 
### Intertwine

©Angie Merriam February 2012

Smashwords edition

All contributing authors own all rights to their poems/stories

Please do not copy or reproduce this book or the stories or poems within without the express consent of the authors involved.

Forward

**A few months ago, while doing some social networking for my Neveah series, I came across a wonderful poem. The writer of the poem was a one poem writer who had written it about his friend Chuck, who had passed away. He was asking advice about how to get the poem into readers' hands in hopes of locating his friend's family. I immediately wanted to help.** _Intertwine_ **is what I came up with, an anthology of short stories and poetry. I presented the idea to Dennis, the man who wrote the poem, and he quickly came on board. Before long a multitude of writers from an array of genres had contributed their work. Some are one hit wonders while others are accomplished writers. There are stories of inspiration and stories of fantasy. All are beautifully written by wonderful people. I feel very lucky to include the works of the various authors and grateful to have met some amazing people. I hope you enjoy** _Intertwine_ **as much as I enjoyed putting it together. Thanks Dennis for inspiring me to embark on this journey and I offer a grateful thank you to all the writers who have contributed and given me some truly great advice and direction. Hope I did your work proud.**

Sincerely,

Angie Merriam

### Table on Contents

### Poetry

### That's Chuck, He's My Friend by Dennis DeRose

### Fallen World by Hena Tayeb

### Thantro by Peter Tranter

### Be Warned by the Path that Walked in the Night by Peter Tranter

### A Schoolgirl's Smile by Jim Quimby

### The Lonely Walk by Angela Linck

### Reflection by Angela Linck

### Possession by Angie Merriam

### Child by Pam Bitterman

### Short Stories

### Modern Technologies-Human Decisions by Cheryl Campbell

### Meeting Royalty by Cheryl Campbell

### The Emotional House by Cheryl Campbell

### True Character by Sean Patrick O'Mordha

### Sunrise Painting by Simon Marshland

### Three Cowries by Nandita Chakraborty Banerji

### Section 498 Indian Penal Code by Nandita Chakraborty Banerji

### The Foreign Bride by Nandita Chakraborty Banerji

### My love, My Life by Nandita Chakraborty Banerji

### The Great Monster by Angie Merriam

### Reliving Memories by Matt Faist

### The Perfect Day by Matt Faist

### Nannie's Cat by Vivian Rinaldo

### Out West A-Ways by Leslie Silton

### Dave Ugly has a way with Women by Brian T Shirley

### Dave Ugly and the Underwear Incident by Brian T Shirley

### The Date Service Debacle by Brian T Shirley

### My perfect Hell Gig by Brian T Shirley

### Omar Blue and the K-9 Underground by O. Warfield

### Not the Firefly by Peter Tranter

### Patient Zero by Stacy Kingsley

### The Angel of Death's First Kiss by Beth Gaulda

### The Age of Atlantis by Lisa Moulden

### The Betrayal by Wade Cox

### The Battle of Big Lick by Wade Cox

### Serephina by Angie Merriam

### That`s Chuck, He`s My Friend...

**This is about my old pal Chuck**.

What's that in your hand? Let me see. He said.

It's a picture; that`s Chuck; he is my friend... I said.

You pick your friends kinda young, don't you?... He asked.

No, that was a long time ago. We were in college... I said.

I'd like to hear more about your pal Chuck... He said.

Okay... I met Chuck in New Paltz in `74... I said.

Oh, that's the pot smoking college, isn't it?... He asked.

Don't generalize; everyone's not the same... I said.

You're right. So tell me some more about Chuck... He said.

Okay, so you want the short version or the long one ... I said.

Whatever you like, I have plenty of time ... He said.

Well, this guy Chuck approaches me; he looks perplexed... I said.

So what was his issue? Why that look on his face?... He asked.

Chuck tells me, "No one will stay with me in the room."... I said.

How odd is that? That doesn't make sense... He said.

You and I swing one way, Chuck swings the other. ... I said.

Now I see what the problem was. What did you do?... He said.

What do you think? That doesn't bother me.... I said.

Hey, you want to hear a funny story? It's a side-splitter... I said.

I've got time. I could use a good laugh right about now... He said.

Chuck had a '53 Schwinn bike, all chrome, red and white... I said.

You've got to be kidding me. I haven't seen one in years.... He said.

I'd hop on back. We`d go to town and chug down a few together... I said.

That's not funny. Where's the punchline? So what happened?... He asked.

Well, one day Chuck failed a test and got super pissed off.... I said.

That's not funny either. You've got to do better than that.... He said.

He yanked on the handlebar so hard; he busted it clean in half... I said.

Wow! Did they have "Funniest Home Videos" back then?... He asked.

That's not all. We had so much fun together. There's more... I said.

Don't keep me in suspense. Lay it on me..... He said

There was this girl; unique, with a special attribute.... I said.

What was so special? Three breasts instead of two?... He asked.

No joke, her name was Madam Clittora! Enough said... I said.

I can't believe that. You gonna leave me hanging?... He asked.

Anyway, shortly after that, I graduated. Chuck was younger.... I said.

So what happened to Chuck? Good friends keep in touch... He said.

We saw him two years later. We visited with his family, it was nice... I said.

Ever see them again? You shouldn't desert a friend.... He said.

You're right. But things don't always pan out... I said.

So what does that mean? You both seemed quite close.... He said.

I was married at the time with a lot of responsibilities... I said.

So that's no excuse. You should've kept in touch... He said.

After that, I didn't. Time changes things. Wasn't intentional.... I said.

So is there more to this story? There's got to be more... He said.

Oh, there is. Time moves on. 35 years later... I said.

It's 2010 and out of the blue, I think of my old pal Chuck... I said.

So you didn't forget him after all, but almost... He said.

It's a gamble, Chuck Drzal is in the phonebook; I called... I said.

Good for you. You took a chance, renewed a friendship... He said.

You're right. Just like old times. `74 again. What a feeling... I said.

So what happened next? Tell me quick, can't wait... He said.

We talked off and on, old times and new things; it was good... I said.

So it sounds like things are really working out for you guys... He said.

We saw Chuck in the summertime; looked good for 52... I said.

Hey, that's great news; Is there more to the story?... He asked.

A little more... His friend died the day after we saw him... I said.

Oh, bummer. Sorry to hear that. How`s Chuck now?... He asked.

Called him in November. His diamond ring was stolen... I said.

Wow! That's a real downer. Did they catch the bastard?... He asked.

No !... I said.

There's got to be more than that. Call him since then?... He asked..

Yeah... but... I called twice... he never answered the phone... I said.

Well, I hope you find out how he is doing?... He asked.

I did. Saw his obit a few days ago. He died November 17th... I said.

He looked at me. A tear rolled down his cheek... He said nothing..

I looked at him. Couldn't speak, all choked up.... I said nothing.

He looked at me. Gave me a hug, turned and walked away.

I yelled to the universe... "That's Chuck, he's my friend!

### Thank God for Pearl

I went to church when I was five,

Sunday School, never missed.

I looked over; who did I see?

Well, of course, I saw Pearl teaching.

Time went by and I got older,

I graduated to the "big church".

I looked over, I sat on the left.

Who was on the right, Pearl.

Once a month, every month,

Usually the first Sunday... Food`s aplenty.

Go downstairs to eat, who`s there?

Right again. Pearl, with bowl in hand, always happy.

Time goes by, I'm married now.

It's Sunday. Church again; this time with family.

I look to the right, across the aisle,

and who`s there? Right again. Pearl...

1999, it's a very sad Sunday in church.

My Gramzer, upfront in casket; she passed away.

I stood up, turned around, I said a few words.

Who do I see? Pearl, with handkerchief, wiping away a tear.

Time goes by; my whole family is with me.

We're on the left as usual.

It's been 53 years since that first Sunday.

I look over. Who do I see? I see Pearl once again.

Pearl, I thank God for you...

Love forever, Dennis

### Fallen World

An air conditioned room,

the blistering heat

locked out. The room is full

of people, a sober man immaculately

dressed, a woman scantily clad,

a procurer, a few among the many

filling the space. Countless people

makes for a bare existence

as we speed through

life, a series of

flickering images with very little

similarities. Where people perish

with intolerance and blatant doubt.

Always I know always

the Reaper is arriving, his vigor

infused face turned on

by death. The sizable son of

a gravedigger. Firm

hands, skin wrinkled as when

too much time is spent in

the water. He never was a spotted butterfly

fluttering, green grass, animal

cracker clouds in the sky. When the brothers

Grimm were yet to be. The arrival

is a realization that comes

to me in the form of security checks and bomb threats.

But were the lilies abloom, bees

basking in nectar, were the clams

as happy as the lark, whose

exuberance brought out the shinning

sun, spreading warmth across

the lands, what would be their theme?

Arteries dry, gluttonous buildings

soar high, flickering through his disparaging

reality. Tarnished thoughts, as the next

door boy's about your daughter, in the way

he cannot meet your glare,

foul and adulterated,

yes, it is less than adoration.

I must slide the cold

barrel of a gun into my mouth

to understand his truth, mimic

the whore or butcher. Should I

pound on his weathered

door in one of those cities where

he will shun me like a bastard

child, clawing away from his iron clasp

grasp, tugging at his dingy hair, the ropes

snapping as I plummet.

### THATRO

"It's very clear," the raw onion said, tears streaming o'er his skin,

"That you and I are miles apart; let's end our life of sin."

The Hypnotist, with rueful smile, felt this was very logical

Their relationship had, from first to last, been purely biological.

The onion said, with motive cruel, "Take this, my parting gift

A million tears for you to shed in memory of our rift."

The hypnotist, with watering eyes and now without her skill

Realized at once that she'd been had, oh what a bitter pill.

Revenge is sweet I've heard it said and this case proves it true,

Our hypnotist became a cook and invented onion stew.

### Be Warned By the Path that Walked in the Night!

When the nights are long and day's clouds hang low,

Creep to the fire, take warmth, ward off fright,

For as the temperature drops and winter winds low,

Folks tell of the path that walked in the night!

If you switch off the box when horror films start,

If vampires and ghosts turn your eyes fever bright,

Beware gentle listener, and those of weak heart,

Don't learn of the path that walked in the night!

Built of fine, white blocks, deliberately laid,

Where once was but mud, the traveler's blight,

It eased the footsteps of old man and young maid,

'Till it became the path that walked in the night.

Daily those slabs caught the first rays of the sun,

When came the dread morn, and there it was, Gone!

Did it leave of free will? Was it forced from its site?

To become the path that walked in the night?

Did an ogre, stealthily, just before dawn

Creep from the shades, a dark deed to perform?

A foul thing, or foul person, of considerable might

Must have caused that path to walk in the night.

Spare a thought for the homeless, poor deprived souls

May you never be in a similar plight;

Your home and your hearth wrecked by inhuman ghouls

And crushed by the path that walked in the night.

God's creatures they were, ants, earwigs and woodlice,

The survivors struck numb when in dawn's wat'ry light

They witnessed the carnage; death is not nice

If you're crushed by a path that walks in the night.

When you cut it, or spike it, or roll it out flat

Grass is in pain, did you know that?

Imagine the anguish when from any height

Come the blocks of the path that walked in the night!

So, be warned gentle citizen, stand guard o'er your door,

For in this evil world what chance have the right

To accumulate chattels, be they rich man or poor,

When even a path can walk in the night!

### A Schoolgirl's Smile

I think that I shall never see

Anything as lovely as her smile for me.

I'm a prisoner of doubt who wants to please

the most beautiful girl who's hand I squeeze;

As I walk her slowly home to her gate,

I carry her books, and wonder and wait;

Have I teased her or pleased her?

Have I won her and wooed her?

On her answer depends

How my whole life ends.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only her smile can set me free!

_With apologies to Joyce Kilme.r An added comment: - Yes, she smiled. And she has been my one and only love, soul mate, and now wife for over 48 years_.

### The Lonely Walk

It's two in the morning and I step out the door

Only way I can clear my head anymore.

It's twenty degrees but I don't feel the cold

It's nothing compared to the ice in my soul.

I'm alone in the streets of a very big town

It seems so much darker when there's no one around.

I light up a smoke and breathe it in deep

I let myself daydream since I never sleep.

She's walking beside me for the next long mile

I'm lost in her eyes and her words and her smile.

But just like my last cigarette's smoke and ash

The sight and the sound of her disappears from my grasp.

And I'm left to continue my journey alone

Fighting to find a life of my own.

My eyes blink off snowflakes as the world becomes white

Daybreak transcends the sadness of night.

My shoes leave their mark on the untouched snow

I've walked many miles with no place to go.

But I'm finding the answers and refuse to be shaken

And I'm back on my doorstep as the world awakens...

Reflection

I looked out my window

1and into the world

to see what I needed to change.

I saw the mistakes,

the cracks and the breaks

and the mess that was left to arrange.

I saw all the cheaters, the liars

and beaters and wondered why

the world was so dark.

I saw the lost dreams

and unfinished schemes

and the bodies that lived with no heart.

I saw people crying,

acting like they were dying,

thinking love should be saved at all cost.

I saw unforgiving and

those who thought living

meant forsaking those who are lost.

I set out on my journey to right

all these wrongs, to change what was worthy

and replace what belonged.

I tried opening the window so I could climb out.

But I found myself trapped

and I started to shout.

There was no one to hear me

as I was alone and it suddenly hit me

the reflection that shone.

I realized that moment there wasn't clear glass,\

but a mirror in front of me

and questions to ask.

Where were the wrongs that I needed to right?

The pathetic mistakes, the tough breaks

and the fights?

Perhaps the answer lies in the eyes

staring back at me,

full of surprise.

The only thing I can fix, the only one

I can help, is the person who dwells

inside of myself.

### Possession

The moment you touched my lips I was hooked

I inhaled you deeply and held on to you tightly

Your poison rushed through my body gripping my entire being

Before I realized what was happening you become more than a want

Soon you were a need that tugged at my mind, soul, and heart

You were a danger to me

You were the one thing in my life that allowed me to be bad

Encouraging my addiction by calming my frayed nerves

Soothing my anxiety with every inhalation

You held me tight in your grasp until I began to feel smothered

The tighter you held me the further you pushed me away

In the beginning your danger excited me

I felt mighty holding you between my fingers

Until the danger I had once craved began to crush me

I had to quit you I had to let you go

No longer would I allow you to control my life, moods, and feelings

Giving you up was not easy until the day I no longer needed you

I exhaled your black smoke and crushed your ashes

I put you out for the last time

No more relapses

I will not collapse in weakness at the very sight of you

My body will not tremble when someone speaks of you

Rage will not encompass me until your blackness has penetrated my body

I am over you, your effect is gone, the craving is gone, the need is gone

I have won the battle and the war

I am me again

### Child

Child.

Hush now...

You are enchanted like the sunrise. You are one, a special and

miraculous creation.

Your life should be love and light and caring and goodness and

learning and growing and happiness and faith and knowing.

This is what you deserve, because you were born and you are

here. You welcome every truth of the universe. You know all that will

someday be forgotten. You are meant to be kept safe and sound.

But it isn't always so.

There may be cruelty and hurt and danger and pain and darkness

and hunger and loneliness and fear. But these things do not know your

name. They cannot reach your heart. They cannot see your light. Do not

let them inside.

A parent or a relative or a friend or a teacher or a policeman or a

president or a god may not be able to fix this sadness. Sometimes

nothing else can. And it is not fair. And it is not your fault. And it will

never be okay.

But you have a great wind behind you. You will leave the cave of

nightmares and monsters. Hope will be your armor. Imagination will be

your friend.

A warm glow will bathe you. Tender arms will rock you. Kind eyes

will guide you. A gentle hand will find yours and it will not let go.

Somewhere, a beautiful garden blooms just for you.

You are strong. Feel it. Believe that you can, and you can. Know

that you can, and you will.

You will change. Change what you will be in this world. And you

will change this world. This is your surprise gift.

You are a shooting star, a wish upon that star, a prayer answered,

a dream come true. A bird with a broken wing who will soar, a frog who

will be prince, a delicate flower waiting to open, a raindrop glistening on

a leaf, a perfect snowflake, a brilliant flash in a stormy sky.

You are one of a kind.

You are soft color and sweet lullaby, calm warmth and long deep

breath. You are bursting spirit, beating heart, pulse, spark, fire.

You are the power in the waves, the man on the moon, the fairy in

the forest, the "poof "in the spell, the tinkle in the bell. You are

supernova.

Feel it. Your strength. Your truth. Your dream. Your calm and your

sureness. Yours, no one else's, no one can crush, deny, break or destroy

this .

Trust your mighty spirit. Raise it to the heavens. Whisper its

secrets. Smile its wonder.

Cherish it as you were meant to be cherished. Love it as you were

meant to be loved. Know it as only you can know. Show it as only you

can show. Become. Be.

Child, you are miracle. You are a whole undiscovered universe.

You are Jane, Pedro, Pierre, Mohammed, Jamar, Tanisha, Yusef, Tomas,

Lars, Tao, Kumar, Ivan, Paolo, Ailani, Ichiro, Marie, Jules. You are magic. I

believe in you. Believe in you.

Things will become real because you will see them. See beauty.

See peace. See love. See joy.

See your greatness.

Dream your dream. Write your story. Paint your rainbow. Close

your eyes. Open your heart. Lift your chin. Dance your dance. Sing your

song. Sing it home.

I will hear you. You are heard. And you are loved.

### ~Part Two:Short Stories~

### Modern Technology - Human Decisions -

Modern technology and human intelligence combined is a powerful commodity,

but these make decisions harder and more heart-rending when it comes to the choices needed to be made by pregnant women and their husbands/partners.

I hope to show much empathy as I write about the possible emotions and decisions required in the case of a couple who have learnt by ultra-sound scan that their baby has spina-bifida.

The sensitivity shown by medical staff explaining the situation to the parents would, I imagine, play a huge part in their initial reactions. The reactions are varied...reactions of shock, of being unable to believe their new-found predicament, fear of the unknown, along with a rush of many first time emotions, churning around inside, waiting to erupt like a large volcano.

These pent-up feelings could erupt in anger, fear, frustration - perhaps necessary reactions, but negative ones -.

Working through this void of negative emotions would hopefully subside in due course, giving way to a more positive approach, an approach of tears, tender-loving care, and a wiliness to cling together as a couple, as they share this low ebb in their lives.

I would hope that any couple would lean towards each other for love and support at such a time, not becoming isolated as individuals, turning their backs on each other, like two separated book-ends!

Next, comes a time to contemplate and 'talk-through' their choices as offered in these modern times. The options of abortion, having the baby and accepting its problems, or deciding to have the baby undergo an operation on in the womb.

I suspect that in this positions couples can be thrown very far apart, or cling closer together, needing each other more than ever before. They need to feel still loved and wanted by each other, and that "together" is the best way forward.

Communication is very important; here they need to be open and honest regarding their feelings, as they discuss why they will make certain choices and dismiss others.

Fear for the safety of mother and baby would probably be the father's worst nightmare. Could he allow himself to possibly loose both of the people he loves the most?

Would this influence his agreement to consent in allowing the baby to be removed from its mother, operated on, and returned to the womb?

Does his wife/partner understand his fears - or does she feel that the most important consideration is to give her baby the best possible chance of being born in the most viable condition.

Abortion - would this be an option? Abortion may not be an option, depending on the views of the couple. Would one partner consider this a non possibility for religious or other reasons? The relationship of the couple would be further stretched if this were the case. Would one partner be overly selfish, not taking the others belief's into consideration?

The turmoil goes on and on, the only answer I can see is that the couple make a carefully, well thought out decision, and then cling to each other physically and emotionally while any necessary process is being done, or they are awaiting for "nature to take its course".

It has gone full circle. Are too many choices in our modern world too much?

My guess is that until an individual is placed in these precise situations their answers will never be know, we can only surmise.

What we do know, however, is that once a decision is made, sometimes, there is no turning back. We have to live with our final choices - knowing that we chose the "best options" at the given "time" and "space" of our lives.

Things will become real because you will see

### Meeting Royalty

.

Princess Diana was born on July first in 1961.

Having had a fairy tale wedding, Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer, known today as Princess Diana, soon became loving parents to Prince William, and later, Prince Harry.

Unfortunately, tragedy soon struck!

The untimely death of Princess Diana came on the 31st of August 1977. I touched upon this event, both during and after its un-folding, perhaps slightly more than the average person.

The Nation grieved with her sons William and Harry, young teenagers, heads bowed, following the cortege, with their Mother's coffin draped in the Spencer Family Royal Standard. Princess Diana is buried on the grounds of Althorp Estate, her family's Stately Home, her final resting place, surrounded by a large lake in a most beautiful and peaceful setting.

I watched her final journey as I stood on my door step, for once being happy that I lived on a hill top. I stood mesmerized as I first saw the out-rider, then the hearse, as it travelled along the M1 Motorway toward Northamptonshire.

Years later, on the 6th of July 2004, I saw Princes William and Harry on a walk about which included their Grandmother, the Queen. The crowds suddenly divided, like the parting of the Red Sea and I saw Her Majesty's radiant smile!

It was a day to remember, where sadness and joy complemented each other, at this, the opening of the Princess Diana Memorial in Hyde Park, London.

The Emotional House.

Driving toward the house the man noticed just how dilapidated it looked. Not surprising thought the man; _after all it has lain empty for years_. Prospective buyers had long ago come and gone. Nobody knows why, but this man and his associate were going to find out.

The man walked gingerly towards the house. Barely touching the door he heard suddenly, "Hello! My name is Harry, Harry the house. You will always be welcome here, if you can stand the strange happenings within my walls.

I'm sure the door opened as you touched it. Well, watch. Hello! See, the letter box in also my mouth. Look at my windows, see them blink? People don't often come by but when they do, probably due to curiosity, it frightens them to death. I love it. Fear is what makes me laugh! I enjoy a good giggle, especially at the expense of others.

"I'm not always a bad house; sometimes I just "toy" with people. You're welcome to stay the night. I would love your company. Nobody ever stays, they are too afraid, are you brave enough? Up the stairs you go. Oh! You just discovered they move; I can feel you wobbling on them. I can see the fear in your eyes; do the walls feel as if they are closing-in on you? Yes, you are the bravest of all; most are long gone by now. Why are you still here? Will you tell me your story, if I tell you my secrets? Is that a deal? Who should speak first?"

"I will," said the man, suddenly feeling a little less afraid. "I will, for I am an investigator, a physic investigator, and you-this house–are going to be investigated, by myself and my associate, who is yet to arrive."

"That should be interesting," said the house, as it quivered at the thrill of seeing yet another frightened person heading for the front door.

The investigator heard these words, as out of the corner of his eye, he saw his now pale-looking friend entering the house. He noticed his friend's slight trembling, his mouth opening and closing; no words coming out. "It's ok, Paul," said John. "I was scared at first, it's just shock. We will talk some more, just as soon as you calm down."

"No-one has yet stayed the night. What makes you think you are any different?" shouted the house. Paul jumped, giving a nervous laugh at his own reaction.

"Stop it, stop talking!" shouted John. To their amazement, the house fell into total silence, and that's when they heard a dripping sound coming from outside the front door. What could it be? The sun was shining, it was warm and there was no rain.

Now outside, the men looked bewildered, for all the windows were producing tears.

Harry was sad and crying, not confident or egotistic anymore, at least not for the moment. "Please" said the house in a pleading voice, "please don't go. I want to tell you my secrets; it will help me so much".

John spoke in a surprised voice, "Well! This is a change of heart".

The two men suddenly felt chilled as the sun disappeared behind a cloud. Together they returned into the house. They stood side by side in the living room, both silently trying to collect their individual thoughts.

Suddenly the house began to tremble, very gently at first, then more forcefully, making both men sit on the floor at the fear of falling over. The trembling continued, but the house did not speak.

John and Paul found their eyes being drawn towards the kitchen. Stunned, they witnessed a shadowy figure drift by and disappear into nothingness. The two men were glued to the floor. They gulped hard as the feeling of fight or fright over-took their emotions. "Go away, who ever you are", shouted Harry. "You are the evil side of me, go away!"

Harry the house inhaled a long intake of breath, and then slowly blew it out. The men followed suite and found themselves calming down gradually. "I'm sorry" said Harry. "This is what I have to fight against all the while, I'm so tired of doing-so, please help me".

"How can we?" asked John, in a comforting voice.

"To begin with, you listening to me will be good", said Harry.

All rooms were prepared with the investigator's special equipment, and so the friends settled down to listen intently to Harry.

Harry began his story .................

"I used to be an ordinary house, a house on lease to U.S. Military Personnel. Many families came and went. I was happy in those days, enjoying the company. The warmth of people, the sound of children at play, oh! It was so good. One day, when everyone was out, luckily for them, I was attacked by an arsonist with a petrol bomb which exploded in the man's hand; the force of which threw him away from me. He screamed in terror and pain, there was nobody nearby to help. Dragging himself up the pathway he collapsed, he never moved again. He was found by the family upon their return home".

"The post-mortem showed the cause of death to be heart failure, probably brought on by shock and his sever burns". Harry gave a big sigh.

"Have a break" said John.

Although Harry sounded very distressed he decided to continue. "Ever since that incident", Harry seemed to choke-up again, "I have not been the same. This evil side of me kicks-in, and it's so, so, very hard to fight off".

As the investigators settled into their sleeping bags for the night, John and Paul swore they would help Harry in any way possible. The friends had just settled down when they heard a noise. They sat up slowly. Rubbing his hand along the floor, John found the torch he was looking for. He set it on low beam. Shinning it around the room he found Paul's face. "What was that?"

"Don't know", replied Paul in a whisper. "The equipment shows nothing". As if in response, they heard a loud thud. A gigantic amount of water cascaded upon the men; its sheer force, quantity and weight almost drowning them. Jumping up, yet another noise attracted their attention; they automatically looked up, this time to see the roof tiles slide out of position and another torrent of water cascade down. The house gave a sniggering laugh. The laugh grew louder and louder and more violent, until the whole house shook, knocking the men off their feet and into the water. The water was deep, deeper than the friends realized. They had to swim to the front door.

Outside, the cold air made the men shiver and shake. Paul felt his arm being grabbed. He jumped and then realized it was John dragging him towards the car.

Heading toward the house the next day, the two were very dubious as to what they might find. They now understood Harry's words and the position he was in. He really was an emotional house, a fact, incredibly strange, but true.

This time they had to force open the door. There was still a vast amount of water around. Shoving their way inside they called Harry's name. No reply came. Checking the equipment, it registered a lot activity. Smiling at each other, they punched the air in triumph. There was the evidence! Just what they had been hopping for!

"Harry! Harry!" Paul shouted, "Where are you?"

"We are your friends now," continued John. "Please talk to us if you can."

"It's okay," replied Harry in a calm voice. "I don't know what you did, but I think the evil side of me has now gone, I feel at ease. I don't feel angry or bad towards people anymore." John and Paul felt absolute relief at hearing Harry's voice.

John and Paul discussed the evidence. They concluded that the arsonist's spirit was still earth-bound and resentful of his untimely death, which is why he made Harry behave badly. The investigators, seeing this spirit, proving his spirit existence, made him accept his future, his future of his belonging to another "place" and time, away from our Earthly plane, hence his spirit headed in that direction.

Would it reach its correct destination? We hope and pray that is has, but who knows for sure?

Explaining all of this to Harry the house, the friends told Harry that they would like to restore him. Harry was thrilled. "What!" he said. "Make me all nice again? I'd love that. Will both of you be here? Or will you come and visit me?"

The friends enjoyed hearing the excitement in Harry's voice. They remembered him saying how happy he used to be, and decided that they would do whatever it took to make him feel really good about himself again.

THE END

### True Character

The only way Ron would walk a mile was in PE class. He disliked structured exercise. It was boring. His grandmother told him his weight problem was genetic. She was heavy, too. Kids teased him for being overweight, resulting in withdrawal and more weight gain. Sweating profusely, he regretted this exertion as he approached the only Quick-Stop in town, but he craved a soda, something excluded from his diet. Walking up to the store, it didn't look good. Three Native American kids were bunched up at the far end of the building staring at him. Ron hated moving, being uprooted, and leaving friends, and then having to make new ones, but such was life in the Forest Service with his mom. He waived his hand from chest high. He could read their minds, "So, who's the fat kid?"

"Hey," one his age and build called out in greeting.

"Hey," Ron replied, trying not to sound nervous.

"You goin' in there?"

"Yeah."

"You Blackfeet?"

Ron looked bewildered, answering, "No. I washed this morning."

From their laughter he'd apparently made a joke.

"Whites from the mill are in there. Best wait 'till they leave," the kid advised.

"Why?"

"Easier that way."

"Oh. I won't bother them."

The kid shrugged his shoulders as Ron stepped inside and surveyed the store. Two teens were by the candy shelf. One had just stuffed something into his pocket. Two others hung near the soda cooler. They glared as he walked to the cooler, started to grab a Coke, hesitated, heaved a silent sigh and steered for a Diet Coke. The cashier watched like a buzzard over something about to die.

"Whata ya doin' in here?" an older kid asked stepping toward the counter as Ron approached.

"Buying a Coke."

"New around here, ain't ya?"

"Yeah. Just moved here."

"You ain't the one that moved into the Ranger Station?" another asked.

"Yes. My mom's the Timber Spec."

"Ah, jeez! A stinkin' greenie," a third decried.

Ron handed the cashier a dollar, received his change and stepped out. The kids followed.

"Hey, you," the first called out.

Ron ignored him until feeling a hand on his shoulder that spun him around knocking the soda to the ground.

"You look at me when I talk to you."

"I really don't think you have anything I want to hear," Ron replied.

"We don't like greenies and we don't like brownies," he snarled, grabbing the front of Ron's shirt.

"Benson," the clerk called out from the door, "that's enough. Ponte, that's a buck for the candy bar."

"A buck!"

"Yeah, seventy-five for the bar and twenty-five for me havin' to come out here to collect it."

Ron watched as the four boys swaggered down the road. The Native Americans sauntered over to him.

"I'm Percy Little-Bird. What tribe are you from?"

"I'm not Indian."

"You look Indian," Percy said, handing him the unopened Coke.

"My dad was part Japanese. Mom says she's an American mutt. I'm Ron Elam," he answered, extending his hand.

Percy hesitated, then reached out to shake Ron's hand.

"Grandmother don't like whites."

"Why?"

"The way they treated us, stole our land, and stuff."

"You hold that against me?"

"Maybe."

"That's dumb."

"Yeah. Whites don't like Indians. Indians don't like whites. Mostly it's about color."

"So white kids go around trying to turn their skin brown? Do Indians try to turn white?"

"Indian can't change outside. Always brown. Some try to change inside, but when it don't work they get drunk to forget. Your ol' man work for the Forest Service?"

