woman who might give me a son. I found Alex. She was beautiful but I could never replace Thalia with her, that would have never been allowed. She became my mistress and the person I loved the most. She gave me a son and I named him Leo. I finally had the male heir I deserved.
“I became warmer to you knowing that you would never take my place. I slept peacefully knowing I had a male heir to put on the throne when I died. The problem was, how would he be put on the throne when I did. Thalia would have never allowed a child not born by her to rule the kingdom, so I came up with a genius plan to put my beloved son on the throne. My most high ranking general would storm the palace and flush us out, giving the throne to my son, Leo. He had to get the throne and not you.
“People were already rioting against me, my throne would have been taken along with my life. I couldn’t risk that. I hadn’t planned so much for it to be ruined. As such, I already had a manor ready for us when we left.
“I started teaching you sword fighting because I thought that if you acted like a man, I could think of you not as a disappointment, but as a second son. It obviously didn’t work and I regret I ever did teach you.”
“I regret I ever looked up to you, thinking I wanted to be just like you when I grew into a woman. I regret I ever thought you were loyal and handsome. The outside can only hide the inside for so long. I have never loved someone for their looks. I have never loved someone for their wealth. Once that thin shell cracks it shows that your soul, your true beauty. Unfortunately for you, I don’t see the things that made your shell great. I don’t see a handsome man, I see a monster. I don’t see a loyal, caring person, I see a conniving, unloving beast. Goodbye father, I never want to see you again, and if I do, I won’t show mercy.”
And with that, I ran out the door, my tears flying in the wind.
I ran and I ran until I hit the border of the next manor. It had long plants with hanging seeds. I had hit the manor I was supposed to be raiding. I walked to the grand stone house in the middle of the wheat field.
I burst through the doors and stormed in the gaping hole left. Blinded by rage I stabbed and sliced everyone in that building.
“Blood, I want more blood!” I screamed
I cut each limb from the body until every inch of the floor was covered in the sticky red liquid. I let out a howl that was pure pain and anger. It could probably have been heard from miles around.
Then the tears came. It was like a dam had been built and now it had broken. I ran from the site I had just committed, the massacre I had just done, the pain and anger I felt to my father, I ran from it all.
It was dusk when I finally came to the outlaw camp again. I got stares and whispers thrown my way, and I couldn’t blame anyone. I was drenched in blood and I had a murderous expression on my face. No one dared go near me, in fact, they cleared the way for me to go to my tent.
I changed into a green silk robe and I washed the blood, sweat, grime, and tears off my face. My eyes were red and my nose was puffy, but I didn’t care. It seemed like such a small thing compared to the day I just had.
The words disappointment, revolted, and hated kept on talking and spinning around in my head until I got dizzy. I tried to think of the days when I was in the palace, but that just reminded me that Father never loved me. He never cared. All just a show.
I buried my head in my hands and I curled up into a ball.
“Helen?” asked Tyson. He sounded worried and I didn’t blame him. I was a mess.
I lifted my head and looked at his face, “Hi,” I said bleakly
“Why’re you so sad?” he inquired.
“I realized the horrifying truth of the world and it broke me.”
“But what happened?”
“My father never loved me at all, he just cared that he had a son and despised me for not being a boy.”
“Harsh,” said Tyson, “We’ve all gone through a tough faze and that’s why we joined the outlaws. I was never loved by my mother so I ran away, knowing that the only reason I was still there was because I helped her do chores.”
“Wow.”
“I know, tell me about it. Joining gave me a sense of purpose I never got when I lived with my mother. I’ve got an accepting family when I never had one myself.”
“It was the best thing I ever did, joining.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” joked Tyson.
“Ha.”
“Come on, get some sleep.”
I did as he asked, and I sank from the world of reality to the world of dreams.
The next morning I aroze with a new spring in my step. I had finally let go of my old family and replaced it with a new one. Though it died when I remembered what I did.
The spiral of people was as long as ever. Most people decided to go out and take food from nearby manors. I personally wanted to stay behind, just to catch my bearings after yesterday's atrocities.
It was about mid day when one outlaw who I didn’t recognise came to me.
“Madam Helen, I ‘ave orders to take thee to Nico.”
“What for?” I asked.
“Ve ‘ave ‘ad vord of vhat you did yesterday. Ze Thief vord vishes to see thee.”
The boy had a thick accent and it was hard to figure out what he was saying. The amount of v’s and z’s made it very difficult.
“OK?” I said.
I followed the boy to the widest and tallest tent in the clearing. It was the very same that I had entered a year ago to tell my story. It gave me flashbacks to the better times of the world when the worst thing to worry about was a stupid landlord wanting to marry you. Blissfully ignorant that Father set that whole thing up.
“Enter,” said Nico.
I went inside the tent and it was as glamorous as ever. Gold coins were stacked in large mounds in the front with glittering gems mixed in.
“Take a seat,” Nico gestured to a seat behind his table. I took it.
“Yes, Nico?” I asked.
“Is it true that you did a one day raid yesterday?”
“Yes sir, it is.”
“And is it true that at dusk you returned?”
“Yes sir, it is.”
“You came back covered in blood?”
“Yes sir,”
“Where did you go?”
North east from my,” I choked on the work family, “from the manor I used to work at sir.”
“My information says that you massacred the people living in the biggest building. Not to mention, dismembered them until there was enough blood to cover the floor, every bit of it?”
“Yes sir.”
“Helen, you should know that-”
“Ya, ya, ya,” I interrupted, “That wasn’t good, yada, yada, yada, anything else you called me here to tell me?”
“Blood spilled for no reason is a waste!” he said angrily.
“Anything else?”
“Yes there is.”
“Then say it.”
“That type of behavior usually ends in your banishment, but I have decided to give you one more chance to prove yourself.”
“What do I have to prove?”
“True combat skills that’s what.”
“Are you questioning my sword skills?”
“What if I am?”
I stood up, angry he was questioning if I was good or not.
“Calm down, there is no point in fighting.”
I sat down slowly, glaring at him like he was a viper I wanted to smash.
“I want your help stealing something.”
“What could be so hard to get that the ‘Thief Lord’ couldn’t get it by himself?”
“The gold inside the treasury in the palace.” admitted Nico.
“You’re planning to steal that?”
“Yes I am, and I want to know if you're in.”
“Yes, I am,” I said, jumping on the opportunity.
“What I need you to do is steal the key to the vault. The highest ranking knight will have the keys. We’ll be taking advantage of the jousting tournament. The knight’ll be attending it in the seat of honor.”
“And I’m supposed to steal that key?” I asked to clarify.
“Yes,” agreed Nico.
“I can help, and I can do as you ask.”
“Great,” said Nico, smiling, “This is going to be fun.”

The Basketball season has just begun at Lathrop high school in Fairbanks and David was told by his coach that he would be starting at point guard in his senior season. David is a 6foot 4 senior playing basketball for Lathrop high school. He was always a backup when he played on the varsity team and has yet to win a championship. There is also a new transfer that is trying to take David's spot as the starting point guard.
After the first week of practice Lathrop has a matchup against Colony high school which they lost to during the semifinals in the playoffs last season. In the first quarter they are down by 6 points after the shooting guard for Colony hit back to back three pointers. In the first 5 minutes of the quarter David helped push Lathrop up to a 12 point lead, then Colony got back within 6 at the end of the quarter. With 12 seconds left in the game Lathrop is down by two and David has the ball and he dribbles the ball out with three seconds and turns and shoots a three and makes it for the win.
Now that the season is half way through Lathrop has a record of four and one while David is averaging 16 points and 5 assists. Then Lathrop has to play Palmer and if they win they will be first in their conference which will set them up to go to the playoffs and a chance at state. The game at Palmer starts and Lathrop gets an early lead of 15 by the end of the first quarter and they are feeling very good about this game. At halftime David already has 28 points 9 rebounds and 8 assists and he is really hoping to get a triple double in this game. In the third quarter he scored 12 points, two rebounds, and four assists so he finally got the triple double that he has always wanted to get. In the fourth quarter the coach sits David so that he doesn't get injured in a blowout win and at the end of the game David is named player of the game and gets a $20 gift card at American eagle which is his favorite clothing store.
Now that the playoffs have started Lathrop is matched up with Colony high school which beat them by three with David scoring 22 and hitting the game winning shot. Then they advanced to the next round against East which they beat by 13 when David scored 22 points and 8 assists. Lathrop made it to the finals against Diamond high school which they lost to last year.
The opening quarter wasn't looking good for Lathrop when Diamond when they took a nine point lead. David wasn't going to let that happen so he decided to start driving to the rim more and he scored 18 points putting Lathrop up by four. During halftime David is told to keep on producing points by driving to the rim. As the third quarter started Lathrop went on a 20 point run and by the end of the third quarter Lathrop was up by 18 points. David finally got to lead Lathrop to a win in the State championship, He scored 34 points which he was named the most valuable player.
He was so happy that he won a state championship for his hometown that he has always wanted to do. After being named the Alaska state MVP he was accepted to UAF for a basketball scholarship. He was happy that he got to go play for UAF so that he could be close to his family. He wanted to stay in the state so he could follow his hobbies like riding snow machines and fishing in the summer. He decided to pursue more education in the engineering field so he used basketball to get him into the college so he can be ready to get a job.

Once upon a time, there was a creature who tried to steal Christmas from a small town.  In the end, he became great friends with the citizens of that ‘burg’.  But there was another ‘creature’ that did the same thing some time later.  This ‘creature’ had a sharp lawyer on retainer and on speed dial.  This is his response to the defamatory song they chose to write about him.

It’s your preliminary hearing, Mr. Grunch
It’s my first big chance to orate
Your prickly skin’s a personal issue; your charm’s endearingly late, Mr. Grunch
With regard to greasy, blackened bananas, I’m a lawyer so I can re - laaaaaate

We’ll own their whole town, Mr. Grunch
When we’re through they’ll be in quite a hole
The allegations they are multiple, I’m sure they’ll be found culpable, Mr. Grunch
We’ll tell them where to stick their thirty nine and a half foot pole!

We’ll redefine the term monster, Mr. Grunch
We’ll make it look like you’re just misunderstood
The defendant’s we will depose them, their possessions, we will repo them, Mr. Grunch
By the time we’ve twisted this court in knots, they’ll have to classify you as goooooooood!

They’ve defamed you, Mr. Grunch
We're quite ready to make them squeal
They haven’t got a chance, even if they choose to appeal, Mr. Grunch
With a surprise witness, initials C.L.W., our chance of victory is sealed!


During the discovery phase, Mr. Grunch
On their extensive assets we’ll feast
Our tort’s not without merit; our suit they’ll have to bear it, Mr. Grunch
We’ll get all of their presents and decorations; even their prized roast beast!

The setting is thus: In the near future, humanity has harnessed the energies of the sun by creating massive spherical solar collectors that are stationed at the lagrange points of the innermost celestial bodies. These solar harvesters are created by growing enormous spherical crystals infused with a high-albedo metal held in suspension within it in as fine a particle as we can make it. The anti-solar hemispheres of each orb are coated in a reflective conductive material that serves to refocus the solation back into the orb for further concentration. Station-keeping is achieved via three sets of counter-rotating rings of a substance having mass that are magnetically actuated to alter the orbital path of said massy substance, possibly just water, tritium? also might be possible with ion fields given the massive amount of energy available. anyways, these orbs also have variable focusing elements either embedded within the crystal or tight to the surface thereof in order to selectively focus beams of solar energy between multiple orbital solar collectors. These reinforced beams of solation serve to connect the various orbitals and enable them to distribute power evenly and/or wherever it needs to go. these beams of photonic transmission also serve to provide thrust for beamships, which are simply tubular space stations around a variable-polarization light filter, to go one direction, polarize one way, to go the other, polarize the other. They also draw energy from the refracted light, obviating the need for excessive power generation systems of their own. now, around each orbital, on the leeward side, as it were, are nodules of civilization. People; living, working, breathing, dying, there is an entire biosphere out in the spaces between celestial bodies, and we put it there. Or we could have, if we ever got our shit together enough to try. This... this is the footing from which we would be able to step into the ages to come, if we are to break from stagnation and decay, endlessly driven piles of refuse heaped and compacted until we are standing in our own methane-rich fill we've discarded for ourselves. No. Growth; as eyebrow-raising as it is to say it, expansion, into this marvelous universe we've got just waiting for us to soar through. Because the only way to lead a pointless life is to only contribute to things that can't go on without us. The human race has been yearning for some purpose, some goal towards which to strive for years now, and we have all the pieces of this puzzle strewn around us. They've always been there, they've always been there because they are us. Each individual sentient being that ever looked at a grain of sand and saw innumerable possible outcomes branching from that one mote. That felt that one iota of existence that compels us to dig in our toes and run for the surf. That saw a blade of grass and conjured all the myriad ways that blade might be made to bridge the vasty depths of infinite space. That watched the first snowflake of a season descend and browsed among the unending potential contained therein. We are capable of turning our not-inconsiderable collective intelligence to the task of ensuring the survival of life itself, or we can continue bioengineering the downfall of yet another "them" whose only notable shortcoming is that they aren't us. Don't let humanity fall divided into nothingness, slowly decaying our way through all the resources we've managed to garner thus far. We can do better than that. We must.

She does not fancy the Internet,
and she doesn’t send or receive Emails.

She surely does not sanction social media.

And she’s had it with document files and
fancy fonts that swirl inside cyber clouds
only to burn brown upon re-entry,
breaking from orbits of pliant human tissue
after circling the Earth for eons
until all zeroes and ones are extracted
from good old-fashioned blood and guts.

We ought to write notes
in pencil and fountain pen instead,
and place them in bottles with ships and such.
Why not write pen letters with postage,
and send small packages and bundles
with red and blue ribbons?
Would it hurt?

Whatever you do,
don’t try to catch her ears and trick her eyes
using clicking laptops with tin text
extracted from the steel souls
of external hard drives.

She’s too good for that;
she’s always been too good for that.

She’s a hard copy kind of person,
a straight-shooting Annie Oakley
in this bloodless digital world.

