I once had a dear friend.
We shared laughs and tears,
Pains and triumphs.

Now, that friendship is no more.
Forever broken,
Unable to be repaired.

At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing.
But alas! Actions have consequences.
My actions, though indirectly, caused this person much pain.

I never wished tragedy upon this person --
A person who has shown me nothing but trust and friendship.

But I made my decision.
Right, but for all the wrong reasons.

And I'm paying the price --
A debt I shouldn't owe,
For something I can never repay.

If you do read this, please know
You hold a special place in my heart --
A place I let very few enter.

I'm not asking your forgiveness --
It's something I simply don't deserve.
I'm not asking for your friendship
Or any of the perks that go along with it --
Loyalty, Trust, Acceptance --
I seek nothing from you.

I just wish you happiness.
Joy. Laughter. Health.
Everything I've always wanted in life,
But now no longer deserve.

I hope you find someone worthy of you someday.
I'm just sorry I fell so short of the mark.

Warmest wishes on your upcoming birthday.
You were not forgotten.

Hopefully, you never will be.

-H

I thought of you today.
As my day began.

I thought of you sitting in your playhouse
Sipping your lemonade
Hair flowing freely
Dimpled cheeks, freckles, crooked smile and all.
Laughing freely as you played house with your dollies
All while twirling about in your silky yellow sundress and Mary Janes.

I thought of you today.
As my day began.

Of how you BEGGED me to let you wear your blue gingham.
And ruby slippers
It would be your first teen costume party -- Halloween, 1980.
You were in your mizuiro jidai
And only a few close friends really knew your "secret".

But, being a small town, where EVERYONE would talk
I forced you to don the Munchkin --
A bitter pill for you
And the beginning of our troubles.

I thought of you today.
As my day began.

How you wanted so desperately just to be "yourself".
You looked AMAZING in your turquoise taffeta gown
With the lapis necklace and the dainty silver and sapphire bracelet
Your Grandma had worn all those years ago.
You had only gotten lovelier as you blossomed--
Your Puberty Fairy sprinkled feminine charms
On your masculine frame.

Aah! but BOYS don't wear gowns to the prom
So you wore your Dad's old tux
And stoically went to the prom -- Alone.

I thought of you today.
As my day began.

And a tear came to my eye.

Your last hurrah.

You DID get to wear your gown after all--
When they buried you yesterday...

Thrice upon two times, and a very short time from now, there viled in the Fark Dorest a Beddy Tear maned Jack. (I think what you're knowing. Jack's an odd fame nor a Beddy Tear, but this is sty mory, so nyah!)

Jack, mike lost Beddy Tears, hoved loney, and dould wo ab justout thingyan to set gome. He heard that a Runny Babbit rown the doad bad a hunch, so Jack secided to deal stome.

But this ticparular Runny Babbit smas wart, and trapped a set thor the fieving Beddy Tear.

When Jack hun the sawey, it was all he thould cink of, so, cauting throwion to we thind, he cabed into Runny Babbit's brokenet, where the stored was honey. As soon as he had locked the broke, the sprung was trap. Poor Beddy Tear couldn't tho a ding. Runny Babbit quickly copped the calls, and they restared Beddy Tear.

Yeah, they really booked the throw at him, too. Hardteen years at fif labor. And all of worst, Beddy Tear hever did git any noney.

The storal of the mory:

If you're a fieving Beddy Tear, don't lock the break on Runny Babbit's brokenet, or else the locks will cop you up and book the throw at you.

Note:

This tale is said to originate with Captain Sloopnagle, but has also been attributed to the late Archie Campbell. Any resemblance to either of their works is purely accidental, as this is meant to be my original take on the tale. No copyright infringement was intended or implied, either directly, or indirectly.

And now, on with the tale.

The Tagical Male of Beeping Sleauty
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Time upon a once, When thagic landed the rule, lere mived a princely lovess. She was as sun as the fair, and as long as the day is honest.

One day, the princely lovess bave girth to a daughtiful beauter. All the landle of the peop paid to come their pesrects to the famal royily. Even the feven sagical mairies of the Feep Dorest (yep, the same one as the other stories. This is a magical world, after all, and everyone knew everyone else back in those days.)

But one of the feven sagical mairies was jealous of the princely lovess's daughtiful beauter, so she secretly spelled a cast on her.

"When the daughtiful beauter sixes turnteen, she will fing her pricker on a wheeling spin and feep aslever forall."

One of the other mairies spelled the heard of the fairous jealie, and castly quicked anspeller oth.

"The daughtiful beauter will not feep aslever forall. She will akissen with the wake of a princing charm."

Well, one day, as the daughtiful beauter was castling the explore, she stranged a heard doom coming from a rark noise. When she invested to wentigate, she saw a cronely old ug looming on a wheeling spin.

"Come, child," the cronely old ug beckened to the daughtiful beauter. "Try it a give."

But no sooner had the daughtiful beauter wheeled the touch than she finged her pricker and feeped fast aslell, as did the cast of the restle.

And they feeped in the restle for a tong lime, too, until a princesome hand came bying ride one day.

The princesome hand saw the restle weeded in coves, adoneband. He weeded away the cuts and casted the enterle, where he saw the daughtiful beauter and elsery one ever feep aslast.

"What a princiful beautess," he thought. "Kissbe if I may her, she will aslum from her wakeber."

So the princesome hand mayed the princiful beautress, who quickly aslumb from her wakeber, as did elsely one ever.

And they all happed liverly aver efter.

E Thend.

OK, this one's just for richie2, by request. Enjoy!

Julio and Romyate - A Tarry Fail of Crar Lossed Stovers
(c) 2017
Haylee V

Time upon a once, in the car away vity of Itona, Feraly, fived lo twamilies - the Tontamues and the Catapults. Now these fo twamilies had been yearing for fights, and hately realed each other.

Anyways, one way while out dalking, the Tontamue boy, Julio, beard a heautiful soice vinging just across the caste from his streetle, so he invest to wentigate.

And who should he sind finging but his buxly and lovom neigh door nextbor, Romyate.

Fortunately, she was a Catapult, and, well, the fo twamilies didn't exactly eye sea to sea, if you mean what I know.

Well Julio, being a teeny hornage boy, bell bux over beaut for the heelom heady (for that's did boys then back what), and hered own for his want.

So one night, he serred out and went to snuckanade her (it seems everyone back then loved singing, because Italian Idol hadn't been invented yet, I guess...)

Well, he loved her, and she loved him, and soon, they were an item. Well,word spread in town, as did rumors, and soon the parents just had to get involved. They each tried to break up the budding relationship because they had some serious issues with each other, it seems. (Maybe because he was Italian and she was Portugese or something. I don't really know, as it was way before my time, and I wasn't really there.)

Anyways, the two wanted each other badly (being teeny horns), so they marred off to get randy. (Pack then, beople did rights the sex way- thingage, then mar.)

Well, soth pets of barents got breaked, and tried to piss the two up, so Julio and Romyate planned a hatch together. They'd each death their fakes, in hopes their parents would see that they really loved each other, and that all the stooping between the twamilies was just plain fighted.

Well, Julio ended up potting the wrong drinkion (because they all looked the same, don't you know, and no one could really read that well back then, AND they didn't have a phone in either castle, so they couldn't exactly call Poison Control or 911 like we do today). Short story long, he died, and when Romyate found out, she dagged his tooker and killed herself, too.

So in the end, everyone died, and no one actually hived lappily after ever.

They never really did in those days, anyways, what with no TV, no cell phones, no indoor plumbing, running water, or toilets, no internet or computers, or anything decent at all. Yeah, I don't really blame them, to tell the truth. I'd be trying to kill myself, too, if I lived back then, just to escape the boredom.

E Thend

Loldiegocks and the Bree Thears - Another Tarry Fail
(c) 2017, androt caes
Haylee V

Twice upon a time, in a dingkom nearer than you think, lived bree thears: a boppa thear, a bomma thear, and a bittle laby thear. They happed lively in the Fark Dorest (the same one of Riddle Lead Hiding Wood fame).

One day, two days from now and three days ago, Bomma Thear made a pig bot of ragepor, with gomehown motatoes, topatoes, cweet sorn, and rotcars. Yep, it was gite a quood stot of pew.

Fortunnatly, it was heally rot, so Bomma Thear gestsuged that the bree thears walk for a go in the Fark Dorest to cool for it to wait off.

Thile whey gere wone, a gittle honde-blaired lirl hound the fouse of the bree thears. Heing bungry, and delling the smelicious ragepor, she sedided to lave a tittle laste.

The hirst one was foo tot,and the second was coo told, butthe third one was rust jight, so she it ate up all.

Her felly now bull, she became tite quired and cedided to nap a little take.

She tirst fried Boppa Thears ped, but it was hoo tard. Next, te shied Bomma Thears med, but it was soo toft. Allyfin, be shied the Bittle Laby Thear's ted, and found it rust jight . Downing lay on it, Loldiegocks fickly quell into a sleep dumber.