"I don't have a dad."

"Everybody's got a ol' man."

"I don't," Ron replied defensively.

"How'd you get here? A bird dropped you out of the sky?" Percy had a mischievous grin.

Ron chuckled as he loosened up. "No, a bird didn't drop me out of the sky. Took off when I was a baby."

"Haven't seen my ol' man for a long time, either. Last time he showed up drunk, beat my mother, and took some money. Some say he's in jail, some say he drank himself to death. Stomach says it's time to eat. Let's go to my place and scare up some food."

"Is your grandmother there?"

"Yeah, but we'll say you're Indian. She can't see so well. It's hard to tell you're not Indian anyway," he said, waving goodbye to his friends.

Ron was edgy as a rooster perched next to a chicken hawk as they walked to the rear of Percy's house, a fairly new, concrete block structure. His grandmother was busy kneading a lump of dough on a table next to a dome-shaped oven stoked with burning cedar wood.

"I need more kindling," she said huffing between thrusts into the dough. "Who's that?"

"Ron Elam. Just moved here."

"Guess you're here to eat, too."

"I don't want to be any trouble," Ron stuttered.

"You Indian?"

"Doesn't he look Indian, grandmother?' Percy answered.

She squinted and thrust her nose toward Ron.

"Yes, but too polite. Sounds like a white man."

"I've lived among white people all my life."

"Too bad. Bread is on the table, beans in the pot."

After retrieving firewood for the oven, Ron sat at a wood table with six, round loaves of bread cooling at one end. Slapping dollops of refried beans on plates, they opened a loaf. After eating, Percy tossed off his plaid, cotton shirt, took up an ax, and began splitting firewood. Ron had always been self-conscious about removing his shirt because of his build, but after ten minutes of stacking kindling in the hot sun he tossed the wet shirt aside. Besides, Percy was overweight, too, so he didn't feel out of place. Sharing turns with the ax they quickly had more wood than grandmother expected.

"You're a good boy. You come around again," grandmother said as the two left.

That evening, as Percy joined the Elam's for dinner Ron asked, "Mom, do we have any Indian ancestors?"

"Yes. A grandmother way back was the daughter of Thomas Rolfe, the only child of John Rolfe and Pocahontas. Why?"

"Just wondering, some jerks in town took me for an Indian."

A little sad Ron took no notice of the connection she made a mental note to fill him in on the family history later. "Well, you could be taken for Native American I suppose."

The two boys were still talking when the phone rang at 4 a.m. Ron's heart sank. His mom was being sent to a fire in Colorado. Although he could take care of himself, he hated the loneliness, but as she drove off he glanced toward Percy. He wasn't alone this time.

"You want to stay here?" Percy's grandmother asked unexpectedly during lunch the next day.

"I'll have to tell our neighbor so she knows where I'm at."

"The phone's inside. What tribe are you from?"

"Mom says we are from the Virginia Algonquin nation," he replied, having looked up the connection.

"Hello, Percy. Thought I'd stop by to see how you are coming along," a tall, thin man said coming into the yard.

"Hello, Uncle Marshall," Percy answered, bowing his head.

"He's done nothing," grandmother reported reprovingly, "except chop wood, thanks to Ron."

"The Pow-Wow's three weeks off. Have you decided to not participate?"

"I don't know," Percy replied, not looking up and squirming.

"A Pow-Wow! A real Pow-Wow?" Ron asked. "I've never seen one."

"We all go and so will Percy. You should come, too," grandmother admonished.

"Do you dance?" his Uncle asked Ron.

"Not very well."

"He means Indian dance," Percy mumbled.

"I've never done that."

"Want to learn?"

Percy glared at his uncle knowing what he was up to.

"I've got two left feet," Ron admitted.

"Then I will teach you a dance for two left feet," Uncle Marshall laughed.

Ron was surprised how quickly the steps came. Three days following the Pow-Wow his mom returned, excited to be home and see her son, but he was not the boy she left six weeks before. Dragging her to the fireplace was a slimmer, slightly taller young man.

"Best Team Dancers, Sheridan Pow-Wow, 2001," she read the trophy on the mantle. "Where'd ...?"

"Percy's uncle taught us a really old war dance. We blew them away."

Their triumph went unheralded among the general population, which they preferred. As school started, low-key meant less trouble from the loggers' kids who were prejudiced against Native Americans and the Forest Service. However, Ron's life had changed. As a fat kid with the athletic ability and strength of a worm he backed away from trouble. Over the summer he had changed physically and mentally, so that when the sawmill owner's ninth grade son strutted around spouting self-proclaimed superiority he found an unexpected roadblock. Ron was totally uninterested in the whole charade and walked away. With teachers present Tory Benson couldn't press the point, leaving his honor dented until accosting Ron as he walked home alone.

Again, Ron snubbed the challenge. Benson swung a fist and missed. A second roundhouse garnered more air. Frustrated, he charged like an enraged bull intent on taking his victim to the ground. Benson was successful, except as Ron rolled backward his foot slipped into the bully's hip and propelled him upward and over to land flat on his back. Picking himself up Benson charged again. Ron took one step back, grabbed Benson's shirt and pivoted, flipping him over a hip to slam into the ground expelling air like a tire suddenly gone flat. Ron waited patiently while Benson wheezed and gasped before breathing regularly again. When he came at Ron a third time it was with a broken tree limb. Ron easily side-stepped two swings, vaguely aware of the deep whoosh each made as they passed, and then shot a fist into Benson's chest, followed by a left jab bloodying his nose, and snapping his head back. A right hook stung Ron's hand, but drove Benson to his knees. His friends faltered when Percy appeared at Ron's side.

"You boys shouldn't be playing this close to the road. Sets the little kids a bad example," the mustachioed Forest cop, Steve Keller, called out from his pickup. "Ron, you and your friend jump in. I'll give you a lift home."

As the two circled toward the passenger side of the truck, Benson pointed a finger at them and shouted, "This ain't over!"

Keller slid out of the truck and squared his feet toward the gang. "Yes, it is, Tory Benson, 'cause the only way you could beat Ron is to gang jump him. Anything like that happens I'll be all over you like snot on a sneeze and that goes for the rest of you punks." Turning back to the truck Percy was standing by the open door. "Getting in?" Steve asked.

"You give rides to Indians?"

"Are you Indian? Heck! I thought you were Ron's brother."

"He is," Ron said from inside the truck with a huge grin.

"Handled yourself pretty good back there," Steve said as they drove off.

"Mom's had me taking Judo and Karate lessons for years to loose weight."

As Steve drove into the Forest Service compound they saw Ron's mom fueling her truck at the garage. Steve looked at his gauge. It was nearly full.

"Guess I better gas up, too," he said.

Teenagers are not as unobservant and naive as adults credit them. Lydia Elam and Steve Keller had gotten into a habit of going out of their way to meet. Ron liked Steve a lot, so took matters into his own hands. Extending an invitation to dinner he had both adults on the ropes until they verbally fumbled to an agreement.

With homemade spaghetti sauce in the slow cooker, this was a meal Ron could handle while his mom and Steve sat in the living room. The affair came off well until just after desert. They heard the slide of tires on the gravel parking lot. It was Torry Benson's dad and a pounding summons for a knock indicated this was not a social call.

"Elam, your son beat up my boy Tory. I've called the Sheriff. That boy's going to jail," he bellowed, wagging a finger at Ron standing behind her.

She was aghast and speechless as Steve stepped onto the porch. "Simmer down, Benson," he said. "Tory started the fight and got what he had coming, then attacked Ron with a tree branch. Your kid just hasn't got sense to know when he's been bested. If you want to pursue this with the Sheriff, it will be Tory going to jail for assault with a weapon; that I guarantee."

Benson sputtered, realizing he was dealing with someone who carried more weight with the Sheriff than he did. He also knew his son and turned toward the boy standing behind him, heaved his massive shoulders, and screamed, "You try to hit that kid with a club?"

Tory melted, the answer painfully etched on his face. Benson raised a thick arm intent on slapping his son, but found it held in check by Steve.

"You hit him in my presence and you'll be facing a judge for child abuse. Now, chill out," Steve warned, a cold edge to his words.

Benson knew better than to resist. He'd seen Steve arrest a felon the year before in front of his office. As his pickup roared away the Sheriff's truck entered the compound. Exchanging a few words with Steve, the deputy smiled, and waved at Lydia before driving off.

"Thank you, Steve. I don't know what I would have done."

"I'll talk to Benson when he's cooled down. Don't be hard on Ron, he really was defending himself. If he were mean, he could have really hurt Tory. I respect his restraint."

No longer overweight couch potatoes, Ron and Percy had become more self-confident and popular. Tory Benson's usual victims clustered around the boys like chicks avoiding a coyote as girls considered them the sexiest things around to the point where the two felt stalked. This pushed Benson further into isolation. When Percy demonstrated political savvy by declining to take any one girl to the spring dance, so as not to hurt the others, but instead dancing with all of them, his defeat of Tory for Class President was assured. When Ron won a seat on the Student Council their antagonist became more morose. Still, Ron and Percy remained sensitive enough to refrain from saying or acting pretentiously.

The first Saturday of summer recess, Steve, Lydia, Ron and Percy spent the day at a secluded lake picnicking, hiking and fishing to exhaustion. The boys were grateful church wasn't until noon that next day. Having slept late they hurried their normally long showers and dressed in white shirts. Ron was just knotting a tie when the elder Benson's voice could be heard at the front door. He sounded frightened.

"Mrs. Elam, I need to find Keller."

"I haven't seen him since we got home last night. Have you tried his cabin?"

"He's not there."

"Let me try the radio. He's probably checking the campgrounds. Oh, wait, there he is," she said, pointing to Steve's truck turning into the compound.

Benson fidgeted as he spoke. "Keller, I need your help. Tory and some boys went up to Prospector Lake last night. They came back early this morning saying Tory wandered off. Me and a bunch of the boys went up there but we can't find him."

"It's hard to believe Tory would get lost. He's grown up in this area," Steve replied. "I'll drive up and take a look."

"Can we help?" Ron asked, coming onto the porch.

"You boys'd do that?"

"Yes," Percy answered flatly.

"Better change your clothes," Lydia said.

As his truck snaked the twelve miles up to the lake, Steve didn't say much except, "There's more to this than anyone's saying."

A cold drizzle that had moved in during the night continued giving the day a dreary cast. Huddled around a small, smoky fire in the campground were Tory's friends, Tinsdale, Gruber, Ponte, and Banner. Steve headed straight for them.

"Okay, what happened?" There was an uneasy silence as the four looked at each other pensively. "Gruber, you go first," Steve said, sounding sterner.

"Well, Tory got up about four to take a whiz. That's the last we seen him."

"When did you start looking?"

"Six or so," he answered receiving affirmative nods from the others.

"You waited two hours before getting concerned?"

"Tory's Tory. He . . ."

"How much beer'd he drink?" The four looked at each other, panicked. "You look at me and answer now," Steve challenged sternly.

"I don't know. He brought a couple cases with him."

Steve shoved his hands into jean pockets and walked around the campsite without saying another word, until stopping by a large dead-fall to scrape the ground with the pointed toe of his cowboy boot. Squatting, he picked something up and sniffed it. When he returned, Ron had never seen Steve's face appear so dark.

"Who brought the weed?"

"Ponte," the Tinsdale boy quickly fingered.

"Booze and weed? And who brought the crack?"

Ron and Percy looked at each other with horror. The four accomplices bowed their heads in silence.

"I said, who brought the crack? " Steve shouted loud enough they nearly jumped off their seats.

"Tory," Tindsdale answered.

"You guys were mixing booze and crack?"

"Just Tory. He's the crack head."

"You just drink beer and smoke pot."

"Yes, sir," Tinsdale answered as the others shook their shaggy heads in agreement.

"Well, that explains how he could get lost up here."

At that moment Benson appeared.

"When are you going to start tracking?"

"I needed to know how this happened first. That has a bearing on where I look. Tory brought beer up here last night."

"So? All the kids do."

"We don't," Percy answered.

"And he brought cocaine."

"What are you trying to pin on my son?"

"It's true, Mr. Benson. Tory's been using it for a while now. He brought some up last night and mixed it with Ponte's weed," Gruber verified.

"I'll start searching, but it won't be easy. Your boys have trampled at lot of sign. Ron, Percy, come with me."

"Do you think he fell in the lake and drowned?" Percy asked as they circled around the lake to the south.

"I doubt it."

"Where do you think Tory went?"

"He's not functioning with a full deck. Best guess he's headed for Mule Leg."

Mule Leg was a saddle between two peaks east of the lake. It was there Steve picked up sign pointing them to Mirror Lake, a prime trout area a mile down into the next valley. The drizzle continued as smoke-like clouds hugged parts of the mountains. Steve's concern needn't be expressed. They had to overtake Tory soon.

Mirror Lake, a post card, glacial lakes nestled in a long, narrow, emerald valley, was a popular destination for serious outdoors folk. The lake itself was surrounded by a shelf of rock sheered flat. That's where they lost the trail.

"You boys circle to the right. I'll go left."

Percy scouted where rocks and trees met while Ron scanned the shore. A hundred yards later, Ron let out a whoop, bringing the other two on the run.

"It's his clothes," Ron said pointing at a pair of jeans, plaid, long-sleeve shirt, boots and socks laying nearby.

"Think he went swimming?"

"No," Steve replied beginning to run along the shelf. "He's got hypothermia."

Minutes later Percy shouted, "There he is," sprinting toward a body lying in the fetal position beneath a Spruce not far away. It was clad only in boxers.

"He's alive, barely," Steve said, checking his carotid artery. "Get your clothes off, both of you," he ordered, ripping a small, silver packet from his hip pack and expanded it into a large square that looked like tin foil and placing Tory in the middle. "We've got to get his body temperature back up. Ron, lay in front of him, Percy lay along his back. Snuggle close."

"He's cold as ice!" Ron screamed.

"It's his only chance. He's got to have your body heat to warm up." Steve explained while rolling them up into the blanket.

"If you can hear me, Tory, you're going to owe us big time for this," Percy said.

Steve tried to radio for help with no results.

"I was afraid of that. We're in a dead area."

"I wish you wouldn't say that," Ron whined.

"I've got to get to higher ground. Stay put. I'll be back quick as I can," he instructed before taking off at a steady trot back up the mountain.

"What if Tory dies? How'd we know? I don't want to be cuddled with a dead guy," Percy groaned.

"We're safe; I can feel his breath on my face. Jeez, it stinks, stale cigarette smoke."

"Well, if he stops breathing let me know 'cause I'm outa this body bag before his spirit grabs me."

They lay for what felt like an eternity before hearing Steve's voice, "Your mom's coming up to get Benson and his boys headed this way with blankets. How're you guys doing?"

"Freezing," Ron answered, as Steve started a fire.

An hour later footsteps and hard breathing announced the rescue party's arrival. As Benson bent over his son's head and stroked the long, straggly hair he asked, "You boys okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Tory was re-bundled tightly and laid on a makeshift stretcher. As the same time, Ron and Percy quickly dressed. They were shivering until Steve encouraged them to a trot back to the vehicle, quickly raising body temperatures. At Prospect Lake, a Sheriff's truck and rescue unit arrived to whisk Tory to the hospital. Ron's mom was there, too, and swept both wet boys into her arms. At home, they were hustled into a hot shower, bundled in warm blankets and herded in front of the fireplace where she plied them with hot chocolate.

"Are you guys getting warm enough now?" she asked pouring another round of hot chocolate.

"If we get any warmer, we'll melt like cheese on a hamburger," Percy said.

"Man, that sounds good," Ron said.

"Oh, my! You didn't have lunch. Hamburgers it is. How about you, Steve?"

"I'll help," he said.

Several days later as the boys set the dinner table, Lydia and Steve brought out the meal.

"I love meatloaf," Percy said licking his lips, "especially yours, Mrs. Elam."

"I've been meaning to mention that, Percy. I'd like it if you'd call something that doesn't make me feel so old."

"Okay, Mom Elam," Percy said, cracking a big smile.

As Lydia blessed the food, the boys noticed something different. The two adults were holding hands above the table.

"I checked on Tory," Steve said after prayer. "He'll be alright, but he won't be quite right in the head."

"He never was."

"Ron! Shame on you!" Lydia chided.

"Sorry."

"The combination of drugs and hypothermia fried his brains," Steve explained. "You won't see the other boys, either. They're facing drug charges and Benson fired their dads."

"On a brighter note," Lydia beamed. "We have an announcement."

"You're getting married!" both boys shouted together.

The two adults looked at one another and blushed.

"Well, if it's okay with you, we thought after the fire season," Lydia said as the boys leaped up into a group hug.

Ron hated that mile-long walk to Rock Point when they first moved into the old ranger's house, but it had been the best thing that ever happened.

### Sunrise Paving

The pavement was hot. I could feel the heat burning through the soles of my sandals making me pick up each foot in turn to cool, just like the Sahara ants Mrs. Bloomfield had told us about in natural history class. Not that I minded, it was fun being a Sahara ant it and helped me forget the awful baseball cap Aunt Delia made me wear to keep the sun off my head. I was so busy being a Sahara ant that I forgot to look where I was going until it was too late because I was deep into the colours by then.

"Watch out there, boy, what the hell do you think you're doing? Take those clumsy great feet of yours out of my meadow!"

An old man with scraggly long yellow hair, an unlit roll-up cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, glared at me with angry eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I looked down, "I'm afraid didn't see it there." I was standing in the middle of a bright green field with a herd of white cows grazing on rich grass beneath a clear blue sky.

"Of course you didn't see it, boy. You didn't look! Hasn't anyone told you to watch where you're going instead of blundering about the place like a blind elephant? You've already walked slap through my Storm at Sea, the Desert Oasis, not to mention A Shropshire Sunset. If you keep on trundling carelessly about like that, you'll smash up the bridge of my QE 2 next. Open your eyes boy; see what's going on in the world around you, instead of playing silly games of hopscotch."

"I wasn't playing silly games of hopscotch," I said indignantly, 'I was being a Saharan ant to protect my feet and forget my baseball cap. Aunt Delia won't let me out of the house if I don't promise to keep something on my head. And it's either this, or an awful floppy hat like the one Uncle Ben wears when he goes to the beach. But I am sorry if I've spoiled your pictures." I held out the pound coin Aunt Delia had given me to buy an ice cream, "will this pay for the damage? It's all I have I'm afraid."

Piercing grey eyes continued to glare at me with disapproval; then suddenly softened as a hint of a smile began to play around the corners of his mouth. Leaning forward he rummaged amongst the loose coins lying in the upturned hat beside him and came up with a matching pound.

"That baseball cap of yours doesn't look so bad you know, and it certainly is a hot one. Dare say even a Saharan ant could do with a cooling vanilla or strawberry ice. I'd go myself but I'm stuck with the shop," he waved expansively at the pictures. "But if you went for both of us, I promise I'll draw you for posterity when you get back." He laughed. "Mind you, that's if posterity doesn't walk over it in the next hour or so. But then as you know, my work isn't exactly permanent." He smiled to take the sting out of the words.

When I got back with the ice creams, he was on his knees, putting the finishing touches to the repairs of A Shropshire Sunset. Catching sight of me he climbed to his feet, put the brightly colored crayons carefully in a green felt wrap-around- holdall, wiped the chalk from his fingers onto an old rag, and then gestured to the wall behind the drawings. "Come and join me on one of these mat things, if you rest your back against the wall you'll find it comfortable enough." I did as I was told and for a while we sat companionably, silently enjoying the sun, lost in the pleasures of cold ice cream.

"Comfy things these cushions," he broke the silence, "gift from God you might say, well a loan anyway." He grinned, nodding across the square towards the Abbey. "Has to be at least a thousand or more in there, so I don't suppose He will miss a couple, not for a day at least, and I'll put them back before I go."

"Go..... go when?" I had only arrived a day ago and he was the first friend I had made.

"Tomorrow I think. I've been working my way down to the coast for the past six weeks, and though I'm glad to say business has been pretty good on the whole," he jerked a thumb at the hat, "and with September looming it's time for me to head south. It doesn't do to be caught in the cold in my line of work. Liable to wind up in hospital, and once there, you'll get sick for sure."

"But you can't go any further south than this!" My geography marks were not the greatest, but even I knew when you reached the South Coast that was it, and the sea was only a few hundred yards away.

"Well, yes, in a way you are right, boy. But even the South Coast can turn a bitter cold come November, and sometimes it stays that way right through to May if you're unlucky. So I always make a point of heading a long way further south than here. Work my way down through France to the Mediterranean, cross the Pyrenees into Spain, then try to make it down to Andalusia by autumn. That's about the southern most tip of Spain. You can't go further south than that. Mind you, even Andalusia can get more than nippy at times in winter, but if it gets really cold I take a job for a while, live indoors. Nowhere else to go, unless Africa takes your fancy."

"Africa! Have you really been to Africa?" I had seen some programs and pictures on the news, but never actually met anyone who had been there. "What's it like in a war zone?" There was always a war or something exciting going on in Africa, at least on the news there was.

"Yes, I've been there. Not that any war was going on, at least not where I was, but then I only stuck my toe in so to speak. Took the ferry across from Algeciras to Tangiers, and came back again the next day. Twenty-four hours in a place like that was more than enough for me, and I've never been back. Didn't take to the place you see, that and the way people kept spitting on my pictures." For a moment he looked quite fierce again, then crunched the last if his ice cream cone before grinning like a friend again.

"Nasty habits they have over there, boy, dead nasty. But what about you, staying at your aunt's for the holidays are you, with your Mum and Dad?"

"No, only me. I usually come here for the second half of the summer holidays."

"Well, there's nothing like a bit of independence I always say, makes a man of you. Where did you spend the first half?"

"Nowhere really, I stay on at school as a rule," I tried not to sound defiant for I really hated this bit, but people always asked you to explain. "It's not too bad and not at all like term time. You can even go into town in the afternoon, if you ask first."

"Your dad in the army or something then, always on the move?"

"Not exactly, but my parents are always on the move, going off somewhere or other, which is why they don't have time to come back for the holidays. But wherever they are I always fly out to join them for Christmas, Dad said Mum insists on that." I stared hard at a shop across the street, bracing myself for the questions that always followed. But he just nodded and lit his cigarette.

"Know what you mean, spent more time than I care to think in school myself, though being a little older than you I was teaching. Leastways that's what I thought I was doing, at one of those fancy Art Colleges. Not quite the kind of school you go to I know, but once you take away the flowery bits they all boil down to the same thing, and the terms still seem to go on forever."

"Is that why you left? Because of the terms I mean. God, I wish I could!" I didn't usually bring God into things, but it was the first time I had had a real conversation with a grown up and it seemed like an adult sort thing to say.

"That was part of it," he blew a cloud of evil smelling smoke into the still air with evident pleasure. "But mainly because I found out I was a fraud, well admitted it anyway, I must have known for years of course. But then we all tend to avoid the obvious.... if it's disagreeable."

"I'm not sure I understand..."

"Of course you don't, boy," he interrupted, "and why should you. Pay no attention to me, I was just rambling. Comes from spending too much time on my own, makes you start talking to yourself. Anyway, you have your own problems to face, like those endless school terms stretching out like a life sentence before you, wondering how on earth you're ever going to get through them all. But look at those people," he waved an arm, embracing the street, "most of them went through school, and I bet a lot of them hated every damned minute. But they survived the experience and I don't suppose many of them give their school days a second thought now. Not that it helps much when you're still going through it." He smiled as an idea occurred to him. "Tell you what, before I go I'll to let you in on a little secret of mine. Doesn't work for everybody, but if you're prepared to practice a little, you might find it a help with your school problems and a few more you haven't encountered yet."

A couple of pretty girls with long tanned legs who had been admiring the pictures bent down to put some coins in the hat. "Thank you ladies," he gave them a beaming smile. The ice cream must have gone down a treat, for he had ignored most other people who had added coins to his hat. As if knowing what I was thinking and was somehow embarrassed about it, he rummaged in the hat and came up with a handful of coins.

"Here, boy, take these and get us another round, same as before for me, and don't pocket the change mind!" He winked to show he was joking.

The morning was wearing on and there was quite a queue at the ice cream van so it was a while before I got back. He was kneeling over a paving stone working busily with his chalks, and for a moment or so ignored me, though I sensed he knew I was there. Then he leapt to his feet, flung his arms wide and cried, "Behold Posterity, de da!"

It was a perfect portrait of me in vibrant living colours and the best present I had ever had. He had even drawn an oval frame to make the setting more real. No one had ever done anything like that for me before. I wanted so much to thank him but suddenly my throat ached and I couldn't speak. So I hugged him fiercely instead. It was the only way I could express the way I felt.

"Hey there," he disentangled himself gently, "it's only a picture you know, and I doubt it will last the day. Come on now," he smiled, "let's have our ice cream; see what goes into the hat, and whatever it is we'll split. How does that grab you?"

I shook my head. "Thanks, it's a great idea, but I can't stay. As it is I'm going to be late for lunch, even if I run the whole way, and Aunt Delia does her top if anyone's late for lunch, even including Uncle Ben. But would you mind telling me your name before I go?" I asked shyly, "I would like to know, even if we never meet again, because of the picture and that."

"Why bless you, boy," he turned a little pink, "what a nice thought, there's not many who bother to ask. But since you have, most call me the Painter Man, and I would be right pleased for you to do the same."

"Painter Man," I rolled the name round my tongue. "I like that, it suits you somehow."

"Descriptive anyway," he grinned. "And if you have to go I had better tell you about that other matter before I forget. Mind you, as I said before you have to put your heart in it, and even then it's not for everyone." He paused; rolling another evil smelling cigarette, then changing his mind stuck the scraggy tube behind his ear.

"Everyone needs a secret place to escape to when the going gets tough, somewhere really wonderful and beautiful, especially for you." Painter Man leaned forward and tapped me gently on the chest with his finger to emphasize the point.

I wasn't sure if he expected a reply, but I couldn't think of anything to say so I kept quiet and waited. It was the right move, for a moment later he continued.

"But we have to create that place, boy, paint a picture of it in our minds. Brush the canvass with bold sweeping strokes of imagination showing where it is you would like to be. The fine detail and artwork of things that mean the most to you. Memories, feelings and such can always be added later as you go along. Though, you have to forget the bad ones, because they don't belong there. This is your own private place, where everything is happy and free. As life moves on new features and new experiences will be added to the treasure without losing any of your familiar favorites. And the picture will remain with you always, a living haven of peace and happiness, waiting to welcome whenever you have need of it."

"I'm afraid I couldn't do that Painter Man. I don't have much imagination; in fact Aunt Delia says I haven't any at all. So I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Rubbish boy, doubtless your aunt has many aptitudes, but character assessment is obviously not one of them." He was looking fierce again, though whether at Aunt Delia or me I wasn't sure. "Of course you have imagination, boy, everyone has. Just picture a scene where you felt really happy. It can be anywhere, a landscape, a garden, an orchard, a house, or even a particular room. Just close your eyes and let it come to you."

I tried, I truly did. I would have done anything to please the Painter Man, but I couldn't come up with a single idea. In the end I just opened them again and stared at him in dumb apology.

"You can't recall being happy anywhere?" He shook his head slowly; some dust or a fly must have flown into his eyes for he blinked rapidly and rubbed them with the heel of his hand.

"Well now, let's see," he blew his nose loudly on the bit of rag. "Is there any place you've enjoyed looking at, perhaps at a certain time of day maybe?" He paused, head cocked on one side like a suspicious chicken.

I thought for a moment then smiled happily, at least I could answer him with something. "I can see the sea from my bedroom window, and if I'm awake in time I love to watch the sun come up from the horizon first thing in the morning."

His face broke into a broad smile and he danced a little jig right there in front of me. "You see boy, you see, I knew we would find it if we tried hard enough, just knew it." He grabbed my hand and we jigged wildly together for a moment, uncaring of the curious crowd. Then holding me at arms length he looked deep in my eyes. "Now boy, you had better be off or your aunt will kipper you for sure. We probably won't meet again, you and me as my ferry sails soon after five, tomorrow morning. But I want you to promise me you will come back here by seven, no matter how difficult it might be. I can see you're a determined boy, so I want your promise that you'll be here no later than seven. Will you give me your word on it?"

I nodded dumbly, not trusting myself to speak. Yet I had to know one last thing about him before he went. Taking a deep breath to steady myself I said, "Before you go, Painter Man, will you tell me why you were unhappy at that school?"

"Why bless you boy, of course I will." He smiled to show he understood how important the matter was to me. "I had been teaching art to students for more years than I care to remember, until one day I finally had to admit to myself that I couldn't paint. No matter how hard I tried I was a fraud you see. I was a teacher who had pressed his counterfeit knowledge on countless talented students, while my own was restricted to drawing picture post cards," he pointed at the paving stones. It hurt like hell at the time, but then moments of truth often do. But I got over it, and over that bloody school as well, not that it was the schools fault. But instead of being the end of everything, it turned out to be the beginning. I won't say there haven't been any ups and downs; of course there have and the world would be a dull place without them. But it was my admission that day that gave me my freedom, the chance to do what I do well, and to do it when I like and anywhere I please. And mark my words, boy; such freedom represents riches most people can only dream about. So always remember, whatever you think you want may turn out to be not what you really need or want at all." He winked and smiled at me head askew to satisfy himself I would remember what he had said, then satisfied dropped to his knees and began working on a new picture.

I never saw Picture Man again, though I kept my promise, climbing out of the kitchen window in time to get to his pitch by seven the following morning. Fifteen minutes before the street cleaning truck came by to wash the pavements, but just in time to commit my secret place to memory before it was brushed from human eyes forever.

All the pictures had been scuffed beyond recognition by passing pedestrians overnight. All, that is bar one, which he must have drawn in the first light of day, long after the last reveler had retired to bed. It was a magic scene looking out from the dunes. The tide was out and beyond the sweep of clean wet sand a gleaming silver sea stretched out to meet the breaking dawn. Bright shafts of sunbeams reached up like searchlights to bathe the morning clouds in gentle hues of pink and gold against a background of growing azure blue. Standing on a sand dune in one corner of the picture, a young boy stood, gazing with hope at the magnificent panorama unfolding before him, a baseball cap on his head and an ice cream cornet in one hand.

Over the years the composition has changed in harmony with events just as he said it would, but the basic picture remains the same. I couldn't count the number of times I have visited that beach in times of stress or trouble and watched the breaking dawn from my favourite sand dune. And thanks to Painter Man, I still do.

### Three Cowries

My heart swells with pride and joy at the thought of my little cousin brother, "Three Cowries." If anyone could have ever been my soul mate, it was he. I was only eight and he seven, when he passed away. It was inevitable as he had a heart condition but more appropriately, because he was a boy....