All she wants is everything,
and all she gives is all.

Like Annie,
she’s a straight shooter
who always hits our human mark.

“Ok, now this is a first for QVC.  For the final part of this hour we’re going to be showing you something we’ve never brought you before.”

As always, Chloe Everton spoke with enthusiasm about the products she was about to introduce to the viewers of her evening show.

“Tonight, for the first time, we’re going to be bringing you a range of products from Heaven Bound, one of the world’s leading producers of bondage clothing and equipment.”

For a second or two, the blonde presenter’s bubbly demeanour vanished, to be replaced with a look of seriousness.

“Now I realise that bondage isn’t to everyone’s taste, and for some people the thought of tying someone up, or being bound themselves, might seem abhorrent. But there’s a big market for the items we’ve got to show you today, so please try to put aside any preconceptions you might have and judge what we have to offer with an open mind. Please try to remember that these products are designed to be used by consenting adults who want to put a bit of spice into their lives.”

Suddenly the warm vibrancy was back in her voice, and a mischievous smile played on the young woman’s face.

“And I’m delighted to tell you that one of my fellow presenters, the lovely Catherine Huntley, has agreed to model some of the products today. Although I’m not sure she realised exactly what she was getting herself into!”

The scene changed from that of the presenter to a shot of the studio floor. And there, sitting on a yoga mat, was the said Ms Huntley. Bare footed, and wearing a white t-shirt and tight black leggings, a plume of the voluptuous presenter’s dark brown hair issued from the top of her head. But this was the only part of her visible from the neck upwards, as covering her face and head in its entirety was a shiny black hood that appeared to be manufactured from form-fitting rubber. Further down, Catherine’s arms were invisible to the viewers. But belts pulled tightly around her chest and stomach spoke of the fact that her hands were somehow restrained behind her back, as did strapping that issued from her armpits and criss-crossed her shoulders. Further down still, her legs had been bound stringently at the ankles and on either side of her knees with multiple circuits of white rope; the studio lights highlighting these in stark contrast to her black leg-wear.

Briefly, the camera once more focused on Chloe’s still beaming face, then panned out to show her standing over her trussed and motionless colleague.

“Ok, so let me run through the items that Catherine has been put into for you.”

For a few seconds she knelt down and addressed the hooded woman.

“Are you alright in there Catherine? Are you comfortable?”

A muffled, affirmative “aha” and a nod of the head - neither of them totally convincing - issued from the hood.  Chloe returned her gaze towards the camera, and as she did so, cupped one hand up to her mouth and whispered, mock-theatrically,

“We told Catherine we’d let her out after the show, if she couldn’t escape on her own...That might have been a little bit of a fib!”

She winked, and faint laughter could be heard in the background from the studio crew, although it was noticeable that the helpless Catherine shifted uneasily when she heard this announcement.

“But anyway, back to the items that Catherine is modelling. Let’s start with the hood. It’s fashioned from wonderfully soft latex, and as you can see it fits snugly around her head.”

Chloe put her hand on Catherine’s chin, and gently got the sightless woman to turn around, so that the back of her head could be seen.

“As you can see, it laces up at the back of the head and buckles shut at the neck. Apart from the gap at the top for her hair, the only other openings are these two tiny holes that align with the nostrils. That’s why it’s important to make sure the laces are really tight, so that the holes don’t slip away from the nose and stop your prisoner breathing. If you look closely at Catherine’s face, you’ll see that the fabric adheres to the contours of her skin.”

As she said this, she urged her compliant cohort to turn her face frontwards again, just as the camera zoomed in to highlight the fact that Catherine’s cheek bones and eyelids were clearly visible beneath the tight fitting mask. This image remained for several seconds, before cutting away to the show’s host once more. During this time, Chloe had retrieved an identical head sheath from the worktop behind her, and was holding it for her audience to inspect.

“Another feature which you can’t actually see on the one Catherine is sporting, but which I’ll show you now, is this foam padding built in around the areas of the mouth and ears.”

As she spoke, she turned the unused hood inside-out, to reveal the wadding.

“This ensures that both incoming and, more importantly, outgoing sounds are muffled.”

She looked down at her colleague.

“Isn’t that right, Catherine?”

From somewhere beneath the hood, an incomprehensible reply informed the watching public that the latter was indeed the case.  Chloe hardly seemed to notice, however, as she launched into her prepared sales spiel.

“137713 is the item number if you’d like to order this fantastic addition to your bondage gear.  If you buy this in the shops it will cost you £75.00, but we’re offering it to you today for just £68.49 plus £4.49 postage and packing. Or if you’d prefer to spread the costs, you can get it on three easy monthly payments of £22.83. Don’t forget, if you’re not completely satisfied, you can return it within thirty days and get a full refund. All you’ll pay is the postage.”

Without a pause, Chloe began describing the next item.

“Now, believe it or not, Catherine is also modelling this next piece of bondage equipment, although you can’t actually see it.”

She held out something in front of her for the camera to zoom in on. It was a bright red rubber ball, approximately an inch and a half to two inches in diameter, from opposite sides of which two leather straps sprouted; one punctuated with several holes, the other finishing in a metal buckle.

“It’s a ball-gag, and it’s the main reason why Catherine is having trouble speaking right now. Let me demonstrate how it works. You just slip the ball between your teeth, like so...”

As she spoke, she pushed the hard rubber sphere as far as it would go into her mouth.

“...and then do the straps up at the back of your head.”

The last part of this instruction was far from coherent. But fortunately her actions conveyed the message clearly, as Chloe pulled the straps as tightly around her head as they would go, then secured the buckle. Another stifled message followed.

“As you can tell, speech is almost impossible now.”

She quickly released the buckle and pulled the ball from her mouth.

“So this is a must for anyone who wants to keep their partner or playmate quiet. I should warn you though, that it can make your jaw ache after a while. Isn’t that right Catherine?”

For the first time in a couple of minutes, the camera focussed on the hooded and helpless Catherine, still sitting on the studio floor. She attempted to answer her fellow presenter’s enquiry, but her words came out even more muffled than Chloe’s had; a consequence, presumably, of both the ball-gag and the hood’s padding acting in tandem.

“Now this item is on offer today for just £12.00. The item number is 137714 and delivery is normally within three to five working days. You can order on line at qvcuk.com, by phone, or on our automated Q-Cut service, using the numbers on your screen right now. Or you can simply ‘tap the app’.”

There followed a brief break, during which upcoming programmes were highlighted, featuring jewellery, cosmetics and gardening products. Then it was back to Chloe’s beaming face once more.

“Welcome back. Tonight I’m showing you some of the wonderful products from Heaven Bound, one of the UK’s leading producers of quality bondage and fetish goods. The next item I’ve got for you is the mainstay of any good tie-up experience. It’s a must-have for any true bondage lover.  Catherine earlier kindly agreed to model this wonderful garment for us, and it’s the main reason she can’t get out of her bonds right now.”

The image on screen shifted back to the bound woman, still sitting on her yoga mat. Only now, instead of facing the camera with her hands hidden behind her, she was facing away, with her back and arms in full view. At least her arms would have been visible if it wasn’t for the black sheath-like object that swathed her upper limbs from the fingers nearly all the way up to her shoulders, in one continuous envelope of black leather. As always, Chloe was keen to explain this strange device’s restraining properties.

“This is what is known as a single-sleeve arm-binder. As you can see, both Catherine’s arms have been placed inside the mitten, which is then laced up tightly to ensure she can’t escape. For extra security, there are two attached straps which fasten around the wrists and elbows, plus two more that secure around the shoulders, to make it impossible to wriggle out of. On top of that, we’ve added two further leather belts to lash her arms to her body - one at the waist, the other just above her breasts - to make this ultra-secure. I’ll tell you now, Houdini himself would find it difficult to get out of this predicament.”

Inserting her fingers under the strap at Catherine’s elbow, Chloe gave a tug.

“You see how tight and secure this is?”

She then stroked the leather tunnel that veiled her colleague’s forearms.

“And the leather is so gorgeously soft and smooth, pliable yet unbreakable. Am I right Catherine?”

From somewhere a stymied ‘mmphing’ sound rent the studio air, although whether the stricken woman was agreeing with her co-presenter, or begging to differ, remained a moot point. Chloe, however, was keen to show the viewers how effective the restraining powers of this unusual arm-wear could be.

“OK Catherine, if you wouldn’t mind showing the prospective buyers just how trapped you really are...”

On cue, the hindered Ms Huntley began struggling against the unyielding leather sleeve that embraced her arms. Wrenching and writhing, it was clear almost immediately to anyone watching that it was a forlorn endeavour, and that her chances of freedom without assistance were virtually nil. And she must have realised this too, as after no more than a few seconds she ceased her futile struggle and shook her head in defeat. Chloe, however, was already starting to give details of how the potential customer could purchase one of these leather encumbrances.

“The product number for the arm-binder is 137715, and it usually retails at £175.00. But today only, we have a special introductory price of £159.99, plus postage and packing. Or you can pay in three easy instalments of £53.33 if you prefer. The belts you see around Catherine’s torso are sold separately at £10.00 each, and the item number for these is 137716. As with everything, if you get this home and decide it’s not for you, you’ll get a full refund if you return it within thirty days. And even if this isn’t your idea of fun, maybe you know a friend who’s into the kinky stuff. If so, this would make a fantastic birthday or Christmas present.”

She briefly stopped her sales patter and put her hand up to her earpiece.

“I’m just hearing that the hood we saw earlier is almost sold out, so if you fancy this seriously fantastic addition to your bondage wardrobe, then you’ll need to act fast before they’re all gone. And the ball-gag too is now on limited stock, so order now to avoid disappointment. The phone lines are extremely busy at the moment, so your best bet is to use Q-Cut or order via the QVC app, which is free to download.”

Without pausing for breath, Chloe launched into the final item of the hour long programme.

“Ok, there’s just time to show you the final product that Catherine’s been modelling for us. It’s the soft cotton rope that’s been tightly coiled around her legs, before being cinched and securely knotted, so that it won’t slip or come loose.”

As she uttered these words, she helped Catherine adjust her position on the mat by shuffling around on her bottom, so that she was again facing the camera with her legs outstretched before her.

“Ok Catherine, show the viewers how unbreakable those leg bonds are.”

Catherine duly obliged by trying to force her ankles and knees apart, before attempting to slip her feet out of the unforgiving coils. Just like her exploits with the arm-binder, she made no headway, and soon gave up.

“As you can see, if these cords are tied correctly, there’s simply no way your prisoner can get out. And they’re manufactured from the smoothest possible cotton, so they won’t chaff or irritate sensitive skin.”

Then she was back in sales pitch mode once again.

“The item number for these is 137717. As well as the white that Catherine is bound with, they also come in black, blue and red. They are available in two metre, five metre and ten metre lengths, and the prices of each are on screen now. Remember delivery is normally between three to five working days.”

The time was fast approaching nine PM by this stage, and it appeared that Chloe was getting signals from the producer to wrap the show up.

“Well that’s all we’ve got time for this hour. Next up we have two hours of ‘In the Salon’ with Alison Young. I’ll be back at eleven o’clock with more brilliant products from Heaven Bound’s extensive fetish range, including handcuffs, bondage tape and a luxurious leather straitjacket. And if she can get free, my trussed up friend here will be giving her firsthand account of trying out these fabulously sensuous products.”

The camera cut to Catherine one last time. By now she was lying flat on her stomach, wrestling with all her might to free her arms from the leather casing, whilst simultaneously trying to prize her legs apart. Unlike before, these actions didn’t appear to be prompted this time, and seemed to be a genuine - or even desperate - attempt to break out of her bonds. But, of course, all to no avail.

“If she can’t escape...well then it looks like there’s a very long night ahead for Catherine!! And I have to say, it’s not looking good for her at the moment.”

Amidst the laughter audible from the backroom team and camera crew, a distinct squeal of dismay could just be discerned.

Once, there was a farmer who used to grow superior quality corn in his fields. Each year he entered the state fair, displaying the corn. He won many awards at such fairs. One day, a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learnt something interesting about the farmer that he shared his seed corn with his neighbors.

“Why do you to share your best seed corn with your neighbors when they are also displaying their corn in competition with yours each year?” the reporter asked.

“Why sir,” said the farmer, “Do you know that the wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and takes it from field to field? If my neighbors grow inferior, sub-standard and poor quality corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn too. So if I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbors grow good corn too.”

The farmer continued explicating, “We live in a world of competition. In their struggle for survival, people are not willing to share their knowledge with others as they crave for their own name, fame and wealth etc. God has made this creation in such a manner that all living entities have to co-exist and co-operate with each other for their smooth survival. Without understanding this truth, when we try to compete among ourselves we will fail for sure.”