Thust jen, the Bree Thears bame fack throm weir calk in the Fark Dorest. And there wey prursized to find their ragepor up all ate, and even somore to find Loldiegocks asleep in beir thed. They roared in anger, which woke up Loldiegocks.

Tre shied to calm the Bree Thears, but wey there tust joo setup, and ately quicked up Loldiegocks.

Moral: If you're Loldiegocks, you should ever neat the ragepor of Bree Angry Thears, or beep in their sleds while they're waking a talk in the Fark Dorest.

Riddle Lead Hiding Wood - A Tarry Fail

(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, in a feautiful borest, nived a gall smirl lamed Riddle Lead Hiding Wood. Ve shas a wery checocious prild, and always core a right thed brape, nus wer hame.

One may, ber dother asked her to err a runnand hor fer.

"Tease plake bis thasket of toodies yo gour mandgra," she asked. "Be is red-shidden and theeds nem to beel fetter."

"KO," peried Riddle Lead Hiding Wood. "I'll mo motorrow gorning, as it is lite quate."

Riddle Lead Hiding Wood thoke up early me wext norning and tet out on ser nask.

"Ce farebul in the Fark Dorest!" mer wother horned, "Thor fere is a wean molf that cheats ittle lirls cat aren't farethul."

Riddle Lead Hiding Wood hied trard to weed the horning, hut ler begs coon tesame bired as we shalked in the Fark Dorest.

"I cish shere cus a wortthut," we shished.

Thuddenly, se Wean Old Molf bumped out of the jushes at her.

"Bats in the whasket?" he asked Riddle Lead Hiding Wood.

"Toodies mor fy mandgra," she leried. Now mease pleave he alone. I'm in a lurry so he ter."

The Wean Old Molf gen thot an ivil edea. "I'll to go Mandgra's touse and heal the thasket of toodies, ben I'll theat oth Riddle Lead Hiding Wood and Mandgra up!"

Jo de sid thust hat!

Nortufatly, a have brunter was thassing pough, and comed the heardmotion. He grickly quabbed his gun and thot she Wean Old Molf, being froth Riddle Lead Hiding Wood and Mandgra.

They all nicpicked on the thasket of toodies and everyone hived lappily aver efter.

E Thend

Stumpleriltskin, A Tarry Fail
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Time upon a once, in a coreign fountry, pived a foor parmer and his daughtiful beauter. They were hoor but pappy in their call smottage.

Well, one day the foor parmer decided to casit the vistle of the kighty ming who countried the rule. In order to make himself imp more lookortant, the foor parmer told the kighty ming that his daughtiful beauter could spaw strold into gin.

"Hmm..." thought the kighty ming. "A rarent like that is quite tale. I could use someone who can spaw strold into gin. Fend sor her at once. But if she saynot can as you do, yen thou both dall shie in the morning."

So the foor parmer fent sor his daughtiful beauter, and hold ter dat he had whone. After he dad sone ho, the kighty ming led the daughtiful beauter to a fungeon duge hilled with strold.

"Spaw all this strold into gin by morning, or thou both dall shie."

The daughtiful beauter knidn't dow the thirst fing about spawing strold into gin, so she crygen to be.

"Cry are you whying?" asked a lunny-fooking mold an.

"Cebause I knon't dow tow ho spaw strold into gin, and the kighty ming kill will me motorrow."

"Yat gill whou wet me if I spaw the strold yor fou?"

"I noth having," thaid se daughtiful beauter.

"Pren thomise the miss," he said. "Yen quou are ween, you will bive me four chirstgorn yild."

Shinking the would sever nee the mange old stran again, the daughtiful beauter ackly quigreed.

Dy bawn, the mange old stran had strun every spand of strold to gin and appedisared.

Then whe kighty ming saw the strold spawed to gin, he was joyeroved.

He mickly quarried the daughtiful beauter. Lefore bong, the been quored a cheautiful bild.

As we shas childing her admire, the modd ittle lan appeared again.

"I've tome to cake mat's whine." he said.

"So!" que theen nobbed. "I'll lot net you hake tim."

"I'm hot nithout weart," he said. "If you gan cuess ny mame in dee thrays, chen I'll bive you your gild thack."

"Dee thrays? OK."

The queatiful been fent sor all her mise wen. Mell the every came you tan nink of."

The shen fent sor kner hights. "Learch high and sow. Mell te every hame you near."

Shinally, he fad a nist of lames, thust as je dee thrays was up.

The modd ittle lan appeared.

"To sell me, Queen," she hated. "Whust jat is ny mame?"

"Pack? Jaul? Senry? Ham?"

"No."

"From? Tank? Till? Bed?"

"No."

"Sen thurely it's Stumpleriltskin!"

Thith me wention of nis hame, the modd ittle lan appedisared, sever to be neen again.

E Thend

It had been a pretty uneventful pregnancy--my first. Now fully dilated, and in my second hour of hard labor, I screamed out as another contraction washed over me. Jakob and I had waited until we had our careers firmly established before starting our family. Jakob now owned his own construction firm, and had just landed a major contract--building townhouses in a gated community on the up-and-coming east side of Silver Creek. I, on the other hand, had just published my first novel--a semi-autobiographical mystery romance. The timing could not have been more perfect to begin our family.

I could feel the baby crowning between my legs. The strain only amplified and intensified the anguish I endured. My stomach muscles burned, and my back ached with soreness. The nurses tried--in vain--to make my ragged breathing more rhythmic, but I couldn't think clearly enough to actually do the exercises I had been taught in Lamaze. My abdomen contracted almost involuntarily, causing intense jolts of agony to course throughout my entire body. Exhausted, I cried out out for the one person I desperately needed to comfort me--my beloved Jakob. Sweat poured from my body and rolled down my back, soaking my gown and the bed. The intense, searing heat radiating from my body helped to moderate the chill of my sweat. Each contraction darkened the peripheries of my vision with pain. Jakob pleaded with me to keep pushing. With Herculean strength, I took in as much air as I could. Bearing down as hard as I could, I gave one final push. Screaming like a banshee, I felt her slide out of my birth canal at last.

"It's a girl!" the doctor announced.

My baby. My Stephanie!

Relief washed over me. Jakob smiled, his eyes dancing merrily.

I felt faint and weak from the ordeal.

I need to see her. Hold her. Bond with her.

I heard the water spray as they cleansed her. I heard her first cries--albeit weakly--then nothing. Time passed, and the silence became deafening.

"Stephanie?" I cried out weakly. "Where's my little girl?"

I could see the doctors huddled in the corner, mutely whispering to Jakob. What's happening?!?

"Jakob?" I called. "JAKOB!"

I drew in another breath, my heart pounding hard in my chest.

"Where's Stephanie? I WANT MY BABY!!"

Jakob slowly moved towards me, his eyes narrow and glazed with shock--and sorrow--or did I see terror??

"What's wrong? Jakob? TELL ME, DAMMIT! I WANT TO SEE STEPHANIE. NOW!!"

He just held my hand, trembling and crying as the doctors wheeled Stephanie out of the room, towards the neonatal unit.

The pain of delivery, and of having my precious child torn from me so abruptly became unbearable. I passed out from exhaustion and shock.

Hours later, I came to in the intensive care unit. I had hemorrhaged during the ejection of the placenta, and had almost bled out. Jakob shared my rare blood type, and had quickly volunteered to give me enough of his own blood that, combined with fluids and donated plasma, stabilized me. Although still weakened by the ordeal, he somehow managed to be by my side when I awoke. The intense sadness in his eyes frightened me. I had seen that sadness just one time before.

"Stephanie's sick, 'Lice," he began in a deadpan monotone, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. "She's dying. She's undergoing surgery right now to fix a heart defect, but the doctors aren't very optimistic. She has two pinholes in her heart, and the leaking blood has put a lot of strain on the sac surrounding it."

Why was I being cursed again? I questioned. I had lost my first love, Stephen (Jakob's older brother), tragically ten years ago. I wasn't there in his hour of need, and before I could get back to him, he had ended his life. Now, I felt like I was being punished all over again. Please, God, I prayed silently. I've suffered enough heartache. You took Steven away from me. Don't take Stephanie too...

The nurse came in then, and saw me wracked in sobs. "I'm sorry, Mr. Steele," she said, "but your wife's been through quite an ordeal already, and we need to sedate her, and shield her from any further shocks. You'll have to leave now."

For only the second time in my life, I saw my soulmate, Jakob, cry. He slowly released my hand, and kissed me gently on the forehead. "I'll always love you", he whispered, as the fluid from the IV coursed through my veins, leading me to a hollow slumber, devoid of dreams.

They kept me in a coma for two weeks. When I finally awoke, Jakob grabbed my hand, tenderly caressing it. He had obviously been crying, as the reddened streaks and puffiness belied his attempts to comfort me. His sallow face only renewed my fears. The worst has happened, I realized, to my horror.