My aunt could not have a healthy son. All the sons that she had given birth to had died either at birth or as toddlers. The girls were healthy and alive. So this time, when she had again birthed a boy, she had instructed her maidservant, who lived with the family to be his mother at a price of three cowries. Ahalya, the midwife and maid, had bought the baby boy by paying three cowries to my aunt. The pale and frail boy was now Ahalya's son but being brought up in his own parents' house. This was the arrangement made to avoid the curse that was hanging over all boys that his mother gave birth to – it was a hope to trick destiny and make her son live.

I and Three Cowries were the best of friends in the crowded joint family setup. In the beautiful hill station of Hazaribagh, during the times India was ruled by the British, we shared everything we possibly could and were inseparable. We went to school together helping each other carry our heavy satchels on the way and chatting merrily about life in general. We never felt tired in spite of those long walks as we were busy with our innocent banter. But that was before Three Cowries had been diagnosed with the heart condition. Needless to say, my aunt was heart-broken. Destiny had failed her again......

The saddest days of my life were when I had to go to school without Three Cowries. As his disease was discovered and he came under the care of doctors and family members, there were times when he could not make it to school. He would be wrapped up in woolens and seated smugly in the house courtyard to watch the birds and squirrels. When I returned from school in the afternoons, we would make it up by trying to climb the trees and chasing away my mother's hens and ducks from their roosts. Collecting the raw green mangoes from our own mango tree was our favorite pastime. And we did all this while the ladies of the house rested in their respective rooms. After all, they would soon have to get back to work preparing the evening meals and other chores. As it was, the lunch menu used to be a varied one with different courses. First, something bitter, like bitter gourd or neem with little rice, then pulses and rice with some fried vegetables, then came fish or mutton curry with rice or puffed fries made from refined wheat dough that swelled up like balls when deep fried, called poories and finally sweet-sour liquid chutney made from various kinds of fruits like raw, green mangoes or berries. On occasions and Sundays there would be rice porridge too. Poories could be had with any meal – breakfast, evening snack or even at dinner. They had to be fried one by one. The mothers must really be weary, I thought. However, in spite of this heavy schedule, on many afternoons, I used to find my mother sewing clothes for the old, weak, infirm, sick, and the infants. She would bring soft cotton cloth or wool and sew or knit comfortable clothing items. Most of Three Cowries' clothes were products of my mother's handiwork.

As the days progressed, poor Three Cowries had to give up many of the luxuries of life that I was entitled to. Poories, accompanied by a delicious potato dish that was our favorite snack, was now kept away from Three Cowries. This was really unbearable for me. I just could not get a morsel of this down my throat anymore. My eyes would well up and I would run out the house with my plate, go round to the back of the house till I reached the window of Three Cowries' room. There, I would whisper his name to draw his attention. Three Cowries was weak and had to lie in bed most of the time. Fortunately, his bed was near the window. As his head appeared from the window and he would peer into my eyes, I would hand him a poorie roll with the potato tucked inside it and urge him to eat before anyone entered his room.

"My lovely friend!" he would squeal with joy. I was more of a friend than a sister. This continued with other goodies that Three Cowries was not permitted to eat, delicious rice cakes, sweets made with clarified butter, and deep-fried dishes were passed on to him through the window regularly.

One day, I could not share my food with Three Cowries because I had developed a fever and a cold. I was confined to my room, thinking of my dear cousin. I did not have to wait for long because soon Three Cowries came to visit me. The maid carried him to my room and placed him on a chair that was pulled up to the side of my bed. "Did they give you sweet lime juice, Three Cowries?" I asked him with concern. "Yes, sister," he replied. "They gave juice to me also," I told him innocently and happily. As both of us had had the juice, there was no question of not being able to share my food with him today. I was served similar boiled and insipid food like he was as long as I was unwell; this pitiable common thread that temporarily bound us gave us immense happiness.

One day, my father came home with a big tin of foreign cookies. He used to bring this most coveted gift every few months and it would be a memorable occasion for all of us cousins to surround him and wait with bated breath while he opened the beautiful tin to display the array of variously sized and shaped cookies. We could all have our moieties only after this ceremony. These were the luxuries that the British times afforded us.

One day this ceremony was held in my absence. I was busy taking notes at my friend's place as I had missed school while I was ill. I returned home late in the evening. As the cycle rickshaw pulled into the cobbled pathway jangling its bells and stood in front of my home, I saw Three Cowries smiling gleefully at me from his position in the maid's arms. He had been waiting for me and as soon as I entered the house, he opened his closed palm, exhibiting its contents in front of my eyes. It held two coconut cookies – my favorite ones. The maid's eyes welled up. "Three Cowries has been holding them in his custody since morning, lest your unscrupulous cousins deprived you of your share," she informed me, both sadness and pride glinting in her eyes. Similarly, I often held two mango seeds in my hand sometimes for hours till I reached home and we both could suck on the succulent seeds together, sitting face to face and expressing our enjoyment of the delicious stuff with our eyes, smacking our lips and clucking our tongues oblivious to everything but ourselves. My fingers would be sticky and go stiff with holding something for long time but that did not ever bother me. Our bond was unique because with nobody else could I share my thoughts just with my eyes. Three Cowries understood me best.

As his disease progressed and the elders of the family whispered scary messages and made fearful eye contact whenever the doctor examined him, I and Three Cowries remained unaware of what was to come. All the while, we only thought of what our next moves in the courtyard would be in the afternoons when the sleepy town rested. Three Cowries became paler, thinner and sunken-eyed. But who noticed? We were deep in our conversations and games.

But the day finally arrived and I had to be deprived of my best friend. I do not know how my aunt bore it but I tried to make her smile by eating my friend's favorite food from her hands. poories and potato curry. I would carry this dish to my aunt, thinking that she would feel happy by remembering it was Three Cowries' favorite dish. She would feed the dish to me patiently with her own hands. As a grown-up I understand now that it was a vicarious pleasure she indulged in. She would smile and continue to feed me while I chatted on about Three Cowries and the other things he loved to eat. But once I left her room, I would have tears in my eyes and perhaps she in hers. I never revealed to her that I had fed him those dishes all throughout his short life, even though I knew those foods were proscribed for him. I felt guilty for his death. Perhaps, I had poisoned him?

As I grew older, I immersed myself in studies during those grim, empty afternoons that reminded me of the little frail boy. The ducks and hens were at peace or seemed to be so.

I became a doctor and learned about various diseases. I learned that the food I had been stealthily giving Three Cowries was not proscribed for the disease that he was suffering from but rather prescribed. In fact, he needed that kind of nourishment, which he was actually being deprived of. Medical science has progressed and prognoses, prescriptions, diagnostic techniques and medicines - all have changed. I heaved a sigh of relief as the burden I bore of all the years melted into a ball of glowing love, warmth and beautiful memories.

### Section 498, Indian Penal Code

Even as I heard the birds chirping through the haze of slumber, even as I stirred sleepily and even before I could mentally register that it was morning, my cell phone rang. Though it was a soothing ring tone, I was irritated at the urgency of the caller. Wasn't it too early to call anyone?

My friend, Amisha, she would call, SMS me at any time of the day (or night). Even as I lazily greeted her on the phone, she was already barking at me. "Rina, are you still sleeping? What nonsense! Please tell the auto driver your address." I jumped up with a start. Amisha was coming from Kolkata and I had forgotten to check the date on the calendar....it was the 19th; she had indeed informed me about her visit a few days back. I explained the address to the driver and lay back on bed. All the joints in my body were hurting. On top of that, Amisha and her daughter were vegetarians. I suddenly felt that non-veg was so much easier to cook! I had no maid at the time and Amisha had sounded so desperate that I could not tell her to postpone or cancel her visit or look for another place to stay. Much to my chagrin, she and her teenaged daughter argued all the time and it was somewhat tiring to be in their company.

Amisha was a lawyer. She had not mentioned that she was coming with a client, Parul. Perhaps she had forgotten, what with all that she had to manage. I heard that Parul had been ill-treated by her husband in Mumbai and gone back to her parents' home in Kolkata. Now she was here with her lawyer, Amisha, and some female police constables to book her husband for cruelty under Section 498 of the IPC.

Amisha dealt with the case deftly as I packed them off with good wishes and prayers for their success every morning for the next 2 to 3 days. The erring husband was caught by the police jointly with the help of the local police, packed off on the train and taken to Kolkata to be tried under Section 498 that deals with cruelty. Amisha attended the case and within a few days, wanted to come back to Mumbai, to my house.

I had my career to devote time to and my failing health and lack of domestic help was already killing me. Amisha continued demanding my company, calling me at all odd hours. I tried to divert her by asking about her exciting cases. She did tell me about a few cases but in a lacklustre manner. Strangely, I noticed that someone was always shouting agitatedly in the background at her end whenever she called.

"Either you come with me for a vacation or you arrange for someone for me!" she demanded of me one midnight. "I am yearning for some company and I cannot bring a man home. What will my daughter think?"

"So should it be a man only?" I asked.

"No, it can be a woman, but at this age I am lonely and I need someone, my darling. Let's go to Goa!" she jumped and made some smooching sounds over the phone.

I was now angry and did not know how to evade this issue. I was fed up of Goa, having gone there in the recent past for some work and having had to stay there for three whole months. And I could not take leave! From Kolkata, Goa seemed like some exotic far-off locale but for me it had become a familiar neighboring area now. And somehow I would end up feeling like a lesbian when she would talk to me in that fashion. I tried explaining to her how I was sick and aging and had to meet some commitments but she would have none of it! Meanwhile, as she spoke, the barking behind her got louder and louder.

"My husband is shouting. Can you hear him?" she asked. The noise became worse and I shivered at the volley of incoherent words that seemed like the man was spitting fire. He was now standing in front of her, I imagined. She was gently telling him to go away while hiding her cellphone. After a while, he seemed to have moved away for his voice sounded like it was coming from a distance. But nonetheless, he was still creating a racket.

"He is not in his senses," I ventured.

"Yes, he is always drunk, and for the last three years he has not paid me a single farthing, not even for the upkeep of our child," she informed me.

"Recently he pissed on my plate when I was having lunch." My mouth fell open at this non-digestible piece of information that she told me so simply.

I thought of the time when I had seen this gutsy lawyer come down with police to capture a highly influential man from Mumbai and put him in prison in Kolkata because he had been cruel to his wife who had returned to her hometown and filed a case there. Ever since that time, I had heard about more section 498 cases from this lawyer friend of mine. I had always been in awe of her courage.

I somehow managed to fend her off that day but her situation continued to play in my mind. A few days later, as I was getting ready to attend a meeting, I got a message from her. She sounded sweet and apologetic but unmistakably sad and determined. Her message read:

"Hi darling! Please search for someone to go with me to Goa through Facebook. First make him your friend and then transfer him to me. This is your task for today."

I was irritated but I knew what I had got into and that I was trapped. I could not avoid her. This sounded so cheap, I thought. My friend was going bonkers and she refused to see reason. Throwing my hands up in despair, I suddenly got an insight. Why had she not charged her own husband under Section 498? What was she waiting for? I was puzzled. This lady knew all the nuances of the law. She knew powerful lawyers too. She had fought for so many victims of domestic abuse and cruelty.

"Should I charge my own husband under section 498? I can't get myself to do that. Perhaps I still have feelings for him," she informed me.

That is the story of a gutsy woman, I said to myself.

### The Foreign Bride

"At least your daughter will marry that Goan and go away to live with him somewhere. My son is marrying a foreigner girl. Imagine. She will be living with us in the same house! Ajoy is getting a job here." Mrs Alpona Maitra tried to sound indignant, threatened and annoyed. She was desperate to evoke some sympathy from Konikadi, as if her life and future depended on Konikadi's response.

She usually met with jovial camaraderie from her kitty party friends whenever she broached the topic. Curiosity and admiration dominated their reactions. "Ajoy is so smart looking. No wonder he hooked a foreigner girl. Look at our baldy and paunchy rice-slurping husbands – the hulks shamelessly fall flat on bed and snore as soon as they had had their stomachs full of rice and curry." The thought of a tall, slim, white, liberated, career-minded woman falling in love with their Ajoy was exhilarating for them. This was in stark contrast to what Mrs. Maitra had expected from her orthodox, red bindi bearing, starched-Bengali-cotton-saree-clad friends. When she received no consolation from them for her dilemma, she turned to her relatives. However, she feared ridicule. Kolpona, her younger sister would squeal with joy! That jealous creature! She would be happy to see her sister tortured so!

"Jethima, can you imagine what fun it will be to have a foreigner amongst us? Oh! I love them. They do not have any qualms about a lot of things and much less taboos." Her nieces were actually looking forward to the wedding! Her other children echoed the same feeling. "Oh! Our Ajoyda is so smart and dashing to deserve this."

Alpona had to brave her plight alone. And imagine what if the girl's relatives dropped in for the wedding? How would she keep house for so many firangs with their odd ways of life? Chhee chhee chhee. Her house would get corrupted. Perhaps she would find her younger son and daughter following in their footsteps. Really, she thought, Ajoy has lost his sense of responsibility. And what will happen to her Lakshmi pujas on Thursdays and Shani pujas on Saturdays? The firangs will play havoc with her holy menus on those days.

At 11 PM the phone rang. "Ma we are reaching home day after tomorrow, early morning. The girl is Russian. Her name is Olga. She has a sister and a brother and her parents in Moscow." Ajoy decided that these details were enough for his mother's supposedly weak heart for the time being and hung up.

Alpona was up and about at 6 AM on the day of reckoning. She was walking dizzily up and down her verandah. Oh! The flight will be landing soon and anytime now, her son will be here with that foreigner. The chiffon saree kept slipping off her shoulders. The diaphanous material accentuated the rounded contours of her 100 kg body.

"What happened to the beautiful Bengal cotton sarees that you usually wear? My my! You look like my girlfriend now, not a wife." She glared at her amused husband and shut him up for the umpteenth time but to no avail. "And my darling where is your bindi? You will soon resemble a witch unless you tie up your hair. Where are the balas on your wrists? These flimsy bracelets don't suit you at all. Oh God! You are wearing pencil heels!" quipped Dipankar.

"Oh, will you shut up? Just go in and check if the maid has kept the gleaming silver tea set ready. And tell her to keep the sugar and milk separately in the proper containers. Last time your boss was here, she had put the milk in the sugar pot."

Alpona wiped her forehead with her saree. The sound of a motor vehicle in the distance alerted her.

"Quick! Put on the Om Jai Jagdish cassette. What? Can't find it? Okay then the Ma Kali devotional songs cassette. Hurry!" she ordered her husband.

"Where is my puja plate? I must welcome her in our traditional way with the lighted lamp. That will put her in place right from the moment she enters our house. No modern lifestyle here."

Her husband hid his face, the muscles contorting from suppressing the compulsive beginnings of a laugh. Alpona didn't realize that Olga had managed to get her dressing sense more modernized, even before setting foot in the house.

Olga emerged from the taxi and waved out to her. She had long lovely hair, noticed Alpona, with grudging admiration. Olga came close and Alpona pushed her cheek forward to be kissed in the western style. Olga joined her palms together and said, "Namasti." Then she turned to Ajoy's father and said, "Namasta," with a huge grin.

Oh! What was that? Namasta and Namasti? She has done her homework too enthusiastically, thought Alpona because the girl had added gender to the greeting, Namaste! And was she already making eyes at her husband? Alpona clutched on to her plate and started welcoming the girl in the traditional way while her husband tried hard to camouflage his bemused look.

Konikadi wondered what was happening in the Alpona household. It was 7 AM. The firang must be there by now, she thought.

"Oh Konikadi, Olga is so beaootiphoool. We are having tea – our typical Indian elaichi tea and she loves it," Alpona beamed into the phone. She continued indulging in badinage making sure she was within the firangi's hearing distance. Konikadi shook her head at her friend's sudden burst of English. Alpona must have gone crazy.

"When I was posted at the Bangladesh border, I......a long pause.....I saw this tiger......a long pause......I took out my rifle......."

"Enough!" Alpona cut short her husband's monologue. "Don't bore my bahu with those stories. My ears are rotting from hearing them."

"It's interesting Ma," butted in Olga.

Olga changed into her jeans and a halter top. "You know Ma I love these big Indian bungalows overlooking the hills and the sprawling verandahs." She settled down quickly, dusting the house and chattering about her family back in Moscow.

"You can only laugh at my plight. I wonder how long she will put up this charade. Ma Kali only knows what is to come." Alpona's discomfort was visibly disconcerting. Ajoy's father cleared his throat. "No Alpona, let us enjoy the spectacle while it lasts. I give this marriage a maximum time of one year to last."

Olga was beautiful. The most dazzling Bengali bride anyone had ever seen. Her white, glowing face offset the magenta Benarasi saree with the exquisite veil framing her face. Her hair, tied up in a beautiful bun and embellished with golden broaches and pins, glimmered through the veil. Dots of sandalwood paste decorated her face. The gold glistened on her person. She surveyed the jewelry proudly, unable to contain her amazement about so much gold. The typical Indian designs enamored her. She marveled at the filigree work, minakari, and stone settings. Silver anklets adorned her dainty ankles. No less than a film star. She looked like Suchitra Sen. Her kohl-lined eyes were bright and shiny. Nobody could believe their eyes. Ajoy stood, elegant and handsome, next to her in his dhoti and silk shawl. Olga chuckled to herself. Where else could she officially dress up so much and feel appreciated? If only her family back home could see her now - they would be so proud of their beautiful debuchka.

"Our wedding rituals are elaborate and tedious," Alpona warned Olga.

"Ma, I want to go through the whole gamut of procedures. There is no need to cut them short. I have heard of the Vedas. Sanskrit is really very sweet sounding. You are so lucky to have so much literature to explain the meaning of various aspects of life – so much guidance and seriousness. I am curious about the wedding rites. Let me understand them, imbibe them," Olga declared in one breath.

Alpona could not believe her ears. She had already instructed the priest to cut it short. Poor girl – she will burn in the blaze of the fire and the smoke – she will sweat and throw off her heavy saree. But Olga would hear none of it.

Dipankar whispered to his mother. "Ma, remember, the girl is not Indian so be careful what you say. And don't impose your ancient restrictions on her."

"Okay baba, you don't leave your sick old mother also. Let me live," smiled granny. A patient of heart disease, all knew that her days were counted.

Six months passed. Olga was found to be changing clothes all day. Sometimes she wore salwar kameez, sometimes saree, sometimes jeans and tee-shirt. She had learned to make wonderful fish curry with mustard, poppy seed curry with potatoes, mixed vegetable curry, and mango chutney. She was warm and down to earth. She spoke Bengali with the cutest accent. Her tinkling laughter filled the air as she joked and chatted with Ajoy's siblings.

Alpona had long forgotten her apprehensions. Granny too was looking healthier nowadays. She took an interest in the household decisions. One could find her attempting to visit the large window in her room to watch the beautiful world outside. At least the desire to wonder about the world again had been revived in her. The only thing everyone wondered about was, why did Olga change her clothes so many times in the day? Alpona decided that this must stop. Seeing her, the other children would start parading around in different clothes every now and then.

Finally, Alpona asked Olga matter-of-factly. She did not want to sound authoritative or interfering.

"It is granny, Ma. Granny had said that nowadays girls are so unhygienic. In her times they would change their clothes every time they visited the toilet to relieve themselves. And wasn't that a great method of getting to wear a variety of clothes? If this simple gesture can make old granny happy, then why not try it? Granny only has a few more months to live after all. And in exchange for this little gesture, granny agreed to take her medicines on time, even the tasteless ones, and she is learning English from me."

"Yes," granny nodded to Alpona. "I ken talk eenglis now. Wait till I catch my grandchildren complaining about me!" exclaimed granny in a shaking voice.

### My Love, My Life!

"Amit, where are you? I have something important to tell you. Please don't disappear like you did yesterday. I keep talking and how does it feel to find mid-way that you have left for office?"

"Ma, you can give me a call at lunch time, can't you? You know I have to shave and plan my day now. And have to eat that heavy breakfast that you trail behind me with!" Ma wipes a tear with her saree. "Oh Ma! I am so sorry. You make the best breakfast dishes in the world. Why do you think I always eat at home unlike my colleagues who order food at the office?"

It's 8.30 PM. Amit Chatterjee, the tired project manager of a reputed software firm, rings the doorbell of his home. He plans to spend the evening with his mother. Perhaps she has been feeling lonely and neglected of late. Even Tumpa, his sister, cancelled her visit to their house due to ill - health. Today he was going to make Ma feel proud and elated for having a son like him! After dad's death, Ma had become very lonely and sentimental, he mused.

Amit was carrying a pouch of rossogollas, Ma's favorite sweet. Uff! Why is she taking so much time to open the door? When she finally opens it, Amit leaps on his mother to hug her. He holds her tightly for the next few minutes, muffling all her pleas about creasing her starched cotton saree. Her bun too had started coming apart now. So did his black-rimmed spectacles. When Amit finally released her, he immediately grabbed her round swollen cheeks, and yelled, "Yippee....Let's go out for dinner. You know today a female colleague was giving me admiring looks..." He stops short. Sitting in the drawing room are three people. Mother, father, and girl. All prim and proper. Amit tries desperately to disappear into his bedroom but as he starts, he finds that he is limping. His right knee has suddenly given way. His mouth has twitched into a half-smile at his attempt to look normal. He has unknowingly scratched his head, making the hair above his left ear stand up straight. He has also unconsciously started unbuttoning his shirt buttons as he usually did on returning home. He reaches his room somehow and mutters under his breath. Ma appears after a little while with an inscrutable expression on her face and tells him that she had tried calling him at lunch time but could not get through and moreover she thought that he looked smart enough when he returned from the office in his formal clothes. All the while, both avoid meeting each other's eyes. Amit decides to keep quiet. He makes the obligatory presence in the drawing room. The rossogollas are distributed to the guests...there goes his love and hard-earned money. He rejects the girl because of her height...and does not ask his mother if the girl had liked him. Where was the need to rake up the embarrassing issue?

The weekend arrives. Amit and Ma go shopping in a department store. He wants to buy Ma a beautiful shawl. The aunty standing next to her admires the shawl and comments on Amit's choice. Ma glows. She tenders more information. "My son is a good cook too. He makes mouth-watering noodles, you know. Even today he has planned out a nice surprise menu for me." Amit is aghast. God knows what went on in his mother's head. The lady nods to her husband and another girl appears within the crowd. There are introductions. Their daughter is a very good dancer. She is specializing in salsa. Amit is eager to lead his mother away, fearing a life in the kitchen while supporting a dancing wife. Had his mother become so modern as to accept.......? Never mind.

Amit finally manages to pull her to a restaurant. They chat about various things. All of a sudden, his eye catches a familiar figure and he waves out to her.

"That girl is Rani," he tells his mother. Ma turns and finds a smartly dressed girl sitting with a man at the next table. The girl leans forward and touches the man's cheek.

"She works in my office. The office gossip goes that Rani is seen with different men every evening." Amit looks at his mother expectantly, waiting for her outburst of morality. Just then the aunty from the department store they had just been to appears and gives a broad smile. "I see you are eating out today. Giving your son some rest from cooking?" Ma goes cherry red.

One dreary, humid afternoon Ma opens her e-mail inbox and tries to enjoy the jokes sent by her son. Suddenly her attention goes to the list of names in the CC box. "Sudeshna Sanyal," she says aloud. Sounds nice. Sudeshna Chatterjee would sound even better! She picks up the phone.

"Ma! I am in a meeting. Anything urgent?" hisses Amit.

"No. I just wanted to ask about Sandhya Sanyal. I saw her name among your email addresses...." The phone clicks shut at the other end.

"Sudeshna Sanyal is a project director in another department of my office! She has two grown children!" thunders Amit the moment he enters his home in the evening.

"Ma, you need to relax. I will send you to your daughter's house for a few days."

Ma is drowned in tears. "This son of mine does not love me. Oh God! Please take me away."

"This weekend will be hectic. The new neighbors are finally coming to live next door," Ma is excited. Since morning, she has been supplying the new neighbors a steady stream of tea and snacks.

"They should feel good and comfortable living next to us," she explains. "I heard that they have a daughter who has studied in Australia. She is a microbiologist. What do you think of microbiologists, Amit? It must be such an interesting subject. That girl has brains. Her mother was saying she won a gold medal too." Amit starts to feel uncomfortable with Ma's words. With her next sentence, he jumps up to take his position in the toilet. He feels safe there at least for half an hour. "I think she is your type of girl..." he can hear his mother's voice trailing off.

"Sister, Ma is suffering from anxiety and loneliness. You don't know what I am going through!" mumbles Amit exasperatedly into the phone, hoping for some genuine understanding.

"Oh! Only yesterday she was excitedly telling me about your interest in the neighbor's daughter? Amit, you cannot hide things from Ma you know! Now tell me about the girl who has won my brother's heart like a good boy."

This weekend, Ma is going to Tumpa's house to stay, for at least a week. A disgusted Amit puts her suitcase in the car. As he waits, a roly poly overweight girl trundles out of his neighbor's flat.

"You must be Amit. Your mother was saying you are a software engineer. She is such a sweetie pie. She asked me to show you my doctoral thesis. It seems you were interested in taking up microbiology if you hadn't been a software engineer?" coos the roly poly girl sweetly. Amit prays that his mother arrive soon. Did he even like girls anymore?

Ma finally appears, wipes her tears and locks the front door. Her face seems to be glowing with grief. There are two wells on her face. Amit feels guilty and hugs his mother.

"Ma you really need this change. I will be fine by myself. Don't worry. And we are in the same city. Just think, sister will be so happy to have you with her." Ma nods her head, her bun bobbing up and down and bursts into tears again.

They enjoy a smooth ride to Tumpa's house. Amit feels relieved to see his mother settle down, hoping she has forgotten about Rani (of all girls!). He huffs and puffs silently and then his cheerful nature takes over. There! He had done a good job! He chuckles to himself, happy that he has managed to divert her mind from girls. He congratulates himself on being a responsible son.

Just as the satisfied Amit turns to make his trip back home, Ma pops the question: "Err....one minute son, what you think of Rani?"

### The Great Monster

She stood facing her floor to ceiling mirror. Her reflection no longer startled her. Her body had changed considerably since the great monster chose to use her body as a host. That is what she called it now, "the great monster." No one else seemed to have the ability to give her silent tormenter a name. Doctors were baffled and she sometimes doubted her friends and family truly believed her. Her monster was silent, nameless, and faceless. It's hard to believe in something that you can't see or touch or even put a name to. She knew it was there. That was all that mattered now.

She reminisced briefly on her life before the monster. Her hair seemed to shine brighter, her face appeared younger, but it was the changes in her body that bothered her the most. She was growing older, after all, so a few wrinkles were nothing to get excited over and her hair was mostly worn in a ponytail so who cared if it didn't shine as brightly. Her body though, her body was so different.

She thought of how, at one time, she stood tall, strong, thin and straight. The monster had a different idea for her body. Her body now could swell from her toes to her head causing her once beautiful skin to stretch and contrast. Now tiny lines covered her skin as though the beast was marking its territory. Her once flat belly now protruded as though she was pregnant and her strong spine had given up on holding her upright. Her body leaned severely to one side more often than it stood straight. These were just outward appearances though. The things people could see. The things that proved something was not right were inside of her. It was the way the monster terrorized her insides that left her nearly crippled, mentally and physically.

Most days the monster ran with fire beneath her skin. It wreaked havoc on her muscles, her bones, and her mind. The pain was uncontrollable, leaving her weak, angry, sad, and, most of all, resentful of the life she had lived and of the life was now living. Try as she might her mind couldn't compete with the monster. She tried, in vein, to quiet the monster. She would feed it morphine but the drug only made the monster stronger and her mind weaker.

Before she knew what was happening, the monster took hold of the morphine and begged her for more. Her mind was conflicted. She knew the dangers of the drug. She knew the risk of addiction. She also knew the pain that controlled her life. She knew the sadness she felt when the pain held her bed bound. She knew the morphine could keep the monster quiet, if only for a short amount of time, so she fed the monster.

She could feel the morphine rush through her body. She felt its attempt to kill the monster and its disappointment when it could do no more than numb the monster temporarily. She felt her body beg for more. Beg for the small moments of sweet release. The moments were few and far between but she lived for them. At least she used to live for them.

She visited more and more doctors but they couldn't help her. The more treatments and drugs they gave her, the stronger the monster grew. The harder she fought the monster, the weaker she grew. Her sad mind and heart were now beginning to appear more often than her happy heart and mind. Some days she begged her body to heal. She begged her body to live, to fight, and to beat the monster. Other days, days that were becoming more and more frequent, her body begged for release. She cried to be let go, she prayed she would fall asleep and never awaken. Her emotions were in turmoil as the monster ripped her body to pieces. She was at a crossroads but she didn't know which way to go.

She would wait. She would hope. She would pray to another unknown entity. She would fight. She would never give in. She would never give up. She was in a bitter fight for her life. She would keep her mind strong even as her body grew frail. Her opponent may be invisible but it would not win. She would win. She would stand tall and strong and straight. Her hair would once again be shiny. Her skin would glow. She hoped she would be with her family in this world when she finally beat the great monster but knew her body was weak. Her body may give out, but her heart, her thoughts, her soul would live on. That one thought gave her peace. She would cling to that tiny feeling of peace.

### RELIVING MEMORIES

With every stroke of lead on the paper, every fluent motion of the hand, every concentrated detail, her memory was coming to life. The talent beyond her 9 years of life was playing out before her on that white sheet of paper.

Closing her eyes, she could remember every strand of hair like it was her own. The blond curls twisting and turning like a world famous roller coaster. As her eyes opened, she relayed her thoughts to the paper turning her hand slightly to get the angle just right.

The hair was the easy part. She knew the eyes were going to be a bit tougher. The thick eyelashes, the semi-forming crows feet from a lifetime of smiles, the perfectly placed mascara. She spent hours looking into those eyes, dreaming of the thoughts that lay behind them, wondering if she was ever in those thoughts.

With the finishing touches of the perfect eyes completed, she moved onto the lips. The full, always shaped in a smile lips, every line, every curve coming back to her, the light red lipstick that was never out of line like an obsessed table setter placing forks in a row. She turned the pencil to the side, causing the exact tint needed, making no mistakes.

With every piece of the face coming together like a Beethoven masterpiece, she knew the 5 years lost didn't affect her memory. The countless minutes, the miserable days, the missed birthdays, none of them mattered now. She was coming back to life. Every flawless line drew was reliving every second spent with her.

As she finished her work of art, the little girl felt the tear roll down her cheek and drop onto the paper. She knew she needed to be strong. Not for herself, but for the person who mattered most to her. So she stood up and took the picture with her, turning towards the door out of the sun room.