The sky never looked so pale before. Void of clouds, moisture, just pure screeching sunlight dancing across the lands burning everything. With it comes a cool breeze laced with humidity. It was a feeling Dai didn't like very much. He was always stuck in the atmosphere wondering when the world will grow a bit more vibrant. Dai roams the grasslands alone with the blades frolicking up his ankles. There is nothing but green in the distance with hills and firmly propped up farmland. The hay stacks create long distance landmarks so he can remind himself how far away from civilization he is.
He found a patch of trimmed grass where it seems the livestock have been gnawing away. Seems to be the place where the cattle graze. Dai looks up and sees a crippled fence almost broken and with its existence is a wonderment as to how this is supposed to protect the cattle. He notices the wood to be old and breaking, almost as if nobody has touched it for decades. The gateway into the farmland is torn apart and falling in place. Dai has been traveling a bit far out now, almost trapped in these grassy hills for days now. Beginning to run low on food and supplies he had brought with him for his travels to Istrann, the local marketplace.
Dai was a young man of the age 20, 6 foot tall and 200 lbs in stocky weight. He was traveling for his village to attain some supplies for the winter harvests. It was his turn to explore the marketplace this year, they usually send the most capable youth, the ones in our prime out there because the journey is often full of peril. Dai was quick on his feet and with his hands, however the aches in his bones tend to curl throughout his body. He is starting to slow down and the city is still miles away. He finds a lodge nearby in the farmland, a small inn placed here for the workers. Dai approaches the door and walks in.
“And who might you be?” says a voice greeting Dai.
“I'm Dai, I'm just passing by for my village hoping to rest my feet for a little while. Do you mind if I just sit by the fire?”
“By all means your welcome to the fire. If you want to spend the night that'll cost ya though” says the halfling.
Dai makes his way to the fire sitting in the chair nearest. Leaving his feet to dangle nearest the flame to keep warmth. It wasn't cold in the inn but he knew if he didn't keep his body heated it would grow stiff. Then finishing the journey into Istrann would prove a trial. “So, do you guys sell food?”
“We prosper off our grains around here, make the best porridge in Higa.” says the halfling.
“How much do you charge?”
“That'll be 5 silver.”
Dai looks into his pocket, he came with 15 silver and isn't prepared to spend a third of it on one bowl of porridge. He still needs to buy the metals and utensils to help his village. Dai looks at the tall halfling standing at 5 foot 6 inches with his slender frame and cool demeanor. He responds by saying “I think I'll be fine until I reach Istrann, thanks for the offer though.”
The halfling looks surprised and says “5 silver too much ehh? Look you seem like a young human and yall seem to be travlin through my farm all the time. I know a hungry youngin when I see one. Have a bowl on the house, but do stop by again after your visit if you can. I always like company. By the way the name is Eldritch.”
Dai doesn't say anything, he takes the porridge and begins to get some food in his belly. He washes it down with some fresh mint tea. It was a very nice and relaxing stay at the inn. “Eldritch, I'll see what I can do to repay you but I should be on my way now.”
“Don't ya worry about it, it was on me. I know ye be in a hurry for Istrann but if you have time feel free to spend a night here. I'll give ye a discount for being a good youth. Just 1 silver per night. I just ask you to stop by here again to do me some favors around the farm. I could use a helping hand and you seem like a very capable sturdy human to do it.”
Dai nodded and on the way out of the inn he took with him a few canisters of mint tea. Eldritch was even nice enough to give him some dry food. Mostly meat from the dead cattle he had seared eloquently. He really was quite the chef. Dai puts the food and drinks in his backpack in an easy to gather location. Now he finally leaves the inn and out he goes back on his feet. He's feeling a bit looser and likes the fact he was able to rest his feet for a moment. His hamstrings are a bit tense but that was to be expected. At least his feet didn't hurt like knives poking into them every step along the way.
As he makes it past the last haystack that shows the perimeter of Eldritch's farm, Dai looks to his horizon and sees the city limits of Istrann. The very noble slender walls of stone with a brillant gateway. There in the distance shines the sun right above it like a painting done by the masters. He was so thrilled to finally see it. The hills seem to have died down and the land is flat. Dai continues all the way up to the fortified walls of Istrann. He finishes up his beef and drinks his mint tea along the way so he has enough room in his bag because he's not exactly certain how much space is needed. He arrives in Istrann without much hassle this time, feeling extremely lucky because these parts of Higa aren't normally so safe. There are known animals that stalk and prey everywhere, but sometimes, they are too busy to be found.
“Hello, my name is Dai Griffiths from Summerfell. I am here to gain access to the marketplace in hopes to retrieve some important supplies.” Dai says to the guard at the Istrann gate. He is covered in steel armor with his warman's pike.
“Dai Griffiths of Summerfell, please pay your toll before entering the city limits. I will also ask you to leave all your arms and weapons out here by this table for us guards to keep eye on. Weapons and hostility will not be permitted inside. The fee for getting in today will be 5 silver since we are coming close to the annual festivities.”
Dai hands 5 silver over and walks over to the table with all the guards laying around keeping themselves occupied. He places his staff and a knife there for them to see. The guards check his belongings to make sure hes not sneaking in any more weapons and they notice everything seems to be in shape.
“Enjoy your stay at Istrann.”
Dai walks in with 10 silver. It normally shouldn't cost this much to get in but he just so happened to get here when it's booming. The harvest must be today, a summer festival here in Higa where they celebrate the growth of the kingdom. Making his way inside the gates of Istrann he looks around and sees hundreds of people. Even several races to show for it too. Everything and everyone is here at the moment. It shocks Dai to see such a popular city as he never left the slums of Summerfell before. Elves, half-elves, halflings, humans of the like all gathered together and enjoyed shared space and company. It is not common for elves and humans to get along in Higa, but during the festivities they tend to let bygones be bygones for this one week and this one week only.
Dai is starting to feel sore again. However before looking for another inn he decides to go to the marketplace as soon as possible. He needs to buy the supplies to make sure he has enough. He was given a list of things to get for his village as a priority. With steel being at the top of the list. He is however having trouble finding it. First time ever being in Istrann and he thought it would be as simple as going to a crowded location, but with the festival going on, everything is crowded.
He looks to the buildings and notices straw huts of various shapes and sizes. These are halfling abodes that have been here for decades. The halflings founded Istrann and are by far the wealthiest founders of Higa. Right outside the humble abodes is the stone reinforcements of the cold exterior of the city walls. The Abodes are scattered around with no real placement, and in the center of the city is a location of wooden carts. Each with various things being sold to customers. Dai notices the wooden carts and assumes it must be the marketplace he was looking for.
He approaches the carts and looks for one with steel. However, he can't seem to find it. The only carts that sell metal here only have copper or iron. Steel can be a hot commodity especially when the population around here is booming so much. Too many potential buyers and not enough sellers. It seems all the places that might have steel are sold out or empty. So, Dai settles with 5 silver worth of iron. About enough iron to fill half his bag. He crosses off steel and hopes this will be enough to please his city. Then goes down the list of other supplies in need.
Dai continues down the list and buys the rest of the needed utensils and supplies for 3 silver and he's left with 2 silver afterwards. He didn't need much other than the metals, and some things to help bend and shape the metal into various things. Summerfell was in need of repairing very specific things in the city to keep up prosperous times. It seems as though the watermill was breaking down and they needed a new metal lining for it.
Dai takes his spare silver to a local inn and pays for 2 nights' stay in advance with the rest of his silver. Placing his bag in a chest, Dai gets up and leaves his stuff behind in the room. Entering the lobby area of the inn he looks around hoping to enjoy the festival going on in the meantime. He sees an elf sitting at the bar, elves don't live in Summerfell. In fact they don't even travel there. There is no need for an elf to find their way into the slums of Summerfell. Dai is curious and hopes to talk to him.
He makes his way over to the elf and waves his hand in his direction. The elf nodded his head in response politely going back to his drinks. Dai took this as a friendly welcoming to chat. “So what brings you to Istrann?” Dai says.
“Cool winters come, and summer is always hot. I guess I just wanted to see them burn the grains again.”
“Burn the grains?”
“Oh you haven't been to this festival before human?”
“This is my first time ever even stepping in Istrann, I'm Dai Griffiths from Summerfell. What's your name?”
“Lemolare, I'm from Highpoint.”
“Highpoint? That is quite the commute. I'm surprised an easterner like yourself would come all the way out here. Nice to meet you Lemolare.”
“The pleasures’ mine, the nobles often come here on festival week. This is where they do a lot of cross country politics. It's not entirely uncommon for easterners and westerners alike to be amongst the crowds. However you are right, it does quite get annoying sometimes to travel here and back.”
“I was wondering what life in Highpoint is like? Such a beautiful reputation of a city and elven structures. I'd love to know more about it.”
“It's just basically life in Highpoint, the magistrate likes to keep things simple.”
“Magistrate?”
“Are you born under a rock Dai?”
“You could say that I am. We don't really catch much wind about what goes on inside the doors of the elven capital.”
“Well its not that important. It has been pretty dull. They basically just do the same ole same ole checking the infrastructure of the magical world and making sure everything is still honkey dorey. Pretty boring if you ask me.”
“I've always wanted to learn magic.”
“It can be a nuance knowing magic. Everyone is always bothering you to heat their porridge around here.” chuckles Lemolare.
“Well I can do that with a simple fire!”
“See, there you go. Now you're magical too!” Dai and Lemolare both enjoy a good laugh together. “But seriously, the lifestyles in the east and west are pretty different. The sacred lands are out east, the places guarded by dragons. It seems as though the divine restricted them on this earth for that one and only purpose.”
“Woah, have you ever seen a dragon?”
“No, and by Atma's will I hope I never do.”
“Well lemolare you sure seem friendly for an elf, I was expecting you to just right up hate me off the bat.”
“The alcohol helps.”
“So, how long do you plan on being here at Istrann.”
“I plan to drink the week away at this bar until I get so disgustingly drunk I plummet into the city doing who the hell knows what with who the hell knows who.”
“That doesn't sound particularly healthy though.”
“Says the sober human without any silver.”
“I'll get by.”
“Ya'll always do. Basically roaches I swear.”
“So did you come here with anyone?”
“I came with some colleagues of mine. We work at a blacksmith in Highpoint. They are all scattered around the city. I have no clue if they are even still here. I found this bar and made my nest here and kinda just like getting drunk off halfling liquor.”
“You should try the wine in Summerfell-”
“Wine? Please don't tempt me to vomit. Halflings put love and care in their work, everyone knows they make the best friends because of their liquor.”

George and Shanon lived in Kansas City in a small three bedroom house. They were a successful and happily married couple with a dog and a cat and their own lawn care business. Shanon drove a humble 2001 Honda CRV, George drove a strong 2004 Ford F150, and they had their house adorned with fantasy art and dragons. They also had a lovely fish tank and a shed full of lawn equipment and tools that George was quite proud of. When there was a problem with the cars or the equipment, most of the time George knew how to fix it himself. Shanon was your typical housewife, cooking and cleaning and taking care of the pets. She also handled the accounting for the lawn care business while George did all the manual labor, sometimes with an assistant. At the end of 2017, they sold the business as George was getting ill with diabetes. At the beginning of 2018, a horrible tornado destroyed their house and all of their personal belongings.

Shanon fell into a severe depression. All of her pictures of her mother and her son were gone. Her dvds and dragons were gone. Her clothes were gone.  Her beautiful gifts from her husband over the years were gone. George's tools were destroyed and lost. The house was not recoverable. They were now homeless. They didn't have any family in Kansas to go to.

They moved to Georgia and lived in Valdosta in a slimy run down motel that they could afford based on Shanon's disability check. The bathroom was always flooding, the room was dirty and had bed bugs, and the closest grocery store was a mile walk away.

Three years later they got a lottery ticket. They won $250 million dollars. They were shocked and thrilled. Life had taken a surprising turn for the better.

They bought another three bedroom house in St. Petersburg, Florida, another car, a Porshe Cayenne, and another truck, a Ford F250. George could not work anymore because he was going blind and had lost part of his foot. Shanon's depression was sporadic and sometimes she would just burst into tears. But they had each other, and now they had the money to live the life they always wanted to live.

They set up trust funds for seven special people. Their four children, George's mother, George's brother, and Shanon's aunt. They didn't want those 7 people to have to worry too much about money anymore so the trust fund would deposit a certain amount of money into their accounts monthly. They gave half the St Pete house to George's mother and brother and asked them to watch their new cat Frisky.

They paid off all their debts and cleared their names of bad debt. Shanon was relieved a lot about that as it often disturbed her that she couldn't pay back her student loan. Then they went to New Jersey, where Shanon was born and bought a house in Keansburg, New Jersey. They also purchased a small shopping plaza building and had it restored and made a work shop gallery out of it. They put a sign out in front of the building that read "Impulse Emporium" and it was set up as a workshop in the back and a display gallery in the front so they could work on their hobbies and then show them to any tourists or the locals who might be interested. They would have galas sometimes to show off their latest works. They also became involved in the town committee to help Keansburg grow and stay relevant and offered many ideas to improve the boardwalk and parks.

The house they bought in Keansburg had 5 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms, a huge living room with a fireplace, a jacuzzi in a screened porch in the backyard, a dining room, and a large kitchen. They made one of the bedrooms an office where Shanon could play on the computer and write her stories. She still had the intention of possibly publishing a book or maybe putting a magazine together. Shanon had a lot of fun purchasing furniture and decorating the whole house with the most beautiful decor she could find at the best prices. Even though she had plenty of money she still looked for the best deals.

Shanon and George had a lot of fun in their kitchen. They were able to stock it with all the foods they always wanted to try to cook and were able to experiment without the fret of wasting food or wasting money. Artistically inclined, they came up with some new recipes and Shanon decided that her first book to publish would be a cook book.

After a few months of settling into the house in Keansburg, Shanon wanted a dog. They decided to get a long haired Golden Retriever. She named him Shadow and they got him when he was only 2 months old. They sent him to doggie school so that he would be trained to be a companion and guard dog. After Shadow graduated doggie school, they got another puppy, a Doberman, named him Toby and he also went to doggie school.

They were enjoying their family and their house and their shop and their involvement in the community, but summer was coming. George loved to go fishing. So they bought a little boat and stored it at the marina. George would take them out and they would go fishing together, although Shanon would laugh because she was terrible at fishing. George did all the work when it came to fishing. Still, she loved being out on the water and loved driving the boat. She convinced him that they would enjoy waverunners, so they picked up two waverunners and also stored them at the marina. When Shanon would ride the waverunner, she was so happy it was like she had never been depressed.

Life was good. Shanon and George grew old together and enjoyed life into their old age even as their bodies began to deteriorate. No amound of money can stop old age, but as problems came up, they afforded the best treatment.  They would usually go to Florida in the winter to avoid the cold on their bones, and stay in Keansburg from April to November.

When they died they still had money in the bank and it was divided and left in the will to be dispersed evenly among the four children. All other assets were to be sold for money to go into the trust accounts of their children.