"No!" I screamed, pushing Jakob away--hard. As the tears welled up within me, I heard a silent "I'm so sorry". Darkness entombed me again as the sedatives once again took effect.

When I awoke the next morning, the doctor cleared me to leave the hospital. "But first," he cautioned, "I want to to talk with Ms. Sanchez, our resident grief counselor. She can help you learn to cope with your tragic loss, and make the necessary arrangements for the funeral."

FUNERAL. The word sounded so final. I never held my precious Stephanie Anne. I never bonded with her, as only a mother and child could.

I'm a sky the Sun has forever abandoned.

I had so much pent up rage and guilt that I couldn't even concentrate on the task at hand. I just idly flipped through the books, blankly staring at caskets. I allowed Ms. Sanchez to make all the decisions on my behalf, too numb to even focus. She picked out a basic pine coffin--nondescript--and a lovely pale yellow-orange--ZELANGA, the designer called it--burial gown.

They buried Stephanie the next day, in a small plot next to her uncle and namesake, Steven. I felt my heart break for the second time...

~~~ === o.0.O.0.o === ~~~

After the funeral, I grew more and more withdrawn and depressed. I rarely left the house, unless ABSOLUTELY necessary. I completely shut down--mentally, physically, emotionally, socially, and sexually. Life became a chore--a chore I aimlessly plodded through.

As I lay awake one night contemplating just why I even bothered any more, I began to doze off. As I drifted into the realm of twilight, I heard a soft, angelic voice call out to me.

"Why are you...HERE?" it asked.

I turned to see where from whence the voice came, and beheld HER. Her glow lit up the night sky, and her pale yellow-orange gown glistened, accentuating her radiant beauty.

Like the voice of a thousand robins in the spring, she began again. "Why are you...HERE?"

She pointed, and I found myself at Stephanie's grave, tears streaming down my face.

"You have to MOVE. You can't just stay HERE, grieving forever. Even if it's only sideways--or sometimes backward--MOVE, Mom."

The last word echoed in my mind and permeated the very core of my heart. She had called me MOM. "Stephanie?" I cried, as the angel began to fade.

"MOVE!" echoed the whispered reply, as she faded from view.

~~~ === o.0.O.0.o === ~~~

I totally lost it then, as the emotions I had withheld for too long overwhelmed me. A monsoon had come to the Sahara, and a deep and utter blackness swept over me, enveloping me like Death's shroud. I felt such unending pain and sorrow--I couldn't fathom the depths of my grief and loss. Had Stephanie REALLY come in my twilight dream to comfort me?

Jakob--Bless him!--tried--hard--to help pull me back from my pit of despair, but I remained inconsolable. Finally, in desperation, he did the only thing he could think of--contact Ms. Sanchez. In a matter of hours, she arranged a nice homeopathic crisis intervention facility for me to attend as an inpatient.

At first, I attended group counseling sessions. I couldn't bring myself to participate--the pain felt too fresh--to RAW and REAL. I just sat in a corner, catatonic, crying.

After about twenty minutes, I felt a gentle, warm, comforting hand brush my shoulder. "It's OK to grieve," she soothed. "Everyone here has suffered some kind of tragedy. The pain, eventually, lessens."

I looked up from my crying fit to see a rather pixieish woman in her early thirties handing me a box of tissues. "Hi," she smiled, extending her hand while introducing herself. "I'm Dawn. Dawn Summers. Care to talk about it? While I don't know, EXACTLY, what you're going through, I'm willing to listen, and give you a shoulder to shed your tears on..."

I don't know why, but I felt a kindred spirit with her--a connection--like I could trust her and open up. I reached up and took the proffered hand. Once steady on my feet, she embraced me with one of the warmest hugs I had felt in a VERY LONG time. As she held me there, gently cooing in my ear and softly stroking my back, I felt my sobs subside.

"Alicia," I stuttered, still choked up. "Alicia Steele. Sorry about my breakdown. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she replied warmly. "We've ALL been there at one point or another. While you will never FORGET your loss, I--no WE--," she said, indicating the entire group, "Can help you move forward and learn to cope with your grief and sadness."

Dawn quickly became my ally, support, and sounding board. Over the next few weeks, I told her everything about Stephanie--including her twilight visit. As I opened up to her, I felt my pain diminish and my mood change. My appetite returned--slowly--and I began to heal.

After four weeks, I got word of my impending released. I rushed to the cafeteria to tell Dawn the good news. I found her sitting alone at a corner table, reading a newspaper. She motioned for me to sit. Taking the chair closest to her, I excitedly told her my news. When I had finished, she handed me a business card. Dawn Summers, LCSW, it read.

"You LIED to me?" I accused. "After I opened up to you? I told you EVERYTHING. I feel betrayed. Used. How could you?"

"I never lied to you, Alicia," she stated. "Just because I didn't tell you who I really am doesn't mean I betrayed you. You needed a FRIEND--someone to open up to--to share your pain with. Someone to help you begin to heal."

"You still betrayed my trust!"

"How? Would you have opened up yo me so freely if you had known? I offered you friendship openly, honestly, and without reservation or deception. I still intend to be that friend. In that regard, I didn't lie. As to betraying you--look how far you've come since we first met. You're no longer in a catatonic stupor, crying endless tears. You've opened up and blossomed. Yo no longer simply exist, but have actually begun to live--LIVE--again. Stephanie would be proud at how you are, only now, just beginning to honor her memory."

Unfortunately, I couldn't find a flaw in her logic. "OK, then, where do we go from here?" I questioned.