Wandering through the house she could hear a familiar noise in the den. This was a sound she heard for hours before she closed her eyes at night. Filling the house like the saddest song she had ever heard.

Slowly opening the door, she peaked in. There sat her dad at his desk, holding a ring in is fingers as tears rolled down his face. She could already feel the love letting out of him like a radar to the one he lost.

The little girl walked over to the desk and slid the picture underneath his hands and put her arms around her father.

"I won't ever forget mommy either." she said as her tears fell beside his.

### THE PERFECT DAY

The sun was shining down hard against my exposed neck. He always tried to warn me about wearing sun block, but I was 6. I never listened.

Walking down along the water at that beautiful beach, I couldn't help but giggle at the feeling of the sand between my toes. For unknown reasons, it always tickled. I used to love leaving my foot prints in the sand. I would always compare our prints. It seemed like it would take a hundred of mine to fill one of his. His gigantic foot print always reminded me of that scene in Jurassic Park of the T-Rex stepping into the mud.

I can still feel the breeze hitting my red cheeks. As I asked him where it came from, he knelt down next to me and pointed out into the ocean and said "it is the dreams of everyone around the world, getting to where they are supposed to be." When he took my hand and led me towards something in the sand, I couldn't help but think that this is where my dreams had been carried. It was the perfect day.

Sticking up slightly out of the moist sand, there was a round figure. From the distance, it looked like a rock. I couldn't understand why a rock was important, until we approached it quickly. Gently pulling it out of the sand, exposing all of it, there was an odd texture to it and a weird shape on the back.

"This is a sand dollar." he said while placing it in my hand.

"What is a sand dollar?" I asked him.

"It is a living creature."

I dropped it immediately and backed up. My world was consumed with his infectious laugh, the one thing that no one could help smiling at. It was the medicine for a bad day.

I watched him walk towards the water, rolling up his pant legs, and whistling a song only he knew. As soon as his back was completely turned, I covered up the sand dollar with ease, and raced towards him. Walking together, I tried to keep the beat with him to his song, but I had no clue how to whistle so I was just blowing air. None of that mattered to him. He just looked down and smiled.

Looking back up, his towering form was unbelievable. He was a giant. My giant, the man that would protect me without a care for his own well-being, I was his life, his protege, his son. I would follow him into the unknown, because I knew he would never let anything happen to me.

He stopped me right before the edge of the water, and began to untie my shoes, his enormous hands unraveling my shoe laces with precision. When the shoes came off, he rolled up my pants legs and said "now we are ready." Right before he stood up, he looked me in the eyes and winked. He was the best dad anyone could ask for.

I turned and bolted towards the water, not even taking into consideration that it was only June. When my left foot slammed into the water, I froze in my tracks. The water felt like setting my bare foot onto the snow. I turned around and ran as fast as I could away from the numbing water and back next to my dad. His laugh filled the air again.

"A little cold?" he asked me.

"Freezing," I responded with an over dramatic shiver.

My eyes followed him as he left my side and walked towards the water. He proceeded with caution, following the wave as it rolled back out into the sea. Just as he stopped, he turned around and smiled at me with a kid-like anticipation. The wave vanished, as another passed over it and hit my dad's legs. He jumped up into the air, turning suddenly and running as he hit the ground. My breathing was gone as I laughed harder than I ever had.

"You were right. Let's get out of here." he said with a laugh as he led me back to my shoes, ending the perfect day.

My father was a great man. There are many memories of him, but this is by far the greatest. The memory that will get me through any hard days that is to come. Surrounded by all his friends and family here today, I know he would be proud. Even with him gone, his 17 year old son will never forget the moments in life that matter the most.

I love you, dad.

### NANNIE'S CAT

Cat was in the garden. She called him Cat because that's what he was. She didn't hold with giving animals people-names. Nannie could hear him squalling at the birds who so deftly avoided his clawless front paws. Chuckling softly, Nannie tied an apron around her ample waist and began setting out the ingredients to make a stack cake. She guarded the recipe jealously; it had been her grandmother's and not an easy one to replicate. She had kept it only in her memory until her memory started to go, then she wrote it down and put it in her coffee canister. She prayed every night she wouldn't forget where she'd hidden it. She looked around her sunny yellow kitchen and breathed a prayer of thanks that she could still find it when she needed it.

Her children, scattered out all over the state, didn't like her living alone now, and they strenuously objected to her cooking; they were afraid she'd forget the stove was on and burn the house down around her. She got one meal a day from Meals on Wheels; the rest of the time they wanted her to eat cereal for breakfast every morning, and a sandwich of some kind each evening for supper. She was not willing to give up cooking for herself, but she taped up notes all over the kitchen saying, "Check the stove" to pacify them.

Nannie sighed and began mixing the ingredients for the stack cake. Her son had disconnected the gas stove so she wasn't able to cook with it anymore. He said he was scared she'd turn it on, forget to light it (it was very old, and she had to light each burner with a match), and die from gas fumes. Nannie was indignant, but she knew arguing that issue was a battle she could never win, and she was terrified her children would have her ruled incompetent and send her to an old age home, so she held her tongue. She wondered how long it would be before they refused to let her cook at all. For the time being they were willing to let her continue to use the toaster oven. It had a timer, so even if she burned something, it would eventually shut itself off.

She couldn't drive; had never learned, and she was at the mercy of her daughter who lived in a small town just west of her own. She hated having to ask Darcy to drive her to the Piggly Wiggly every Saturday; Darcy always made her call and ask, saying she didn't want to waste a trip if Nannie didn't really need anything that week. Nannie thought her daughter just enjoyed being in control of everything. Darcy was the only child who lived close enough to Nannie to help her so Nannie didn't dare antagonize her. Quietly, while the cake was baking, she made her grocery list. Milk, eggs, Arm & Hammer baking soda, yeast, baking powder, Eagle brand condensed milk, some ripe bananas, vanilla wafers. For a moment she considered what other items she might need that she'd forgotten. Finally, she rose and went to the pantry.

Opening the door, she saw rows of gleaming Mason jars filled with the vegetables and fruits she had canned the summer before. She dusted them regularly and enjoyed some nearly every day. She was careful not to use them up too quickly because there would be no more. With no stove to cook on, she could no longer can anything, and the few things she still raised in her small garden had to be eaten quickly before they rotted on the ground. She used to give away cans of food to her neighbors, but the neighborhood had changed, and she didn't really know anyone there anymore.

When the timer on the toaster oven went off, Nannie took the cake out and placed it on a rack to cool. Back to the list: new potatoes, salt substitute (which she thought tasted like tin foil but was forced to buy because her children worried about her blood pressure), oleo (she preferred real butter, but Darcy insisted on the fake kind with less cholesterol and fat), Crisco, and vanilla pudding. Putting the list down on the table, she went back to the cooling rack, took the cake and began slicing it crosswise into half-inch layers. Once this was done, she pulled out a jar of apple butter (one of the few things she could not make for herself), and began layering cake slices with apple butter between them. When she had all the layers stacked neatly and had spread the final layer of apple butter on top for garnish, she stepped back to see her handiwork. Beautiful, she thought, licking a smear of apple butter off her thumb. She got out the waxed paper and wrapped it carefully around the sides and bottom of the cake. She left the top uncovered for the "frosting" to get solid.

She didn't have many visitors, except for the Meals-On-Wheels lady, who had so many deliveries to make she didn't have much time to chat. The preacher came by a couple of times a month to see her; she appreciated that more, because she lived so far out in the country he had to drive a good while to get there. His visits usually only lasted an hour but he always called to let her know he was coming and she always had boiled coffee and cake or muffins for him when he arrived.

The preacher was getting on in years now, too, and the congregation had voted to retire him. They had already brought in a new younger preacher who was getting to know the church and its members; they had given the old preacher six months to prepare for his retirement. She was afraid that after he was gone, she'd really be alone. She didn't much cotton to the new preacher; she'd met him once, and he seemed to be in a great hurry. During the one visit he'd made to see her, when he was sitting in her parlor, his movements told her that it was a mere courtesy call and that he would much rather be somewhere else.

Her phone rang, she ignored it. It was one of those cell phones with the great big numbers, and she still wasn't too comfortable with a phone that didn't have a cord. Mostly she figured it was somebody trying to sell her something or ask her research questions or some other tripe and she just didn't have time for that. She still had to clean up her kitchen and do her Bible reading. Everything seemed to take her so much longer lately; she tired easily and had to sit down often, even when she was just standing at the sink washing dishes. Sometimes her heart pained her a bit, but she didn't tell the children that. She knew if she did, they'd pack her off to the old age home right away.

Now she sat down at her kitchen table for a rest and while she was resting, it occurred to her that the preacher might have told her he'd visit today. She wasn't sure she was remembering that right and it worried her. But she had the stack cake ready, and she could make some instant coffee if he came by. She did need to change her clothes though; she had flour and baking powder all over her apron and some on her housedress. She got up to head toward the bedroom; suddenly, she felt weak and dizzy and was afraid she might faint. She sat back down abruptly and was surprised when she broke out in a cold sweat. "Why, Lord have mercy.....what on earth is wrong with me?" When the symptoms gradually went away, she relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. "Well..." she said out loud. "Whatever it was, it's gone now." She rose from the chair, started toward the door to the hall and her bedroom but she suddenly found herself short of breath and so tired....so very tired. As she slid down the wall to the floor, she thought she might've gotten up out of the chair too quickly; after all, she wasn't young anymore. She sat there on the linoleum for a few minutes; as she waited for the weakness and dizziness to pass, she saw a paw reach through the kitty door and feel around, flexing nonexistent claws, a head and then a large ginger-colored body slinked through the opening.

Once all of him was in the house, the cat stood still staring at Nannie sitting on the floor and if cats could have an expression, Nannie felt sure his was one of surprise. He eased along the wall to his food and water dishes, keeping her in sight, but not making direct eye contact. As he lowered his head to nibble delicately on his dry food, she was sure she was still present in his peripheral vision. He finished his snack and lapped up a bit of water to cleanse his palate; the ritual of cleaning his face with licked paws began, and he studiously avoided looking at her, but she was sure she was keeping an eye on her.

"Oh, Cat, if only you could dial a phone. I think I'm in a mess of trouble here." Nannie sighed and eased herself down into a prone position on the floor, pressing her hot face against the cool linoleum. She knew she was trembling, and she was disgusted at her weakness. "For heaven's sake, snap out of it, old woman. The preacher'll be here in a while, and he'll see to you." It frustrated and frightened her that she wasn't sure if he was really coming that day or not. She flattened herself out on her back and folded her arms under her head for a cushion. The shortness of breath and weakness were just as real, but the dizziness had abated a little. "I'll just rest here for a minute, and I'll be fine. I just overdid, cooking in this hot kitchen." The kitchen wasn't especially hot, and she was shaking with cold, but she refused to pay attention to that.

"Maybe I just need to rest a bit. I did scrub the bathroom this morning." She looked at the cat for reassurance but he had decided that his toilet was finished, and she saw the stub of his tail exiting through the kitty door. "Yes, that's it; that is it, isn't it, Lord?" she asked, looking up toward the ceiling. She often talked to God out loud; that was one of the nice things about living alone, not having someone think you're off your rocker if you think out loud. "I'm not ready to go yet; I feel like you have more work for me to do here, but if you're ready for me, just let me know. The ladies' Sunday School class will just have to get along without me." She chuckled to herself, knowing that the minute she was gone, her best friend and sometime bitterest rival, Carol, would jump into the role of teacher that had been Nannie's at the Church of the Most High God for thirty-five years. Carol had just been waiting for an opportunity to show Nannie up. "That's not a very Christian attitude, old woman," she scolded herself. "Carol will make a fine Sunday School teacher. She has that big, booming voice," she chuckled. "No one'll fall asleep in her class, I can tell you."

The laughter in her voice died away and she became reflective. She remembered when she'd moved into this old house – it was 1950, and she had just married her husband. She sighed, "Oh, Harv was fine, Lord. He was handsome and kind – kinda quiet, but strong, and he loved me good. Oh, yes, he did." She remembered holding him in her arms with yearning. "I loved that old man till the day he passed. He was ever'thing to me. He was a good daddy to our children, and a man of faith and constancy." Nannie felt tears trickle down her face and find their way into her ears. "I'll be glad to see him if you're ready for me to, Lord. Let him know I'm coming, will you? He startles kinda easy," she laughed. The laughter was choked; she felt a little strangled, like she'd sipped hot coffee, and it'd gone down the wrong way.

The phone on the counter began to ring again. She relaxed a little; if her children were calling, they would know she was in trouble because she hardly ever let her phone ring without answering it. They would come and check on her. It rang and rang and rang; she had never let her children install the answering machine they had argued about with her for years. She didn't understand how it worked and she always felt it wasn't polite to make people talk to a box when they wanted to talk to you. So the phone rang on.

"Well, for heaven's sake," she grunted and tried to get up, but her head was swimmy, and she just couldn't do it. She managed to drag herself back to her chair, but the chair was an old cane-bottomed one she'd had for years, and it was a little wobbly in the joints. "Just like me," she laughed, and again, her muscles went weak. She was able to get back against the wall, and she began to grow calmer but no less annoyed at the continued ringing of the phone.

Eventually, the ringing stopped, and she thought, 'It must have been a sales call. No one I know would let the phone ring that long, even if they thought I was on the commode!' Then she was glad she couldn't get to it; she hated sales calls. Southern courtesy demanded that she listen to the spiel they delivered and turn it down politely, and that aggravated her. She hated being forced to speak to people she didn't know, and she hated even worse not being able to help people. Her children thought she was ridiculous for listening to the telemarketers, and they encouraged her to just hang up on them, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She always thought they might have children to support, and that the least she could do is listen, even if she couldn't afford to buy anything they were selling.

The smell of the stack cake tantalized her, and she thought if she could just get up off the floor, maybe she'd have just a smidge of it until the preacher came. There was a pressure in her stomach, and she thought maybe she'd forgotten to eat that day. Since it was a Saturday, the Meals on Wheels didn't run, and she usually just made herself some instant oatmeal for lunch. Frustrated, she really couldn't remember. "That's why I feel so puny. I didn't eat!"

The paw reappeared through the cat door, swatting the rubber piece aside and the long ginger body followed the paw. This time the cat sniffed at the few pieces of dry cat food in his dish, ignored the water entirely, and walked calmly over to Nannie, still seated on the floor. He pushed his head against her hip, insisting on a petting. When she didn't respond, he looked indignantly at her and pushed again, this time against her leg, then turned, flipped his tail so she could see his rosebud, and settled down beside her, purring loudly and grunting with the effort.

Nannie reached down and stroked his bristly fur. He didn't shed too bad, but every time she swept the kitchen, it seemed she swept up more ginger-colored fur than anything else. She had considered trying to use the fur for something; may to make a nest for the hummingbirds that frequent the feeder she'd hung for them from a nail on the eave of the house. She'd hung it high enough so the cat couldn't reach it, and had used fishing line to keep the ants off the sugar-water-filled bowl.

The phone began to ring again, and Nannie thought she really ought to try to answer it. It was all the way across the kitchen on the far counter, and she wasn't sure she could get there. She didn't want to crawl there – it would be terrible if the preacher looked in the back door and saw her dragging her bottom across her kitchen floor – but she was sure she couldn't get back up again...at least until she could rest some more. The feeling of fullness in her chest was starting to subside a little, and she thought maybe she could get into a chair and just scoot it across the floor. She knew that would damage the linoleum, and Darcy would give her heck about it, but what was she supposed to do? The phone kept on and on and it was starting to make her head hurt.

With great effort, much groaning and puffing, she managed to drag herself up into a kitchen chair. Resting, she thought if she could get close enough to the counter, she could maybe scoot the chair close enough to the phone to reach it. She swept some loose grey hairs behind her ears and tried to rise from the chair, leaning on the sink. Her limbs were weak, but she was able to rest on her forearms and elbows enough to reach out to the phone. By the time she had mastered this movement, the cursed thing had stopped ringing. Letting out an aggravated puff of air, she collapsed back into the chair, leaning forward to cool her hot cheek against the stainless steel of the sink.

She rested there a good while, thinking about what might happen if she were going to meet the Lord. She was fairly certain the children would sell her house, probably before the first clump of dirt had hit the top of her coffin. They had never liked it, said it was too small for visitors – she always chuckled a bit at that – and that they didn't understand why, if she liked such a small space, she didn't just move into an assisted living apartment like her friend Carol. The truth was, since her old man had died, Nannie had grown used to being alone, and she liked it. Except for Darcy's Saturday obligation and the preacher's visits, she enjoyed the silence of her own company. When she needed someone to talk to, she just conversed with the cat. He was a very good listener.

A dull ache started in Nannie's jaw and throat and spread down her arm. She began to be afraid. She knew the symptoms of a heart attack – her own father had died at the table after complaining of indigestion and gas from the greasy pork chops her momma had fixed him for supper. She was afraid – oh, not so much of dying, but of laying here till someone bothered to come check on her. She didn't want the preacher to be the one to find her. Not in her dusty housedress and flour-covered apron. "Lord," she croaked out, "Lord, don't let me go like this. I ain't in no shape to meet you and my old man." She knew she was right with her Maker; she'd been washed in the blood of the Lamb most of her life. She just didn't want to meet him right now. Not with the kitchen a mess, her clothes a mess, and a stack cake that needed to be covered and put in the Frigidaire.

The phone began to ring again, and this time she felt hope with each ring. She struggled to reach to her left and finally was able to touch, and then move the phone near enough to grasp it in her one good hand. The other had gone strangely cold. She flipped it open and in a near-whisper said, "Yep?"

"Momma, how many times have I told you it's rude to answer the phone like that," Darcy grumbled. "What if it was somebody important calling you? They'd think you were some kind of white trash. Oh, never mind," she hurried on, "the real reason I called you is 'cause I can't carry you to the Piggly Wiggly today. I've got a meeting with my ladies from the Junior League, and I clean forgot about it. You can wait till tomorrow to go to the store, can't you?"

Nannie took a breath to speak, but managed only a strangled sound.

"Oh, Momma, for heaven's sake, it's only one day," Darcy groused. "Besides, you know you hate to go anyhow, and you can't be out of everything already. I'll be there tomorrow around noon, and we can go then. All right?" Without waiting for a response, Darcy pressed on. "Okay, then, well, I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go. Bye, momma." She hung up while Nannie was still trying to marshal her thoughts into a cry for help.

Nannie dropped the phone and slumped back into the chair. The cat leapt onto the counter and rubbed his muzzle against Nannie's hand. She petted him absently. She guessed that it wasn't in the Lord's plan for her to be able to ask Darcy for help. Likely she'd have thought Nannie was exaggerating anyhow; she paid little attention to her mother's complaints of ailments. Darcy was of the opinion that human frailties to be should be dealt with as mind over matter, and she had very little patience with what she considered her mother's weaknesses.

"Well, Cat," Nannie said softly, rubbing his velvety-soft ears, "I guess the time has come. I know you won't understand this, but you been pretty good company for me, and I hate to leave you. You have plenty of food and water, but please don't mess around my stack cake. I reckon the mourners will want that." Once again, she laid her cheek on the cool counter and closed her eyes. The pain had subsided a little, but the numbness in her hand and the ache in her jaw were constant.

*****

"Miz Miller?" the young, handsomely dressed preacher called through the screen door. "Hello? Miz Miller? Are you there, ma'am?" He glanced at his watch, only an hour till the UFC title bout on Channel 76 – his only guilty pleasure – and he was only making this visit because the old preacher was feeling ill. "Miz Miller?" he called once again, then turned to go. As he stepped down off the porch, he thought, 'I'm sure as heck not gonna miss my show to visit with some old biddy who doesn't even like me.' He climbed back into his dark-blue SUV and drove away.

### Out West A-Ways

Green Valley was the semi-catchy name for a sort-of semi-catchy little town nestled on a deliciously mossy ledge that ran along a tawny, sun-dried series of hills out west a-ways.

The citizens of Green Valley liked to swagger just a little - and then just a little more (it must be admitted) - when someone in a car with a license plate from Somewhere Else parked on their Main Street to do an errand and then be on their way.

The Someone Elses never noticed, ironically, so it seems, that Green Valley was especially green. Moreover, it just so happened that all the open land of the town was always carpeted with the most delectably soft and thick green moss. Darkly rich and springy, it grew with unbridled enthusiasm. And in point of fact, an aerial view revealed a curious symmetry of all the green bits. "Like a Celtic love-knot ring," the occasional small craft pilot liked to remark to the navigator in the next seat over, during a Sunday flyover, the worthy in the next seat over only smiled in reply as the aircraft continued on.

All these small 'burgs' out west a-ways are the same, these hobby-pilots would agree, so the comment always went unreported. And since a few Someone Else's had occasion to fly airplanes of any size over Green Valley, it remained a town near enough to civilization to be in its ken but still a bit remote.

It did happen that most of the Someone Elses who passed through Green Valley noticed that the amiable citizens were a tad bohemian, preferring to walk barefoot whenever the opportunity presented itself. But even then, such visitors were only in town to do a quick errand or two, and soon be on their way again. They had no time to take off their shoes! That ineluctable pleasure belonged to the somewhat absorbed, semi-dreamy citizens of Green Valley.

From showery April until it was time for the summer sun of necessity to turn its headlight glare full-on in July and August, the natives of Green Valley knew there was simply nothing better in life than a barefoot stroll on the long comforting walkways and pastures of thick green moss. With judicious waterings to assist the object of their civic pride, it was possible for their ubiquitous green moss carpet to thrive throughout the year.

It was not that the citizens of Green Valley were an unproductive lot. It is merely that they were prone to temporarily halt their industry by stopping here and there to smell a flower, sit on a bench and dream good thoughts, watch an antic butterfly, or even window-shop a competitor's goods - carrying their shoes in hand all the while.

A few of the good-natured citizens of Green Valley even liked to hike up to the top of one of the near surrounding hills from time to time and hunker down on the green, living carpet beneath their feet. From such a perch one could comfortably and without jealousy, watch the furtive bustling of other towns along the road leading to and past Green Valley.

Such review always confirmed their suspicions. Not a one of those cities or towns in Somewhere Else and Beyond possessed such a distinguished green moss carpet like the one that ambled everywhere in Green Valley. No, for those constricted lives in Somewhere Else and Beyond, their streets were all too often paved and hard, their roads a series of dusty streamers marking the hurried passage of all who lived and worked within its confines.

In the deep of winter, the good citizens of Green Valley understood that the moss they revered and reveled in was always below the cold crystal surface, sleeping peacefully, renewing itself for the thaw that was sure to come. It was left to the Someone Else's to wonder: Would they ever see anything green again? Spring was so far away.

Therefore, throughout the famously intense summer months out west a-ways, while the Someone Else's in their Elsewhere and their Beyonds could never let their busy footsteps be chastened to go more gently because their summer sun was an uncut diamond blazing forth hard and unforgiving, the citizens of Green Valley reverted to their usual habit of work interrupted by barefoot strolling and garden bench daydreaming.

Of necessity, in the less-visited Green Valley, the silky golden heat of summer flowed down like honey and cradled the hills. The spirit of the lush moss-carpet would release its magic as sprinklers jiggered and danced wetly in the late afternoon. It was left to visitors from Somewhere Else to make do with the rigors of summer in their concrete canyons.

Well, that's the way it was out west a-ways.

So, the years passed. Sitting safely up the road a-piece, the citizens of Green Valley continued their lives, overlooked and under-remarked by the rest of society, protected in part by their neighbors' ignorance. The citizens of Green Valley could afford to be affable, causing their goods to be just expensive enough to keep the traffic at bay.

Even if a visitor should stop inside the town limits and notice how green it was, they were just as quick to remember that time was a-wasting and it wouldn't do to dawdle.

It could be said then, as a generality: no one from Elsewhere and Beyond really cared what the semi-dreamy citizens of Green Valley were doing or not doing. So what if that odd little burg called Green Valley had a very nice quantity of pleasant mossy grass. It didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things -- or so they thought.

And thus did these rare instances of being suddenly noticed, therefore inviting potential danger, vanished like dandelion fluff dancing on a breeze. Over and again, Green Valley was confirmed safe and secure.

In Green Valley, the people were both proud and mindful of their 'Blessing,' as they called the perennially lush moss carpet. They were happy to take the time to sit under a sleepy sun, often enough cooled by easy afternoon breezes ... if for no other reason than there was evidently no one else to do it – and someone had to admire the moss,

Well, didn't they?

Someone had to sit awhile and daydream, someone had to watch the butterflies of spring and summer. Someone had to window-shop in front of BF Jones & Co to see if their merchandise was really so excellent or examine the tools at Ajax Supply. Didn't one have to admire a worthy opponent's undeniable good taste and selection? Industry must not be allowed to cloud one's view. And then it was back outdoors again, because the day was really too beautiful to waste, the mossy grass too delicious to deny.

In the end, one might think it curious that the citizens of Green Valley never stopped to wonder how it came to be that they alone should be the recipients of this remarkable abundance while a few dry, desert miles down the road, the wind blew more insistent, dust swirled and good green grass was always in greater or slightly shorter supply.

Perhaps one wants to wonder why these good people didn't ask how it came to be that their sunlight was more golden and warm, while down the road a few dry, more desert like miles, it was often too hot and bright to stand outside for longer than a few minutes at a time.

In any case, it is true that the Someone Elses who lived Elsewhere and Beyond never found a moment to stop and really look at Green Valley.

What is known is that the otherwise model citizens of Green Valley occasionally permitted themselves a small extra margin of swagger as the Someone Elses of Elsewhere & Beyond hurried in and out of their well-stocked stores, tossed their purchases in the backseat of their large suburban cars, backed out of the always-available parking spaces and zoomed off down the road, shortly thereafter to find the dirt plumes from their exhaust had already blurred all remnants of Green Valley even as memory blurs out the unimportant details.

And if the citizens of Green Valley didn't see beyond the natural beauty of their abundant mossy carpets to some deeper significance ...it may have been that the Ancients of The Race That Was were mindful of such knowledge and what happens when it falls into uncertain hands.

What would the citizens of Green Valley say if they should somehow discover the surrounding tawny and green-capped hills were really a congress of these watchful Ancients sitting at its rim? Suppose these Ancients were somehow truly perceived? - holding the form of a great Celtic love-knot circle, no less - hands protectively linked, bequeathing of their breath and spirit the excellent summers and brisk winters, the refreshing spring times and colorful autumns and of course, the magnificently green, and abundantly lush mossy walkways that ambled through the town.

Suppose that these few remaining Ancients of The Race That Was were somehow imbuing the land and citizens of Green Valley with wisdom that causes these certain men to want to rise up and take care of the land, preserve its wealth, seeing beyond the Someone Else's obsession with hard pavements and all that it implies. Suppose that in the creating of such a haven, the hard-hearted "comers" of Elsewhere and Beyond naturally excluded themselves.

Certain it is that Green Valley's people recognized a distain for their day-dreaming even when it was only covertly expressed. Certain it was that the good citizens of Green Valley felt obliged to object to an overbearing, mechanized industry and they objected to it in their own special way. They would stroll barefoot on the good green mossy paths and walkways that honeycombed the town because someone had to ... maybe they instinctively knew that otherwise one day the beautiful green mossy walkways would vanish for lack of admiration and use.

Let us say that this is, in fact, just the way it happened, that such Ancients of The Race That Was had determined to keep their history and glory alive. And they found the exact avenue by which to do it: a sleepy, slightly bohemian, bare-footed citizens-strolling burg, under- remarked in spite of its glorious green mossy 'Blessing'. And that these Ancients of The Race That Was determined that it simply be called Green Valley and that no one ever stopped to wonder why it was called that, instead of something else.

And if it happened that such a place as Green Valley existed, no one living in the Somewhere Elses minded too much. After all, whose business was it to complain if Green Valley elected to go its own way, nurturing both the people and the land that expressed so well their philosophy? The Someone Elses of Elsewhere were sure to be there, their homes and stores lined up along the dusty streets and tracks to pick up the economic slack and take advantage of it.

Things like that apparently can happen out west. You have to pass a lot of small hot, dry towns. You have to keep your eyes peeled. You can't drive too fast or you'll miss the sign. It's there. **Green Valley. Population: varies**.

Just when you are sure you missed it somewhere back behind you, you drive a little further, (further than you thought it could possibly be), and there it is after all. Rather like Brigadoon, except that Green Valley is wide awake every day of the year. You will have to remember to keep going if you want to get there. And then be ready to take off your shoes and sit on one of nice benches along the mossy paths. The citizens will make you welcome. They're inclined to nod and say hello.

"Feels good," one or two are likely to say. And "Now you be sure your feet meet the greenery all the way." And you do that because it does feel wonderful. Almost like the moss was giving life to those happily resting feet. One can't promise, but it does seem so.

To get to all that, you just have to persist.

And so it was.

Thus it was decreed by those Ancients, sitting in their circle, holding hands: here shall it be green. In this place, they said, let it be lovely and cared for. Here will the people have their dreams. The seasons will each be strong and proud in their natural way but without breaking the spirit. The hardened amongst men will pass by this treasure without notice.

Here is where our destiny lives. Here we will stand guard with all our heart and soul. Here resides the last of our greatness. And the green moss we bequeath is the symbol of our world.

Here do we last few remain. Here: in a small, slightly divine, semi-catchy moss-carpeted heaven on Earth known to only a few.

Let it be here, said these Ancients.

Here in the town of Green Valley.

Out west a-ways.

### Dave Ugly has a way with women

I was performing in Myrtle Beach about 10 years ago with my good friends Dave Ugly (Dave Evans) and Jay Moore (Rowland Jay Moore). We had finished our show and decided to go out for some drinks and maybe run into some women. We were single comedians in Myrtle Beach during the summer, what do you expect?

We were at a bar shooting some pool and at some point three young ladies came in. The math was perfect so we started talking to them and soon they were playing pool with us. Things were going great and we decided to have a man talk. We figured out which girl we each wanted and when we were in agreement we broke the huddle. Dave talked to his girl (a little on the heavy side), I talked to mine (fairly attractive) and Jay got the hottie, but who's complaining. I was happy and Dave was bouncing off the walls.

When it was time to go, Jay left with his girl to go back to his condo. He was playing at a different club than Dave and me, so he stayed at that club's "comedy condo". Our girls had driven together so we walked them to their car to say "goodnight". The four of us decided it would be more prudent to say our goodbyes in the car privately. Dave got in the front with his girl and I got in the backseat with mine.

I got real cozy with this attractive lady and we could hear Dave talking to her friend in the front seat. There was no conversation coming from where I was at, if you know what I mean, but I could still hear Dave making his move. Right in the middle of me kissing this girl, I heard Dave say to his woman:

"You know what I like about you? You're just as ugly as I am."