Fire, twirling, spiralling, consuming, surrounding. All around me, blocking out the light. I can't see, I'm blind, I'm lost, wandering alone in this crowd.
I fear, that I'll lose myself to the flames, that I'll turn myself to ash, turn my world to ash, leave a trail of destruction, and nothing will remain.
A hand bursts through, the flames lick at the arm as it delves deeper, closer to my core. Fear, confusion, it burns away like the sweat down my back. My heart, exposed behind my singed skin, beating faster. Nearer. Nearer.
…
Nearer.
With my heart in their hand, the fire disappears, reducing to a mere few sparks at my feet. I can see. I can smell. I hadn't even realised my nose was starved of all but a single scent, but now I can smell the vague sweat of the crowd, the worn age of the carpet, passing clouds of perfume and deodorant, freshly cleaned clothes. And I see them, my friend, holding my delicate heart like a caring mother. It beats slowly, calmly. Peacefully.

A layer of snow several feet deep spreads out under my purple boots. Powdery, white wisps tickle my brows. Ahead I see the perfect sledding hill, sloped and glowing like corn syrup in the morning sun. Of course, we run.

My two sisters ahead and I follow in their deeper footsteps scaling the steep hill, a cracked neon pink sleigh in hand. Beneath an ever-branching oak tree at the apex of the hill sits a perfectly rotund snowman. Someone has fashioned a straw fishing hat on his head and wrapped his neck with a maroon and yellow scarf. His black buttons are real coal, and his nose a crooked carrot. 

He is shielded from the full sun by the old, oak tree. It's branches sprayed with foamy snow as if the tree was in need of a shave. I can see out in all directions. A true circle of sight. The brown onion dome church, our own front porch with an emerald swing, the baker’s red chimney puffing smoke as warm pastries bake inside. Perhaps we will stop by when our toes turn to icicles and our red noses run clear to fill our bellies with warm croissants. The chime of eight church bells means there's a whole day ahead to slide downhill, tumble in piles of snow, and stretch out as angels. 

But the bells keep ringing, past their eight chimes. The whole world seems to shift sideways and my sisters slide off of the side of the hill into the bending blue air. I cling to the trunk of the oak. My eyes afraid to look are packed tightly shut.  Then the shaking starts. Vigorous, and unending, and I feel myself let go and fall into the prismatic unknown.

My hand reaches out to tap the alarm in instinct. I open my eyes, but a stern grey day scowls through the window and nothing past the balcony is visible in the billowy, pillowy fog.

The hard lockdown means we can’t go out anyway except for essentials, and I turn over to face the edge of the bed. I know the children will soon pitter-patter up the stairs asking how many days until Christmas.

On the floor, I see the Austrian snowglobe. A gift from my father all those years ago. It has fallen from the nightstand and balances on its side, all of the white flakes of snow piled on the beveled glass. I pick it up relieved to see it’s not cracked.
The hill, the snowman, the diverging oak tree; there all still there. I turn it upside down and twist the brass gear until it won't give another inch. Somehow, I am healing along with the tune. I shake the circle—they say you're not supposed to, but who can resist? I turn it over to enjoy its glow, singing along to its light.

“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Let your heart be light. Next year all our troubles will be out of sight. Someday soon we all will be together if the fates allow. Until then, we’ll have to muddle through, somehow.  So, have yourself a Merry Little Christmas, now.”   

He said, “That was not the question. Stop trying to justify yourself. Does God do bad things?”

“Yes, God does bad things.”

He said, “You are still a Neophyte, and you are still under a vow of silence. The problem is you don’t believe. You hope that secretly you are special. I assure you, you are nothing. The world stands ready to crush you for no reason other than you are in the wrong place. If something good happens to you then someone must suffer. Accept that you are nothing, you’re worthless. No one owes you anything. You are just another human in a world controlled by aliens. There is nothing special about you. As a matter of fact, you owe God for your good life so far. I will stop by to see you tomorrow. It’s not enough to know the truth, you must believe it.”



I was mad, and I churned butter. Before this trip, I was fine. Now my God was something that I could not understand. My world was upside down. The Purples had taken over. My God was concerned that there was too much Good in my life and actively tried to do bad to correct it. For all the good things that happen to me, the balance was maintained, and bad things happened to the innocent. This was not right.
My friend came and we had lunch. Were there starving people because I now ate? I had a roof and a bed. Some had nothing. Whose fault was that, not mine I’m sure.
On the afternoon hike I wondered, if someone dies from something preventable, is it anybody’s fault? If the change in my pocket would keep someone alive, who should get it? I mean it is mine, but what is a human life worth? Should I turn my back and pretend I don’t know what is happening? I can’t fix the world. Anything I do would be a drop in the bucket. If in case I do too much good, should I be spanked every morning to cleanse my soul, and to make room for anything good that might happen? I certainly felt like I had churned enough butter to save mankind.
As we came back for dinner, we followed the Abbot.

One of the brothers said, “The Sisters need more cleaning supplies for the day care center.”

The Abbot said, “Well then, sell off some of the excess butter and such to pay for it.”

That made me feel really good. The ache in my arms was suddenly pleasure. My onus was no longer a self-struggle. It had a purpose beyond me. It was not abuse that I inflicted on myself to see the depths of my soul and how far I could go. It was for something greater than me. I no longer had to look within myself for my motivation.
The next day when I was taken to the butter churn, my labor was not a chore, but an expression of commitment to the group.

The man in black robes came and said, “Unbelieving believer, do you owe God for your good life so far?”

I said, “No, how could I owe a God anything. He is a God. I am but a man. I did not ask for my Life. It was given to me, unsolicited, with no strings attached. I owe no one anything.”

“What is your part of the National Debt? I’d say that was a giant string. You owe like $90,000.”

I said, “That’s man’s folly. Each new citizen when born into our country must deal with that. I think that if you want to be a citizen of the United States, you should pay your dues before you can be issued a Social Security card or work permit.”

“Someone owes for the honor of being an American?”

I said, “Anybody not willing to pay the $90,000 should not be a citizen. You want to be a US citizen, pay! It’s not free to be a free American. We cannot pretend that the money for the National Debt is not real and will just go away.”

“There is an obligation?”

I said, “Yes, people who become US citizens cannot just take a pledge and bang you are a citizen. They need to pay their fair share, and if you don’t then you are a leech trying to get as much as you can before someone discovers you and you are eliminated.”

“So, this is something worth stealing.”

I said, “Look someone owes the money, it is real. Stop passing it around like a game ball. Who is going to pay it, the politicians? Don’t make me laugh. As each person applies to the US, make them pay what is fair.”

“So, you owe a Tax to be a US citizen?”

I said, “Someone owes it. Each citizen needs to pay up or go live in the squalor they came from.”

“So, you owe your country, what do you owe God for use of the creation?”

I said, “There is no coin I can use to pay God. You think God wants rent?”

“Wouldn’t you? Don’t you think you should at least thank Him?”

I said, “The force in the forest did not ask for anything, let alone thanks, but you have the answer I assume. I think you are on a power trip.”

“Well unbelieving believer, are you thankful for this reality?”

“I guess, I mean I use it. That’s like asking if I like air, I use it, but it is just there. I’m not conscious of it. Now you say I should be thankful at each breath for the glory of God’s creation? If He wanted it so, it would be now, wouldn’t it? You are on a power trip, and you are a control freak. Is the sky falling?”

“You are still a neophyte. May you come to be thankful that God had a place for you in His Creation. Do you have a place for God in your creation?”

He left and a short time later my friend came. This time we did not eat lunch with the others. We went to the chapel where Olivia was at the front of the room. As we were seated, each of us was handed a box. In it was a sandwich, a can of iced tea, a bag of chips, and a cookie.

As I ate my sandwich Olivia said, “The polymer that acts like a filter to see the Purples is makeable in large quantities. We have talked to the other groups in the secure network. Each of them is producing gallons of eyedrops for the secret operation, I Can See Clearly Now. We are going to make one time use blister packs of the eyedrops. Then we will build our supplies until we have so many blister packs that we can send millions in the mail as sample packs of a new type of eyedrops. We will flood the market for one week. We will send thousands of packets to every pharmacy that has an address. The eyedrops will be everywhere. Then we close it up and see what happens. Any questions?”

Breakfast, Interrupted
After a failed luncheon with Jane Bennett, who had arrived in the rain on horseback and, unsurprisingly, come down with a fever, Caroline Bingley was looking forward to a calmer breakfast.  'Jane was poor company anyway,' Caroline thought as she smoothed marmalade over her toast. "What are our plans today, Louisa?"
"Well, I am not sure now." Mrs. Hurst after sipping her tea. "With Jane bed-ridden in the house, should we be more sympathetic to her needs?"
"It is a simple cold," Caroline said in an exasperated tone, "I am sure she wouldn't want to impose on our day," Her annoyance barely veiled. 
"I certainly think she deserves all the help we can give her," said Mr. Bingley in a huff.
Caroline had paused, feeling bad for her attitude affecting her brother. "Yes, you are so right, brother. I will check on her when we are finished." She didn't see what Charles saw in Jane. Jane was so quiet, and her family was obnoxious. How her brother saw passed that ridiculous mother, Caroline could not understand.  Mr. Darcy entered the breakfast-parlor just then, causing Caroline to adjust herself and slightly blush. "Good Morning, Mr. Darcy," Caroline said. He walked with an air of superiority that Caroline found intriguing.
"Good Morning." Mr. Darcy said as he sat down next to Mr. Bingley. Caroline was determined to marry Mr. Darcy, and now with this new estate, Netherfield Park, she had set out to prove to him that she could be the mistress of a country estate. Maybe he would even propose by the end of the season.
"Will there be any sport today?" Mr. Hurst chimed in, then proceeded to take another bite of his smoked salmon and biscuit. 
"That sounds like a splendid idea," Mr. Darcy said, reaching for his tea.
"I am sure that can be accommodated for you, gentleman. Right, brother?" Caroline said, waiting for approval from Charles. 
"Of course, it can be, Mr. Hurst," he answered, "I may need a little distraction myself as long as Mr. Jones says there is nothing to worry about." Mr. Bingley was speaking of the apothecary who was due to arrive in the early afternoon. He was overly worried about Miss Bennet, and Caroline found it over the top, especially with the lack of affection returned from Miss Bennet. In Caroline's opinion, the Bennet's were not worthy of their family's affections, but until Mr. Bingley realized that, she would continue to play the role of supportive sister. 
"Of course," Caroline said, returning to her toast and jam.

As they were approaching the end of breakfast, Elizabeth Bennet was announced and entered the parlor.
"What a surprise! exclaimed Caroline, "another Bennet sister has joined our party." Her excitement has not reached her eyes.
"Please excuse my intrusion," Elizabeth responded, "but having received a letter from my poor sister, Jane, I came at once to see how she is doing." Her finger laced together behind her back as she slightly bowed her head.
Mr. Bingley stood, immediately walking to Elizabeth to greet her. "Well, hello, Miss. Bennett. I am sure Miss Bennet will be happy to have your company."
"Oh, Miss Bennet!" said Mrs. Hurst, "you have mud on your petticoat!" She continued to sip her tea, glancing at Elizabeth's dress and the floor where dried mud had flaked off her boots.
"Oh yes," said Elizabeth, "I do apologize. It is a beautiful day, and a walk did me well." Elizabeth looked down at her dress and shoes as she talked, blushing slightly at the sight of herself.
Caroline eyed Elizabeth suspiciously, not believing the apology.  Clearly, this is how she lives, Caroline thought, in the dirt with the rest of these country folk.
"Isn't it three miles to here?" asked Mrs. Hurst. "That is quite a distance for a woman by herself." Caroline nodded in agreement but kept a close eye on Mr. Darcy, whose glaze hadn't left Elizabeth since she entered the parlor.
"I think walking is a splendid choice given the weather," Mr. Darcy finally spoke up, "but your rush to come was not necessary. Miss Bennet is well cared for here."  A shade of interest crossed his eyes as he watched Elizabeth.  Why is he looking at her like that? Caroline thought, Her left eye twitching ever so slightly.
" I have no doubt, sir," Elizabeth replied, "but with all due respect, I would rather be with her just in case."
Caroline quickly stood, not liking the way Elizabeth looked back at Mr. Darcy. "I think it is a wonderful idea for you to keep an eye on your sister, Miss Bennet." Caroline strode over to Elizabeth with a smile, and her hand extended to grab Elizabeth's. "Come, we can have you shown to her room."

Once Elizabeth had left the parlor, and Caroline returned, Mrs. Hurst snickered, "She was such a mess, like a wild animal."
"I do believe there were 6 inches of mud on her petticoat," Caroline responded with a chortle, returning to her seat.
"And her hair was loose, like a child's," said Mrs. Hurst.
"I am sure you could see it, Mr. Darcy?" Caroline asked, holding her breath while she waited for his response.
"Fresh air is good for the complexion, Miss Bingley," Mr. Darcy said as he stood. He seemed lost in thought as he walked to the window. His hands clasped behind his back.
"Well, yes," said Caroline, "but not at the expense of one's appearance, I should say."
"Yes," said Darcy, still looking out the window. The room agreed, and Caroline felt relief flow over her. Mr. Darcy's approval of Elizabeth's adventure was the last thing Caroline expected from such a man. She had worked hard to make sure she was worthy of a man like him, but he barely noticed her when Elizabeth was in the room. Her fears were creeping in again. The Bingley’s were new money. Her father was wealthy, making her brother wealthy in his death, but that did not mean they were part of the club yet. With the purchase of Netherfield Park, Caroline hoped her prospects would improve to a gentleman like Mr. Darcy. She had gone to school, learned how to express herself in a respectable manner, yet this unskilled country girl was getting Mr. Darcy’s attention, and it scared Caroline. Her plans were made, and the summer should end with a proposal, but it seemed the Bennet’s were beginning to make a mess of them. Caroline was determined to find a way to shift the focus onto the Bennet family’s inadequacies.

I'll begin by stating that Hexfingers was meant to be a reimagining of one of my book characters, Terram. Hexfingers quickly became an entire character of his own purely because of the DnD 3.5 mechanics. Every idea took place within the "Player's Handbook", the "Complete Arcane" supplement, and the "Complete Divine" supplement.