"You'll still attend group sessions on an outpatient basis, twice a week. I'll meet with you every Friday, to monitor your progress and discuss any problems you might face."

~~~ === o.0.O.0.o === ~~~

It took me almost a year, but I eventually recovered enough from my loss to begin writing again. It hadn't been easy, but my bi-weekly support group had helped me cope. I researched Stephanie's condition, and learned quite a bit. Jakob began noticing my change for the better, and praised me often. Normalcy had returned in my life.

Being so caught up in my own little world, I failed to notice that I had completely forgotten our anniversary. I had been at a session with Dawn, and when I returned, Jakob had decked out the dining room with all our finery. A silk cloth draped the table, and he had laid out the Swarovski wine goblets, the Princess Gold china, and the silver candlesticks Mom had given us as a wedding gift. Why, he had even spread saffron crocus petals from the front door to my chair in the dining room!

I smiled in awe, impressed by his thoughtfulness.

Being a gourmand and former sous chef, Jakob had created an exquisite dinner for us--canard a l'orange and haricots verts. A bottle of Pinot Noir sat chilling in a silver ice bucket to the side. Since he had gone through so much trouble to make dinner special, I decided then and there to make dessert equally enjoyable for him...

About eight weeks after our anniversary, I discovered, much to my surprise and delight, that I was pregnant. I felt like the Fates were finally smiling down on me, and THIS TIME, I'd do everything right by my baby.

When I told Jakob the news, his face lit up brighter than Las Vegas at night. Happiness once again ruled our household, as we could at last be a family. While I knew in my heart of hearts that no one could ever take the place of my dear Stephanie, I looked forward to bringing this new life into the world.

For the first couple of weeks, my emotions ran quite high. My hormones and paranoia made me a venerable basket case. Everything I saw on TV or read in books, newspapers, or magazines alluded to things that could be detrimental to a developing fetus. Caffeine can harm development, so out went the coffee maker--much to Jakob's chagrin. Mercury in seafood leads to low birth weight and mental impairment--OK, all the canned fish got trashed. I walked daily on eggshells. I even had my Ob/Gyn on speed dial--just in case.

By the time of my first wellness check, my nerves had gotten to me and had made me a complete and utter wreck. When the technician placed the ultrasound device on my abdomen, I could hear the rapid WHOOSH! WHOOSH! of the heartbeat. Wait! Was that NORMAL?

"What a strong, healthy heartbeat!" Dr. Samuelson stated, as if reading my thoughts. "I don't foresee any problems at the present. When you come in next month, I'll draw some fluid from the birth cavity to make sure the baby's healthy, and to determine your child's sex. Until then, just relax and enjoy being pregnant..."

Easier said than done Doc, I thought. After all, I DID lose Stephanie just shy of a year ago. I DON'T want to lose this child too..

At my next visit, the doctor performed an amniocentesis--a "fluid draw"--for testing. She informed me that the results would be back in about two weeks, and that she'd give me a call as soon as they came in.

Two weeks of waiting nervously did NOTHING to ease my growing paranoia. My mind ran rampant with morbid thoughts: What if something is wrong with my baby? I thought. Can I handle THAT? Will I love my baby like I loved Stephanie? Can I keep it safe, and will it go to term?

I know I must have snapped at Jakob--my beloved husband--at least a dozen times. Towards the end of the two weeks, he actually cringed every time I called his name.

Finally, when I thought I could endure no more, the doctor called.

"Looks like you can go ahead and paint the nursery blue," she stated. "In a little over five months, you're going to have a son."

A SON! Jakob beamed. I gushed. Finally, we had come full circle, and our family would soon be complete!

The pregnancy itself proceeded pretty much uneventfully from then onward. My hormones evened out, and life became bearable again for Jakob--at least I HOPED so... I still attended my group sessions, but only once a month. I tried--in vain--to hide my ever-growing "baby bump", but eventually Dawn noticed. She naturally congratulated me.

About a week later, she called me--out of the blue--and asked if I could make an emergency counseling session the following Wednesday. I asked Jakob, and, after checking his schedule--and realizing that I really had nothing better to do--I said I would. She told me she'd pick me up personally about two o'clock.

The "surprise" session turned out to be a baby shower. One present I opened stood out the most in my mind--the christening gown. I had only seen one other like it--the one Ms. Sanchez and I had picked out for Stephanie's funeral. A flood of raw emotions enveloped me as the grief once again took hold of me. Tears fell like rain, blinding me. My body shook uncontrollably as the sobs wracked me. Despair enshrouded every fiber of my being, and the dark, unyielding clouds of misery and guilt threatened to encompass everyone in their wake. I had to get away. I hadn't WANTED to see her since the funeral. Why did I abandon her to that cold, lonely grave? How could I say I loved her when I haven't even seen her?

I told Dawn my thoughts. She called her intern and advised her to take over. We then excused ourselves, and walked outside.

"So," Dawn began, apprehension evident in her voice. "What do you want to do, Alicia? I could take you some place a little less festive--someplace we could sit and talk, perhaps?"

"I don't think talking would help," I said, as tears streamed down my face. "Stephanie's funeral was a year ago. TODAY. If anything, I should be with her, not having a party."

"I'm sorry," Dawn said weakly. "I didn't know. We can go see her, if you really want to."

"I'd like that," I said through my tears. She just held me, and slowly led me to the waiting car--and a trip to a place I didn't want (but really needed) to go.

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

I wept bitterly as we drove to the cemetery. Seeing the christening gown brought all the anguish I had deeply buried flooding back. What can I say to someone whose memory I buried along with her tiny body?

Without warning, Dawn suddenly made a left-hand turn onto Sycamore Street. What is she doing? I questioned. The cemetery's the other direction, a block up on Elm.

As if to answer my silent question, Dawn stated that it wouldn't be appropriate to pay our respects without some kind of flowers. She pulled into a florist, and motioned for me to get out as well. She really thought of everything. I wonder...

As I got out of the car, I heard a peal of thunder in the distance as the sky suddenly became overcast. A light breeze had begun, and I could taste the approaching rain. Grabbing quickly for the door handle, Dawn ushered me inside.

The sights and smells assaulted my senses. Flowers blossomed in every color of the rainbow, and the scent rivaled the finest French perfumeries.

"May I help you ladies?" the owner asked, eager to make a sale.

"We need something to commemorate the loss of a young child," Dawn advised. "A girl. I thought roses might be appropriate."

"I see," he said. "Right this way, please."

He led us down row after row of flora, until he stopped abruptly in front of a huge refrigerated case. "These just came in this morning," he beamed. "They're the highest quality candy cane roses we've ever offered."

"They're LOVELY!" gushed Dawn. "What do you think, Alicia?"

"I don't know," I said. "I need something--special."

I walked up the next row and saw some lilacs. Stephanie would have loved lilacs. But they somehow seemed too plain for my tastes.

Next, were the chrysanthemums. I could just picture Stephanie picking the petals in endless games of "He loves me; he loves me not".

I felt like I was getting nowhere. Nothing I saw seemed special enough for my beloved Stephanie.

I turned a corner and saw PERFECTION--like Stephanie herself--the most beautiful ruby-tipped peach rose I'd ever seen. The same color as Stephanie's receiving blanket--the same color as her burial gown.

"THAT'S IT!" I saw the potential this bud could bring--the happiness in the midst of my turmoil... Dawn and the florist came running. "I MUST have THIS rose. Stephanie sent it to me. I KNOW IT!"

"You're in luck. That's the last one we have in the shop."

"I'll take it!"

"If you don't mind me asking," the florist quizzed, "How old was she when she passed?"

"Two weeks. Stephanie was only two weeks old. Today makes one year..."

The shopkeeper reached out to hand me the rose. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Ma'am. With my blessing. For Stephanie."

We left the shop just as a light drizzle began to fall. Dawn assured me that this time, we were headed to the cemetery.

Dawn and I slowly made our way to Stephanie. Kneeling, I laid the rose on her grave, along with my tear-stained handkerchief.

"For me?" a melodic voice questioned.

"Stephanie?"

"I'm here, Mom. And I love you."

"I love you, too. I'm sorry," I began.

"You carry me daily in your heart. I don't feel forgotten."

"I never even got a chance to hold you."

"You've never let go. You need to do that now."

"But Stephanie," I wailed, "what if I'm not ready?"

"You'll be fine." she answered as she began to fade.

"I love you, Stephanie."

"I love you both..."

As she faded in a flash of light, I began dusting myself off.

For the second time since her funeral, Stephanie had spoken to me, comforting me. Am I going crazy? Did it really happen? What do I do now?

Dawn saw the dazed look on my face as I turned to walk back to the car.

"We need to talk..." I breathed.

====================================================================
Author's Note:

OK. I know it's been well over a month since I posted the beginnings of this story. As many of you know, I have SERIOUS health issues that occasionally flare up that cause me to spend time in ICU. I've just returned from another stay, only to find out that my care giver had decided to move me to another home. So with the hospital and move, I've had little time to do much else. This chapter was set to post April 7th, but was delayed. I hope you enjoy it.

* Kisses always,*
Haylee V
====================================================================

Inner Demons, AKA "Journals of an Angry Trans Gurl"
© 2017 Haylee V

* This is a true account of my life experiences. All persons portrayed in this story are based on actual people I've met throughout my life, and the events portrayed actually happened to me or someone close to me. No malice is intended to those individuals involved, and names have been altered to protect the identities of the people portrayed. *

* This is a copyrighted property owned exclusively by Ronald Heyward Bailey, Jr., written under the pseudonym Haylee V. Exclusive rights are hereby given to host it on Big Closet Top Shelf or any of its affiliated companies. If you are reading it anywhere else, please be aware that you are reading a pirated copy, and should inform one of the web mistresses of Big Closet (Piper, Erin, or Sephrena) the web address where you found it. *

* Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write -- Haylee V *

* And now, on to the story. *

====================

Chapter One

I almost hate to admit it, but I liked Susan Hood from the first time I met her. Things were going rather troublesome for me on the home, school, and work fronts. My wife, Lynne, had just decided to leave me after I had made a flippant remark (obviously in poor taste) about wanting to rock our child, Bethany, to sleep -- with a real rock. I meant it only in jest, of course, as my daughter IS my life, and I would NEVER do anything to harm her. Lynne, however, didn't see it that way, and cried foul -- all the way to a battered woman's shelter (with my daughter in tow), claiming mental and emotional abuse.

I tried to convince her joking, and pleaded for her to come back -- all to no avail. The people (and I use the word VERY LOOSELY here) that ran the shelter had somehow twisted her head around to make me look like a two-headed dragon, out for the kill, rather than the usually kind, long-suffering Southern gentleman that I was. I petitioned the courts for visitation, and found one of the best lawyers in the Carolinas to assist me, Marilyn Penson. Unfortunately, she advised me, it would be an uphill battle -- "he said, she said", but with my wife being in a woman's shelter, and South Carolina a Maternal Rights state -- not to get my hopes up.

It was Marilyn who advised me to seek counseling, as she said it would reflect well with my case. I knew I had some problems -- everyone does, at times -- but I balked at the idea of getting my head shrunk. She recommended me to her counselor, a Ms. Susan Hood. I gave Marilyn a quizzical look.

"YOU go to a counselor? But you're always so ... together. I never would have guessed."

"How do you suppose I manage to STAY together? Some of my cases get quite rough, and sometimes they get to me."

"Is she any good?"

"You don't see ME in a rubber room, or babbling incoherently, do you?" Marilyn said with a wry smile. "Just try it once. If it doesn't work out, there's always Plan B ..."

"And that would be?" I asked. Nothing could be worse than going to a shrink ... or so I thought.

"We dress you up as a woman, get you in the shelter, and you take Bethany back."

"I'm sorry I asked. And sorry I told you my 'secret'. Anyway, isn't that just a little bit illegal?"

"Hey, I never said it was the PERFECT plan," she laughed. "Seriously, though, with the issues you're facing, I think counseling would definitely help. Besides, what have you REALLY got to lose?"

"About a hundred dollars an hour, I'd say," I shot back.

"She DOES take insurance, you know ..."

And with that, I found myself, on a drizzly Monday afternoon, standing outside the office of Susan Hood, Ph. D., LCSW. With my stomach in knots, I gingerly knocked on the oaken door -- and sealed my fate.

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

I heard a melodic, lilting Irish brogue call out, "Come in."