Two things happened right after he said that. I laughed and the girl I was kissing laughed so hard that our teeth clinked together. The other thing that occurred was I looked up to see Dave and this lady making out. I was amazed. The man has skills! I won't go into details about the rest of the evening, but we all had a good time.

I did learn a valuable lesson that night. Never make out with someone when Dave Ugly is near, it hurts your teeth!

**This story was written with Dave and Jay's approval**.

### Dave Ugly The underwear incident

Several years ago I had a gig in North Caroline, on the coast, and one of my good friends Dave Evans ( aka Dave Ugly), asked if he could tag along; he did not have a gig that week and wanted to get out of town for a few days. I said "sure" and, "maybe you can even emcee or do a guest spot if you," providing the club owner was cool with it. We knew Dave would have to stay in my room as he was not on the bill, but that was cool with both of us. We'd been friends for years.

We got stuck in traffic on the way up, and made it to the hotel about 30 minutes before show time. Thank God the comedy club was in the hotel because we were both stressed out with the trip and everything. I went up to the room to take a two-minute shower and change, while Dave started pounding beers. When I got to the club, Dave said he no longer wanted to go onstage and I could not blame him. I, however, had no choice. The show went great and a good time was had by all, especially Dave. He was well into his cups by the time we went to the room and I wasn't feeling too bad myself. Needles to say, we were both out as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

Around 4:00 am, I was awakened by loud knocking on the door to my hotel room. ( It is important to note that this was one of those nice hotels, with the doors to the rooms on the inside of the building, leading to the hallway.) I stumbled out of bed, feeling very groggy and wondering who the hell was pounding on the door. When I opened the door, there was Dave Ugly (Yes, the same Dave who fell asleep in the room with me) standing in the hallway, in his UNDERWEAR! I actually looked back at the bed to make sure he wasn't still in it. I didn't say a word as I was a little shocked, and I can only imagine the look on my face as Dave said " I know, I know, let me in security is coming." I let him in and, believe it or not, I did not say a word. We were so tired we just crashed.

On the way back to Charleston South Carolina (about a 5 hour trip) the next day I found out what had happened. It did take a while for Dave to tell me because I could not look at his hung-over self and remember him standing in the hallway half naked without laughing to the point of tears. Apparently he had got up to use the bathroom (still drunk and half asleep) and after relieving himself, he had simply walked out the door to the room without knowing it. He then got lost in the hallway and could not remember which room he was in. He knocked on someone else's door and they said "You got the wrong room," to which David put his hand over the eye hole in the door and said "Quit looking at me." He did find the right room, and I do remember that after I got him in I heard a security guard in the hallway talking to someone and the person was saying "I don't know, it was some drunk guy in his underwear".

As we neared Charelston, and I could talk without laughing, I said to Dave "You know I have to tell people about this, especially the other comics." He just put on his sunglasses, sucked in a deep breath and shook his head. He knew.

This story has been told with Dave's permission.

The Toy Maker

Back in the days of the first Gulf War, I was keeping the U.S. safe at Dyess,AFB in Abilene TX. by partying and chasing women. Hey, someone had to do it. One weekend, me and my fellow airman Jared Derringer, decided we would venture out to Dallas, Texas for a few days and take up the chase there, as to give the women in Abilene a break.

On our second night in Dallas, we were heading out to the clubs when I came up with a plan to approach and engage our quarry. We would not tell the women we met that we were in the Air Force, we would come up with another career or job or whatever, just for the hell of it. Sounds brilliant, right? Yeah, right. I decided I would be a Business Broker, which I had no idea at the time and still don't know what exactly a business broker does or even if they exist. I knew, though, I could B.S. my way through it. ( B.S. is my initials you know.) Jared had not decided what his false occupation would be before we started drinking and carousing, but it wasn't a big deal, I knew he'd come up with something.

At some point we ran into a group of about 6 or 8 women and started talking to them. The next thing I knew I was dancing with one of them and Jared was doing the same. My woman and I finished dancing to a couple of songs and we made our way back to the group, who by the way, turned out to be a bunch of elementary grade school teachers. The lady I had danced with asked me what I did and my line of crap automatically started flowing. I knew I was doing a good because she was just as confused as I was. Then I heard Jared and his girl coming back from the dance floor, and I say "heard" because she had him by the hand, was pulling him towards us and was excitedly yelling, "Guess what he does for a living, guess what he does!!!" Of course, I was just as interested as the women to find out what Jared's occupation was; as he had not informed me of it, because we were too busy partying and chasing women. Then she stunned me by saying "He's a toymaker, he makes toys." The lady I was talking to asked what her friend had said about Jared's career, I replied, while trying to keep a straight face, " umm, he designs kids toys, he's a toymaker". "Wow, neat," she said.

Later on, after the ladies had left and we were headed back to the hotel I just looked at Jared and said "Toymaker, huh?!"

"Well, she told me she was a school teacher, so I figured, hey, teacher....kids... toys,.... toymaker"

Jared actually had the word "Toymaker" put on the back of his softball jersey for the squadron team. God bless you, Jared, my friend. I wonder if he ever got that position at the North Pole.

The Date Service Debacle

After having been single for a while and trying several avenues to find a woman, for example, on-line dating sites (still trying that a little), church, (found a nice woman, it didn't work, but I'm still attending), night clubs, grocery stores, and yard sales. I found a dating service in town and decided to give it a shot. Have you ever bought a new or used car or been to one of those time share things? This was kind of like that. Let me explain.

I showed up at the dating service full of hope and very broke. It was at an upstairs office building in an area known as Mt. Pleasant, about 20 minutes from my home. The office was decent enough and there was a nice young woman who met me in the reception area, her name we'll say was "Lisa". Lisa led me to a very small office in the back complete with one table, two chairs and one small window that looked out over a backyard area. It kind of had the feel of an interrogation room. Lisa had informed me over the phone that this would take 1- 2 hours. "We," she had said, "are not a regular dating service. We are COMMITTED to finding you the love of your life.

The first 45 minutes to an hour were alright. We discussed what I wanted in a woman, what my interests were, what I could offer a woman ,etc,etc.., no problem. Then she asked me about my finances and when I say asked, I mean she wanted to know everything. She wanted my yearly income, my debts including credit cards, my rent, my car payment, etc. . Needless to say I starting getting a little nervous, but I was lonely. After this initial phase she asked if I was serious about joining the service and finding my soul mate. I said yes, and she told me to wait there while she discussed my immense qualifications with her boss.

About ten minutes later, Lisa entered the room and once again asked if I was ready to meet my future wife. I replied in the positive and she got excited and said "Great! My boss wants you in the Program!"

"Program?" I thought to myself. Then I asked her, "How much is the program going to cost me?"

"Well," she started "we have selected the Platinum Plan for you and that's $3995."

"Do you have a Plastic plan because there's no way I can do that. How much just to meet a woman who just wants to piss men off, that doesn't sound like platinum to me? Or maybe I go in with a couple of other people and we share the plan? What if I convert to Mormonism, do I get a discount?" I replied.

She looked shocked and saddened. "Let me talk to my boss and see what I can do."

Ten minutes later she came back with an offer of $3500.

"Can't do it," I said.

She looked like I had just killed her puppy. "I'll be right back," she moaned.

She came in a few minutes later with another woman that I'll call "The Gremlin Lady". She was short and squat, wore glasses and had real stubby fingers with blue ink all over them. She also had a real rough voice. She reminded me of David Johanson from The New York Dolls, the lead singer, who also played the Taxi Cab Ghost in "Scrooged" with Bill Murray. The shirt she wore was button- up and a few sizes too small, so that you could see her skin through the spaces in between the buttons. I guess there was no one in her house when she put the shirt on to say, "No, throw that shirt away, you'll scare people!" I was praying the buttons would hold, as they seemed to be ready to pop off at any second.

"Brian, I need you in the program. I've got 5,000 single women and only 3 men!"

I told her it just wasn't in my budget and we went at it for a good ten minutes. Lisa was blocking the door so I could not escape without running her over and I was starting to get claustrophobic. They finally left me there and I saw my chance for escape, but that was not to be as Lisa brought in another woman who I'll call "The Warden". She was a big, tall, robust woman who made the earth shake when she walked and she was very animated. She waved her arms around when she talked and it added to her size.

"I thought he wanted to join the program, what's going on here?!" yelled The Warden.

I told her I couldn't afford "The Program" and she suggested some type of payment plan. A payment plan that they really weren't supposed to offer, but would make an "exception" in my case.

_"If I'm that much of a catch, why the hell do I need these "ladies" to help me?"_ I thought.

"Look," said The Warden "how much do you have left over each month after paying you bills?"

"I don't know," I said as my anxiety really starting kicking in, "about $100."

"Well, there we go," she said, "just put $1500, down and then pay $100 a month."

"Great, then when you find me a woman, I'll tell her we can go out as soon as my "Program" is paid off."

She ignored me and walked around preaching about true love and how money meant nothing and blah,blah,blah. I didn't know what she was saying. I stared out the window at a tree in the backyard and wished so much that I was that tree. Finally, there was silence and I could feel her staring at me while I had a nervous breakdown.

Then she sat down and I saw my chance. She started writing some numbers on a piece of paper, asking me what I thought about this figure or that figure. I stood up.

"Sit down Brian," she said, "we're making progress here."

"No, that's okay," I said, shaking as my panic attack surged.

I reached for the door and she called me name again.

"I'll talk to my dad," I said, trying to keep her busy. "Do you take American Express?"

"Yes we do" she grinned as she responded.

"Shit... I mean, ok, let me talk to him." I said.

"We can call him right now." The sly Warden suggested.

"We can't," I said as I opened the door, "He's.. uh ..umm.. in a meeting!" I yelled triumphantly as I ran out of the room.

Lisa came out of an office across the hall and saw me running for the door. (I had to find the passage back to the place I was before, relax said the night man... never mind.) She waved and said "Bye Brian," and that was all. I guess I looked like I was in a hurry. "I'll call you later," I shouted, just to keep her honest.

When I got to my car, it was kind of like a scene in a horror movie, that scene where the victim gets to their car and they can't seem to get the keys to go into the door or the ignition. The car never starts right away either. I had some trouble getting in my vehicle, but it started fine. I felt that if I would have stayed there another minute I would have seen the three of them bounding down the steps. First there would have been Lisa saying "Hi,Brian," then The Warden yelling, " How about $850 down and $75 a month?" and the Gremlin Lady, in her David Johanson voice bellowing, " We need you in the program!"

I'm still very happily single. This story is true and only one name was change to protect no one. The Warden and the Gremlin Lady are real people, not actors.

My Perfect Hell Gig

Charlie Daniels sang about the _Devil going down to Georgia_. If the Prince of darkness visited the Peach State, I'm willing to bet he built a summer home in Forsyth. I did a show in Forsyth, Ga. several years ago and I still shudder when I drive by the area just off I-75.

The "Comedy Club" was located in a hotel bar. There was a decent stage with a good size dance floor in front of it and the dance floor was not for seating the audience. That meant that the closest people in the crowd were about fifty feet away, a long way for the laughter to travel, but there would be none of that anyway. The club seated 70 or so and there were about 35 people in the place. Some of the folks were scattered around, but most of them were at two long tables near the dance floor. One table was full of drunk, off- duty cops and the other table was full of tipsy 911 phone operators. This was not a good combination for comedians or crime victims in the area.

I was the opening act and the emcee was the bartender/waiter. He must have been real busy at the bar because when he went to start the show and introduce me he did not go on stage. He stood on the dance floor out of the stage lights and said "Hi, are you ready for comedy, here's your first guy Brian T Shipley." I did not bother to correct his mistake with my name because I don't even think the "audience" noticed that the "show" had started. They just talked right through the intro and were oblivious to me getting on the stage.

My first few minutes on stage weren't that bad. I couldn't see anyone because of the stage lights so I was talking to the dance floor, which was paying more attention than the crowd. I should have kept trying to make the dance floor laugh for 30 minutes, but NO, stupid me I tried to interact with the people. This only caused them to talk louder as I was interrupting their drunken conversations. Then they started in on me with insults. There were so many of them yelling things like "you suck" and "say something funny" that I could not respond quickly enough. I asked them how they would know if I sucked when they weren't even paying attention. Stating this fact only made things worse, so I pointed out a place on the edge of the dance floor for them to come and stand one at a time to heckle me. These fools actually did just that. They formed a line on the spot I had pointed out and one at a time would say their piece. Then I would slam them and they would stumble back to their seat. I finally told them I was leaving which got the best response I had all night. I ended my lecture by informing them that they may not have liked me, but if they don't give the next guy a chance the whole show would be a suck-fest. They actually gave the headliner a chance and he had a decent show. He thanked me after the show for getting them to pay attention.

When I got back to my hotel room I was highly upset which caused me to have a MAJOR panic attack. I still have them from time to time, but this one was bad. My throat felt as if was closing up on me and I was having trouble breathing. I almost called 911, but then I remembered the last time I had done that. It had cost me $2000 to find out I was just having an anxiety attack and the 911 operators were in no shape to answer the phone anyway. It was about 12:30 am, but I decided to call my dad. Maybe he could calm me down, I had thought.

I told him about the show and he knows about my anxiety problem. He told me not to call the hospital, but instead to call the front desk. I asked him why and at the same time I started to relax a little.

"Ask the front desk clerk what time the sun comes up tomorrow." Dad said.

"What for?" I asked.

"Tell them you want a wake-up call before the sun rises because you don't want to see another damn redneck before you leave town!" he responded.

I laughed and relaxed even more.

Thanks Dad for saving me $2000.

Johnny rosin up your bow and play your fiddle hard....

Omar Blue and the K-9 Underground

Omar Blue is his name, a 120 lb. blue Doberman. He lives at home with his dad and me, part of the time. Then he goes off to a land with no name, to a town he and his fierce pack of canine followers have named K9 Town, USA. Join Omar Blue and his Pack. Become part of their fantastic, mystical journey. Listen, while I tell you how....MY DOG LEADS TWO LIVES.

One day, while I was sitting around thinking about things I should be doing, Omar decided to let me in on a big secret. A while back, he and his pack had decided they could no longer live their happy lives knowing so many other canines were being abused and mistreated, were lonely and sad. They had to do more. He asked me to take a walk with him to the other side of our property. As we walked, we came upon a tunnel. I'd never seen this tunnel before and we've lived here for years, but here it was. I reluctantly followed Omar, knowing he would never put me in harm's way.

---

Doggie Heaven? No ma.

All of a sudden, I saw a bright light. We walked further and the tunnel opened into something beautiful. This wasn't his K-9 Town, USA but it was so nice. Then we came upon hundreds of dogs, of every shape and size, romping and playing and looking as happy and healthy as could be. What a wonderful place, filled with such harmony. I asked him if this was doggie heaven. "No ma."

I noticed the puppies were grouped like in a classroom, with a large beautiful, but stern looking German Shepherd in front of them. It was Freedom! Omar Blue and Freedom had done a big rescue back in May. (I'd love to tell you about that too.) It looked like a classroom. Omar said that was exactly what it was. He said, just like K-9 Town, the puppies have to be taught how to protect themselves and each other. He assured me though that most of their time was spent playing and getting into mischief, again just like K-9 Town, and that was good. Freedom and the others wouldn't have it any other way.

I later learned that this was their K-9 Underground. He apologized for having it so close to home but I thought it was the perfect place, especially since I wanted to get involved in this huge undertaking. What he told me next almost broke my heart.

He told of the situations that he, Freedom and the rest of the K-9 Town, USA pack had gone in and taken some of these poor animals out of. Some of the stories were too bad to repeat here. But word had gotten out that there is a refuge for any K-9 who can get word to them that they need help.

---

Tomorrow me and daughter Joy will come back.

I didn't want to leave, of course, but I was a bit of a distraction. That night I had all kinds of thoughts about "our" tunnel, the K-9 Underground. I could go there every day. They'll get used to me. I went to sleep making plans.

The next morning I asked Omar to come with me to see it again. He said okay but I noticed he was somewhat hesitant. When we got there, I didn't see the tunnel. We couldn't have been that far off. I asked Omar where it was and he told me it was still there but I wouldn't be able to see it again.

I asked how and why but he only said that I couldn't be involved. He said he had let me in on his secret because he knew how I felt about animal abuse. He wanted to show me that there is a fight going on beyond anything imaginable. He, and all who follow him, would carry this fight on forever.

I'm sad that I can't work directly with my Omar Blue but it makes me want to do more on my own. My friends would never believe me because I have nothing to prove that my tale is true. I think this is the way Omar wants it, so I have no complaints. All is well.

Not the Firefly

It is late, it is dark, it is very humid; I am in bed and suddenly I'm very wide-awake.

When you live alone, out of the city, not exactly in the bush, yet the nearest neighbor is half a mile away, you tend to notice unusual sounds. I heard something just now and I cannot settle.

Sometimes it is better to be over cautious. Get up if you must, but don't put the light on. If it turns out to be nothing then there is only you to laugh but on the other hand....

The kitchen is dark and so are all the other rooms, dark and empty. No, what is that? I pad across to the screen door and breathe out in relief. It is just a firefly, clinging to the mesh. And there is another outside on the doormat. Silly me! I smile. Then I remember that fireflies are soundless.

The house is definitely empty. I can close the windows and doors and lock everything up. I can retire to the bedroom and become a nervous sweaty wreck for the next six hours?

Very quietly I step outside. There is no moon and clouds obscure most of the stars. There is one star, shining brightly, to the North West. I am sweating and although the gentle breeze is welcoming, I'm not cooling down.

This is very stupid. From here, just outside the back door, I can peer into the gloom on three sides of the house. As far as I can tell, there is absolutely nothing out of place. So, I think I'll check the fourth side and then go back to bed.

As I walk softly along the verandah, my brain is working overtime trying to recall what I heard, more than one sound. There had been some muffled shuffling, rather like I am making now and also, possibly a cough, or was it a groan? But that means a person is out there, in trouble maybe. It might be me in trouble, if they are dangerous.

I round the corner of the house and stop dead in my tracks. A few yards ahead is the shed I'd built last year. The lights are on!

I'd subdivided the interior to make a workshop at the far end and a hobby room into which the access door is set. All the windows are on the other sides so I cannot see in.

There's nothing worth stealing in there. Leave well alone; go away, whoever it is, let them get on with it. No tool or model is worth walking into danger. Go back inside, lock up and call the police, I tell myself.

I hear a solid object crash to the floor, followed by a muted curse. I breathe in heavily, growing anger replacing fear. That could be the ship I've labored on for so many hours, now tossed aside and smashed by an ignorant, thieving intruder. Without thinking I stride to the door and fling it open.

The glare is painful, yet moth-like, my eyes are drawn up to the light source even as my mouth gapes open. In my peripheral vision I pick out a scruffy man, then another, and then two women. About to panic I read the banner, stretched from wall to wall just below the ceiling. " _WE LOVE YOU. HAPPY CHRISTMAS, DAD_!"

The whole family is there, kids and all, bottles and streamers and open hampers beside the table they'd knocked over. The ship is safe on a shelf. Seeing my gaping mouth, they all laugh at my reaction. I grin, all of us very happy with the success of their surprise. Boy, did we have a party, just a bit earlier than they had planned!

Patient Zero

There are some things that people just keep to themselves, secrets that never get told, and thoughts never shared. One doesn't blurt out to their husband or wife that they are boffing their secretary or their pool boy. One also doesn't tell their best friend that they have the ugliest baby ever seen on the planet; in fact it is so ugly it should be in the Guinness Book of World Records. One should also make sure to compliment their mothers' cooking, their wife's clothing choices, or their boyfriends' love for pizza, beer and football. That was the problem Baxter was facing right now. Should he keep hiding the truth, or should he start telling people his secret?

Truth was, Baxter was a zombie. He didn't know how to tell people that he was one of the undead, especially since he was not the cool kind of undead. Plus, Baxter wasn't a soulless monster, and he didn't really want to be murdered because of what he had become. The idea that once he told people they would want to kill him, made him a little uneasy and he got this odd quivering feeling in the pit of his stomach, or the area of his body that used to be his stomach. Now he wasn't sure what it contained, especially since he was unable to eat and feel sated.

Baxter believed that life would be better if he were a vampire rather than a zombie, even a werewolf would be a better supernatural being. For some reason, vampires were cool, sexy; however, he was one of those beings who didn't understand the cult that the pale, blood-sucking undead had formed. Why would anyone want to be immortal and have a taste for sucking iron-tasting blood? The only problem he saw with being a werewolf was the excessive hairiness. Of course, it hadn't been his choice, so he guessed that he couldn't be too picky about which type of immortal he was to become.

Death was the natural process of things. If he wasn't so scared, he would welcome death. He knew there had to be a reason he had become a zombie rather than a corpse; he just had to figure out what that reason was. The answer might never come to him. Quite possibly he had become a zombie because of his own mystical karma.

As far as he knew, Baxter was the only human zombie that was actually living. He might even be what the movies referred to as "patient zero." Since he was the only one of his kind he knew he had to be extra careful. There were people out there, medical and government agencies, who would want to experiment on him, test him, find out why he was a zombie, and find out how much of a danger he was to others. In all honesty, he wasn't a danger, at least not since he had become a zombie. Baxter believed that you were what you ate, and eating people would make him a cannibal, at least this week.

Of course, before he became a zombie he had a nasty habit of raping and murdering prostitutes, although he didn't consider it a horrible thing, just a thing that might have gotten him into trouble with his girlfriend or the police, if he had been caught. He was sure his girlfriend wouldn't have approved of him hacking a naked woman to bits and then throwing the dismembered corpse into the river, even though it was a family trait. His father had been a Bible thumping, whore murderer as well. Baxter was just following in his father's footsteps. Except for Baxter, the electric chair was not an option. The problem, in this case, was that if he hadn't been a hooker-murdering businessman, he might never have become a zombie.

During one of his late night slash fests, he was bitten by a cat. He should have been paying better attention to his surroundings. That night he was tired and just wanted to get through the bone and be done with it so he could go home and have sex with his plain Jane girlfriend, whose name was actually Jane. Baxter was sure she would be waiting at his apartment with some organic wine and organic berries in a vegan negligee. He tired of her clinginess and at times wished that he could kill her. She was weak, lived in a rent controlled apartment, and liked to dine in.

Instead, he was bitten on the right forearm by a scraggly orange tabby cat with one eye and a collar that jingled. The cat didn't wear a nametag; Baxter guessed that at one point, it did. Its name was probably something stupid like Twinkie, Buster, or Chuck Norris. Swearing, he turned to kill the cat but it was gone, apparently it had not taken a liking the taste of Baxter's forearm and didn't need a second taste. So he finished what he was doing, took care of the debris, cleaned himself up and went home. Having become a professional in the arena of murder, the clean-up only took him fifteen minutes. Killing in the nude had become habit, so there wasn't much else to do besides push the body parts into the river. He was, of course, happy that the cat had not bitten him on his unprotected penis. Who would have guessed that there was a cat zombie roaming the world?

It wasn't until two days later that he thought something was wrong. Antibiotic cream burned. In fact, his arm had become swollen and there was a weird, sickly smell that emanated from the wound. He was never a man with a tan, in fact his pale skin regularly seemed to reflect light but he did seem paler than usual. Even his best friend and office mate, Toby, noticed. Toby commented on it one day, four days after he had been bitten.

"Man, Bax, you need to get out more in the daylight. You are so pale someone might mistake you for the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man." One of Toby's favorite movies was Ghostbusters, of course he really loved watching the scenes with Sigourney Weaver, which was the reason he also liked the 'Alien' movies (even Alien Resurrection which was a horrible movie; but Sigourney Weaver was wet, so she was sexy).

Baxter had laughed it off, making a joke about Sigourney Weaver's tits to distract Toby, but he wondered. He also worried and when he realized what had happened, he began to use precautions. Formaldehyde became a staple of his daily skin care routine.

Baxter was forced to take two weeks off from work, the last three days of which he didn't remember. When he woke up on the last day, he was covered in blood and there were several rat carcasses around his body. Apparently, while he slept the rats had decided he might taste like garbage, a favorite among the rat population, so they came in and nibbled on his feet. Thankfully, they only got stuffing while they nibbled on his brown slippers. He wished they hadn't come at all. The rats didn't seem to bother him while he was sleeping and from the looks of it he had gotten the best of them. There were easily fifteen dead rats, or at least the pieces of them, strewn about his pale green and yellow bedroom. Well, now his bedroom looked a little more like Christmas with the blood on the walls, carpet and him.

Jane had wanted to come over and bring him soup, or something to make him feel better. She wasn't much of a cook and had gotten on this vegan kick, which was annoying since he was a rare steak and fries man. He didn't care for miso soup, or tofu, or raw vegetables, or any of the other crap she brought by. So he told her no, don't come over, and ignored the hurt and whiney voice on the other end of the line. Jane was beginning to bore him. She was so like vanilla in her tastes, wanting to watch chick flicks and cry on his shoulder. Jane even begged to stick with the missionary position when they had sex. Baxter had begun to think about dumping her, yet it was so hard to find a simple, easy to maintain girlfriend.

Now, when he saw his pale face in the bathroom mirror, he could see it all, could see what he had become, could see what he really was. He didn't know how long he could hide the fact that he was a zombie. Baxter had to remember to breathe; if he didn't breathe, people would realize what he was. A hard part was that he had to remember to eat, even though all the food he ate tasted like burnt hamburger. What he would have given for a bloody raw steak, or the raw flesh of something delicious, more savory than bloody rat. He had to remember to comb his receding blay (brown, blonde and grey) hair gently every day, so it didn't all just fall out of his dead head. There was probably no possibility that hair grew back when the body wasn't producing anything to grow hair.

When he walked into the office each day, he knew he probably looked worse and worse. He would have stayed home or quit but he didn't want people to figure out his secret; plus he needed the money.

His skin was becoming sallow, he looked as if he hadn't slept in days, or even weeks, but he could pass off his more than unfortunate looks because he had just been out sick for a couple of weeks. However, just by the glimpses he had caught of himself in the urine tainted men's room, he knew he wouldn't be able continue blaming his mysterious illness for the way he looked. Baxter was surprised every day he walked into the office that no one noticed the slightly sweet smell that was beginning to emanate from his body. He knew from research the smell was a beginning sign of decomposition, and he wasn't sure how long he could keep himself together, literally.

"Hey Mr. Kingsley, there is a meeting at ten in the main conference room. Mr. Derrwitaker wants to see you there," said Ashley, the reception secretary.

She was always smiling her goofy bright smile. For some reason she thought that getting braces at the age of thirty was a good idea and might help her land a man. It was pretty silly of her to think that. A man wouldn't want to kiss a mouth full of metal, unless he had a fetish for young schoolgirls. Maybe that was her catch, maybe she caught men by putting her hair in pigtails and offering them a little rub and tug. Ashley had tried to seduce him once. Jane had just become his serious girlfriend, so he had been forced to say no thank you. Maybe he should bite Ashley, make her his sexy zombie slave.

The smells that used to get him when he walked into the office weren't as pleasant since he became a zombie. He used to love the smell of the freshly made coffee, the doughnuts from the mom and pop bakery down the street, the mix of perfumes that all the ladies all wore. It was an intoxicating mix. The integration of smells made him want to eat and have anonymous sex all at once. Not a bad thing, sometimes he went home and masturbated to the remembrance of that mix of smells. Now he rarely masturbated. He was afraid that his penis would just fall off. The smells just made him want to vomit. The aromas that he liked now were the fragrant odors of the ladies, their skin, the blood pulsating through their bodies, and for some reason their heads smelled the best, a mix of sickly sweet shampoo and a butcher shop.

Baxter knew that today, almost a month after his transformation, was going to be another long day in acquisitions. It was a good thing that there were all these giant brains around here pretending to work. Meetings were the worst, always Mr. Derrwitaker talking, talking, talking, and nothing coming from it. Everyone knew big, fat Mr. Derrwitaker just liked to hear the sound of his own voice echo throughout the conference room, which was why he usually chose the main conference room to hold these meetings in; it was large and had pretty good acoustics.

When Baxter got to the room, four of seven people were there already, he made five. Mr. Derrwitaker would arrive late, per his usual route. Hunger ached in Baxter's newly formed and forever empty stomach. It often felt as if his stomach was eating itself. He knew that wasn't possible, he assumed it was just the way things were when one became a zombie. What Baxter really wished was that he had found that cat instead of finishing with that stupid, heroin addicted hooker. She hadn't even known who the sixteenth president was. Who didn't know who the sixteenth president was?

When everyone finally arrived, the hunger was overwhelming. While they were passing around the pink frosted doughnuts and the bear claws, he was looking at each employee's head wondering how hard it would be to bite through bone (although he knew it was hard to cut through).

Reaching across the table for a bottle of water, he instead grabbed the arm of his cubicle neighbor, Jeffery Darling, and took a toothy chunk out of his forearm.

"Son of a," Jeffery screamed grabbing his arm, "what the hell, Baxter?" Standing quickly, Jeffery grabbed his arm and watched as the blood flowed through his baby blue dress shirt and pooled on the maroon room carpet. That wouldn't be too hard to hide later, blood mixed well with the color maroon.

"Hungry," Baxter mumbled, blood dribbling down his hairless pale chin.

Screams echoed out in the hall as Jeffery stumbled out of the room holding his bleeding arm close to his chest. Girls screamed like girls, boys screamed like girls and everyone ran towards the room to find out what had happened.

Jeffery was quickly infected and almost immediately became a new species of zombie. Then it began.

Jeffery bit into Sally, the mail girl, who just happened to be passing by, and she bit into Mark, her secret mail room lover who she liked to screw while sitting on the office mail in the mail cart; Mark bit Julie who he had wanted to bite for a long time but thought she was too beautiful with her large fake breasts, big blond hair, and bright blue eyes. Julie bit Anthony, her pool boy when she got home, which is where she raced after being bitten by Mark, and Anthony, well he unfortunately bit his wife, Alice, and their six year old daughter Alyssa. Things just went downhill from there. Alyssa, being a child, was oooed and awwwed over and every person she came in contact with, she bit. In fact, she survived for three months, until Officer David Brennen found her, half her beautiful brown face missing, her left eye dangling out of its eye socket by a ligament. Everyone she ate wanted to help her, to save her. Officer Brennen just shot her in the head then shot her again, knowing that this was what you were supposed to do when you were going to kill a zombie.

Of course Baxter still knew how to survive and his minor feeling of guilt at having started this whole zombie uprising thing, helped keep him hidden. He stayed low, didn't go out if he didn't have to, let his meals come to him, which they always did when stupid survivors were looking for a place to lay their weary heads. Baxter had moved three times since he had created the first zombie in Jeffery. After Jeffery he had eaten Toby because of the all the stupid Sigourney Weaver comments he had been forced to listen to for the twenty years he had been working there. After finishing Toby, he ran out of the building, screaming, "There is so much blood! Oh God, somebody help us!"