I'll tell you his backstory and beginning levels, eventually jumping to his max level concept. Hector was an orphan found by a tribe of wandering barbarians, who worshipped dragons and nomadically traveled to places with dragon activity. He earned the name Hexfingers because his sorcerous abilities manifested very early in his life. People believed him to be cursed, or hexed, because of the strange arcane phenomena that always followed him. The tribe's shaman, actually a cleric of Bahamut, took Hector under his wing (haha dragons have wings) and attempted to train him. Arcane and Divine are two completely different magic types so there wasn't much luck there. Hector eventually realizes that he can't learn anything where he is, so he runs away from his tribe. He made his way to a wizard's tower, where his arcane mastery could begin. Again, Wizards and Sorcerers are two different kinds of arcane. So not a whole lot happened there either. But the Wizard is the reason Hector starts with Scribe Scroll instead of Find Familiar, as well as being a literate barbarian. I should mention that he's got Draconic Heritage; Blue Dragon, as per the feat list within Complete Arcane. Hopefully your DM approves. His second level would be spent into Favored Soul, the sorcerer of clerics (Complete Divine classes).

Basically, he would level evenly in spontaneous Arcane and Divine until he reaches 4th level in both to become a Geomancer (Complete Divine Prestige). Being a Geomancer gives things like Blended Magic (I think it's called Varient in the book it's called this online) and Drifts. BM would be the mechanic that lets Hector swap parameters of arcane and divine spells. Important examples, no such thing as arcane spell failure when all spells are considered divine, no more simple material components because he can use his Divine Focus instead, everything is based on his charisma now and wisdom is only needed for learning the spells in the first place. Drifts would give Hector draconic qualities, because he feels drawn to dragonkind for "some reason." Things like claw and bite attacks, a tail, scaly skin, horns if he wanted, etc. Look at that list within Complete Divine, it's badass.

Eventually Hector's draconic obsession leads him to explore the energy type he is naturally familiar with, Electricity. If I remember right, the prestige is called Elemental Savant, maybe Adept? The point of the class is that the person becomes one with their element, eventually able to temporarily transform into an Elemental and gaining immunity from the energy type. Obviously Air Elemental with Electricity Immunity.

The goal would be 10 levels in each class and prestige, capping at level 40-ish. Both prestige classes have "+1 level existing spellcasting class" so they continue to level Arcane and Divine evenly. The point being total level 20 in both base classes, with a chunk of their levels from prestige. I eventually dropped the Elemental part of the build and currently plan on rushing into Geomancer ASAP and getting Drifty. If the whole build is complete and more levels are gained, they go into Barbarian because of his upbringing.

Y'know that meme "True Polymorphed Chair." Where the guy is actually a chair who has been polymorphed into a man. Well, Hector would be a "Permanently Polymorphed Blue Dragon." His mother got into a fight with a powerful arcane spellcaster and the magical shock of their battle took place as Wild Magic, permanently polymorphing the hatchling into a human baby. With long term polymorphs, the creature's thoughts and personality begin to shift because the chemicals in their changed brain makes them think different. My best example was from the Drizzt series. A peaceful race polymorphed into a savage wrath race. He couldn't hold onto his peacefulness forever because his instincts made him kill things. It's tragic go read it for yourself. Well that happens to Hector, which makes him think he's always been human and has no idea that he's actually a blue dragon. The Geomancer Drifts are actually parts of the polymorph fading away and giving Hector draconic qualities. Of course, he eventually breaks the polymorph and regains his draconic form, but he always has polymorphs prepared so he could go back to being his OP human form, even choosing to forgo drifts if he wants. Damn I love this concept and I've just wanted to write about it for a long time now. Thanks for your time.

The process of healing has it's own time
We have the propensity to do it in different ways
Don't rush people to move on with their lives
If they are still a work in progress


Their platform might be different from yours
Their process might differ from yours
Their healing and growth looks different from yours


We have different needs
There is no handbook to healing
Sometimes only time
And a will to grow
There is beauty in that too

Fight against racism.

VERSE
There was a rustling on the rooftop
I was quick to lock and load
Not the .22, but my old double barrel
I'm determined to protect my abode

It was dark when I got down stairs
He was humming a Christmas carol
Dropped him like a sack of potatoes
As flames lept from both barrels

CHORUS
I stood my ground in Oklahoma
You know, I know my rights so well
Whoever you are, be prepared to spar
I’m gonna blast y’all straight to hell

No matter how you try to get in
You’re going to end up feeling sore
Wrong or right, don’t want to be in my sights
Now poor Santa’s bleeding on my floor

VERSE
He saw me and ran for the fireplace
Yeah, that guy could really skedaddle
I almost missed my opportunity
But, like a duck, I just led him a little

Couldn’t believe I shot poor Santa
But he did come in without permission
Yeah, came into my house through a lit fireplace
Now I kind of wish I would have missed him


CHORUS
I stood my ground in Oklahoma
I know my rights so well
Whoever you are, be prepared to spar
I’m gonna blast y’all straight to hell

No matter how you try to get in
You’re going to end up feeling sore
Ignore the propaganda; just bad luck it was Santa
Now he’s dying on my living room floor

VERSE
Maybe or not he got what was coming
If we’re lying all our cards on the table
But in this case, and to save a little face
I’ll deliver all these gifts if I’m able

While I’m doing Santa’s job in Oklahoma or Texas
I’m gonna carefully knock on each door
I’ll announce myself, for the sake of my health
Or be the next Santa bleeding on the floor

CHORUS
I stood my ground in Oklahoma
I know my rights so well
Whoever you are, be prepared to spar
I’m gonna blast y’all straight to hell

No matter how you try to get in my house
You’re going to end up feeling sore
My wife is pissed; I'm on her naughty list
Cause Santa’s dead on our living room floor

Repeat chorus of your choice

Draw me the rain today, barely visible, oblique. You will go through it barefoot together with the wind. Open all the windows from the immobile darkness of steel, where in the grip of thorny winter there is a forgotten sick one. Write two lines in the immensity astral from the lands of warm dreams. Run with all your heart from the cold fetters. Whisper the magic password. I will hear it, believe me. The momentum of the role is slowly opening the door half blurred. The world is flying by, deaf, alien, and illusory, covering again the infinite ether with nonsense.

Judy said there this lack of communication honey.  This communication issue is. Between us John.  Not them honey.  You're not in control of.  This situation John.  I'm in control.  John said mom you can't control me.  Are my behaviors problems.  You're a single mother.  Who raising an evil son mom. God mistake was.  Letting me breathe mom. He should've killed me.  Now I'm got this power mom. I don't know.  What to do with this power.  Are how to control this power. Judy said your not.  an evil person.  You're misunderstood honey.  This all it is to this shit.  Remember when you were an infant John.  Remember we went horseback riding.  John said I remember going riding on.  A horse mom. I remember this horse mom. This horse was scared of me.  It's tried to buck me off of it.  This horse's back mom. I remember this.
About this incident mom. I remember mom. I was frighten of this horse mom.  She said you were frighten of this horse John.  You got over your fears.  Somehow John honey.  How you did this John.  I don't know honey.  John said because I trained myself.  To become fearless of this horse.  Now I discovered this power.  I'm in control now mom.

Mt GuoweiYang, vessel has been towed by Navy Beecroft Lagos for illegal crude loading operation in Obe field Ondo.

This vessel was sighted and apprehended on 18th December, 2020

Further details later.

                    I almost forgot how majestically they beam gazing into them so passionately as I do! Like little niles, beautiful isles of white fire! Flames that ignite the purest quality, the surest quantity of burning light to last forever! Infinite a source, rapturous a force to my delicate heart that melts away in their mouthless words, their silent poetry flickering with rhyme after rhyme! Chime after chime, ‘melodics’ divine, a musical tapestry of magical kind! Illustrious wonder seeping from their lips, melodies breathing from your tips!


                  A touch ethereal as the solacing awe of a dove! The rapture of love having drawn me in and kept me there! Some say ‘a ways with words,’ I say ‘a ways with eyes,’ just look at them; enchanting as can be! Romantic, as the glee upon a loveless night; a lover having found one to light his!  ‘You have beautiful eyes, ‘Ahhhh! Soft and beautiful eyes,’ breathtaking eyes in case you’re wondering!’


                  “You okay babe?” ‘Yes, love! Yes! Just…caught up! Caught up between them, Your Eyes!’ 😌😌😌


//‘City Lights,’ When I look At You//

5:57-6:14 AM. The first rays of the sun happened to shine in Little-Toe’s alert, sensitive eyes. Little-toe was a tall, pale-haired hominid with a slightly long neck and a hairless face, eerily human-like eyes, a large sensitive nose, arms so long they hung down past his knees, and a robust, clever jaw with savage looking block teeth. Little-Toe was a lineal descendent of Climbs-High in a bloodline that never had any contact with Big-Forehead’s species. Little-Toe didn’t even have time to finish a big perfunctory yawn before the tragedy that was to change his life, forever, struck. A group of alien poachers who weren’t supposed to be on the planet and were there without anyone’s knowledge or permission, least of all Little-Toe’s permission, showed up. The poachers had body armor and capture guns, and the booming and banging of the guns caused the peaceful apes to panic. Squeak, Little-Toe’s son and his world, died in flames when Squeak, who was only 2 years old, tried to bite one of the poachers that was taking Big-Nose, who was Little-Toe’s current mate, away. Unfortunately the poorly thought out ray gun shot blasted a big hole through Squeak’s tiny body and then hit the tree that Little-Toe was in, which burst into flames and collapsed, the troop, and Little-Toe, fleeing in abject fear through the hardwood tree branches in the intensely tree filled woodland. Big-Nose, Clear-Eyes, and Big-Hand had been taken away by the poachers, Squeak had been killed, and 2 other children, Clever-Ear and Wink, fled and were not found again until a good bit later.

6:32-7:09 AM. Little-Toe calls, using the sounds that mean Big-Nose, Clear-Eyes, Big-Hand, Clever-Ear, Wink, and Squeak, calling and trilling and sounding and singing. Little-Toe does not hear a single answer, and remains grieving in the tree, alone, crying in silence. Little-Toe jolts at an unexpected sound, survivors, but how, when, and why? Little-Toe understood the sounds meant that Long-Throw and Big-Swing, 2 surprisingly fierce ape creatures in Little-Toe’s troop, were alive, and began to brachiate his way towards them. The 2 Little-Toe was heading towards had been guarding another sleep tree when the poachers came. Little-Toe didn’t have the abstraction comprehension to understand fate, but a strange feeling, a need for vengeance, began to permeate him, and it was to have grand implications for his species. Long-Throw, Big-Swing, and Little-Toe began to chew leaves and grasses. Using a pointed stone, Little-Toe carves a picture of Squeak on a tree, having not a single clue that it would become a pivotally important fossil find eons of time later.

7:17-8:04 AM. As is the custom when a troop has no women at all, Big-Swing, Little-Toe, and Long-Throw set off in different directions. Little-Toe meanders in a sad and aimless pattern of movement, blandly eating grasses, the occasional seed, and the occasional bit of fruit. A sound from above makes Little-Toe suddenly run and when he manages to slow down and look around and see where he is, fresh tragedy assails him. He was standing in an area of the forest that had been clear cut by illegal logging at some point. Little-Toe was truly angry for the first time, ever that he was able to comprehend. Beating his chest and yelling thunderously at the sky, but there was no answer, the loggers had long been gone, this was merely the remnant of their work. Enough was enough. Grabbing a half-destroyed branch and a stone, Little-Toe did one of the few things he knew how to do, for his kind had never used fire, and why would they, they lived in a hardwood forest. Using what he thought was a sharp stone but what was actually the remnant of a broken illegal logging tool, Little-Toe made the biggest, strongest bug-skewer he could.

8:17-9:31 AM. Little-Toe, filled with purpose, chews grass thoughtfully and chomps succulent leaves, high up in a tree, sniffing the wind, listening, the bug skewer, which was what you or I would think of as a sort of spear, tied around Little-Toe’s body with an ivy-like alien vine plant. In a moment of fast reflexes Little-Toe slapped a bird so hard he broke the neck as it flew by, using his elongated hand to catch the bird mid-slap and then eat the meat. Little-Toe’s kind were nearly pure herbivores, but they could digest meat, it was while Little-Toe was digesting this rare meat meal that he smelled the repulsive stench of petrol in the wind, and for some reason he couldn’t quite comprehend, he began to swing through the branches towards it, instead of away from it. The petrol was being used to run a small campsite, where the alien poachers had set up a small processing plant for what they were illegally taking. Little-Toe was even further behind humans than Big-Forehead, he lacked the capacity to truly understand what machines were, or that the strange rumbling stones were machines. Little-Toe was scared and shy and avoided being seen or heard that he knew of, just watching from the dense leaf-cover of a tree near the clearing, and moving so slow and carefully that the wind made more sound than himself.

9:35-10:22 AM. Little-Toe watches the disgusting, cockroach like aliens, coated in grease that smelled like a big pile of dung, as they loaded a box full of priceless animal ivory, for though they had taken Little-Toe’s family away most cruelly, their main trade was illegal ivory since this world was so full of megafauna. Little-Toe mercifully didn’t comprehend that each ivory represented a dead animal, but he wondered how the animals could live without their sharp mouth-knives. Then Little-Toe watched in astoundment as one of the aliens got inside one of the big strange ‘stones’, which was really a UFO, and flew away with the ivory. After that the camp seemed to relax, and a light rain started falling, most of the aliens going inside another big ‘stone’, which was really an all-in-one campsite in a metal casing that resembled a building and wasn’t see through. Little-Toe climbs down slowly, carefully, one small slow careful step at a time, as the lone cockroach alien walks around seemingly aimlessly but in fact on sentry duty. While the alien was relieving itself and spewing out smoky putrid fluid from a biological tube near the waist that may have been a penis, Little-Toe reared back and stabbed the alien with the bug skewer spear so hard the spear went in through an area of the back and out the other side in a big blood and fluids spew between 2 ribs, the alien not even having time to make a sound, except a low gurgle, as it fell to the ground, stone dead. For a moment there was stillness and perfect clarity in Little-Toe’s mind, such as it was, then, a communication device made a sound and Little-Toe bolted, running off on all fours without the bug skewer, which was already melting and twisting in the alien’s acid blood.