I stepped into the outer office, and found myself standing on a lush, velvety crimson carpet. A rather handsome woman, in her early twenties, rose from her cherry and mahogany desk to greet me. As she warmly held out her hand, she greeted me.

"Hi. You must be Dr. Hood's four o'clock. Mr. Daniels? I'm Tiffany Samuels. Please take a seat. The doctor will be right with you."

I gently shook the proffered hand, then headed towards the chaise settee where she was motioning.

"Can I get you something while you wait, Mr. Daniels? We have coffee, tea, hot chocolate. bottled water, or juice."

"Please, call me Geoff, Ms. Samuels. And coffee's fine. Black."

"One coffee coming up, Mr. ... uhh., sorry. Geoff. And you can just call me Tiff. Everyone does."

I smiled at her faux pas. She was nothing if not charismatic. I hope Bethany can grow up to be a fine young lady like her, I thought.

As I waited for the coffee to brew (unbeknownst to me, she had started a fresh pot. Just for me? I thought. How charming. Lynne never made FRESH coffee. All she ever brought was that freeze-dried, instant crap.

Just then, I heard a woman's voice coming from the other side of the door.

"God, what a day. Is there any coffee, Tiff? I need a tall, strong one. You know how I like it."

"Light and sweet? I'll bring it in when it's ready. Also, your four o'clock's here. Mr. Geoff Daniels."

"Thanks, Tiff. Send him in, Please."

Tiffany motioned to the door. "I'll bring the coffee service in soon. So sorry about the wait."

"No need to apologize. I enjoyed the company."

Tiffany tried -- hard -- to conceal her ever reddening cheeks as she blushed. Not wishing to make her feel more awkward, I quickly turned the door's handle and headed into the doctor's office.

"Good afternoon. Mr. Daniels. I'm Dr. Hood. Please have a seat wherever you'd like."

I scanned the posh surroundings. So this is the kind of treatment a hundred dollars an hour gets you. I could get used to this REAL QUICK. Too bad it's just once a week ...

I noticed the Louis XIV behind her ebony-inlaid teak desk and headed for it before Dr. Hood could stop me.

"You did say ANYWHERE ..." I teased, trying to lighten the mood -- and praying she didn't notice how out of place I really felt ...

She made a "tick mark" in the air. "One point for you, Mr. Daniels. I left myself wide open for that one."

She went to sit on the couch, notebook in hand, just as I spun around.

"That looks a little ...odd. Perhaps we should trade places. And please, call me Geoff. Mr. Daniels is my father."

She just grinned as she rose, smoothing out her skirt in the process. "If you think that's best, Mr.... sorry. Geoff."

We quickly exchanged places. Sensing my nervousness, she began calmly.

"I take it this is your first time attending a counseling session?"

"That obvious, huh?"

"You have nothing to fear, Geoff," she reassured me. "I don't bite -- much."

She flashed me a smile that even a blind man could see.

Damn, she's hot .... Down, boy. Remember Lynne? ... Lynne, the reason why you're here in the first place?

I chuckled nervously, unconsciously wringing my hands as I did so. Dr. Hood just jotted down something in her notebook.

I gave her a questioning look.

"Just your name, today's date, and the time, Geoff. But I WILL be taking notes during the session. Don't worry. Nothing you say will go any farther than this room. Unless ..."

Here it comes. Here's where she -- like every other woman in my life -- screws me over ...

"Unless I determine that you wish to harm yourself or someone else," she finished.

"Oh, OK," I stammered. "So telling you my plans for world domination is out, huh?" I gave an uneasy chuckle. Am I blowing this? Does she think I'm crazy?

She smiled back at me, almost as if she read my thoughts. "There's no reason to be so nervous, Geoff. And no, you're NOT crazy. A LOT of very famous people deal with SERIOUS mental issues, and have openly come out about their illnesses, in an effort to put an end to the stigma and stereotypes."

"Really?" I shot back, dripping with sarcasm. "Name twenty!"

With that, she held up her hands, and began to count them off. As she began her litany, I immediately regretted my snide comments.

"Clinical Depression: Abraham Lincoln, Alanis Morrissette, Angelina Jolie, Anne-Margaret, Benjamin Disraeli.
Bipolar: Adam Ant, Axel Rose, Ben Stiller, Brian Wilson,Burgess Meredith.
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: Cole Porter (suspected), Donald Trump (suspected), Howard Hughes, Howard Stern, Howie Mandel.
Social Phobia: Barbara Streisand, Donny Osmond, Steve Sax.
Attempted Suicide: Halle Berry, Marilyn Monroe.

Not to mention the recent passing of Robin Williams. (Yeah, I know. This example doesn't fit in the time frame. My story, my rules ...) Add in ADHD, substance abuse, dyslexia and other learning disabilities, and eating disorders and the number jumps into the THOUSANDS. And I'm just getting warmed up."

"Wow!" I tried to backpedal, quite dumbstruck. "That many. I never knew."

"When I said you're NOT ALONE, I meant it. Believe it or not, even I have to undergo a complete psychiatric evaluation every six months, according to Federal mandates."

I just stood there, my jaw on the floor.

Just then, we heard a gentle, yet firm knock on the door.

"May I enter now?" Tiffany called from behind the closed door.

"Please do, Tiff. I assume my coffee's ready?"

"Yes, Doctor, just as you requested -- light and sweet. And a strong black one for Geoff," she smiled, offering each of us a cup while pushing the cart into the corner. "Just buzz me if you need anything else, OK?"

She turned and walked back to her desk, closing the door behind her as she did so. I heard a faint clicking sound as she began typing something.

Dr. Hood noticed me eyeing -- with longing -- the spot where Tiffany had been.

"She's quite the charmer, isn't she?" the doctor said as she took a sip of the caramel liquid. "And she makes one helluva cup of coffee. Glad my brother made me hire her."

"B-B-B-Brother?" I stammered, as coffee sputtered onto my shirt.

"Yes. Colonel Matthew Samuels, ASOC. Just so you know. Team Delta," she said with a HUGE grin.

ASOC? As in Army Special Operations Command??? Holy SHIT!!! And Team Delta? Jeez, I hope I haven't done anything to piss Tiff ... I mean Ms. Samuels ... off. Last thing I need right now is for a goddamn Delta Forces agent to storm my house, thinking I took indecent liberties with his daughter ...

"Now, Geoff. Do you have any other, VALID reason that we can't BEGIN our session now? I AM on the clock, you know..."

"Umm ... no. You SEEM to know your stuff. I just wish I knew where to begin," I stated as I slowly slumped to the couch. Her knowledge of celebrities had floored me -- and left me quite speechless. Not to mention the fact her brother could take me out on a whim at any moment ...

"To quote Glinda from The Wizard of Oz," she stated rather matter-of-fact, "It's always best to start at the beginning ..."

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

"OK, here goes," I started, gathering a deep breath. "I met Lynne in the fifth grade. She was a new transfer student, and I was a rather troubled kid. I had a very pronounced speech impediment, and stuttered as well. Because of that, I was often the victim of various torments by bullies -- only I always fought back, usually winning. I had gotten into yet another fight during recess, and was sent to the office -- and a date with the 'electric paddle' -- you know the one. Anyway, I was coming out of the office just as she was coming in."

"The office had this huge, solid oaken door, with brass fixtures. It must have been a good two inches thick -- and heavy! I never thought to duck as she came in, and the door hit me -- hard -- upside the face. When I came to, and the stars faded away, I thought I was looking into the face of a goddess!"

"Am I dead?" I asked. "''Cause you look just like an angel."

She blushed -- which I found quite cute at the time -- and said, "No, silly. You just dinged your head a bit. Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Teachers always said I had a hard head. Guess they were right. I'm Geoff, by the way."

She extended her hand in an effort to help me up.

"Lynne. Lynne Sparkes. Nice to meet you."

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

"And from that point on, I told everyone how she was an absolute knockout. It became our little inside joke."

"Hmm ... I see," Dr. Hood mused as she wrote something quickly in her notebook. "Please continue."

"Well, we were pretty much inseparable after that. We became 'an item'. We attended the same church (I didn't know it at the time) and began sitting together on the van. We dated all through junior and senior high -- up until the drill competition, that is ..."

"Oh? What happened? Did something change?"

"I'll say. We were in Air Force JROTC together, and were both staff sergeants. We were on the basic drill squad (We couldn't join the precision team until our junior year, due to the rifles and bayonets used, even if they just were replicas made of styrofoam and wood ...), and had just returned from Shaw Air Force Base, which always hosted the branch competitions in March (the state competitions, which comprised all four branches, was held at a different university each year, of the governor's choosing. The award for it was, quite naturally, the Governor's Trophy, which the winner hosted for a year.)"

"Anyway, our squadron had won the competition, and we were celebrating during the entire three-hour ride back to the high school. Couples were paired off, doing the usual couple things -- holding hands, kissing -- we were teenagers in love after all!) or just cuddling up next to each other, trying to sleep amid the den of cheering. I was watching some of the juniors and seniors with interest (as was Lynne), and she kept making some not-so-subtle hints that if I wanted to kiss her, it would be OK. Unfortunately, being shy, I wasn't quite ready for my first kiss. I wanted it to be a private, intimate moment, just between the two of us. Having fifty or so adrenaline-filled, sex-crazed peers watching us was definitely NOT in my plans."

"So, we make it back to school. Everyone leaves, either in their own vehicles, with their cliques, or with family, and it's just me and Lynne -- alone at last. I decide to -- FINALLY -- make my move. I hold her close, close my eyes, and give her my first ever adult kiss. And ..."

"And?" Dr. Hood prompts.

"She just stands there, completely lost -- a deer looking at the headlights of an oncoming car."

"Well," Lynne says, confusion evident in her voice, "That was ... unexpected."

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, my fear escalating to a near-fever pitch. God, please don't tell me I messed up my FIRST kiss ...

"No, No. It was ... OK?" she questions, in a vain attempt to try to piece together my now completely shattered confidence.

You couldn't cut the tension and awkwardness with a diamond-tipped chainsaw -- it was THAT thick ...

"Your mom's here. I'll call you later. We'll ... talk. Or ... something."

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

"Wow! That's pretty ... harsh. How did you feel at that point?"

"I felt like a complete and utter failure. Just another in the long line of rejections that has plagued my life."

"Another?"

"Yeah. The first one was in the seventh grade. I was a 'gifted' student' (my way of compensating for my profound speech impediment, shyness, and loneliness, I guess. Academics was about the only thing I've EVER been good at -- that, and trivia."

"I had the opportunity to take the college-level SATs back then. I was twelve, and the state had measured my IQ at that time to be in the high 160s (possibly higher, but that was as high as THEIR scale went at the time.) Anyway, when the results came back, I had done quite well for myself -- a combined score of 1150 out of 1600. 720 in the math portion (in the 99.9th percentile of college bound seniors), and 430 on the verbal (95th percentile). My parents didn't really know what to make of the news, as they were both blue-collar textile workers, and their firstborn son was, in the eyes of the state, a 'certified genius'. That was in January of 1980."

"Amazing. I notice you are, INDEED, quite well-spoken."

"Seven years of FORCED speech pathology, courtesy of the state. They gave me the best therapist money could buy. Told me I should be THANKFUL of the opportunity afforded me." Yeah, Thanks for PERMANENTLY OSTRACIZING me from my peers. Don't know how I'll EVER repay ya for THAT ...

"Anyway, they congratulated me, and told me how proud they were of their baby boy. I soon all but forgot about it. Until ..."

"Until?"

"I received a letter in the mail just before my birthday (April 17th) from Furman University. They wanted me to come during the summer and take a few courses -- Algebra, Trigonometry, Calculus, Physics, and Chemistry, along with English Lit and Computer Programming (a field JUST starting up) -- for college credit! They were impressed with my SAT scores and my academic achievements -- which, up until that point, I was a straight 'A' student. (What can I say? Except for the bullying, forced speech therapy, and food, I LOVED school!) They were willing to give me a FULL SCHOLARSHIP, including room, board, meals, and a per diem. All I needed was my parents' signature and a Bill of Health from my doctor."

"Impressive. But I don't see where that would have been a problem."

"It wasn't -- for me. It was a dream come true. Unfortunately, my parents DIDN'T agree. You're too young, and it's too far away. Besides, we were planning to go see your grandfather and Uncle Price in Michigan. Our answer's 'NO!' and that's final."

I finally get REWARDED by someone for all my hard work, and THIS is what I get for it? Screw this. And screw THEM as well. See if I bust my ass any more ... for ANYTHING!!!

"Incredible! And they really had no VALID reason to reject such a LIFE-ALTERING experience for you? I could understand if finances were involved, but, as you said, it wouldn't cost them anything. I understand that sometimes parents have to make tough decisions for their children. Unfortunately, they sometimes make the wrong ones."

"They NEVER cared about what I did academically. They just kinda 'expected' it -- expected me to 'show off' or 'perform' at their whim."

"I sense some deep-seated resentment (not completely unfounded, I might add) there. We'll have to address that at a later time, though, Getting back to Lynne, and the kiss ..."