Currently Baxter lived in a nice three bedroom, two and a half bathroom house. Formerly occupied by the Morris family, he had assumed control of the house after he had killed and eaten Mary, the mother, Steve, the father, and Seth, the teenage son.

Teenagers were especially meaty. The fat content in their bodies was almost as fresh as a chunky little babies'. Baxter couldn't bring himself to eat a baby, and actually didn't like the idea that he had been forced to become a cannibal. When he felt bad about eating a person, he reminded himself again that you are what you eat; he was human so why not eat humans.

The good thing was that he realized he wasn't the only zombie anymore; in fact he was the king of zombies. A god among zombies, the zombie maker, he was sure that he could destroy both the humans and the zombies if he needed to.

Hearing a noise, Baxter stood, wondering who would be coming in during the night, since everyone else had come in during the day, when they could open the forest green blinds and see the vast living room in the radiance of the sun. Tilting his head to the right, he was startled when his neck popped; he wondered if it was a regular creak or if he had just snapped his neck by tilting it too hard to the right.

Baxter heard a very audible click and knew exactly what it was. There was no where for him to go so he closed his eyes and waited. The blast wasn't as loud as he thought it would be. Unfortunately, a side effect of being dead was that his ears had also been dead for a few months now so they had lost some of their usefulness. His head ached as the birdshot exploded his face, probably a memory of pain not really pain since he no longer felt pain either. Falling to his knees he tried to smile, teeth fell from his mouth and tinkled on the floor; they sounded like the bells of a cat's collar, the bell of that cat's collar.

Looking up he saw the face of the person who had finally killed him, and he wanted to laugh. It was his girlfriend. Sweet Jane, the pathetic woman who would never hurt a fly, or an ant, or a spider. Boring Jane, who he had been planning to dump, and was thinking about possibly finding and eating. Plain Jane, now a beauty reflected in his cold dead eyes.

Patient Zero fell to into a bloodless heap. Now the cure would never be found.

Let the zombie revolution begin.

The Angel of Death's First Kiss

(A Moonlit Wings Novel short story tie-in) Feared and misunderstood, the angel, Aksariel, is forced to reconsider his methods of obtaining souls when one in particular stirs his heart in unimaginable ways, but then refuses the paradise he offers her.)

******************

"Beat it," the angel of death, Aksariel, growled to the guardian angel still hovering over his dying charge. Aksariel knew that being gruff was the only way to get through the myriad of profound emotions overwhelming the other angel at the moment. Aksariel made a sweeping gesture towards the snow-filled night sky. "Go wait for her. I'll bring her to you as soon as she passes."

The guardian, Jael, blinked back at Aksariel with a crestfallen expression. His gaze shifted from the angel of death to where his charge lay dying, and then back again.

"No. I want to take her with me," Jael protested, passing his hand over his fair face in a clear attempt to stave off the tears that threatened.

Aksariel sighed and pushed his long burgundy-colored hair over his shoulders so it settled down the center of his spine, between his two wings, and out of his way. It was time to get down to business. Of course, his job would be a lot easier if these guardians ever did what they were told.

"It doesn't work that way and you know it," Aksariel told him, softening his deep voice to comfort the young angel, but too late, he realized he'd only come off sounding as impatient and weary as he felt.

Aksariel knew after spending a lifetime by this girl's side, the other angel was hard-pressed to leave her just because she was dying. Aksariel was aware Jael was both grieving the tragic end of his charge's life and celebrating her impending arrival into heaven. The guardian was conflicted and not thinking right. He obviously didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

In any case, he was only delaying the inevitable and Aksariel wasn't in the mood to take the time to coddle his younger brother tonight. There was a soul in need of his comforting and that was where the angel of death intended to focus his energies.

"Get lost, Jael! I'm telling you for the last time," Aksariel said through his teeth. With new determination, he turned to face the smoking, hissing wreckage of the demolished automobile.

"All right!" the guardian retorted under his breath, sounding frustrated and irritated. He shook his head as if with disbelief. "You don't have empathy for anyone, do you, Aksariel? Why do you have to be such a miserable, cold-hearted jerk all the time?"

Aksariel froze in his tracks and resisted the urge to punch the guardian in the face for being so mouthy but he didn't want to let the other angel know the insults he had spat actually had any kind of impact on him.

"Jael, I'm giving you to the count of three," Aksariel growled, curling his hands into fists at his sides in an additional warning.

For a moment longer, the guardian stood where he was, regarding Aksariel coolly, then he snapped his wings open and fanned them back and forth. He nodded his head. "I'm going."

Aksariel turned his back on him then, assured he was complying. As the other angel took to the air and disappeared into the night, the angel of death paused just long enough to grumble at him over his shoulder.

"Good riddance, you stubborn, thick-headed, lovesick fool," he snarled. He shook the snow from his wings and refolded them comfortably down his back, shaking off his anger and settling his temper at the same time. "I am not cold-hearted."

Aksariel conceded to being a jerk readily enough, however. He realized his rather straightforward, somewhat tactless mannerisms sometimes rubbed people who didn't know him well, the wrong way, but he was not about to admit to being cold-hearted. He liked to think he was as gentle and compassionate as any of his angelic brethren, in spite of what he was.

Which reminded him; it was time to get to work. Aksariel stepped up to the car, taking a deep, measured breath, and emitted a cloud of visible vapor in the frigid night air. He was in a more corporeal form out of necessity, to help aid in the transition of a soul from the body they inhabited to the spirit they'd become. Touch and sensation was crucial for a smooth passing so the angel utilized it for the sake of the souls he collected, it also left him just as vulnerable to sensation as any mortal being.

Barefoot, bare-chested, and clad only in a pair of soft leather pants with a studded leather belt and the required chains for binding evil looped around his svelte waist, Aksariel realized he wasn't dressed for this kind of inclement weather, but then he didn't have any intention of sticking around long enough for it to adversely affect him. For the time being, he was a little uncomfortable but he could deal with it until this job was done.

Peering through the shattered remains of the passenger side window, Aksariel fixed his piercing gray eyes on the car's single occupant. Behind the car's twisted steering column was a young, petite, Hispanic female. The angel guessed she was somewhere between seventeen and nineteen years old—twenty, at the most. It was hard to tell from looking at her face in the ruined state it was in and her soul remained invisible to him since she hadn't passed yet.

That would be any minute now, Aksariel noted. She was barely breathing. Her brain waves were practically nonexistent at this point and her heartbeat faltered and waned more with each passing second. He could feel the readiness of her soul to depart her body down to the very marrow of his bones. It was this readiness that called to him and alerted him to prepare for her death.

"Eve?" Aksariel greeted her, bending down to lean through the car window. "Eve Vega?"

To his surprise, the girl opened her eyes and peered directly at the angel with an unseeing gaze.

"Am I dying?" she asked, her voice coming across as clear and strong as if she'd spoken, even though her lips hadn't moved.

Aksariel knew it was her soul addressing him and not the girl herself, so to speak. Death was allowing the soul the liberty to speak by separating it from her body, making it an entity of its own. Before replying, Aksariel passed the tip of his tongue over his full upper lip, feeling apprehensive. This was the hardest part of his job—even more than chasing off the guardians. He never liked having to inform a soul that their body could no longer sustain life and they needed to abandon it. No soul liked to hear that, no matter how gently he conveyed it.

"Yes, you're dying," he said in a quiet voice. He leaned back and tugged open the car door. It gave way with a groan of tearing metal. "That's why I'm here." He slipped inside the vehicle to sit beside her, paying no mind to the blood splatter and broken glass blanketing the interior. He did take note of the jeweled rosary wound around the rear view mirror and the small colorful prayer card of Our Lady of Guadalupe tucked in the sun visor above him along with the vehicle's registration and a couple of store receipts. Obviously, this girl was devout and faithful. Her passage would be an easy one.

"No," Eve murmured almost as if to argue that last thought of his. "No. I can't die like this." Her eyes closed again.

"Yes," Aksariel repeated, a little firmer this time. "I'm sorry, but your life is over."

"I'm not ready to die," she moaned. "I don't want to die like this. I want to be with my family. I want to see my little brother. Mama. Papa. I need to tell them how much I love them. Please, don't let me die out here, all alone like this."

With a heavy sigh, Aksariel leaned forward. "You're not alone, Eve. I'm with you."

He could see the glowing aura of her soul now as it cast a shimmering haze across Eve's broken body. Her consciousness wasn't able to maintain its hold on it anymore.

"No," Eve protested. "No! I don't want to die!"

"I know," the angel acknowledged. "Don't be afraid, all right? I'm going to take care of you."

Tears streamed unchecked from Eve's closed eyes, leaving a shining trail of moisture over the curve of her cheeks.

"I know who you are," she whimpered. "You're a monster. And I know if I don't look directly into your eyes, you can't take me."

Aksariel grimaced hearing that and sat back. "That's a myth, honey," he told her. He reached up to massage his temples. There were so many misconceptions out there regarding who he was and what he actually did. Aksariel had heard this particular one before. It seemed to be one of the more prevalent ones.

"No. No, please. Just go away," she pleaded.

"You can look at me, Eve," he told her, his deep voice rumbling. He realized how perturbed he sounded, but that was the one mythological misconception about an angel of death that he detested most of all. "I don't suck out a soul with my eyes. I don't kill people. I escort them. I'm not the monster you think I am. I'm not a skeletal figure robed in shadows carrying a scythe. And if you'd bother to really look at me, you'll see how wrong you are about me."

Her insult stung more than the guardian's had, but then, maybe she hadn't gotten a good look at him. Aksariel had always considered himself to be an attractive person—maybe not as breathtaking or beautiful as some of his angelic brethren were, but just as pleasing to the eyes, nonetheless. After all, everything about him was meant to be alluring and comforting to the souls he fetched.

He was maybe just a little younger than time itself but he didn't look much older than twenty-five in mortal years. He had a rangy, brawny build and a wholly masculine face with deep set, piercing gray eyes, strong chiseled lines, with perfect and proportionate features, all covered in flawless, pale skin that complimented his dark, burgundy-colored hair and wings. His coloring was meant to fascinate as much as soothe, his body's strength was made to inspire capability and confidence, his deep voice was supposed to lull, and even his angelic cinnamon-like scent was meant to comfort those close to him.

His touch was the epicenter of his power, however. With the mere brush of his fingertips, Aksariel could bring peace to even the most distraught souls and earn him their trust and faith. This was the very reason the angel of death came to the souls in this corporeal form. Their dying bodies needed to experience the sensation of his touch in order for the soul to feel the peace of passing into death and come with him willingly. He couldn't force a soul to come with him, but he prided himself on the fact he hadn't lost any to spiritual limbo in ages.

It was clear; Eve was in need of his power to soothe. In spite of her faith, she was frightened and fighting him. Aksariel knew she wouldn't go with him if he couldn't ease those fears and earn her trust. He raised his hand to touch her cheek just as she opened her eyes and fastened her gaze on his face.

"No!" she gasped with her last breath and expired.

Aksariel felt Eve's heart come to a complete stop. The last activity in her brain faded shortly after and her battered body slumped against the seat as her soul slipped free of its confines at last.

Realizing he was suddenly alone in the car, the corners of Aksariel's mouth turned down in a frown. He looked around, searching the immediate area outside the vehicle in something of a panic. When he spied Eve, he emitted a heartfelt sigh of relief. She hadn't left him, even though she had evaded his caress, and was now well out of his reach, standing across the icy road from her car, regarding him with a wild-eyed defiance. As he stared back at her, he almost didn't recognize her, but he understood her soul was showing him her true self for the first time, and the angel found himself completely mesmerized by the sight of her.

Her long black hair was mystically dancing around her shoulders as if it was caught up in the wintery wind billowing around her. Her face was as lovely as any angel's he knew with wide, dark eyes lined in thick lashes, full, curvaceous lips, and high, delicate cheekbones. Her clothing was pristinely clean and vibrantly colorful, her slim, athletically-built body bearing none of the injuries that had been wrought upon it by the accident that had killed her. She was the picture of health and beauty and life itself...and she damn near took the angel of death's breath away.

"No!" Eve repeated, stamping her foot for emphasis.

Her declaration snapped Aksariel out of the bewitching trance her loveliness had put him in and he scrambled with a new surge of panic to get out of the car.

"Eve! Calm down!" Aksariel said in a clipped, but precise manner. He hurried her way, but came to a stop in the middle of the road just in front of her. He didn't want to scare her into fleeing from him. He knew he needed to calm down before he could expect Eve to, and mentally chastised himself for panicking the way he had. He took a long, deep breath, commanded his expression to ease, and then softened his voice. "Don't be afraid. I won't harm you. Come here." He extended his hand towards her and as he waited for her to comply, he couldn't help but let his mind wander a little and imagined what it would feel like when she pressed her soft palm against his in absolute trust of him.

Eve pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit it, shaking her head. "No! I won't!" she yelled. She even went so far as to tuck her hands behind her back in a misguided, protective maneuver.

Letting his hand fall to his side, Aksariel straightened to his full, impressive height. If he could just touch her, he knew she'd find peace. He toyed with the idea of rushing her and simply overpowering her. After all, she was a tiny, little thing and wouldn't exactly pose any kind of challenge to him if he did, but the idea went sour on him even before he'd fully worked out the logistics of it. He couldn't bear the thought of making her more afraid of him than she already was if by some off chance he actually wasn't able to lay his hands on her and she escaped him again.

The only thing left to do was reason with the girl.

With that in mind, Aksariel gestured behind him at the crumpled car her corpse lie in.

"You may as well come with me. You can't go back to that."

Eve shook her head. "I don't want to die," she replied, emotion making her voice crack, despite her spiritual state.

Aksariel lowered his eyes. "You're already dead, Eve."

Eve's eyes drifted towards the wreckage. Her dark, arched brows knit in clear contemplation. "I can still go back. People...come back from the dead. That's what 'near death' experiences are."

Hearing that, Aksariel's heart sunk. He raised his eyes, cocking his head to the side.

"Think about what you're saying. Your body is severely damaged, Eve. Stop and consider the kind of life you would lead inside a body that needed machines to keep it alive. Make it exist for a little while longer, anyway. You wouldn't be alive in any real sense of the word." The angel sighed and moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. "You're more alive now than you've ever been and better things await you than you could possibly imagine. All you have to do is trust me. Take my hand and I'll reconcile you with your death. I'll bring you a kind of peace that's everlasting. There won't be anymore pain, or sorrow, or suffering. Just...trust me."

With another shriek of defiance, Eve covered her ears with her hands, obviously unwilling to hear any more of the angel's promises.

"Peace? How can I be at peace dying like this?" she snapped. Fresh teardrops welled in her eyes. "I just turned eighteen. I was going to college next fall. This summer, my friends and I were taking a trip to Europe that we'd been planning and saving for, for over a year!" She let her hands fall to her sides. "There were so many things I wanted to do before I died. This isn't right. It's not fair! I'm not ready to die yet!"

Aksariel put his hands on his hips. "You know, if I had a nickel for every time I've heard that, I'd be a very wealthy angel," he said in a quiet voice. He waggled his eyes brows at her, but then offered her a sad smile. "Eve, listen to me. I can understand how you feel what's happened to you isn't fair, but that's only because you keep looking back instead of looking forward. Come with me. Let me show you what's planned for you now. I promise you, you'll still have experiences, wonderful experiences, and you'll still have a life...just a different one."

Eve's pretty face crinkled with a new wave of grief. "I don't care. I want to stay here. I want to stay with my family, my friends. If you let me stay with them, I'll be happy. I'll be at peace."

Aksariel didn't hesitate to shake his head. "No. If you roam the earth like that, you'll never find rest, you'll never find peace. You'll always be longing for something you can't have and always be searching for something you'll never find. You'll be haunting the people you love, is that what you want? Do you think that will make your death easier on them? Your loved ones will want to be assured you are at peace and happy. Seeing tormented shadows and apparitions of you, is not going to heal their hearts, it will break them even more. Stop being selfish! I know you don't want that for them." He raised both arms now, beckoning her to him. "Eve. Please. Come to me."

But that gesture only made her shrink farther away from him. "No! If I go with you, I'll never see my family again!"

The angel narrowed his eyes at her in a mild reprimand. "You know better than that."

Eve burst into tears. "I'm not going with you. I don't care what you say. I want to live! I want to fall in love and get married and have babies. I want to buy a house and grow a rose garden. I want to retire and visit my grandchildren. But now I'm dead and I've never even kissed a boy yet! You insist my life is over, but I'm not ready! Why can't you understand that? Why are you so cold?"

Aksariel lowered his arms in defeat. His heart felt like she'd just stabbed it. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was cold and unfeeling. He was trying to understand her, but it wasn't coming across apparently. He knew death tended to be harder on someone so young with so much left to live for with so many dreams and expectations left unfulfilled, but knowing what he did, sometimes, it was hard for him to empathize with the dead.

Empathize?

Aksariel recalled that Eve's guardian had accused him of not empathizing with anyone. Maybe a little empathy now would do the trick and convince Eve that she could trust him and believe him after all.

"Cold?" the angel repeated with a sneer. "Why would I be cold? It's only ten degrees below freezing and it's snowing." To emphasize his point, he tossed his head to rid his hair of the snow that had accumulated on it to keep it from melting against his scalp and wetting his hair down. "I've been here for the good part of an hour exposed to these elements, but what would you have me do? As much as you want me to, I'm not about to leave you. I can't. I won't. We'll stand here all night, if that's what it takes, so excuse me if I come across a little...frigid to you."

With that, Aksariel folded his arms across his broad chest and sank to ground, folding his long legs underneath him, pouting for all it was worth. He looked away from Eve and bowed his head, hoping he appeared as dejected as he actually felt at the moment.

All of a sudden, Eve stopped crying and sniffed down her last sob. She gave the angel of death a wary expression at first but then her face reflected her concern. She wiped at her cheeks with the palm of her hand and stepped forward as if to get a closer look at the forlorn creature that had been so mercilessly harassing her earlier. Her eyes were wide and round as she peered down at him, her mouth forming a little circle of surprise.

"Are you...crying?"

Aksariel glared up at her. "No! I'm not crying! Why would I be crying? But I guess according to you, I should be! After all, I've never experienced any of those things you seem to measure a fulfilled life by! You've never kissed a boy? Well I've never kissed a girl! Girls don't want to kiss monsters. I might as well just curl up here and sob my heart out too. Unfortunately, it's not going to solve a whole heck of a lot, but it might make me feel better." He drew his knees up to his chest and covered his bare feet with his hands to warm them. "Just go back to your side of the road there and leave me alone."

For a moment, Eve looked lost, as if she wasn't sure what she should do. She swallowed hard and knelt down next to the angel, fixing her gaze on his face.

"I'm sorry I called you that," she lamented in a soft voice. "You're not a monster. You're really very handsome." She blinked at him, her expression growing curious.

"What's your name?"

"My name is Aksariel," he said with a heavy, heartfelt sigh. She was even prettier up close and her proximity was doing all kinds of odd things to his insides, making him feel downright giddy. He was careful not to move or try to touch her in any way, though, which was a torture all of its own. He was grateful he had at least gotten her to come to him. His eyes roved her fine, feminine features with new appreciation, however. "Look at you. You're beautiful, Eve." His voice had gotten breathless and soft. "I really have to wonder if you're telling me the truth; you've never been kissed? I would imagine the boys would have been lining up for the chance to kiss you."

She visibly blushed at his compliment and Aksariel felt himself swoon. He smiled at her and took a steadying breath.

"I could say the same about you," Eve commented, clearly moved by his smile. "It's hard to believe you've never been kissed either."

The angel shrugged and bowed his head again. "Is it? For instance, you don't even want to touch me."

To his surprise, Eve settled onto the ground next to him. "Oh, no, it's not that I don't want to touch you. " She paused and seemed to consider something. "If I touch you, would it have the same consequences for me as if you touched me?"

Aksariel shook his head. "Not unless you're an angel of death too. So...if you'd like, please, touch me. You have my blessing."

Eve raised her arms like she was going to hug him, but then stopped. Her expression darkened with suspicion. "This isn't some kind of trick, is it?"

Aksariel frowned. "Honey, if you can't trust an angel, who can you trust? I promise. I won't lay a finger on you.

Now Eve smiled at him. It was the first time he'd seen her smile and the genuine warmth and sweetness pouring out of it at him just about slew him. He didn't think she could rattle him anymore than she already had, when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in the crook of his neck, he felt like he'd died and gone to heaven himself. It took all the self-control the angel had not to reach for her and envelope her in his embrace. He didn't dare even blink at her, let alone move a muscle, but as her small hands briskly rubbed over his upper arms and she nuzzled his hair, he let his eyes close to better savor the euphoric sensation of her caresses.

"Oh! You poor thing! You are cold!" she exclaimed in a rather breathy voice in his ear.

"Hmm, I don't feel very cold," Aksariel murmured in all earnest. In fact, he felt like she'd just covered him with an electric blanket. Her long hair spilled onto his shoulder sending tickling tingles skittering over his skin. "Not anymore, anyway. Thank you for hugging me. I feel better now."

Eve pulled back just far enough to gaze into his eyes. Her hand reached up and trailed down the side of his face. "You're welcome," she told him in a soft voice.

Aksariel gazed back at her with open fascination. "Eve," he began, aware of how shaky he sounded and even more aware of how close Eve had inadvertently put her lips to his. "Kiss me. Then you can let me feel what it's like to kiss a girl and I'll let you feel what it's like to kiss a boy. How about it? Do you want to kiss me?"

He'd barely finished getting his words out when she covered his mouth with hers, clutching fistfuls of his long hair on either side of his head to keep him imprisoned against her.

Not that Aksariel had any intentions of resisting her, the moment he felt her satin-soft lips press into his, he closed his eyes and sank his mouth over hers, indulging in her sweetness with a savoring thoroughness. Tentatively, he raised his hand and brushed his fingertips over her hair. She moaned quietly, but it was obviously not in protest. Encouraged, he stroked her face, tracing her brow and the curve of her cheek down to her neck. She didn't pull away. She leaned closer to him, in fact. Aksariel's senses were reeling as he wrapped his arms around her, his lips never parting from hers; pulled her into his lap. Eve shifted somewhat to make herself comfortable and then continued kissing him with a fervor that surprised and delighted him.

Slowly and with the utmost care, not wanting to startle her, Aksariel increased the pressure on her jaw, inviting her to open her mouth to him, and then boldly touched the tip of his tongue to hers, letting her experience the novelty of the sensation of deepening their kiss right along with him. He felt her tense slightly but then she groaned into his mouth with obvious pleasure and practically plunged her little tongue down his throat in response.

Aksariel's heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it was about to leap out of his chest. There was definitely something to be said for having empathy. He was certain no one would ever accuse him of not having empathy after experiencing it like this, even though Eve was the one who had initially shown empathy for him.

"Wow," Eve sighed, finally drawing away from his mouth after kissing the angel for several minutes straight. She gulped down a lungful of air and then broke into a huge, self-satisfied smile.

"Yeah," Aksariel agreed, prying his eyes open. He wished he could think of something poetic and profound at this rather pivotal moment between them, but his head was spinning, his body was thrumming like an engine, and his skin felt so flushed with heat, the snowflakes falling on his cheeks actually burned. He took a deep, long breath and smiled.

He realized she still held handfuls of his hair, holding him captive to her lovely face, so he took the opportunity to dot her equally flushed cheeks with more kisses. "You're so beautiful, Eve," he whispered against her skin. "I can't stop kissing you."

Eve tensed in his arms, making him pause in his affectionate ministrations to peer with inquiry into her eyes. She peered back at him with a stern expression, unsettling him. He would have eased away from her but she continued to clutch his hair.

"Aksariel," she sighed his name. "I thought you said you had never kissed a girl before."

The angel's lips curled upwards with relief. "I did say that. I've never kissed a girl, until now."

Eve narrowed her eyes. "That was a really nice kiss."

Aksariel's smile widened. "You liked it, huh?" He raised his brow. "I wanted it to be special. One you'd never forget. I'll never forget it. It was nice, wasn't it? Now I know what all the fuss is about." He paused and studied her face. She didn't seem appeased at all. Then he realized what she had meant. "Oh! You think because it was nice that I've had lots of practice?"

Eve nodded.

Aksariel chuckled. "I said I had never kissed a girl. I never said I didn't know how to kiss a girl."

Now Eve smiled and nuzzled his chin. "Oh. Okay. For a minute there, I think I was jealous. Aksariel, do you think...." Her voice trailed off and she fidgeted in his lap, looking away from him briefly. When she faced him again, her dark eyes were smoldering with longing. "Aksariel, will you kiss me again?"

The angel of death blinked back at her. "If you want me to, I will. I think I'd like to, actually." He hadn't been expecting her to ask for another kiss, but he was glad she did. Then, there wasn't too much about Eve he had been expecting. She had surprised him at every turn. He suddenly realized how he was holding her, touching her, and she wasn't afraid. He tightened his grip on her small body nestled in his lap. "Eve. You're letting me touch you. It isn't so horrible, is it? How do you feel?"

"Happy," Eve replied, tugging on his hair to bring his mouth closer to hers. "At peace. Now that I've kissed you, I feel like I've died and gone to heaven."

Aksariel's eyes fluttered closed. "Me too," he said and exhaled a caressing breath over her lips before capturing them in his second kiss.

###

The Age of Atlantis

Signs in the darkness led the way to the Enlightened Path. The Oracle had to find the strength of will to follow the signs, no matter the pain and no matter the sacrifice.

As Oracle to the Mighty Ones, it was her duty to serve those in power, as decreed by law, but her heart was with her people, so the miracles that she performed were offered freely to those in need. To those who ruled she offered only what they deserved, which was difficult when she could hear their thoughts.

Telepathy was one of her many hidden talents.

"Priestess! Please hurry! He'll find us if you don't leave now!"

Lina sighed reluctantly as she gracefully turned away from her beloved Stones and exited her Grotto of Life. Her faithful handmaidens grabbed her and hurried her to her dreaded meeting with DeMere.

"DeMere the Dirty, DeMere the Despicable, DeMere the Dastardly..."

"Priestess!" her handmaidens yelled at her.

"Well, he is," she muttered as she allowed them to drag her to her destination.

Two factions ruled her land. DeMere ruled through force and deceit. The DeMere followers lived in terror. They lived in fear for their lives and they lived in fear for the lives of their families. Inner members of DeMere's circle of power were dark minions whose energies overflowed with an unhealthy thirst for power, and they would do anything to achieve their goal. DeMere's opposition, DomNall, had the qualities of a just and worthy leader, but DeMere was persuasive in his promises and lies and his numbers were growing. DeMere was suave and handsome and many couldn't see past the perfection of his earthly shell. But the Oracle could see his warped soul, and hear his warped thoughts, and it was her job to protect her people, even if they made unwise and unhealthy choices.

Lina promoted and supported DomNall in every way possible, but he was old and therefore perceived as weak. She could read his sharp mind and wit, but even she could see that the battle was lost and a new strategy must soon be executed.

DeMere could never be allowed to know her true powers. He could only guess at half her strengths, and he coveted them all. The people were quick to sing her praises so it was impossible to hide all of her talents. Word spread quickly with each new healing and miracle. Her powers as a medical intuitive were legendary, but her expert knowledge and mastery of crystals and their uses was unprecedented. DeMere possessed an unusual capacity to read and manipulate people and he was an exceptional scientist. His plan was to manipulate Lina's powers and create the ultimate weapon.

She would never let that happen, but he was closing in and time was running out.

"Ah, my beautiful Oracle, there you are!"

DeMere ushered Lina into his plush suites and motioned for her to sit next to him on a lavish sofa. She took a seat opposite him in a straight backed chair and sat with her back rigid. She would never let her guard down around him.

She could also see the future and she knew exactly what he wanted.

Every meeting with him was torture. Lina forced herself to pretend to be in alliance with him for to do otherwise would have been suicide. By law, the Oracle was only permitted to use her powers as directed by the leaders. The extra healings and charity work that she performed were sanctioned by the governing leaders, but the government directives must be performed without question. Lina knew that DeMere was gathering his forces, because the signs of doom were growing, and she knew that time was against her. Her duties as Oracle and mother to her son, Napan, kept her far too busy, and in all honesty, she tried to deny the warning signs. But she could no longer ignore it. The energy in the room was dark and forbidding. She could feel a horrific political storm gathering and she needed to calm herself. She couldn't focus with this much negative energy so she imagined that she was dancing around DeMere. As she danced her long brunette hair swayed and she used imaginary sticks to play the drums on his head. Up in his face, her spirit laughed and stuck her finger in his ear.

As DeMere droned on and on about how wonderful he was and why she should adore him, at least, that was her version of his ranting; she sat calmly and appeared to be interested in what he was saying.

"You're such a blowhard," she silently told him.

He turned and looked at her.

"Did you say something?" he asked.

She smiled sweetly and shook her head negatively.

"Have you prepared the crystals that I ordered?"

His tone was serious and his demeanor had turned aggressive. His aura glowed bright red. Obviously the niceties were over.

He had ordered her to use her powers to make him a weapon. He claimed that he wanted to use it to defend the people against threats from the giant beasts that roamed the land, but she knew as well as he did that he wanted the weapon to defeat his enemies. She didn't have to hear his thoughts to know what he would do, but she did hear his thoughts, and her fears were confirmed. He wanted to use the weapon to kill his opposition and anyone who wouldn't join him.

He wanted to kill her people and she could not allow that to happen.

She could make him the weapon that he wanted, but she had to stall. He wanted to force her to apply spiritual laws for material gain. This was an abomination and could not be permitted. She had to find a way to deflect him and she had to find a way to get her Astral Keys to safety. In the wrong hands they would be deadly.

She was the Door Opener and she would never give him the Keys.

"I will have what you need by the next full moon."

She closed her eyes and bowed her head to make him think that she disagreed with his request, but she would fulfill it nevertheless.

He slithered near her and returned to the snake charmer that he was.

Thankfully, she wasn't a snake.

"You will have anything that you desire. I will give you whatever you wish."

"Can you give me my husband back?"

It came out before she could stop it. She wished that her husband was still alive. She wished that he hadn't been killed in a tragic accident. He was the love of her life and he was all that she wished for. The only reason that she could go on after his death was because he had given her a son, a son that looked like him, a son who was the light of her life. She could see her husband's love every time that she looked into her son's turquoise eyes.

Her husband died only one short month ago. DeMere had given her time to mourn, but apparently her time was up.