10:26-11:52 AM. Little-Toe stops bolting suddenly when he hears a scared, faint sound, and looks around. “oo-oo?” Little-Toe whisper-sounded. Wink squeaked back “Ee-ee!” from a bush and ran straight to Little-Toe, Wink so small and so young he would be a liability in any combat, and though Little-Toe didn’t have the word ‘liability’, he knew this. Little-Toe was not Wink’s father, but he let Wink crawl up and climb to Little-Toe’s back as if Wink was his son. Little-Toe climbs a tree, and begins to brachiate along steadily, occasionally calling every few long swings. “Oo-oo, Oo-oo!” Wink squawked suddenly and Little-Toe looked down to see a female of his species looking up at him from a branch nest, her name was Curious, and she was very, very beautiful, despite what she was. “Ooowooooop, woopwoopwoooooo~~~~” Curious sung to Little-Toe and Wink, Little-Toe singing back “BoopwooooooOOOoop! BoopwoooOOOooop!” Little-Toe climbed down slowly and carefully and Wink began to fumble and fiddle around in the branch nest while Curious groomed Little-Toe. Little-Toe sat quietly and contentedly, looking around suddenly occasionally and singing a territorial “Wapawapawoo!” sound suddenly occasionally, Wink squeaking a high-pitched sound when Curious nearly sat on him accidentally. Little-Toe and Curious had sex soon after she finished grooming him. Little-Toe climbed down from the branch nest, Wink sucking Curious’s tit and just barely awake in her arms. Little-Toe began to make another very big bug skewer, hacking at the end of a branch with a sharp piece of stone, Curious, with Wink holding on to her belly, climbs down to see what Little-Toe is doing. Curious feeds Little-Toe succulent leaves while Little-Toe makes a lot more than 1 bug skewer this time. Just before Little-Toe finishes the last bug skewer spear, a dark cloud bank rolls over the sky, and it begins to rain much harder.

11:55-12:36 noon. Little-Toe gave Curious three bug skewer spears, and kept the rest for himself. This gave Little-Toe two bug-skewer spears for each alien he had seen, which was he thought enough. The spears were not much more than a large relatively straight branch with one side sharpened to a wide clumsy point. Curious watched Little-Toe go from the shelter of a split in a tree, Wink asleep clinging to her back. Little-Toe wouldn’t allow them to take it from him a second time, and found himself more motivated than ever. Swinging from leaf coverage to leaf coverage as skillfully as if he was a trained spy-ape, Little-Toe felt powerful, and strangely felt at ease. Although Little-Toe didn’t comprehend right from wrong any more than a banana knows the difference between a light soda and a dark soda, some part of him knew what the roach like aliens were doing was deleterious. While he was thinking of these thoughts and brachiating along when he suddenly heard a sound, instantly stopping. Clinging to a tree and looking almost straight down, Little-Toe saw that the roach aliens had donned some sort of metal armor, really it was a sort of all weather space suit, but that was neither here nor there to Little-Toe, who didn’t even comprehend that ‘space’ existed yet, much less what ‘metal’ was. Little-Toe threw a small broken piece of a branch suddenly and was shocked when the roaches all whirled about and fired half a dozen beam shots into a tree. They were not messing about, but neither was Little-Toe, and he began to follow them when he realized they were heading away from Curious and Wink.

12:44-2:17 PM. Little-Toe follows the roach beings at a distance, slowly and carefully swinging along so skillfully and silently that he felt a sense of one-ness with the wind he was being quieter than. Little-Toe did not understand it then, but would later, but he was feeling the joy of hunting for the first time. The roaches were so far above Little-Toe’s species that they didn’t consider them intelligent, and were not sure exactly what it was they were looking for, but were expecting a ground based native of some sort. Eventually Little-Toe followed them to the hardwoods near a river, and watched as a roach with a long ‘stick’ that was really a sniper rifle, set up a shoot point, the others moving on. The roach like alien sat quietly with three small bushes and a tree covering most of him from sight from across the river, but mostly uncovered behind. As the minutes tick by the roach grows bored, and Little-Toe nearly accidentally gives himself away when a small stick falls, but a fish jumps in the river and the roach doesn’t hear the tiny stick land. Suddenly and on wild spur of the moment, Little-Toe leaps down out of the tree with the spear pointed down, stabbing it suddenly through the alien’s back, almost straight down through the stomach, and out one of the hips, before the spear starts tilting sideways and the sniper rifle booms as it fires, Little-Toe leaping down. “OO-AH-AH-AH-WAAWOOO-OO-OO-OO! AH! AH! AH! WOOOOOOP~!” Little-Toe shouts as he runs off into the woods, shouting so loud it drowns out the sound of the roaches all running to see what happened, and finding the dead sniper with a huge spear stabbed through him.

2:25-3:13 PM. Little-Toe wasn’t able to kill any of the remaining 3 roach aliens, because they finally understood what they were up against, and made it as hard as they could for Little-Toe to attack as they steadily made their way back to their campsite. Little-Toe still however skillfully followed them. What nobody was expecting, was for Big-Swing to come stomping up out of nowhere so fast the roaches barely had time to react before Big-Swing was yelling “AY! AY! AY! OO-OO! AH-AH-AH-UG-UG-UG!” as Big-Swing throttled back and forth with his thumbs pressing steadily deeper into a roach alien’s eyes as Big-Swing bit most of the alien’s face off before the other 2 roaches had no choice but to fire through their friend’s body and fled as both Big-Swing and the roach alien lay dead. Little-Toe looked on in dumbfounded amazement as his former troop mate’s courage and sacrifice, only to nearly fall out of the tree in shock when Little-Toe saw his daughter, Clever-Ear peek out from behind a small bush. “Oo-oo. Oo-oo.” Little-Toe said as he climbed down and spread his very long arms. Clever-Ear piped up a high “Oo-ee!” and ran to him, climbing happily onto his back. A moment later Curious came brachiating through the trees carrying Wink and the bug-skewer spears. With Little-Toe carrying Clever-Ear and Curious carrying Wink, they didn’t waste time, and proceeded straight back to the very same campsite Little-Toe had visited earlier, only this time, the campsite was partially flooded because it was in a low heavily slanted dip. The reason why all the megafauna had all been migrating in one direction steadily for weeks now was abundantly clear to the roaches; namely, the forest turned into a knee-high swamp at a certain season of the year.

3:15-4:02 PM. While Curious, Wink, and Clever-Ear stayed in a tree nest not that far from the flooded campsite, Little-Toe pursued the 2 final aliens, who were making their way steadily further north and up in altitude. By this point it was practically effortless to follow the 2 frightened, mentally exhausted aliens, who simply kept trudging along splashing along in the water with backpacks full of ivory. The problem was that the trees kept getting slightly more distant from one another and it was starting to rain hard enough that it was getting hard to brachiate between trees. When Little-Toe saw that the 2 aliens had gotten divided and that one of them was moving aimlessly about calling for the other one with strange hissing buzzing sounds, Little-Toe dropped from a low-branch to suddenly be behind the alien at the ground floor. The insectoid alien didn’t really have very many facial expressions, but the one it made must have been sudden fear, because it made a face and made a sound when it saw Little-Toe. Little-Toe stabbed the alien so hard with the spear it pinned the alien to the ground, and drowning was the cause of death, not the spear that missed every organ when it went through. The final alien got the drop on Little-Toe, suddenly stepping out from behind a tree and trying to shoot Little-Toe with a beam gun. The alien had forgotten however how many shots the gun had already fired, and in mental exhaustion had overlooked reloading the gun, which made a sound and didn’t shoot anything. Little-Toe ran forward stomp-splashing through the water, slapped the gun with one hand so hard it flew out of the alien’s claw, then stabbed the alien through the stomach and out the back, the bug skewer spear pinning the alien to a tree, but missing every vital organ. The terrified alien begged and hissed and buzzed and made other less describable sounds, but these didn’t phase Little-Toe in the slightest as he drove spear after spear through the alien’s body until, Little-Toe simply left, leaving the alien pinned a dozen ways from Sunday to a tree, and bleeding to death in pouring rain. Little-Toe’s vengeance was complete, but his day was not over.

4:32-5:50 PM. Chewing on small leaves and huddled together in the nest for warmth, Little-Toe, Curious, Clever-Ear, and Wink sit together. Little-Toe gives Curious leaves, and Curious chews leaves for Wink and Clever-Ear, though her breasts would start producing milk a few days later. “Wapawapwooo! OO-OO! Ah-ah-Ah-ah!” Little-Toe sings in the rain. “MoooOOOOooop! Twoo-twoo! EE-EE!” Curious sings back. “Wawoooo~!” Wink squawks. “Ee-ay-ay-ay-ay!” Clever-Ear squeaks, the family singing together sounds of joyful triumph and freedom, survival at its finest for Little-Toe at that moment. “Oo-Oo! Ah-EE!” Someone calls from the distance. “Hoo-Haa-aa-aa-aa!” Another voice sings. Life felt like life again to Little-Toe, and he became Curious’s main mate, and the father of many children, because he was the first of his kind to use a spear, or to hunt in any meaningful and clearly intentional sense.

[[ preparing for descension
     ascension sequence ]]

....vier    drie   twee  één

one must XLR8
to reach the   silver barrier

'are you getting these readings,
             Houston?
 ..Houston  ?

you know I'd rather be
taking   a bubble bath
with  my animatronic
girlfriend from Amazon

no-one ever really returns
under the same parameters
from which they are stationed

& no-one has any inkling
as to all those three
even four letter words

like these ion thrusters are
supported by iron & dreamed
of by lions all ironic like

I literally do not mean
any  of         this

At the end of September, Mrs. DeMarco had all intentions of staying in Key Largo and doing everything festive for Halloween (her favorite holiday) in October. She had designed and sewn several costumes for her friends, and had already checked on the local pubs to see where the best parties and drink specials were going to be. She had sent all her social media messages to her online friends to let them know where the hip and happening in town was going to be and was ready to do some face-to-face partying and socializing enjoying the Halloween holiday.

It did not go according to her plans at all. By the second week of October the landlord of her apartment had other plans for her. She was 3 months behind in her rent and he had enough of all the gossip that was buzzing about the complex because she was carrying on an affair with the oldest man in the building, known to be the guy nobody should mess with. She was quite strategic in her associations. The landlord broke her lock and when she returned from the store and saw that her front door lock was broken, she walked into her apartment and saw that she had also been robbed. Her designer coat, her designer purse, her one-of-a-kind oil painting valued at several thousand dollars, and some of her jewelry was missing. She had no way of knowing who robbed her, but she guessed it was the landlord taking out his revenge and assuming he had the right to take her valuables to make up for what she owed. She was furious but she knew there was nothing she could do. She called her cousin Mary and decided to get away for a few weeks. Mary had a villa in Pennsylvania, up in the mountains and it sounded like the change she needed to forget her troubles for awhile. Of course, Mary had no intention of doing anything for Halloween. Mary's idea of October was preparing more for the winter cold by making sure that she had enough quilts sewn and enough firewood stocked for the fireplace.

Although Mrs. DeMarco did not get to celebrate Halloween the way she had hoped and planned, her time with cousin Mary was special and she learned to accept that even when plans get foiled, life can take a turn for the better. She met some new friends at the villa in Pennsylvania and decided to return to Key Largo only when her new apartment, the one that she could actually afford was ready for her to move in.

Once upon an Autumn daybreak, there was a boy named Grim who woke up dreading Halloween. It wasn’t because he feared trickster jack-o-lanterns or trembled at the thought of tempting sweet candy displays. He simply hated all of the propaganda and debate surrounding the day. Grim despised all the political displays popping up on his street. All the neon buttons and flashing stickers. All of the pressure from family and friends. And the actual vote that he was forced to cast each Halloween day filled him with angst.

Trick or treat? It was the same choice every year, and only two viable answers, but this year the vote cast seemed especially important as it would set him on the path of his double-digit future. Since society had long since stopped voting for its leaders but left that job to the elite council, Halloween had evolved into a holiday for each citizen to cast a vote to determine their own personal future. A vote of pre-destiny with superstitious and mysterious consequences.

As a bonus, the party with the most votes overall could send secret electors to visit the elite council and cast another ballot for which member might next join the elite.

Many of Grim’s neighbors were solemn treat voters and used elaborate sweet candy displays to sway swing voters to cast their ballot for the sugary and pacifying candy party. "Your life can be sweet," was this year’s slogan hung like a Hershey kiss wrapper from the front porch of the house across the street.

But, Grim’s Poppop was known to be a trickster. His front yard this time of year always contained booby-trapped jack-o-lanterns and all kinds of pop-up surprises for the neighborhood children to stumble upon and enjoy. Between the tricksters and the treaters, there were families that held year-by-year voting ballot combinations like sacred playbooks passed down to their kin. Cherished like the winning combination of a lottery ticket, these year-by-year family guides were passed down to each new generation with great pride. Grim had received no such sacred code, so his vote year after year was pure anxiety.

Every Halloween morning, Grim helped his Poppop complete his new tricks. This year, Grim spent his first hours of Halloween filling balloons with gooey substances, hiding explosives inside the hollowed-out pumpkins, and rigging noise activated garden steps for the young visitors that would come by that evening.

“Do we have to use the pumpkin puree, Poppop?” Grim begrudging poured more of the sludge into a bright orange balloon.

“It’s the tricks that make life worth living, Grim,” his Poppop emerged from the house with a terrifying mask of powder white. Three tufts of blue hairs stood tall from his scalp and black stretched-out stars circled his eyes.

“Pick a hand,” Poppop held both hands behind his back. Grim chose the left hand.

“Ah, this mask used to belong to your Pop. Halloween has changed so much since he was a boy.” Poppop gave Grim a hard pat on the back. “Now, it’s all about the vote.”