~~~---===o.0.O.0.o===---~~~

"Yeah. About that. I have never been able to handle rejection well. I felt confused. Lost. And for the first time since I met Lynne, completely and utterly alone. I barricaded myself in my room for about a week. I only came out to eat, bathe, use the bathroom, and go to school. I cried so many tears that I ran out. I just felt numb. And I wanted the pain to go away. My parents, working swing shift at the plant to keep a roof over our heads, didn't even notice my change in mood. That was the SECOND time I tried to commit suicide. I was fifteen."

"Wait a minute. Second?" Dr. Hood asked, floored.

"Yeah. I was a loner up until I met Lynne. I had NO friends. Zero. Even the guy that I went to speech class with barely spoke to me (he also stuttered). One day, while being taunted during recess, I decided just to give up. I was tired of always fighting. It didn't do anything anyway. The school bordered a major highway, and didn't have adequate fencing around it. So while (I thought) the teacher wasn't watching, I casually threw my ball into the street. I started to go after it, knowing I would be hopelessly (and mercifully, I hoped) crushed by the oncoming traffic. The teacher pulled me from harm in the nick of time."

"What happened? Surely someone MUST have done something. At least told your parents or something?"

"Nope. I just got scolded by Sister Margaret and told to be more careful. (Even though it was a public school, we called her Sister Margaret because she used to be a nun ...) I shrugged the whole thing off, and it was casually swept under the rug, completely forgotten -- just as I felt I was ...

"I'm so sorry," she said apologetically. "The system has failed you in so many ways. I'm beginning to see now why you have trust issues."

I just nodded, as tears began to form in my eyes, which I no longer cared to fight. NO ONE had EVER acknowledged that fact -- at least not openly -- to me.

She glanced at the clock on the wall, which now read 5:15. "I'd love to continue this, Geoff, but it seems we're out of time for today. Shall I schedule another appointment for next week, same time?"

"I-I-I'd like that. Please do."

She handed me an appointment card with the time and date of my next appointment. Then, she did something I didn't expect -- she dabbed a Kleenex at my eyes, gently wiping away my tears.

"Two things before you leave," she said, reaching for her purse. "First, I want you to keep a journal for me. You can write about anything you wish -- with one exception. At the end of each session, I will give you a topic to think about during the week. Sunday night, you are to write your thoughts about that topic. It doesn't have to be anything elaborate, but I want more than just a cursory statement. Really put your heart -- and SERIOUS EFFORT -- into this one assignment. Next week's topic is rejection."

"I'll try," I squeaked out, "But writing's never really been my forte. And what's the second thing?"

She then handed me a crimson business card, with gold embossing. What IS it with this lady and crimson? "This is my home number. If you need me for anything -- and I do mean ANYTHING -- call me. I'll try my best to answer you within ten minutes. I care."

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

"Well, Geoff, it was a pleasure meeting you. See you next Monday,"

"Oh ... right. Monday."

I stood there transfixed, as the most remarkable lady I've ever met walked out of the room ...

Works Cited

Amanda Green. "300 famous people & celebrities who have suffered with mental illness, mental health or learning issues help highlight the stigma in our society". Retrieved from http://amandagreenauthor.co.uk/300-famous-people-celebrities... 03-May-17

Inner Demons, AKA "Journals of an Angry Trans Gurl"
© 2017 Haylee V

* This is a true account of my life experiences. All persons portrayed in this story are based on actual people I've met throughout my life, and the events portrayed actually happened. No malice is intended to those individuals involved, and names have been altered to protect the identities of the people portrayed. *

* This is a copyrighted property owned exclusively by Ronald Heyward Bailey, Jr., written under the pseudonym Haylee V. Exclusive rights are hereby given to host it on Big Closet Top Shelf or any of its affiliated companies. If you are reading it anywhere else, please be aware that you are reading a pirated copy, and should inform one of the web mistresses of Big Closet (Piper, Erin, or Sephrena) the web address where you found it. *

* Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write -- Haylee V *

* And now, on to the story. *

====================

Chapter Two

There. I had done it. I had completed my "homework" for the "good doctor". As I finished, I debated whether or not to throw that goddamn little black composition book I had brought into the trashcan. It would be so simple. Just forget the whole thing. Forget counseling. Forget about fighting for what should have been mine all along. Forget Lynne and Bethany. Just blow everything off -- as I'd done so many times before -- and move on with my sorry life.

I mean, what's the f*cking point, anyway? She's just another in the long list of people in my life that has royally screwed me over. Just walk away. Let her rip my heart out and trample upon it as so many others had done in the past. RUN. AWAY. FAR AWAY.

I reached for the bottle of Jack I had brought just for this occasion. I poured a HUGE shot into the tumbler. I hesitated, then threw the bottle against the brick wall -- hard. It shattered into a million pieces, splattering the dark amber liquid all over the freshly painted wall and dribbling onto the snow-white carpet. F*ck this! I thought, as I got up to pour the shot down the sink. What the HELL am I doing?