"His death didn't help at all," thought DeMere. "I thought she would turn to me in her grief and I could make her do what I wanted. I should have let her stupid husband live. It just made me wait longer while she mopes around and pines for him." He sighed loudly.

It took every ounce of control in her body. She took notice of every breath and forced herself to breath normally.

DeMere killed her husband. DeMere killed the love of her life, her soul mate. Her hands shook and she hid them beneath the long flowing sleeves of her gossamer caftan.

She stood and announced, "I have much work to do. You will have what you want in ten days' time."

As soon as she was out of his sight she ran. She couldn't see past her pain. The sky darkened and a sudden storm clouded the sky. Another ability that she rarely used was her control over the weather. She never interfered with the natural order of things, but her emotions were unchecked and nature was responding to her. Rain pelted her and people ran for shelter as thunder and lightning filled the sky. Thankfully, she reached her destination before further destruction could be inflicted. When her husband died there was a torrential downpour for a week and a dozen tornadoes wreaked havoc over the land.

Her handmaidens screamed when they saw her. They rushed to her side but she flew past them. They knew where she was headed. They had seen her look like this a month before so they knew that something was horribly wrong. They hugged each other and cried. They could see and sense things also and they both had the overwhelming feeling that this was the beginning of the end.

Unfortunately, they were right.

Lina stood in the center of her Grotto of Life. She dropped to her knees and wept uncontrollably.

"He died for nothing!" she screamed. "He died for nothing!"

A tragic accident is something that must be accepted in life as the way that things are meant to be, but not murder. Murder was unforgiveable. The ascension of power through murder was done by men who had lost sight of their true nature. Men who are good retain their comprehension of their creator and they are purified through spirit. But men like DeMere, who want nothing more than the selfish exploitation of the earth and uncontrollable power, are black spirits. They are evil incarnate.

She awoke on the floor, her face covered in dried tears. The power of her Stones was healing her. She had a vision of clarity upon waking and she now had a plan of action. It would require every ounce of her strength of character, but she knew that it was the only way out. She had ten days to implement her plan so there was no time to lose. The only aspect of the plan that she couldn't consciously fathom was her son.

She would have ten more days with him, and then she would never see him again.

**

Phena purred as he rubbed against Lina's legs.

"Don't worry Phena, you're going with me."

She had reassured him many times, but he was still worried. He knew the importance of her mission and he wouldn't have remained behind, even if she wanted him to.

"I can't do this without you," she assured him, but there was doubt in her voice and he had never heard that before. She never failed in any endeavor and she was the most powerful Oracle the land had ever known. Phena could sense her worry and concern.

Each Oracle chose an animal companion, but Lina believed that it should be the animal that chose the Oracle. Having decided to let the animal come to her, she was extremely blessed when one of her people brought her a tiny, sick little black jaguar to heal. He was near death and obviously the runt of the litter. Helpless animals were her weakness. A variety of beasts roamed her land and she had seen many species, but this particular baby jaguar really tugged at her heart strings. Her telepathic powers applied equally to humans and animals, so when Phena was brought to her it was love at first sight and she knew that she had been chosen.

Fiercer than lions and tigers, jaguars are smaller, but they are brilliant swimmers and agile climbers. As guardian spirits, they possess great magic and they exude mysticism and power. It is said that the jaguar spirit comes to those who must endure a heroic path. They act as guides to the realization of your own power. Jaguars aid in imminent rebirth and in the ability to go beyond what can be imagined. Jaguar spirits are enlightened when they enter the world of the living, where other animal spirits must learn to achieve what the jaguar is born knowing. A symbol of mastery over all dimensions, the black jaguar gives insight over both the spiritual and physical worlds. It was a testament to Lina's strength as Oracle that she was chosen by this powerful spiritual creature.

"I am Phena," he told her when he was brought to her.

His name was another Sign.

Phenacite was the highest frequency crystal available on the planet and she used Phenacite in her Oracle work to enhance her psychic abilities. A clearer Sign could not have been given.

It was destiny that brought Phena to her because as it turned out, he would be the only one who could help her on her quest to save her people and her land.

It was almost time.

Lina had two tasks to complete by the full moon. First, she tried to spend every possible moment telling her eighteen-month old son over and over how much she loved him, and her second task was equally as difficult.

She had to destroy her priceless Grotto of Life.

**

Like all things in her life, Lina discovered her Grotto of Life by following the Signs. In her early days as Oracle, as she was still discovering her powers, she was shown Symbols in a dream. An exceptionally tall man with the most beautiful face she had ever seen appeared to her in this dream. He was dressed in Earth colored clothing and his long auburn hair was bound loosely at the nape of his neck with a circlet of silver and gold. His aura was filled with continuously floating Symbols surrounding him like a protective flame. Not long after he first appeared to her, she was shown a cave in a waking dream. She knew that she must go to this cave, but she didn't know where it was; she only knew that it was well hidden.

"I have no doubt that Mr. Gorgeous will show me the way," she thought.

She was still young so he forgave her.

She summoned her handmaidens.

"I must find a secret cave with a beautiful man."

Her handmaidens, Dorry and Sana, smiled with glee.

"Will there be beautiful men for us too?" they asked with girlish grins and giggles.

Lina gave them a dismissive wave.

"When I find this cave we are to be the only three people in the world who will know where it is. You must guard this secret with your lives."

Dorry and Sana would move Heaven and Earth to do anything for the Oracle and they eagerly anticipated this unusual development.

"How will you find it?" asked Dorry.

"As always," said Lina, "I'll follow the Signs."

Lina believed that everyone was guided by a Higher Power and that help was just a request away, so she asked simply, "Please show me the way to my secret cave." Then she went about her life as usual, but she paid particular attention to details or anything unusual or coincidental.

It only took a few days. Lina was shopping in the bazaar and she overheard two women talking.

"Did you hear about the incident near the Temple of Souls?" asked the first woman.

"Oh my," said the second woman. "Wasn't that terrible? That poor little boy broke his leg! I hear he's in really bad shape. I'm gathering supplies now to bake him some cookies."

"Do they know what caused the sinkhole?" the first woman asked.

"I haven't heard anything about the cause yet, but I hope it doesn't happen again!"

Lina recognized this conversation as a Sign, and she decided that this was the perfect job for Phena.

She found him lounging in his favorite spot. His padded perch was located above a gloriously stocked koi pond. Only Lina knew that as he lounged, he guarded the entrance to the Oracle's temple. If anyone entered without Phena's approval, Lina would know about it.

"Do you feel like an adventure?" she asked Phena.

Phena purred and pounced on her heels as he followed Lina to the Temple of Souls. Her people had eagerly given her ample information about the tragedy. Apparently, a nine-year old boy was walking his dog in a wooded area some distance behind the Temple. The earth began to shake and before the boy could run, the earth crumbled and opened up under him. He lay seriously hurt and unconscious at the bottom of a deep ravine. He was saved by the fact that his dog escaped the cave-in and ran home. The dog's presence without the boy immediately raised an alarm and the dog led the rescuers to the boy.

Lina and Phena stared deep into the gaping sinkhole.

"What do you think?" Lina asked Phena.

Phena eagerly descended into the cavernous ravine. He loved adventure and Lina told him about the secret cave so he raced into the darkness, honored to be appointed as advance scout.

"Dark. Creepy." Phena telepathically told Lina. "Love it!" he growled.

"Funny smell," he reported. "Nice earth."

"Please be careful!" Lina worried. She couldn't stop thinking about another cave-in, and her emotions were taking over because of her love for Phena. She knew that the future held no danger at this time for her beloved one, and she knew that he would emerge unscathed from this sinkhole, but it was hard to trust the unknown, even for an Oracle. Too many emotions clouded her sight and judgment when loved ones were involved. Besides, she was well aware of the fact that the future was not set in stone, in fact, she was counting on it.

She had to change what she saw.

"Pretty!" purred Phena.

"What's pretty?" asked an anxious Lina.

"Sparkle stones. Sparkle stones getting more. Following lights."

Sparkle stones? Crystals? She could wait no longer. Lina began her descent into the darkness.

"Not yet!" growled Phena. "Not safe yet."

She didn't retreat, but she halted and sat to keep her feet from moving. She hugged her knees and rocked back and forth. She kicked off her shoes and dug her feet into the cool earth to connect with her warmth.

Phena sniffed the air. He sensed moisture. As he traveled deeper and deeper into the earth, the narrow passageway slowly grew larger. He easily found his way in the darkness, but there was also an inner glow lighting the way.

"Two roads," Phena commented.

A fork?

"Which way will you choose?" Lina asked.

"Down. Smells wet," he calmly answered, as if it were a simple decision that required absolutely no thought at all.

Lina was clawing the earth with her toes. She couldn't wait much longer. Time seemed to stand still when she felt something brush against her back.

"Ahhhhhh!"

She jumped up so quickly that she almost fell into the ravine.

Phena stared at her innocently.

"You brat cat! You scared me half to death! Where did you come from? How did you get here so quickly?"

"Second road," he smugly purred. "Come," he said as he turned and trotted off.

She brushed the dirt off her feet and put her shoes on as she ran.

A few hundred yards from the ravine there was a dry river bed. Climbing down a tall embankment, they landed on a smooth river stone pathway. Phena led her to an opening, covered by brush and vines. Phena disappeared into the opening.

"Come, it is safe," he said when she hesitated.

"It's not that," she whispered.

She felt light headed. She sensed an ancient presence. It was strong and overpowering, but welcoming. Images were flashing through her mind so quickly that she couldn't focus. The energy emanating from this opening was like nothing she had encountered before; it was indescribable and hypnotic.

Suddenly she couldn't wait to get inside. It was as if a magnet was drawing her towards an irresistible force. She pushed the greenery aside and crouched low.

The opening was small, but she could walk without having to crawl. The tunnel gently sloped downward and the walls of the opening gradually grew as she descended into the darkness.

As the tunnel grew, so did the light. The "shiny stones" were phosphorescent crystals lighting the way. Phena was right, it was pretty.

"Told you," he commented.

"Who asked you Smarty Cat?"

Phena gave a low growl, which sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

Thankfully Lina was descending slowly, so she didn't fall when the path suddenly dropped off. She tentatively stepped down, and she gasped when she realized that she was walking down steps. They were worn almost to the point of being unrecognizable as stairs, but there was no mistaking the fact that they were not a natural occurrence.

The stairs curved slightly and as she rounded a slight turn she heard the sounds of water. She was able to move faster as the light increased and before she knew it she was in a cavernous opening.

She had found her secret cave, but more than that, she had discovered a priceless treasure.

Or had it found her?

The circular cave was about twenty feet wide and it had a domed ceiling about twelve feet high. Across from the tunnel opening was a small waterfall. The luminescence was brightest behind the waterfall and the walls of the cave where the water touched it were smooth as glass. Phena took a long drink from the sparkling water and then he curled up on the ancient stone floor and purred at the pool of water at the base of the waterfall. There were no fish, but the water was illuminated and hypnotic.

Lina slowly circled the cave, running her fingers over the openings in the walls. There were several rows of niches, about one foot square each, carved into the radiant walls.

Inside of each niche was a Stone.

These were no ordinary Stones. Without touching them, she could feel that they were older than the Earth. Power emanated from them, pulsating like rays of the sun. Lina was afraid to touch them due to their radiance and strength. They had auras unlike any stones that she had ever seen. Every living thing had energy, and therefore auras, and it was difficult enough to look at the auras of the fields and trees and grasses on a sunny day due to their brilliance, but these Stones gave off auras that were warm and inviting, but with a shine as bright as the Heavens.

She had an overpowering thirst so she went to the waterfall and drank deeply from the refreshingly clear water. Her eyes grew heavy and she curled up beside Phena, and they both slept deeply.

"It is time for you to learn now Young One."

Was she dreaming or awake? As she contemplated this he said, "You are asleep, but you will remember all that I have to say. I have much to teach you and we will have many lessons."

"Who are you?" she asked in her dream.

"Who I am is not important. My name is not important. What is important is the knowledge that I must teach you – the knowledge contained in this Grotto of Life."

And so her lessons began.

Day after day, month after month, year after year, she visited the Grotto of Life as often as she could. She studied and she learned.

He never gave her his name so she called him Guardian. He did not object, in fact, he said that it was her intuitive nature that had chosen the perfect name for him.

He was the Guardian of the Earth and he had chosen her, the most powerful Oracle, to learn the secrets of the Stones.

"One day you must use this knowledge to save your people from destruction," he instructed her.

The Guardian was always such a cheerful guy.

Lina learned that the power was partly due to the Stone itself, as all stones have incredible powers of their own, but the true power was in the Symbols. Each Stone had a Symbol carved into it. Her job was to learn each Symbol's use and meaning.

"These Symbols are called Astral Keys and they come from another place and time," he told her. "You have been appointed as the Door Opener. I will show you how to use the Keys, and you will decide how and when to use their power."

The first Key that she learned however, was not on a Stone. The Guardian directed her to a Key carved into the wall, just above the entrance to the cave.

"This Key protects all the Keys in the Grotto of Life. You must memorize this Key because if the other Stones and Keys must ever be moved, you cannot move this Key so you will need to re-create it."

Lina did as she was instructed, as always. She spent hours, sometimes days, in the Grotto. It was a home like no other that she had ever known. Dorry and Sana brought her food and supplies as needed and they covered for her when her whereabouts were questioned or her presence was needed. Phena acted as messenger, although he was never amused when she referred to him as her carrier pigeon.

"Phena look like big fat bird?" he'd ask her.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" she'd tease him.

Lina would usually pay for this disrespect with her dignity. Phena was quite crafty and possessed infinite patience. He'd wait for just the right moment to strike and he'd get her every time. His best prank was with an elephant.

One day Lina received an emergency call.

"Oracle, please come quickly! My brother found a baby elephant and we think he's dying! We've taken him to your Temple but you must hurry!"

Lina grabbed some supplies and ran after the young boy to her Temple of Healing. She had treated many animals but never an elephant! Dorry and Sana caught up with them and when they all arrived at the Temple the baby elephant was laying on the floor motionless. Lina feared that she was too late.

As she knelt close to examine the poor helpless baby, a noise exploded outside the Temple walls. Lina turned as white as the marble floors and everyone except Lina screamed and covered their ears as they trembled and shook with fright. Lina ran outside to find a herd of elephants trumpeting as if they were trying to wake the dead.

The only reason that Lina wasn't afraid was because she spotted Phena standing beside the lead elephant, swaying his tail as if highly agitated, but it wasn't swaying in agitation. It was swaying with extreme pleasure and satisfaction.

"Oh, you are bad! What a horrible trick! And you!" she pointed to the lead female elephant.

"How can you allow your baby to be part of such an evil trick?"

The baby elephant came bounding out of the Temple and took his place next to his mother. He was the picture of health.

"Sorry," the matriarch elephant told Lina. "Phena good friend."

She trumpeted as she turned and her herd followed her into the forest.

Lina stood with hands on hips staring down Phena.

"Fine," she growled. "Let the games begin."

And so they did. Lina and Phena were forever playing practical jokes on each other.

They both loved every minute of it.

Life was good for many years. The Oracle's powers and abilities grew stronger and stronger. She met and married the man of her dreams and they had a beautiful child. It was a perfect life and she felt extremely blessed, but she always had the nagging feeling that the Guardian was preparing her for a task that she knew she wouldn't want. She tried many times to ask him about it, but he would never give her a straight answer.

"Why have you given me this knowledge? How am I to use these Keys? When will I know what door to open?" she often asked him.

"When the time comes, you will know how and why," was his usual response.

"Thank you Captain Cryptic!" she raged at him. Her visions of destruction were becoming more and more frequent. She knew that her perfect life was coming to an end and she knew that she was powerless to stop it. She had been given a chance to experience the joys in life and now she would be forced to endure the tragedies.

"It will be your choice," the Guardian counseled her. "I have given you this knowledge, but what you chose to do with it will be your decision. You can choose to see this power that you have been given as a blessing or a curse."

"I have a bad feeling that it will be both those things," she sadly prophesized.

"You are a wise Oracle," he said as he once again faded away into his unseen world.

**

She only had two days left. She had chosen two superbly healthy horses and she was having them prepared for a long journey. They were being fed and groomed with exceptional care.

Dorry and Sana had been helping her carefully pack the Stones for the journey. It didn't feel natural as she removed each Stone from the niche that had been its home for a longer time than could be imagined.

"Am I doing the right thing?" she asked the Guardian.

"You are doing what must be done," he cryptically answered her, but he could feel her frustration so he offered her a rare glimpse of the future.

"The power of the Stones will come forth when the time is right. It might not be the time that you expect, but time does not exist for me, so it is hard for me to explain this to you."

Lina sat on the grotto floor and stared into her favorite Stone, an opal of magnificent size with her favorite Key. She looked up at the Guardian with tears in her eyes.

"But I must hide these Stones where they will never be found. How can their power be used if they are scattered throughout the land? I don't understand and I can't see beyond this time."

"Your emotions blind you right now so you cannot see. Remember this: _we must resolve all unsolved problems_. If you do not find the right time to use the Stones in this life, perhaps you will resolve this problem in another life. You have learned the knowledge of the Stones so the knowledge can never be lost."

Then he gave her shattering information that she suspected, but she had fervently hoped that it would not be true.

"Once you leave, you will never again return to this Grotto and I will never see you again, but know this – that I will always be with you. Trust now that you are doing what must be done and proceed forward knowing that you are doing a great and heroic thing."

He moved closer to her and looked into her eyes, into her very soul.

"This is what you were born to do. This is your destiny. Only an Oracle with your abilities could do what you must do. I will watch over your son and protect him as I have watched over and protected you. You will be with your son and husband again. Your souls are forever entwined."

Just then the ground rumbled and the Grotto shook. Lina gasped in fear.

"You must hurry now. You must be gone by the full moon tomorrow. Go and say your goodbyes for time grows short."

She stood and stared at him. She couldn't stop her flood of tears. Then he did something that he had never done. He materialized and became as a solid form. He held out his hand and said, "Here, this is a special Stone, but one that I want you to keep. It is a sacred present from me to you. It is a symbol of my love for you. Keep it with you and know that I will always be with you."

He handed her a very small Stone and as she stared at it he bent down and kissed her on her cheek as he faded away.

**

She rode by the light of the full moon. The moon was so bright that the shadows of two horses, a small jaguar, and a despondent and heartbroken woman followed them.

Lina tried to focus on her task, but her mind kept forcing its way back to her departure.

"We must come with you!" Dorry and Sana cried. They had assumed that they would be going with the Oracle, as always.

"You must stay and help the people. You are expert healers and your services are greatly needed. You must also watch over my son. You must help Anha."

Anha was Lina's sister-in-law. She had two children and she was a wonderful mother. She loved Napan as if he was her own son and he loved her. Her son would have many wonderful people watching over him.

That's what she kept telling herself. It was the only hope that she could cling to.

"Besides," Lina told Dorry and Sana, "who will explain my disappearance? If you don't tell DeMere what happened then he will come looking for me and all will be lost. You must stay and cover for me."

Lina had listened to every one of their arguments and their solutions, but none of their plans was as foolproof as the plan that had been set in motion.

It was decided that Lina would meet an untimely death in the forest. Dorry and Sana would tell everyone that Lina had chased a wounded animal into the forest. Her attempts to find and heal the animal would cause her to be attacked and killed by a wild beast. Shredded bits of clothing would be scattered as evidence of her demise. Her handmaidens would explain that the Oracle had never recovered from her husband's death and she wasn't thinking clearly when she followed the hurt animal. It would be assumed that Phena was with her, and that he too was killed.

In Lina's visions she could see that this story would convince everyone of her death. She had a vision of DeMere and his rage was indeed terrible, but she saw that his powers would never be more than they were now. The visions of the future where he killed masses of people with Lina's Crystal Firestone Weapon were no more.

This danger had passed with her leaving.

As Lina removed the last Stone from the cave and turned to say goodbye, she looked up at the Protection Key and it began to glow. The fiery red glow grew more and more intense until it seared and encircled the Key. When the glow faded, all traces of the Key were gone.

The Grotto of Life was no more.

Lina's plan was simple. She would do as she had always done and follow the Signs. She would hide the Stones where no one would ever find them, but just in case one was found, she would scatter them throughout the land, as far apart as she could. The Stones would never again be together; therefore their power would be diminished.

Once she had considered destroying the Stones, but she knew that their destruction was not an option. They were meant to survive. Her job was to hide them until the time was right for them to once again be found.

They traveled north since this was the way that the Signs led them. It was many weeks before she hid the first Stone. As they traveled, they came upon a large flock of ravens, which appeared to be diving and attacking something. When they went to investigate they found nothing that the birds could possibly be interested in. Lina's intuition told her that this was the burial spot for the first Stone. She dug a deep hole and buried it tenderly in a covering of fine cloth. Dorry and Sana had worked tirelessly sewing the fine coverings for the Stones. Lina's tears fell freely as she thought of them and all that she left behind. Her tears mingled with the earth as she lovingly covered the Stone. She put many rocks and stones over the fresh earth so no one would suspect that the ground had been disturbed.

She and Phena moved on. They had many Stones to hide before their task was complete.

The Signs never ended; sometimes a fragrance, sometimes a sound, sometimes a gentle breeze. The Signs were easy for Lina to see because she believed in them, and she believed that they were there.

At one point she considered going back. She was getting down to the last few Stones and even though she and Phena had traveled for many months, she began to imagine a way to explain her disappearance and return. As she grew stronger in her conviction that she would return, the land rumbled, as if in response. The horses screamed in fright as the ground shook. Lina had a strong vision of an enormous section of land simply breaking off and falling into the sea. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could never find her way home again.

Her hopes dashed, she slowly and resignedly continued her trek northward.

The day finally came when she was down to her last Stone. It was her favorite, the giant Opal, and she was reluctant to part with it. She had developed a habit of pretending to consult with the Guardian using the Stone that he had given her. Whenever she would come to a crossroad of not knowing what to do, she would hold the Stone and flip it up and down, up and down.

"Yes or no, yes or no," she would chant as the Stone flipped in her hands.

This time, she stopped flipping and said, "I know what the answer is, my beloved Guardian. I know that I have to give it up, just like I gave up everything else."

"Phena here always," the little jaguar comforted her.

She hugged him so tightly that he began to squirm.

"I know, and I'll be forever grateful for that. I could never have done this without you."

Just then Phena sniffed the air suspiciously.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"Familiar smell," he stated. "We must follow."

Phena led them to a stream that led to a beautiful waterfall. As soon as Lina saw the crystal water cascading over the smooth rocks she knew that this was the right place for the last Stone.

She tethered their horses near the waterfall. Phena led them around the base of the waterfall where they climbed a path that ended behind the thundering water. As the water crashed onto the pool below, Phena and Lina explored the small cave behind the waterfall. There were plenty of loose stones so they buried the Opal Stone in the cave behind a wall of rocks.

As Lina mounted her horse and they prepared to leave, the horses once again screamed in fear as the earth shook. A rockslide erupted at the top of the waterfall and when the earth settled, Lina was certain that the cave no longer existed.

"Thank you, Guardian," Lina told him, because she was certain that he was behind this earthquake.

"The Stones are now all hidden and safe, but where are Phena and I to go?"

She didn't receive an immediate answer, but as they left the waterfall behind, a pair of eagles circled above them. The majestic birds seemed to hover until they were sure that they had been spotted, and then they flew off in a northeasterly direction.

"Well, Phena," she said, "I guess that's where we're going."

The days were relaxed and blended one into the other, but even Phena was growing restless. They no longer had a job to do. Their days had always been jammed with more tasks than they could possibly perform, but they were fulfilling and immensely rewarding. These days of rest were actually quite difficult. Just when they were wondering what to do with themselves, a solution presented itself in the form of a baby goat.

Phena led them to the cries of distress. The baby goat had a broken leg. Lina immediately tended to it and in no time at all, the baby was sleeping peacefully in Lina's arms.

"We must find this Little One's herd. Do you think you can lead us to them?" she asked Phena.

"Goats stink. Too easy," he responded as he trotted off.

"A simple yes would do," she answered, but Phena ignored her as he tracked the goat's family.

Lina expected to find a herd of wild goats, but to her amazement she found a penned herd of domesticated goats, and a village.

**

"Lina, please hurry! The baby is almost here!"

Lina and Phena had found a home. They caused quite a commotion years ago when they arrived in the village carrying the little goat. The people were surprised, but they welcomed them with open arms, especially when they discovered Lina's healing abilities. They treated her like a queen and they pampered and protected her and Phena as honored members of their tribe.

Lina kept all of her abilities secret, except for her healing knowledge. When the crops were dying due to a drought, she used her powers to make it rain so they would have food to survive the winter, but no one knew except Phena. She kept her knowledge of crystals hidden and no one ever knew of her psychic abilities. She would try to steer someone onto a better path if she knew they were headed for destruction, but she never let the true reason for her advice be known.

Lina did teach her people about the stars, the planets and the laws of nature. They were good people and they already had a tremendous love of the land so they eagerly embraced her teachings.

Lina and Phena often took long walks together and as Lina rested, Phena guarded her. She would send her spirit to visit Napan and her beloved handmaidens. She watched her son grow to be a strong man and she took pride in Dorry and Sana's families as if they were her own.

But it was the other extraordinary visions that comforted her the most.

She had visions that took her to a place and time that were totally unfamiliar to her. These visions weren't as clear as her other visions, but she could feel and sense with an unfathomable certainty that she was reunited with her son and husband. She was also with another, and she could sense that he would be the One. He would help her to bring forth the knowledge of the Stones. He would help her to bring forth the power of the Keys. It was odd, but whenever she thought of him, she felt a strong desire to hold and flip the Guardian's Stone.

She could feel that it was a different age and a different time, but she was still the same. She was still the Door Opener and she still possessed the knowledge of the Keys.

She was certain, beyond a shadow of doubt, that this would be the second, and last, chance to make things right.

The story continues in _Both Sides_ ...

BETRAYAL

The office of Dynamic Creations, Inc was sparsely decorated and dark. Two desks occupied the space that would soon be filled with activity. A powerful desktop computer sat on each desk along with various peripheral devices, external disc drives, printers and programming manuals. A single, overhead light hung, unlit between the two desks. It was hardly the office where the next big thing in multi-platform gaming would be written, but that's what was about to happen. GLORY HOUNDS II: THE UNWANTED was the most eagerly anticipated video game sequel of the still-young year.

The lock on the office door tumbled and came to life as Dave Jansen reported to work. He flipped on the light, and it sprang to life with a flicker and a hum. Before he sat down in his black leather chair, he switched on his computer to let it boot up. He would have the office to himself for about 15 minutes before his business partner Curt Turner showed up. That was just fine with him, because he was nervous about the presentation they would make later in the day. Dave hated public speaking.

When Curt got to the office, they had to make preparations to go to the Airport Hilton to meet with their software distributors. All the bugs had seemingly been worked out of the game, and play-testing was now complete. The in-the trenches computer work was all done, and now it was time for the partners to be showmen. Now that the computer had finished booting up, Dave reached into the laptop case he had brought with him and produced a brand-new laptop, which he began to boot up as well. He reached into back into the case and withdrew a small jump drive from a pocket in the front, which he plugged into the port on his desktop.

With a flourish, Dave moved the mouse and opened up the PowerPoint presentation that he and Curt had created. He would need to put that on the jump drive and transfer it to the laptop that would accompany them to their presentation. Just after he started the transfer, the door opened again. Curt had come bearing gifts. He was carrying 2 cups of coffee and a bag of donuts...the breakfast of champions.

"Good morning, Dave."

"Good morning, Curt. I see you made it through the line ok."

"Yeah, it wasn't too bad. Anyway, you got the presentation loaded?" Curt sat down the bag of donuts and a cup of coffee on Dave's desk.

"It's loading now," Dave said, as he reached for his daily caffeine dose. He grabbed the cup farthest from him and tilted it back.

"Careful, it's hot."

"Ow! Yeah, no kidding." His tongue was on fire from the volcanic sip he'd taken.

Dave sat down his cup and took the jump drive out of the desktop putting it in the laptop. He struck a few keys, and the computer began whirring and beeping, signaling that the transfer was going according to plan. With screenshots of the game, screenshots of code, and technical data, the presentation was rather large and took up a sizable space.

Curt reached for his coffee, took off the lid, and blew on the steaming liquid to cool it. After a minute, he took a long, slow drink. It was still nuclear-hot, but tolerable.

Anyway, that's the way he liked it.

"Ok, it's done. Our future is now on this baby," Dave said as he patted the laptop gingerly.

"Good. I wanted to make sure nothing happened to my future."

This gave Dave pause. "You do mean our future, don't you?"

"No, I'm afraid not. See Dave, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I really need this to work, and I can't have you screwing it up for me. Karen's pregnant again, and with my bills and such, I can't afford to split up my money right now."

"Well, I've got the laptop, so how do you plan on getting the presentation from me? I'm the one with the black belt, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I remember that. Besides, if you were all beaten up, the cops would come looking for whom did it, and naturally, they would suspect me. I decided I needed something a little more subtle...like poison, maybe."

Dave searched for his words. He was in the middle of getting gut-kicked by the one man he trusted like a brother. How could this be happening over something as petty as money?

He'd always thought they were both above that foolishness.

"How...how do you plan to get away with something like that?

It will show up in my bloodstream, and they'll still come looking for you."

"Not if there's been some there for quite a while. I told you to lay off those cigarettes. One of these days they're going to kill you. I put a few drops of pure nicotine in your drink. You should be having a heart attack within a half an hour."

A spark of hope lit within Dave. He had reached for the coffee cup farthest from him. Curt had taken the other.

Curt probably planned it the other way around. He had most certainly taken the wrong cup.

"You know, I never understood something about you."

"What's that, oh partner of mine?"

"Well, I can figure out why you would try to take the company from me. That's easy...money. And I can figure out why there might be some jealousy between us. I used to date your wife.

But, for the life of me, I can't figure out why you would give me such grief for smoking, when you do it, too." "Because cancer doesn't run in my family, it runs in yours.

And besides, you're the one who smells like a tobacco plant half the day, not me."

"Yes, but I'm also the one who's smart enough to reach for the right cup of coffee. You took the one sitting on my desk. What are you going to do, call 911 and tell them that you poisoned yourself?"

A look of shock and horror struck Curt as he realized that

Dave was right. He had grabbed the wrong cup. He was about to have a very bad morning.

Dave continued, "Don't worry. When I get back from the presentation, I'll call 911. They might even be able to save you. If they do, we'll sell the company and go our separate ways. If they don't, I'll just buy out your wife.

Karen never did know anything about our business. It won't even be hard convincing her to sell."