He folded the muted mask which featured a stunned, white yawning face and black cape. Grim had never seen such a depressing face, and he stuffed the mask in his rucksack much like he often pushed aside the confusion of his father’s sudden death.

Grim arrived at the local library at sunrise, well before the polls opened. Light streamed from the circular dome roof three stories high, a stone staircase winded up into the various archives of the building. Grim knew it was his duty to cast a vote, but he was miserable with worry that he would pick the wrong one. 

Would a treat mean an easy year? Would a vote cast for trick mean that he would have the thrills of his life? Grim took out his inherited mask. Maybe if he put on his father’s sullen face, he would magically recall a conversation in which his father revealed the vote he should cast for his ninth Halloween.

At least behind the mask, he could pretend he was someone else. Someone that had neither future nor past. Someone anonymous.

The mask is a perfect fit, but as soon as he opens his eyes the library changes. Children run in circles dressed as all sorts of creatures with pink frilly dresses, dinosaur tales, skeletons legs, ninja swords, and astronaut helmets all parading around together. Giggles and smiles as they descend the stairwell. Pumpkins without explosives carved in a variety of shapes line the parade path. Ghosts made of shadows stretch out on the walls around him.

Delicious frosted donuts hang from a stick and a trough of water brims with red apples bobbing on the surface. The children take turns biting up into the air in an attempt to get a taste and slamming their heads down into the water troughs to try and rescue an apple treat.

A baby Yoda with green ears and a grin tetter-totters over to Grim. He carries a small cloth sack and opens it even wider than his grin, “Trick or Treat!” But it isn’t a question, it’s a request. 

Grim doesn’t know what to say but reaches in his pockets to find an orange balloon. He plops it into the little boy’s bag, as the small child turns to say, “Happy Halloween!” before walking unsteadily back to the festivities.

It was then Grim knew what to do. He removed his mask and started pulling fairytale books from the shelves, finding the pages with the witches, goblins, fairies and princes from the party in the past. He found the medical books and located all of the skeleton diagrams propping their pictures in the chairs for each voter to view. He left all of his findings open on the tops of the bookcases lining the long line for the voting.

He blew up the remaining orange balloons he had shoved into his pocket and used a sharper from the Info. Desk to draw all of the fantastical scenes he had seen in the library vestibule of the past. The cat with the tall tail, and the crescent moon. He picked apples from the tree outside and found a large circular newspaper receptacle to fill with water dropping the apples in. Grim rescued the recycled newspapers from the bin, cutting out silhouettes of the ghostly shadows. He taped the cut-outs on all of the circular walls of the library vestibule.

Grim found a solar glue gun and used the hose of the vestibule vacuum to blast cobwebs on the stairwells, doorways and books. When he turned around the lobby had been transformed into a gallery of Halloween past, both haunted and happy.

The earliest voters were some of the elder citizens of the town. Their faces solemn as they entered the library. Many of them believed each year’s vote would determine their ability to survive another year. But when they came into the library lobby, their faces lightened.
 
They stared in all directions and began to toddle around peering into all of the picture books. They pointed at each new discovery and many paused to share a memory. Some of them even stooped to try their luck at the apples in the trough. Under the dome of the library that Halloween, memories swooped over the citizens. They shared a recollective moment of abandonment that had somehow been cobwebbed by the past. 

Many of the treat party members began passing out candies to the tricksters in the line. The tricksters collected their supplies to create masks, hats, and costume attire for all of the voters as they arrived. 

Needless to say, there was wacky wisdom unleashed that Halloween day. A sense of solidarity between all the members of Grim’s community that destiny isn’t created inside a voting booth. But as the creators of our own masks and costumes, we have more control than we think.

Bittersweet Interlude

While watching a dying ember,
Did you, muse? Did you remember?
Echoes of days gone by;
Lost, like the warmth of a forlorn sigh.

Faded remembrances;
Secret images of lost romances;
Glimpses of a bittersweet yesterday;
Yellowing glossies carefully filed away.

Could you recall the burning?
Of the intimacies; of the yearning?
Or were you unable to focus; unable to see;
The borders; of a lost reality.

Did you wish to begin anew?
What has so quickly flew?
To dance once more the dance of spring;
To soar again on a gossamer wing;

And then; when the ember faded;
Did you feel sad? Did you feel jaded?
Did the darkness of the night intrude?
Upon your moment, of bittersweet interlude.

There once was a mouse. A little yellow mouse.

There once was a man. A red man. Angry, but a silent man.

The yellow mouse dreamed of sailing The Big Sea. He wanted to sail to the end of the Sea and touch the setting Sun.

The red man wanted to scream. But whenever he opened his mouth, nothing would come out.

The yellow mouse was a glass half full kind of mouse. Life treated him all right, and he treated life the same way. Not a lot of ups, but not a lot of downs either for this little mouse.

The red man had a big head, which kept getting bigger and bigger. He wanted to paint but didn’t know how to. He tried learning it, but it made his head swale up.

The yellow mouse saw a fairy once. She told him the secret to life.

The red man saw a doctor. The doctor ran tests and told the red man about a new experimental treatment for head reduction. The red man applied for the treatment.

The yellow man worked at a restaurant, near his house, for as long as he could remember. He was good at the job, and he got great tips.

The red man couldn’t keep a job. Every job made his head bigger, and his skin redder.

The yellow mouse was a single dad. His wife left him some time after giving birth to their twin boys. He loved them very much, and they loved him very much as well.

The red man had two ex-wives and no children. Relationships made his head inflate like a birthday balloon.

The yellow mouse had a friend, who was a doctor. The doctor was also a Big Sea enthusiast, and they would talk about it for hours on end.

The red man started the therapy. The doctor would hook up tubes, going from the red man’s head to a machine. The machine would then transform thoughts into shapes, patterns, and colors on the monitor. For the first couple of sessions, there was only random big black lines and awful color.

The yellow mouse was saving for a boat all his life. Even though being a single dad, and getting his kids through school and college, every month he would put money into the savings account.

The red man’s head kept getting smaller as the treatment went on. After a while, the lines made shapes, and color started to fit those shapes.

The yellow man had four more years until retirement. By then, he would have saved enough money to buy the boat and sail The Big Sea until he touched the setting Sun.

The red man didn’t feel like screaming anymore. He marveled at the objects being painted by the machine. He sometimes even cried. His head shrunk to an almost normal-sized one and even his redness started to go away.

The yellow mouse became yellower as the years went by. But, in a short amount of time, he rapidly became very yellow, almost orange. So, he called his friend, the doctor. The doctor ran tests and got the results. Sadly, there was no cure for the yellow mouse’s disease.

The now regular-sized head and a fair-skinned man was done with the therapy. He thanked the doctor and went directly to the art shop. He bought himself a painting kit, and after coming home, immediately started to paint.

The now pale-orange mouse kept getting weaker. After a while, he couldn’t do his job anymore. He stayed at home, watching television and sleeping a lot. And he dreamed about The Big Sea and the Sun.

The ex-red man saw a fairy. She told him the secret to life, but he already knew that. When he finished the painting, he went and gifted it to the doctor.

The mouse was now bedridden. All the money he saved up went to the medical bills. His sons would take turns taking care of their old man. Sometimes, their wives and kids would come and help as well. Seeing all of them made the mouse happy.

One evening, there was a knock on the door. It was the doctor. He went upstairs to see the mouse. The mouse noticed that his friend, the doctor, had a strange look on his face. The doctor was holding a painting. The doctor talked with the mouse for a while, and then, tore the wrapper and showed the painting to the mouse.

The mouse cried, and the doctor cried too. The room was filled with all possible emotions. It was the most beautiful painting of The Big Sea the mouse had ever seen. There was a boat at the end of the Sea, and there was a small, black mouse, stretching his arms and legs, touching the setting Sun.

The mouse finally stopped crying and smiled, as his soul reached the Sun.

The land was muddy. It was snowing.

As I entered the nameless town, I saw a road and a couple of houses.

Walking by, I noticed a family in front of a redbrick house. As soon as they saw me, the father pushed his wife and kids inside, and after a few seconds of looking at me, he went inside as well.

The house right of me had kids peeking through the front window. When they saw me looking at them, they quickly hid.

Down the road, there was a third house. It was burning. I could clearly see a dead body on the front porch.

At the end of the road was a church. The church was near a cliff.

Approaching the cliff, I knew what was ahead. I saw true blackness. It was the edge of the world.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps. I turned around and saw a gun being pointed at me. The man pointing the gun though, had a familiarity about him.

As he moved towards me, I saw blood on his shirt and pants. His face looked insane. He took one more step and I realized who he was.

It was me.

As if time didn’t exist, I thought about my options. Face the gun and certain death, or fall to the abyss of nothingness.

All of a sudden, I heard a gunshot. The man fell to the ground. I looked to my right and saw a priest standing on the steps of the church. He gestured that I come towards him.

He opened the doors of the church, and we went inside. Together, we walked to the confessional. He entered it, and so did I.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

He sat on a tree stump,elfin.The woodland and pastures rolled on to some kind of horizon. Some limit of reality, or hope and possibility.A book lay open upon his lap and he read engrossed in tale and wonder and far aways and long ago's. There was not a single other soul within his horizon. An horizon of time and place. His heart was small, cold, shrivelled. The tales and verse unfolded, other worlds being born, weaved like a tapestry. His heart began to warm and grow, his eyes expand and glow.Soon other faces, eyes and hearts began to emerge from behind trees, hedges, from rivers and skies. An empty world began to fill and enliven. Hours passed or time unmeasured. He closed the book and rose, but the faces amd warm hearts and eyes lingered on for a little while.

Once upon a time there was a girl named Ruth. She came from a rich family. Ruth used to get whatever she wanted. Ruth used to go to school with her own car. She used to play in the class while others were learning. One day she came back from school and the housekeeper told her that her parents went on an agent business meeting  to US. Later on she found a letter on her bed written 'take care of yourself my daughter, I will only be able to see you during the holiday'. Ruth was so happy after reading the letter because she had no one to tell her what to do. She fired the housekeeper and she was left alone in the house.She used to do parties with boys and she was now a drug dealer. Her parents used to visit her during the holiday as they had promised. One day her parents visited her without informing her and they found her smoking and she was dismissed from school. Her parents were disappointed and they went back to US and never came back and they stopped sending money to her. Ruth decided to begg  in order to get the money to buy ciggarattes. One day she was saw a post written REACH INN  and she thaught that they were rich people inside, remember she used to play whilst others were larning. She went inside that mall and asked the securityguard  were she could find the rich people. The security guard asked her if she was okay because we all know that  everyone can enter the mall whether  you are rich or poor. Ruth told the security guard that she saw a post written REACH INN.  The security guard was a good guy and she told her that REACH INN  means the same as enter or come in. Ruth was disappointed in herself  and she started convincing her parents to send her back to school. Her  parents refused. Ruth's life became a disaster because of one silly mistake

The kids at school called him “Lurch.” The worst part was, she saw it. He was a tall kid, all arms and legs, who walked on his toes with a forward lean, as though there was a forever wind against his sail. The boy was growing so fast! She couldn’t afford to keep buying clothes at the rate he was growing, so his sleeves and cuffs were going to have to ride up for awhile, but what was she to do? Her clothes were not nearly new either.

  They weren’t beating him up yet, but that would probably come. He was one of those gentle kids who was so easy for the others to pick on. All he had going for him was that his height was somewhat imposing. What would she do if they did start beating him up, a single mother in a strange town? God knows she would do or give anything to make the child happy, but he seldom was, following her lead. And he was still such a good boy despite all that! He did all that she asked, which was quite a bit, while asking for nothing in return. He wore the shirts with the too short sleeves, and the high-water pants without complaint. His grades were good. He helped around the house. There was only the one thing she had ever seen him want, and he never even asked her for that.

  But she saw him looking at that one thing. She saw him at the store, reaching out a gentle hand to touch it. He had touched it lovingly, as a woman touches her baby. That was how she’d known. Seeing it had brought a tear to her eye. She vowed then and there that he would have it. She knew a way.

                                                          ~


  The man behind the counter at the second hand store would only give her $200 for her $2,000 engagement ring. Benjamin had given her that ring directly after her pregnancy, and directly before his accident. The ring was all she had left of him, but Benjamin wouldn’t mind it; back then he wouldn't have minded, and certainly not now.

  She took the money for the ring from the clerk and immediately set it back on the countertop. There would be missed meals in his future, but she would give her boy this. The rest of the money she had gotten from Adam. She didn’t love Adam, and he did not love her, but there were times when Adam needed a woman, even a pear shaped woman like her, so she gave herself to him during those times. In return he helped her with bills, and such. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement that wasn’t so terrible. Adam hopped on her quickly and hopped off as fast, like a rabbit, as though he was afraid someone might see him on top of her. She had stopped dressing up for Adam, stopped trying to be pretty for him, but he did not seem to notice either way. It was not prostitution, she told herself. They were just friends helping each other, only they weren’t friends in any of the other ways that people were friends. Still, it was not prostitution. She was not a prostitute. She would marry Adam if he were to ask, but he wouldn’t ask.

  It was a bright red Gibson Firebird with a worn fretboard, ragged paint, and a repaired neck. There was a name scratched on the back that she couldn’t make out; the name of another boy with another dream, no doubt. She looked the guitar up, and knew from her research that the Firebird was a really good guitar, even if it was old. The man behind the counter threw the amp and pickups in “cheap.” Even so, it had not been easy to take the money out of her purse, knowing what she'd had to do to get it.

                                                            ~

 
  But all of that was only memories these many years later. She had not been with Adam in ages, and no one called her boy “Lurch” anymore. He was rich now, that son of hers was. Nowadays he wore only the most stylish clothes while climbing from the backs of limousines, or down the steps of jet planes, and those stylish clothes always with a tailor-made fit. The way the quiet, defenseless boy had turned out was no less than a miracle, is what it was.

  And he still played the old Firebird that had cost her so much, the one whose sounds she knew so well. It was amazing how that old guitar never failed to break her down whenever it's soulful wail cried out from her radio.