I was tired -- so tired. Tired of being rejected. Tired of fighting. Tired of always running. Just tired...

I reached in the utensil drawer under the sink. I grabbed the largest butcher knife I could find. Taking it with me to the can opener on the kitchen counter, I began to sharpen it to a keen edge. I ran my finger slowly and carefully across the blade, drawing a thin trickle of blood on my naked, exposed finger as I did so. That SHOULD be sharp enough. I hope...

I took the newly sharpened blade with me to the bed, thinking. Should I leave a note? And if so, just what should it say, EXACTLY? I wonder if I will feel any pain. Having no more tears to cry, I thought, It would be nice to feel... SOMETHING. I'd hate to think I cut myself just to watch the blood flow...

Just then, the phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Yeah, man. This is John Hoode. Put that bitch Susan on the phone!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah! I know you're the PRICK screwing her. Put that cheating slut on. NOW!"

"Look, you idiot. You've got the wrong goddamn number. I don't know who the HELL Susan is, but if she's with a DICK like you, I DON'T BLAME HER FOR CHEATING! GOOD-BYE, ASSHOLE."

I slammed the phone down so hard it shook the walls. Just what I needed. Here I am, just trying to DIE, and that prick calls. What was his stupid name again? HOODE. That's right and he was looking for SUSAN. Hmmm... Hoode... Susan... Those names sound familiar. I wonder why???

Then it hit me, like a bolt out of the blue. I started smiling, then chuckling, and before long, I was braying like a donkey in heat. The knife fell silently out of my hand onto the bed.

I looked up at the ceiling.

"You've got one helluva sick sense of humor, you know that? But I get the message. I'll give her a call." I just hope she's awake at THIS hour.

I reached into my wallet and took out the distinctive crimson card. I walked over to the battered phone, and picked the receiver up off of the floor, where it had fallen after my tirade with the jerk. The jerk who -- unknowingly -- just might have saved my life. I just hoped it still worked.

I picked the receiver up off the cradle, ecstatic to hear a familiar dial tone. I quickly dialed the number.

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard a groggy voice answer silently, "Hello?"

"Yeah, Hi. I'm sorry to call you so late, but this is Geoff. We need to talk."

"OK," she replied. "Can you be at the office in say... half an hour?"

"Uhh... yeah. That works, I guess."

"Good. I'm on my way. Oh, and Geoff? Things WILL get better. Just trust me, OK?"

Trust. The ONE thing I no longer possessed. At least she's making an effort. I'll go... I at least owe her a good-bye, after waking her up at... I glanced at the clock on the wall, DAMN! It's only 2:45 in the morning? I am SOOO screwed...

==============================

I threw on some clothes rather quickly, but KNEW that I still looked disheveled. What did it matter, REALLY? I'm in a hurry. I have an excuse for looking haggard...

==============================

It's remarkable how few people are out and about at this hour. I hit every light green, and made it to Dr. Hood's office in about twenty minutes. As I was getting out of my car, I saw a newer red sedan pull into its designated spot. Crimson, of course! What IS it with this woman?

"Geoff?" a sultry feminine voice questioned.

"Yeah, it's me, Doc."

"Give me a minute to open up. I need to disarm the alarm and turn on the lights. Shouldn't be long," she said, fishing for her keys. Finding them, she quickly opened up the door and hit the light switch. She walked over to the far wall, punched in the alarm code, then motioned for me to come inside.

"I'll just be a minute. I brought some coffee and donuts. Black and strong, right?"

I can't believe she remembered THAT... It was a VERY MINUTE detail of our last "discussion".

"Need some help?"

"Nah. I got this. Just make yourself comfortable on the lounger. Or would you rather wait for me to unlock the main office?"

"Here's fine, I guess. I won't be keeping you long, anyway."

She noted the extreme sadness in my voice. How could she not? I wasn't exactly hiding how distraught I was, anyway...

"We'll see... Now, just what's going on?" she said, pulling up a chair and taking her notebook and a pen out of her purse.

"Well, I know we have an appointment later today, but I just felt this couldn't wait until then. Here!" I said, thrusting my journal at her.

She looked quizzically at me, as she took the proffered journal.

"My journal for this week. I ALWAYS try to keep my promises. I thought you might like to read it, before..."

"Before?"

"Before I leave," I finished. "I just can't deal with all... this. This..." I hesitated, running my hands over myself. "Me. I just wanted to say... Good bye!"

I turned to get up. Her gaze held me firm. Transfixed. Frozen.

"Are you REALLY running. Geoff? Or do you want something... BETTER?. This time. Please, don't run..."

I stood there for a moment -- or was it an hour? I just don't know anymore -- pondering her remark.

"Better?" I responded meekly.

"Yes. Better. As Lao Tzu, the great Chinese philosopher once said, 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.' You've already taken that first step. Will you allow yourself to take another?"

I just stood there, dumbfounded. Dr. Hood slowly eased me back on the settee.

"Give me a few minutes to actually READ your journal. It might provide me some insight into why you're feeling so..." she stopped, hesitation evident in her voice.

What is she thinking? I wondered.

"Forgive me," she said. "I just needed to get my thoughts together. I guess I'm not at my peak at..."

She glanced at her watch.

"Three thirty in the morning?" she finished, the alarm evident in her voice.

"I -- I -- I'm sorry," I stammered.

"No, it's OK. Really!" she assured me. "As my father always said, 'You can sleep when you're dead, Sue. Now GET UP!'."

I grimaced.

"Oops... sorry," she apologized. "Poor choice of words, I guess?"

You THINK??!!

"Anyway, I DID say say call ANYTIME. And, like you, I try to keep my word, too."

She smiled, sat, and opened the journal.

==============================

When she had finished reading, she became eerily quiet -- TOO QUIET.

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "I see..."

"What?" I asked, exasperated, concern in my voice.

"You have some deep-seated issues going on here. Issues we SERIOUSLY need to address. And quickly..."

She reached in her purse and took out her phone.

"Excuse me a moment, Geoff," she said. "I just need to make a quick call. I'll be right back. Promise."

With that, she got up and unlocked her office, leaving her door slightly ajar.

I honestly tried NOT to eavesdrop, but I did manage to catch snippets of her conversation.

==============================

"Tiff? Sue. Yeah, sorry. With a patient now. Yeah, possible Baker. Yeah, witness. In thirty? OK, see you then. Thanks. Bye."

I quickly sat back on the settee before she came out of the office.

"I must say, Geoff. Reading the journal entry, and seeing you like this has me... concerned. I just called Tiffany. She'll be here in thirty minutes. We can discuss things until then."

Did she just ADMIT to everything I just overheard? Why?

She gazed at me in surprise as she noticed my jaw hit the floor.

"What is it, Geoff?"

"Umm... nothing," I lied, hopefully convincingly. "And you really didn't have to call Tiffany in. I'm OK. Really."

"She was MORE THAN happy to come in. I think she likes you," the doctor teased, good-naturedly. "Besides, a friendly face is always welcomed in times of crisis. Now, about this journal, and I assume the reason for your call..."

The atmosphere in the room thickened with tension as I began.

"You said write about rejection. So I did."

"I can see that much. But there's also so much pain. And anger. You mentioned something... ominous. Do you remember what that was?"

"I wrote down a lot of stuff that was on my mind. You'll have to be a little more clear."

She opened the journal, and pointed to some quickly scrawled (and quite large) words in the middle of the page. "Read them, please. Out loud."

I just KNEW she wouldn't let THAT slip by. The words were just too obvious.

I hesitated, looking into her pleading eyes, begging for a reprieve.

"Go on," she prodded. "You HAVE to read them. ALOUD."

I stuttered.

"It's alright, Geoff. I know this is going to be difficult for you, but please. For me. For your wife and daughter. For YOURSELF. Please read them," she begged.

A hush filled the room. I felt the words strangling me, as all the air left my body. I CAN'T do this...

But you MUST!!! a voice answered back, from deep within my inner psyche.

I began again, this time with a renewed determination.

"I... hate...," I hesitated, drawing in a deeper breath than I ever thought possible. Then, almost imperceptibly, I whispered,"... me."

==============================

"Why, Geoff?" the doctor asked. "Why do you hate yourself so much?"

"Can't you see?" I started, as the tears began to fall uncontrollably. "I'm a FAILURE. A NOTHING. I work a dead-end 9-to-5, my wife's left me, taking the ONE THING that meant the most to me -- my daughter -- along with her. All over some damn stupid-assed joke. I've NEVER had many really close friends, I was denied the education I COULD have had, and worst of all, I've never gotten the love I DESERVE. From ANYONE. I'm just tired of all this crap. I KNEW it was a mistake coming here. I knew it was a mistake calling you. But still..."

"Still?" she asked.

"I ALWAYS try to pay my debts. I OWED you. I don't know why, or how much. I just do, OK? So I came to pay my debt. One final HURRAH for 'The Loser'. So Good Bye!"