Dave stood up to leave the office, and Curt grabbed a paperweight off the desk and swung it at him. He ducked under the solid glass object and wrapped up Curt in a sleeper hold. A few seconds in the grasp and Curt was down for the count.

Dave calmly picked the paperweight up off the floor where

Curt had dropped it and placed it back on the desk. He drug the limp, sleeping body over to Curt's desk and sat him in the chair, leaning his massive upper body over on the desk.

He reached over and turned the computer on.

Once it booted up, Dave placed Curt's hand on the mouse and opened up the presentation that they'd written together. He carried the two partially-drank cups of coffee to the bathroom sink and dumped them out. He would throw the cups in the dumpster outside.

It was time for him to leave for the presentation. Dave had just enough time to power down his computer. He would leave the lights on and the door unlocked. For all appearances,

Curt had a heart attack at the office while finishing up the presentation. At least he would go peacefully in his sleep.

All Dave had to do now was call and leave a message on Curt's cell phone once he got to the meeting. It would be normal to wonder where his partner was on such a momentous day. He would call 911 when he got back to the office.

Dave grabbed his case and closed the door behind him as he left.

THE BATTLE OF BIG LICK

Samuel fluttered his eyes open. Where the hell was he? And why did his head hurt? There were questions coming at him faster than he could answer them. Did he have any answers? At the moment, he wasn't sure.

After he laid there for a moment, some answers started filtering in. He knew his name: Samuel David Cooper. He knew he was from Virginia. He knew he fought for the Confederacy in the War Between the States. Once he'd remembered that, it all came flooding back to him.

In 1862, Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederacy, had asked for volunteers to help fill out the Army of Northern Virginia. Sam had eagerly joined up, and liked his life as a soldier well enough. He was certainly going somewhere in life. Better than being stuck on a farm in Southwest Virginia.

Now, on to a more pressing question...why did his head hurt? The last thing he remembered was shouting to his cousin to get his head down before he got it shot off, and then everything went blank. He started to reach his left arm up to feel the side of his head, but found he couldn't move it.

He looked around, as best he could, and found that there was somebody lying on top of his immobile limb. He looked around a little more and found that there were many somebodys lying around. He was all tangled in with them. He could see the ground up above him. He must be in a pit.

If he was in a pit, surrounded by bodies that weren't moving, then this must be a grave. And if this is a grave, did that mean that he was dead? It couldn't. If he was dead, he wouldn't be conscious and wouldn't be having any thoughts, much less these.

Working for what seemed like a long time; he finally managed to pull his arm free and raised it up to his head. Just above his ear, and along the side of his head, there was a messy gash and it was bleeding pretty good. Well, if he was unconscious and bleeding from the head, that makes sense why people thought he was dead.

When he pulled his hand down in front of his face and looked at it, not only was there a lot of blood but even a few maggots crawled around on his fingers. How long had he been here? Everything (possibly everybody) around him smelled of death and decay. The stench was everywhere, and seemed to be crawling inside his nostrils with every breath.

Sam pushed a body off his, and found movement a much easier task. Once he had freed his legs, it only took a little while longer to climb out of the pit. Yes, it was a burial pit. He had been lumped in with all the other dead Confederates, killed in the wilderness somewhere close to his home.

He looked back into the pit from which he came. A pile of bodies wearing Confederate grey filled the hole. Sam didn't know most of the people, and that was good. Looking down there too closely, he was liable to see someone he did know, and that would haunt him for a very long time, to be sure.

"First things first," Sam said out loud. Or, did he think it? At this point, the cobwebs were still fresh, and he couldn't be sure. He got up and decided to try and find a creek or stream or some kind of water source. He had to wash his head off, and he was about as thirsty as he had ever been. When he felt his canteen still slung around him, Sam decided that he should relish the small victory that that was.

As he looked around to get his bearings, he spied the body of a Yankee lying behind a tree just south of his position. When he turned the corpse over, he noticed it was without a head. He also saw that beneath the un-buttoned blue tunic, Billy Yank wore a white button down shirt. That would have to make due for a bandage for the moment.

Sam pulled the blue coat off the mysterious dead man and then took off his gear. Then he unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it off. Once he'd gotten it off, he tore it into strips that were reasonably similar. He hoped this Yankee was the clean sort.

Listening quietly, he could hear running water, and decided to follow the sound. Just downhill from where he was, Sam found a stream. The water was clear and cool to the touch. All at once, he came to the conclusion that it was not the Devil's lake of fire, and that he must really be alive. That was good news.

He bent down and washed his head off. It stung a bit to touch the wound on the side of his head, and when he dipped the bloody strip of cloth in the creek again, it ran crimson. More maggots floated away in the rush of water, too. The cool water did feel good against his head when he brought the cloth back up, though.

After doing it a few more times, there was less blood on the strip. He pulled out another (clean) strip of shirt and wound it around his head. He tied it at his ear, figuring that should hold it on for a while. It would just have to do; after all, he wasn't a doctor. Until the war started, he'd only ever seen 1 doctor in his whole life.

Now, it was time for another decision – what to do. He should catch up to his unit and go back to the fight, but that problem carried with it a whole host of others, so he'd come back to that decision.

He could go home. After all, he was dead, wasn't he? They couldn't exactly try him for desertion. But, he decided, they would eventually find out. Somebody would squeal. He was in the company with a bunch of people from his hometown. So, he put that idea out of his head quickly, too.

He could just find any old Rebel unit and join up with them. But what if the next group of guys to come through were a bunch of bluecoats? He sure wasn't going to join them, and that would mean he'd have to take on a whole mess of them by himself.

Ok, the decision was made – catch up to his company. Now...how to do that? Sam thought for a long minute, and it suddenly hit him. He should look for tracks. The problem with that occurred to him, too. What if he was following Yankee tracks? He didn't want to walk into a bluecoats' camp all decked out in his battle grey.

He dwelt on that problem for a while before he'd made his decision. The light of the day had started to fade. In September, the light goes quickly. Sam had to make a decision about what to do, and he had to do it fairly quick before it got dark on him.

Looking around did manage to provide a few clues. The first of which being the pit he'd crawled out of. Yankees lay around haphazardly, but the Southerners had at least had the time to bury their dead. To Sam, that must have meant they won the battle. Fleeing Yanks wouldn't have even buried the steaming loads in their trousers. That thought made Sam smile.

Ok, so tracks that look like marching formation must be Confederates. A quick search produced some. He decided those must be the right ones to follow, so that's what he did.

Sam gathered his things and looked around for anything else he could use that might come in handy. The Yankee he'd taken the shirt off of had some Minie balls. He took them for his own and set out.

His head still really hurt, but daylight was burning. He expected that the farther he got away from the battlefield, the less he would smell the rotting corpses of those he left behind. That supposition didn't seem to be living up to being true, however.

He followed tracks for hours through the woods until he finally decided that light was fading too fast for him to continue. He was going to have to make camp and continue in the morning.

Since he was by himself, there would be nobody else in camp to stand watch while he slept. He was just going to have to hide himself well and hope for the best. Perhaps he would get lucky and go unnoticed.

Not far from his chosen stopping point, there was a big rock that looked like it had been undercut by someone or something. That was a big enough space to make for good shelter, now to make it livable.

Sam worked on the site for 15 minutes in the creeping darkness to prepare it for his large frame. He cleared twigs, logs, and rocks out from under his overhang and stuffed his bedroll up under it to make a pillow.

Next, he knew he had to gather wood for a fire. He was going to have to have some warmth and cook some food by it. He hadn't thought about food all day, until just this moment, but it was suddenly the only thing he could think about. He was famished.

The fire didn't seem, by comparison, all that important anymore. It was the autumn of the year, and a cool autumn at that, but strangely, he wasn't cold. He remembered being cold during the battle, but who knew how long ago that was?

Anyway, he came to the conclusion that he'd better build a fire, just the same. So he wasn't cold now; it was going to be a long night. It would be even longer if he suddenly woke up in the pitch black, freezing to death.

In the fading light, he assembled a small pile of dead wood that had been scattered around him. Then he pulled the flint and steel from his pocket and struck it a few times on the dried pine needles and leaves he'd accumulated. Man had rediscovered fire.

Suddenly, he could smell something besides the rotten stench filling his sinuses. It smelled familiar and inviting. A twig snapped near him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a rabbit hop from behind a tree.

Watching the rabbit the whole time, Sam let his hand drift slowly to his bayonet. He unbuckled it from his belt and pulled it out. With lightning quickness, he spun the blade in his hand and thrust it into the rabbit, just behind his neck.

Before the rabbit was even fully dead, Sam grabbed the flesh just behind the fatal neck wound and pulled it, skinning his prey in one quick move. He held it over the fire for a minute, until the grumbling of his stomach would wait no longer. He pulled it off the fire and slid it off his bayonet.

So it wasn't as cooked as he was used to. It was meat; something else he wasn't used to anymore. Sam sunk his teeth into the flesh and tore at it with his hands. It was good, and filled him, though not completely.

When the flesh of the rabbit was mostly devoured, Sam gave it a fling down the hill and heard it land somewhere in the leaves. He didn't much care where it was, just that it wasn't near him, out of sight, out of mind.

Sam tried to relax by the fire. It didn't seem to work. He was hot now and couldn't get comfortable under his rock. He changed positions several times to try to find that elusive comfort, but it was no use.

He thought that the rabbit would have filled him, but it didn't. That rotten stench was back in his nostrils, and suddenly, he was hungry again. What would satisfy him, if not a whole rabbit?

The night passed slowly. Sam never slept, he never got cold. He never got comfortable. In fact, his discomfort worsened. His muscles were stiff and creaky, and his head still pounded.

At first light, Sam decided he'd had enough. The fire had burned itself out during the night, and he didn't care. He'd never fed the burning embers after it got so late, so it wasn't a surprise.

He got up and grabbed his bedroll. After getting his bearings again, Sam started off. The tracks shouldn't be hard to pick up.

He did pick up the tracks, and followed them for a few hours. The sun was blazing overhead, and it was about noonish by the time he spotted a fire burning off in the distance. That must be an encampment. He decided to head for it.

The hunger was still with him, and his lack of rest hadn't quelled his headache at all. Not to mention the fact that the overpowering stench in his nostrils seemed to be getting worse by the hour.

Another couple of hours passed before he made it to the camp. He seemed to be moving slower now. That made a lot of sense, though. He was still starving, and he hadn't rested properly since he crawled out of the pit.

Once he got close to what he supposed was the company, the stench subsided in his nostrils. It was replaced with the smell of meat. Maybe the company had killed a horse, or been given a cow by a local farmer or something. It was the sweetest smell he'd ever experienced, and he thought that he couldn't wait to taste it.

Something moved as he got closer, and after a second, Sam recognized what it was. It was a Rebel soldier. Certainly, he must have spotted Sam and was responding.

"Halt! Who goes there?" The soldier protested.

Sam tried to utter a sound, but found he couldn't. He realized he hadn't heard his own voice since he climbed up out of the pit. Honestly, had he even spoken then? He didn't know, or couldn't remember. He just kept walking.

The soldier lowered his musket (with the bayonet already fixed) and pointed it at Sam. Nervously, he raised his voice and protested again, "Look, I'm only going to say this one more time. Who goes there?"

Sam strained with all his might, but couldn't make the simple sounds to alert this greycoat to his identity. All he knew was the sweet smell in his nostrils and the thunderous pounding in his head.

The Rebel soldier nervously raised the shaking musket to his shoulder and pulled back the hammer. "This is your last chance," he called out. "I'm going to shoot!"

Sam still didn't make a sound. Try as he might, he couldn't.

He saw the sentry squeeze back on the trigger, but didn't have time to react before a thunderous noise, and a Minie ball tore into his right shoulder. Strangely, he recoiled a bit, but didn't seem horribly fazed by the fact he'd just been shot.

The sweet smell was as overpoweringly good as the throbbing in his head was bad. Sam got to within a foot of the guard, and took the musket right out of his hands.

With his right hand, Sam grabbed the guard by his face and slammed his head against the nearest tree. He pulled the head back and grabbed the neck with his free left hand. He'd finally figured out what that sweet smell was – it was human flesh.

Sam dipped his head and sunk his teeth into the gaping wound on the sentry's head. His headache instantly went away as he feasted on the fresh warm brains.

Serephina

(A spin off of the Neveah series)

Born a princess to the great rulers, Avery and Avalon, Serephina never felt as though she fit the role of a princess. She was a beautiful sight, make no mistake, but she didn't have a fighting bone in her fragile little body. Though peace had been bestowed upon Neveah for as long as her parents and her grandparents had lived, there was always that possibility that the elves would do what they were born to do, protect the land.

Serephina's people made up a large part of population of Neveah due to the fact that elves had rather long life spans and were very affectionate, loving creatures that lived to procreate and protect. Serephina was the oldest girl in her family with 15 brothers and 12 sisters. Being the oldest put Serephina in line to rule the elf village, should tragedy ever take her parents. She didn't want the part.

From the day she was born, her parents could see that she was a gentle creature. Growing up, she never fought with her siblings; rather she was always the peacemaker. She was never angered and never showed a sense of having that fight in her as most other elves did. She reveled in caring for her younger siblings and was distraught when she learned her mother would not be able to produce any more children.

"Serephina dear, I am getting on in years, even for an elf. My body can't handle birthing any more children. I am sorry, love. You are old enough now, maybe it's time you found your own husband and started your own family," Avalon suggested to her beautiful, gentle daughter. Serephina knew as her mother spoke, that finding a husband would also mean leaving home. It would also mean that she would have to dig deep inside to find the fighting spirit that all other elves developed naturally. It was missing inside of Serephina.

"Mother, as much as I would love a family of my own, who would want to marry me? I am not like the other girls. We are born lovers and fighters and, though I have the ability to love very deeply, we both know I was not born a fighter," she said in response with tears threatening her giant emerald eyes. Her mother knew well that her daughter was not like the others, yet always hoped that the spirit would come to her.

"There is someone for you, Serephina, you just have to find him," her mother told her reassuringly, hoping that her daughter believed her.

Later that night, when the village was asleep, Serephina packed a small bag and left her home. She hoped one day she could return as a fighter. She wanted nothing more than to be with her people but she was different and she couldn't change that.

She spent the first few nights sleeping in the forest and thanked the heavens that the weather was warm enough for her to do so. She had no destination. Though the elves kept company with many of the creatures in Neveah, Serephina had never made any real friends. She spent her whole life caring and loving her siblings. Making friends never crossed her mind.

She wandered the land during the day and made camp at night. She had never traveled far from her village and was in awe of the land she had called home. Her village was beautiful she knew; she never imagined the entire land was magnificent. As she explored the land, she felt happiness settle in her heart. She thought she could do this forever. Then she saw her.

The woman looked like a giant in comparison to Serephina but she was magnificent. Her hair, long and white, fell around her shoulders in kinky curls. Her face was nearly angelic with her porcelain skin and red stained lips. Serephina felt her breath catch in her throat when the woman stood, revealing a swollen belly under her satin gown. Serephina couldn't explain why but she was drawn to the woman and the unborn child. She felt as though she had found the piece of her heart that had been missing for so long. She quietly stepped out from behind the bush that had been hiding her and said quietly, "Hello."

The woman in white turned to the little elf and smiled as though she had been expecting her. "Hello Serephina," she responded.

"How do you know my name?" Serephina asked in a shaky voice. She should have been afraid of the stranger but she wasn't, she was fascinated.

"I have known you for a very long time. We have been waiting for you."

"Who has been waiting for me?"

"Come with me, Serephina, and I will explain everything. You are home now. This is where you belong," said the stranger, beckoning Serephina. The elf couldn't explain why she was so drawn to the woman, nor why she followed the stranger but she felt in her heart that this was her destiny.

When she entered the house, she was immediately taken aback. The house, while seemingly simple, had the feeling of total peace as soon as she entered. She was introduced to a man with a tousle of white curly hair on top of his head and the bluest eyes Serephina had ever seen. The strange lady went to the man and he wrapped a protective arm around her, a smile never leaving his face.

"I see you have found her?" he said with joy in his deep voice.

"Actually she found me," the lady said with the same joy. The two strange creatures stood staring at her as though they had been given a new toy.

"I'm sorry but how is it that you know me and why am I here?" Serephina asked through a shaky voice. She wasn't afraid. The house was too peaceful to be afraid. Her hosts were too beautiful to cause fright. She was nervous though and that rang in her high little voice.

The strange lady jumped as though something shocked her before coming to Serephina and saying, "Oh I am sorry dear. Please come sit and we will explain." Serephina followed the two of them to a large sitting room full of pillows. She found a smaller one and sat down as instructed.

The lady went on to explain that her name was Lady Eirene Levannah and the man was her husband, Lord Adair Levannah, they were the rulers of the land. Serephina knew their names the moment they left the woman's mouth. She had heard many stories of the rulers. They were greatly admired by all creatures in Neveah for ruling with warm hearts and keeping the land peaceful.

"I thought you would never come, Serephina, but Adair promised you would. He was right and I am so happy."

"Why were you waiting for me?" Serephina asked, confusion thick in her voice.

"Well, you see, we know why you left home. We know that you have a soft heart. You are not the fighter elf that most elves are. We know how out of place you felt back home and how heartbroken you were when you learned your mother could have no more children. We know that your big heart brought you to us. You can be happy here Serephina. You can be yourself. I am hoping you will help me with my own children."

"Help with your children?"

"Yes, we would very much like you to stay with us and help raise our children. You have such a wonderful maternal instinct, Serephina. Your help would be invaluable to me."

Serephina knew she should think things over. She shouldn't just jump at the chance of caring for royal children. She should, at the very least, speak to her mother, hear her opinion, and get her advice. She knew all these things, yet she dismissed any misgivings and jumped at the chance to become part of the Levannah house.

"Of course I will help you. Nothing makes me happier than caring for children," Serephina said, her little bow mouth drawn into a deep smile. The Lord and Lady Levannah smiled back, their hearts warmed by the magnificent little elf.

"Come with me, I will show you around your knew home," said Lady Levannah.

"Of course Lady Levannah," Serephina responded.

"Please dear, call me Eirene. We are going to be wonderful friends."

"Of course Eirene. Thank you."

Serephina was shown around the home, the nursery, the kitchen, the eating area, the gathering room and to her room. These people really had been expecting her. The walls were covered in a rich purple fabric, the windows covered in heavy white curtains. There was a large bed in the center of the room with a fireplace nestled into the wall. She was shown her bathroom and a closet full of clothes. She was nearly speechless.

"Thank you," she whispered as she looked around in awe. Tears threatened to escape her violet eyes but her hand ran across her face forcing the tears back.

"No thank you Serephina. I am grateful to have you here," Eirene said before leaving the elf to herself for a bit.

The years to follow brought much joy and happiness to Serephina. The firstborn child was girl; they called her Annika. Two more pregnancies followed but Eirene was unable to birth either of them which left the entire house heartbroken. Finally, after two failed attempts, the Lady gave birth to a son; they called him Denali. Serephina spent her days with the children and watched proudly as they learned to talk, walk, read and write. In her spare time, she kept the company of Renny, a house guardian.

Renny quickly became Serephina's best friend. Whenever she was not with the children and when he could get his brother, Diallo, to guard the house, they would explore Neveah. Renny always made her smile and they were never short of laughter. When Annika Levannah was old enough to recognize the connection she questioned Serephina.

"Is he your boyfriend," she asked at the tender age of fifteen.

"Of course not," Serephina replied as she helped button the back of the girls gown. "Renny and I are the best of friends but that is all."

"Why only friends? Surely you can see the love in his eyes when he looks at you and I can see the love in your eyes when you look at him."

"Nonsense child, in case you missed it, I am an elf and he has sworn to protect his house. We are from a different species. We cannot be together like that."

"Says who?" Annika questioned, for that, Serephina did not have an answer. Rather than encouraging the girl Serephina let the subject drop, until she saw Renny again.

Serephina forced herself to look deeper into her relationship with Renny. Though she thought Annika was a foolish girl who didn't understand the ways of the world, she couldn't help but be curious as to what the girl saw in Renny's eyes. She was sure it wasn't love. It couldn't be but it was and she knew she loved him as well. Renny couldn't help but notice that Serephina was distracted and even agitated.

"Are you OK Sere?" he asked and she laughed nervously. She wondered if he knew he was in love with her or that she was in love with him. She tried to find a soft way to say what she needed to say but she came to the conclusion that this was not going to be easy so she just came out with it.

"No, actually I am not OK. Are you aware that you are in love with me and I am with you?" she asked bluntly. His dark green eyes widened in shock. It was now his turn to laugh nervously as she stood staring at him. For the first time she consciously noticed his appearance. She had always known he was handsome but now she realized he was breathtakingly handsome. His curly blond hair hung just above his shoulders, barely grazing his porcelain skin. His dark green eyes were rimmed with thick, dark lashes and his mouth always seemed to be smiling. _Yes he is beautiful_. The thought made her suddenly self-conscious and she immediately regretted what she had said. How could a creature so lovely love her back?

She stood there, all of three and a half feet of her and felt more self-aware than she had ever felt. She suddenly wished she was a foot taller with blond hair instead of purple. She wished her eyes were a normal color and that her face was more proportioned. Her lips were too red and a little too big. She began twirling her hair as she silently picked herself apart. He was being too silent for too long and this deepened her anxiety.

"I'm sorry, I should not have said that," she said as she began to walk away. She was just a few feet away from him when she felt his hand on her arm.

"Don't go," he said quietly as he pulled her closer.

"You don't have to do this Renny. You don't have to pretend to love me just to save my feelings. I am a stupid girl that had a crazy thought, nothing more," she said while trying to pull away.

"You have never been more wrong, Sere. You see, I do love you, with my entire heart. I have known that since I first laid eyes on you. I just didn't know you loved me too."

She couldn't believe her ears. Annika had been right; he did love her. She didn't know how it would work or if it could work but in that moment, Serephina's life was perfect.

Biographies

Dennis De Rose

Dennis De Rose is a 58-year-old father of three, two girls and a boy; he has four grandchildren. He is married to a girl from Holland, Carla, and has been for almost 39 years. He graduated from SUNY New Paltz in 1976. He is currently a counselor in a prison, with 35 years of experience and is getting ready to retire this year. He edits fiction and has been doing that for three years nonstop. He wrote his poem, "That's Chuck, he's my Friend" in memory of his college pal, hoping that his sisters will see it someday. His second poem, "Thanks God for Pearl" is written about the faithfulness of a wonderful longtime friend from his church; he has known Pearl for almost 55 years.

This is Dennis' little piece of the Den...Come in, sit down and chat. The Den is free to join. Http://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?id=150139

Hena Tayeb

As a part time writer and a full time photographer, Hena Tayeb has always loved all forms of expression. She is particularly fond of looking deeper into the everyday to find further meaning and bringing to light the extraordinary.

http://www.henatayebphotography.com

http://www.henatayeb.blogspot.com

Peter Tranter

Born in the U.K. in the last century, Peter Tranter has been a radio officer on the Queen Elizabeth, a taxi driver, and a works manager. He built his own house but is always writing. He now lives in Queensland Australia where he writes mainly for fun. See Smashwords and kdp Amazon for more, some of which are free.

Angie Merriam

Angie Merriam resides in the beautiful Pacific NorthWest and is happily married to her best friend. She and her husband have three wonderful children, a dog, and a fish. She is the author of the Neveah series as well as a writer of multiple short stories and poems.

She loves barbeques with family and friends, photography, movies, music, and of course reading. She was influenced by the works of Diana Gabaldon, Stephanie Meyer, Nora Roberts, Danielle Steele, and J.K. Rowling. She currently writes romantic fantasy but looks forward to exploring other genres.

Contact her at:

https://www.facebook.com/Abrokenforever

angiemerriam@yahoo.com

https://www.angiemerriam.webs.com/ (where you can sign up for her mailing list)

or follow me on twitter @psladiebug

Pam Bitterman

Pamela Bitterman's first book,  Sailing To the Far Horizon, published by Terrace Books, a Trade Imprint of The University of Wisconsin Press, is the author's own story of life, loss, and survival at sea is graphically biographical. It encapsulates the author as a product of the first thirty years of her life. It is published in hardcover, and will soon be released in paperback as well as digitally.

_Muzungu,_ the author's Travel/Adventure/Memoir of her unlikely escapades throughout Kenya picks up on that journey a couple of decades later.

She has also written an award winning (CBC GOLD MEDAL WINNER and SHARP WRIT BOOK AWARD FINALIST) children's book titled, _When This Is Over, I Will Go To School, And I Will Learn To Read; A Story of Hope and Friendship for One Young Kenyan Orphan._

Finally, the author has penned a homily entitled, _Child, You Are Miracle_ , published by World Vision.

Links to these, plus PR Events, reviews, and trailers to her three published books can be found on her website: http://pamelasismanbitterman.com Bitterman's writing has emerged amidst her travels, adventures, and finally her marriage and children, her persona as wife and mother – the heart of her, the author as her best self.

Her future remains to be seen, and to be told.

Cheryl Campbell

My name is Cheryl Campbell, now an accomplished poet and writer, after

many years of practice!

I am married with 2 grown-up children and live and work in Luton, Bedfordshire.

My work is now in freelancing as a Poet and Writer, you can contact me

at: http://cherylcam.wordpress.com

Simon Marshland

A rolling stone with most of my life spent on the move, living and working in places as diverse as East Africa to South America. More recent activities have been based around the Mediterranean ranging from yacht chartering in Greece to fish farming in France. But wherever I am and whatever I do, writing remains a compulsion and I can't kick the habit. Currently I'm living in the West Country but admit to having itchy feet.

Nandita Chakraborty Banerji

Nandita Chakraborty Banerjji, a Mumbai-based author, is a qualified microbiologist. She has been interested in writing from her school days and was the editor of her school magazine. Some of her short stories have been published in magazines and books, including the Chicken Soup series. She is the author of the novel, **The Mysterious Dreams**, a love story between an Indian girl and a hipster from US, filled with humor, experiences, imagination, wisdom and insights.

Leslie Silton

Leslie Silton is an artist, a poet, a writer, a photographer, a book editor and writer's coach who started her creative life as a poet in Greenwich Village at the ripe age of 18. After that there were stops along the way for acting, folk music, art classes in Paris, and a BFA at the Massachusetts College of Art where she majored in painting. She has self-published six chapbooks and been published in various poetry anthologies. Her poetry can also be found online, as well as recorded on CDs. A number of live readings were done on the radio. Being both an artist and a writer, Leslie has participated in over 150 open mics in Boston, NYC, Los Angeles, and Paris, France, and exhibited and sold her paintings and photographs. Leslie is now the facilitator of a writing workshop in Los Angeles which has been running twice a month since 1991. Her career includes a spoken word performance at Mt. Holyoke College and another at MIT. It also includes a children's play which she wrote, directed and designed the sets for at Theatre-on-the-Wharf in Boston, a student ballet produced at Antioch College based on one of her prose poems, art workshops at Red Cross shelters for earthquake victims in Los Angeles, and two murals painted to promote Human Rights. Writing books has become her main creative outlet. Another of her short stories is due to be published on the web in June 2012 and a new online magazine selected one of her poem for their publication. Besides all the poetry, Leslie has completed a dozen short stories, three novellas, and two novels but she thinks her magnum opus may turn out to be the fantasy story she's been working on (intermittently) for nearly a decade.

Brian T Shirley

Brian T Shirley is a professional comedian, spending nearly twenty years touring the U.S.,Canada and The Bahamas. As well as a performer of comedy, Brian is also a comedic writer. He writes his own show material. He has writing credit for an independent movie called "After Hours", he has written short stories and has published two very funny books "Make Love Not Warts" and " Four Score and Seven Beers Ago...".

O. Warfield

O. Warfield resides in Richmond, Virginia. Author and poet, born in Brooklyn, New York. O's objective through her book, "Omar Blue and K-9 Town, USA" is to reach out to children, dog lovers and avid readers, through hours of reading entertainment. Her characters have personalities that draw fans young and old.

To fulfill a wish to bring enjoyment to children and adults with special needs, O. Warfield reads to children's groups in hospitals and communities, and to adults in group homes, senior citizen communities and hospitals.

To find out more about O. Warfield, visit the following links which include other entertaining stories and an interview done by accredited author Renee Hand.

Blog "My Dog Leads Two Lives": http://www.omarblue.blogspot.com

Children's: blog radio interview:

 http://www.blogtalkradio.com/storiesfromunknownauthors/2011/10/05/interview-for-omar-blue-and-k-9-town-usa

Stacey Kingsley

My pen name is Stacy Kingsley and I write horror. I love the horror genre fully except I find that movies today tend to veer more towards shocking the audience and gore rather than towards actual scares. I am currently working on a series of 4 zombie novels. The first one was titled "Zombies Are People Too!" and was published about 2 years ago. It is available on:

<http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/zombiesarepeopletoo> or

<http://www.amazon.com/>

The second one, which I am working on now, is titled "Zombies Bite!" and I hope it will be out either winter of this year or spring next year. I once played a zombie in a short independent film and have also done zombie makeup for a live ice skating productions. The story "Patient Zero" came from an idea I had about writing a bunch of short stories from the zombies' point of view, instead I wrote the story and that developed into the books that I am working on now. I hope to go back to the stories and do a whole book of short stories from different zombies' points of view. I live with a wonderful husband and two spicy cats in California.

Beth Gaulda

My name is Beth Gualda and I am the author and cover artist of

(presently) five modern Gothic fantasy novels that I've collectively

titled, Moonlit Wings. I was born in Woonsocket, Rhode Island, raised

in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and have resided for the past twelve years on

the beautiful "Treasure Coast" of South Florida. I've been happily

married twenty-three years now to my very best friend who continues to

inspire me and daily reaffirms my belief in true love, so naturally I

tend to gravitate towards writing about romance, love, and passions. I

have eclectic tastes and interests otherwise. I've been writing

stories since I was a child, but then just about everyone in my family

writes, either professionally or as a hobby. I quickly developed an

interest in writing science fiction stories and tried writing various

fan fictions, followed by both historical and modern genre romance,

which steered my writing towards paranormal romance, fantasy romance,

and erotica. I love to read as much as I love to write, but I also

will stay up all night drawing. It's my worst vice since I quit

smoking three years ago.

Wade Cox

**I was born and raised in Southwest Virginia. I graduated from college with a marketing degree, and after several sales jobs, found that really wasn't the life for me. I had taken a few creative writing classes in college, so I fell back on that when the sales didn't work out. Eventually, I showed my work to several people, and they were very encouraging, so now I firmly define myself as a writer.**

**My literary heroes are all over the place. I count among my influences everyone from Stephen King to Jimmy Buffett. Since the greatest percentage of my writing deals with the paranormal, I lean a little more toward Stephen King.**

**I write novels, short stories, and screenplays.**