A middle-aged man walked along a sidewalk in a small Ohio town.  He was cordial to the folks who greeted him along the way, but didn’t seek out any more interaction than that.  He was happy to just keep to himself and live his life.  He looked over his shoulder at a pickup truck ‘barreling’ down the ragged, pothole-laced road.  He turned, and watched the reckless driver speed by.  Suddenly, a teenage boy, who was playing ‘cat and mouse’ with his friends, ran across the street in front of it.  It wasn’t a fair contest, and the young man was immediately struck down dead.  The truck driver hit him so hard; ‘John’ didn’t think the kid, really, ever knew what happened.  This accident, coupled with an incident that happened at his work last year, and other things, would come back to haunt the intensely private man.

John didn’t have a family.  He, and his dog, lived in a nice brick home off of Main Street.  It would be all his in another twenty-five years.  Until then, he would have to share ownership with the bank.  He had worked for the city the last five years, and didn’t seem to aspire to be much more than a civil servant.  He led a very simple life, filled with the mundane, routine events most people experience day to day.

It was a few weeks later, on Sunday, that he walked to the city athletic fields to watch the intramural soccer games.  Options for entertainment around there, on a Sunday afternoon, included watching the cars drive by from your front porch; or (literally) watching paint dry or the grass grow.  The kid’s sports activities offered something to do for many.  There would be games happening on each of the three fields, with elementary through high school kids participating, throughout the busy Sunday.  He watched intently as the ten-year-old soccer squads clumsily ran back and forth in confusion.  It made him smile a little to see the little ones struggling to master the game, and he was impressed at how much effort they put out.  The coaches yelled, as they ran back and forth on the sidelines; in an attempt to coral the uncoordinated children, and direct them ‘ever forward’ to the opponent’s goal.

John liked to come out and watch the youngsters, because it gave him hope for the future.  He got to see leaders, and followers, as well as a few heroes, develop right before his eyes on the field of ‘battle’.  The children didn’t look very impressive on this particular day though.  Some of the parents’ reactions to their children’s troubles getting the ‘hang’ of the game made the opposite impression on the man.  It was amazing to him, just how nasty adults could be sometimes.

Another advantage to being at the athletic fields was their close proximity to the train tracks.  There were two or three of them that were only a couple of hundred yards beyond the third field that lay farthest away from the grandstand area.  The ‘super pee wees’ were playing there today.  Trains were one of John’s favorite things, and it delighted him to be able to watch them lumber along the old tracks; headed for ‘points unknown’.

He sat in his lawn chair chewing the second big bite of his hot dog, when a fast-moving train, with several engines pulling it along, sped past the sporting event.  It was one of the fastest trains he had seen go by, and he could feel the power as it roared down the tracks.  A couple of minutes after the front of the train disappeared; a great crashing noise could be heard in the distance.  No one thought much about it, until, to the crowd’s horror, the box cars in the procession began buckling and flying off the track in the distance.  An alert referee blew his whistle loudly and excitedly motioned for everyone to run in the opposite direction of the tracks.  John looked on at several children, who were playing in the tall weeds on the railroad’s property.  They were oblivious to the danger, which was coming towards them at a furious pace.

Parent’s were screaming, and running toward what would, in a few seconds, be a tragic ‘killing field’.  The giant cars were buckling, in a violent chain reaction.  The danger was getting closer and closer to the section of the tracks adjacent to the sports complex; making a deafening racket as it happened.  The kids now saw the danger, and began to run for their lives.  It was too late, as some of the cars; right next to the field, were suddenly standing on end and being shot like ‘Tiddly Winks’ toward the panicking kids.  Just before overrunning the children, the mass of train car projectiles stopped dead in their ‘tracks’ (no pun intended).  It was, as if, they crashed into a mystical, invisible wall, standing between the carnage and the kids who were nearest to it.

Everyone in the crowd seemed to be catatonic; watching the events unfold before them.  They looked in disbelief, at the hundreds of tons of broken, twisted metal, which had once been boxcars, pressing against whatever was holding it back.  It was like a kid, standing outside your window, pushing his nose against the glass (if a kid was capable of such destruction).  Everything, harmlessly, fell to the ground, after the motion of the ‘unstoppable’ mass of debris ceased.  Bits and pieces of the wreckage now fell past the place, where, apparently, some ‘divine’ force had temporarily drawn a ‘line in the sand’.  The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, because the children were saved!  It was a genuine miracle!

There was a big mess to cleanup, and many, many children to check out and hug, so John excused himself from the situation and headed home.  Hundreds of people, from town, raced toward the commotion; as John calmly walked in the other direction.

His hot dog had fallen on the ground during the ‘great Ohio train wreck’, so he made a sandwich when he got home.  He would have to settle for whatever sports he could find on the TV this afternoon.  It was a couple of hours before the sirens, yelling, and screaming subsided, and things ‘slowed’ back to a normal pace.

A few days later, it was back to the mundane.  John was blowing debris out of potholes with compressed air, so they could be lined with adhesive, and then filled with asphalt.  It was hot and the crew was moving extra slow, so it was going to be an all day job.  When he saw that his guys began to get overheated, they all took a break, and sat under a tree to sip some water and recover.  The town’s lone newspaper man approached the group and motioned for John to get up and walk with him.  He had a serious look on his face, so John figured he better comply.

They stood by the maintenance truck, away from the others, and talked quietly.  The man handed the curious city worker an advanced copy of that days’, evening newspaper.  The front page displayed the first two, of many, pictures he had collected from people near the ‘incident’ at the athletic fields.  One was taken from an angle that showed the boxcars being held back miraculously.  It had the children in it, near the ‘barrier’, and the parents, who were running towards them.  A second picture was of John, with a determined look on his face.  He had his arms raised, and the palms of his hands were aimed at the ‘frustrated’ train cars, that never reached their intended victims.

He knew he could make the photos, or even the reporter, ‘disappear’, but he had ‘meddled’ enough already.  After pleading, unsuccessfully, with the reporter not to publish the photos, John considered leaving town before the paper hit the streets.  The fact that he didn’t, weighed on him later, when there were monumental decisions to be made.  He took the rest of the day off work and sat in his home, waiting for the fall out of his ‘powers’ being exposed.

That evening, a knock came at the door, and John reluctantly got up to answer it.  He could hear the clamor of a large group of people, who, he surmised, had gathered around his home.  He was sure the community had taken the time to dust off their pitchforks and make torches to burn him and his home up.

John opened the door, and, instead of an angry mob, saw the mayor, with a group of people standing calmly behind him.  John watched quietly as the Mayor of ‘Podunk’ recited his memorized speech; thanking the man, who had just appeared in town five years earlier, for ‘saving’ the children at the soccer game.  The faces, of the people in the crowd, told John many stories in just a few seconds.  Some looked amazed and reverent; some looked cynical that a mild-mannered guy like John could have saved anyone.  Some looked concerned, and, even angry that such a man, or ‘being’, might really exist.  But, they all joined in when the Mayor began clapping for the town's newest hero. 

The following two weeks seemed to be good ones for the ‘town savior’.  John couldn’t count the meals that were delivered to his home; the expensive gifts, and even marriage proposals lobbed at him by some of the ‘burgs’ most eligible, beautiful women, and one gentleman.  Each night, John would look out of his front window at the ‘fans’ who would gather in his yard; holding candles to commemorate the ‘hero’ who saved so many.  He worried that the town folk ‘celebrating’ him would bring unwanted attention from surrounding towns, and even, nationally.

After three full weeks of very little privacy or peace, John sat in his new recliner chair and watched his expensive, new wide-screen TV.  He put the last bite of Mrs. Davidson’s ‘award-winning’ apple pie into his mouth, and thought about having to go back to work tomorrow.  He hadn’t taken any vacation since starting his city job, and, thankfully, had built up enough to cover a ‘sufficient’ cooling off period, after ‘the big day.

Not surprisingly, the pothole job was still underway when John reported to his first day back to work.  He took up his position with the compressor contraption, and began to blow the dust and debris out of potholes.  Many of the town’s citizens intentionally walked by; so they could, again, express their thanks.  John actually thought this whole thing might blow over.  So far, no crowds of ‘out of town’ people swarmed the town.  He’d seen that kind of thing before, though it was usually over a piece of burnt toast that resembled a saint or something like that.  He thought groups might come to condemn him for doing great works without invoking a recognized deity’s name.  Others might come to worship the newfound ‘god’ that wielded such power.  With none of that happening, in three weeks, he thought, ‘Yeah, things are going to be alright’.

Mrs. Johnson approached the worksite, and John’s coworkers alerted him that, yet, another fan was there to ‘thank’ him for the miracle he performed.  John moved a step towards the woman, and came face to face with her.  She didn’t smile like the other admirers, but, instead, had a sneer on her face.  John was completely taken aback when the woman, he had never met before, spat in his face.  “Wh…wh…why?” was all he could get out before the woman let loose on him.  “You let my boy die!”  John had no idea what this crazy lady was talking about, until he remembered reading the story in the paper about the Johnson boy being hit by a truck some weeks ago.  He had forgotten all about it, though it happened right in front of him.  She berated him for a solid two minutes before she shoved past him and ‘stormed’ away.

John avoided people for the next few days.  He spoke to his workmates only when necessary, and generally kept to himself.  There were murmurs around town that John may not be the hero they thought he was.  Some were angry about him ‘letting’ his job mate, perish last year after a city vehicle backed over him; crushing the poor guy to death.  Some even grumbled about the tornado that took down several houses a few years ago, while the ‘great, powerful protector’ lived just down the street from them.  John’s prepared, frozen dishes, provided by grateful families, had been depleted, and he endured just enough time in the grocery store to pick up a few things to keep him fed.  After the ‘looks’ people gave him, while shopping, he knew he was going to go to the town, down the road, next time.  ‘Went from hero to zero in record time!’ he thought to himself, as he boiled hotdogs to go with his canned chili.  While his dinner heated, he took the time to pull some of the toilet paper, from his ‘non fans’, out of the trees in the front yard.

With a giant ‘wad’ of Charmin in his hands, he looked at the three, black SUVs that screeched to a halt in front of his house.  The men, who came to visit him, sat in the living room, while John turned off the stove and made a quick ‘Coney’.  He ate, as he patiently sat and listened to the ‘pitch’ they had brought to him.  Twenty minutes later, they were storming out of his home with scowls on their faces; with John walking close behind them.  “It was a fluke”, he said, then added, “it was a mistake….I did it without thinking!”  The SUVs raced off, running through red lights and crosswalks, where people, literally, had to run for their lives to get out of the way.  John sat, in his chair; feeling dejected.  He watched the local news story about the ‘call’ for police to investigate the supposed ‘hero’ frequenting the ball games of young boys.  The police promised they would look into the ‘man’ who showed such a great interest in the town’s littlest male citizens.  John was disgusted with the whole thing now.  He could hear the chants of the same people who were praising him earlier.  “Pedophile, pedophile, vile, vile pedophile…”  He just sat in his spiffy new recliner for hours listening to that, and other things being yelled at his house until it was bed time.  He leaned forward and slammed his fist down on the coffee table, sending its splintered carcass flying in a thousand directions.  He didn’t notice the little tremor that went through the town as a result.  The protesters did though, and most left in a hurry.

No one saw much of John for the next month or so.  He ‘barricaded’ himself in his home after a big shopping trip in the next town over.  He watched, as the President announced that a planet-killing asteroid was due to hit the Earth in a few days.  Though the men in the SUVS briefed John on that fact a month before, the news was, otherwise, successfully contained world-wide; until just the last minute.  People were heading for the hills with their families; trying to get away from something no one could possibly get away from.  Others took up a candle-light vigil outside of the home that housed their only possible savior; the ‘man’ who they loved, hated, then loved again, that could help them.  John felt terrible as he peeked through the curtain.  He repeated quietly, “it was a mistake; just a mistake”.

Somehow, for the last few hours of humanity, no mechanical conveyances, to include planes, cars, etc, would work.  It had nothing to do with the asteroid, and it perplexed those, who were trying, in vain, to get to a ‘safe’ place.  John was quite capable of saving the Earth from its impending doom, but decided that the only action he would take would be to ‘turn off’ those things that distracted people from taking stock, and being with their families before the ‘end’.  He intervened with the machines, but, otherwise, decided to do as he had done since this latest, but not first, incarnation of the ‘human’ race began to inhabit the moderately sized rock called Earth.  He felt pity for those, who inhabited it, but would not get in the way of what was to come.  He felt bad that his previous action, made some, in their last week’s of life, suffer through the uncertainty, and suspicion of an individual who made something happen; something that wasn’t part of the natural order of things.

It was minutes before the asteroid would strike, and John opened his door to a wee little knock.  He looked down at the tiny girl standing there with a pitiful look on her face.  She couldn’t have been more than three years old.  He knew that she was being cheated out of a life that hadn’t even begun.  It wasn’t fair that it all be ripped away before she had a chance to live it.  A look of anguish came to the ‘being’s’ face as he continued to look down at this beautiful little creature with tear-filled eyes.  It really made him think.

It had been three hundred and twenty-five years since humanity ended.  John sat in his chair and watched a digital video of a 90s sitcom as a storm raged outside.  He awoke a few minutes earlier from a nearly one hundred and fifty year nap.  He had consumed all of the food he ‘stowed’ in during his first fifty years after the ‘event’.  He didn’t need to eat, but had quite enjoyed doing so while humanity existed.  He looked out and saw the fiery lava that covered most of the planet’s surface; turning the ‘sheets’ of rain that were falling onto it into steam.  He wondered what the ‘powers that be’ had in store for this place next time.  He settled into his comfortable, ‘otherworldly’, brick home to wait out, what might be tens of thousands of years or more.  ‘Got through that last cycle with only the one mistake’, he thought to himself; as he pointed the remote at the TV to fast forward through Ross and Rachel’s ‘we were on a break’ argument.  “At least there is something to watch this time”, he said out loud, before laughing at something Joey said to Monica.