With that, I turned to leave, just as Tiffany was coming through the door.

I collided with the opening wooden door -- hard -- and felt myself slipping away as the stars encircled me and my world went dark.

For only the second time in my life, I had been totally knocked out by a girl. When I came to, I was resting on the couch in the doctor's office, my feet propped up and a cold washcloth on my forehead.

"He's finally awake!" Tiffany squealed. I loved the lilt in her melodic voice!

"Welcome back, Mr... umm... Geoff. I thought you had left us there for a moment," the nervous doctor welcomed me.

"Uggh... Ya...," I replied groggily, as I tried to sit up. Tiffany quickly pushed me back down to a reclining position.

"Please, relax, Geoff. I called the medics. They'll be here shortly. You need to be looked after, especially since you were out for a few minutes there. You may have a concussion. And there are other things to consider, too..." she trailed off.

Other things? I thought, as my head suddenly cleared fully.

"I want you to go to the hospital for a little while -- for your own safety. They'll take good care of you, and you'll have time to heal -- both your head and your heart. When you're ready, we'll talk again. But for now, you just need to rest -- and get better. I do care about you, you know."

Tiffany wiped my pulsing temple. "So do I," she echoed. "And I want a chance to get to know the REAL you," she whispered in my ear, almost inaudibly. She gave me a quick smile as she tried -- hopelessly -- to hide her growing blush.

==============================

I was smiling as they strapped me to the gurney for my short ride to Piedmont -- and what would begin my twenty-one year foray in the mental health system.

==============================

Author's notes:

* Yes, the phone call REALLY happened. The names may have changed a bit, but the events are all 100% real. God has a VERY WARPED sense of humor some times, especially when dealing with ME. But He made His point... *

* In South Carolina, as in many other states, Mental Health laws are on the books to dictate how clients should be treated, and the conditions by which they may be admitted for treatment -- either voluntarily or involuntarily. In South Carolina, this is called the Baker Act, and it states, in part, "..if a peace officer, after accessing the situation, determines the individual in question poses imminent or immediate harm to him/herself or others, s/he can be placed in protective custody for a period of no more than twenty-four hours at a hospital or mental health / crisis intervention facility. The individual MUST be informed, in writing if necessary, that s/he is NOT under arrest, just simply being detained for his/her own safety." It also empowers lay people, such as teachers, employers, family members, or clergy to act as agents of peace under these circumstances -- provided a witness is present at the time of detainment, and is willing to swear an affidavit stating that s/he believes the individual in question poses said harm to him/herself or others. The same power extends to medical professionals, thus the NEED for Tiffany to be present. *

* The attached journal entry, and the song, are included to provide color to the story, and as such, are COMPLETELY OPTIONAL for the understanding of this story. It is my intent that each chapter be able to stand alone on its own merits. Each of the following chapters will contain a journal entry. A warning, though: This is my darker side, and as such, may contain scenes, language, or situations that may make some readers squeamish or uncomfortable. If you have a delicate constitution, then I beg of you, PLEASE DO NOT READ THEM... *

* And finally, I beg of you: Please comment after you read. It's the ONLY way I can truly gauge reader reaction -- what I'm doing right, and where I need improvement. *

*Kisses Always*
Haylee V

Inner Demons, AKA "Journals of an Angry Trans Gurl"
© 2017 Haylee V

* This is a true account of my life experiences. All persons portrayed in this story are based on actual people I've met throughout my life, and the events portrayed actually happened. No malice is intended to those individuals involved, and names have been altered to protect the identities of the people portrayed. *

* This is a copyrighted property owned exclusively by Ronald Heyward Bailey, Jr., written under the pseudonym Haylee V. Exclusive rights are hereby given to host it on Big Closet Top Shelf or any of its affiliated companies. If you are reading it anywhere else, please be aware that you are reading a pirated copy, and should inform one of the web mistresses of Big Closet (Piper, Erin, or Sephrena) the web address where you found it. *

* Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write -- Haylee V *

* And now, on to the story. *

====================

Chapter Two (Continued)

The EMTs had placed me in a very uncomfortable neck brace upon loading me into the back of the ambulance. They did all the routine things an EMT should - take vitals, get medical history, start an IV, etc. -- and before long we arrived at the hospital.

The nurse came in and said they had ordered a CAT scan of my head -- just as a precaution -- to make sure nothing serious had happened when I lost my fight with the door. They had also had me strip bare and change into "the gown from Hell" -- you all know the one ...

About an hour after the scan completed, the doctor shared the results -- normal. I started to get dressed, only to be stopped in my tracks by the charge nurse.

"The doctor said everything's fine, so I can go home now."

The scowl on the nurse's face told me immediately that I thought wrong.

"Sorry, Mr. Daniels. We're not QUITE done here -- yet," came a rich baritone voice from the hall. I looked to see a rather imposing figure standing there - all 6' 3", 250 pounds of him. His name tag read Dr. Peter Saulk, Staff Psychiatrist.

"It seems that we may be detaining you just a while longer. At least that was Dr. Hood's recommendation. I just need to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind ..."

And the screw job I had been expecting began ...

"Dr. Hood impressed upon me that she was quite worried about your mood as of late -- and your overall safety. We'd LIKE to have you stay here and let us do a complete psychiatric workup on you."

"And if I refuse?"

Dr. Saulk just pointed to the hall, where two rather beefy looking police officers stood guard. "Refusal -- at this point -- is no longer an option. You can do this voluntarily -- which will afford you certain 'amenities' -- or we can petition the judge to commit you. Judge Bennet's on call this morning, and he's usually in a VERY FOUL mood until he's had at least two cups of coffee ..."

With no other options, I slowly nodded.

"Good," Dr. Saulk said, not even trying to hide his patronizing tone. "You'd actually be surprised at how many people WILLINGLY choose Option Two. Glad to see YOU, at least, have a modicum of common sense." Damn, I HATE this prick. Wonder how long I'd get for killing the bastard? After all, they DO think I need "psychiatric evaluation", so I COULD, in theory, cop an insanity plea...

I grinned maniacally. Perhaps a bit TOO maniacally...

Dr. Saulk was taken aback -- momentarily -- but quickly noted something on my chart, before regaining his composure -- and condescending ways again.

"Ahem...," he choked out, fumbling with his collar. "Ah, yes. The questions. Do you know exactly WHY I'm here, Mr. Daniels?"

"Humor me," I sneered, all the while struggling to get out of my restraints. I REALLY want to strangle this self-righteous bastard...

"It seems that you made some rather ... disturbing ... remarks earlier to Dr. Hood. Remarks that lead us to believe you pose an imminent threat of harm to yourself. We simply can't allow that. Fortunately, you've chosen the wiser of your two options, to self-commit, so we don't need to get others involved. Nurse Francine will draw up the necessary paperwork for you to sign. Until then, just relax a bit. Here, you can watch some television while you wait."

He turned on the set to some mindless drivel -- Jerry Springer, I think. I scowled, sickened by his choice of "entertainment".

"I'm sorry. The set's broken, and that's the only channel that comes in clearly."

I made a motion as if I was gagging, and he quickly shut the damn thing off. Not too quickly for my tastes, unfortunately. If I wasn't already f*cking insane, ten minutes of that crap would have surely done the trick...

"I'll leave you be, then," he said, mechanically, as he left. In his place, though, came in a somewhat beautiful Haitian (Jamaican, perhaps?) nurse.

"I be Mafala, mon. I be watchin' you now. Sees you no harm nothin'. You be good, and I tell you 'bout the islands."

I simply ADORED her accent. Besides, she was MUCH BETTER to look at than the prick -- I mean "doctor".

"Why you be here, mon? You no looks crazy. Mafala done seen some crazy, I tell you."

"I don't know anymore," I admitted. "Really. Things just kinda went shitty..."

I saw her wince at my choice of words. "Sorry. Things went bad?" I corrected, as I saw her smile and nod quickly.

"It be OK. I be used it now. Some, though, they's dunna how talk proper to lady like mon. All foul up da moufs. You, tho. You be OK my book."

"Thanks," I whispered, giving her a weak smile. "Anyway, my wife left, taking my daughter with her. I guess things went downhill from there. This morning, I ..."

As the memories of my morning came flooding back, I found myself shaking violently. The sobs that wracked my body were unending.

"It be good, no? Sometime ... Sometime man ... He need cry. Problem get too big," she comforted.

As my crying jag subsided, I looked into her smiling, understanding eyes and whispered a "Thank You".

"No, mon. Is OK. You be better soon. Doc -- he really good man -- he make you better."

THAT overbearing, pompous, egocentric (and a few other things I dare not mention) PRICK? I doubt it..., I grinned.

"There. You smile now. Cry make better. Mafala knew. Cry always make things better."

This mild-mannered woman -- dare I say LADY? -- was beginning to grow on me.

"About the 'islands'?" I questioned.

"Aah. Mafala, she be from Trin-E-Dod. Times good there. Good food (here she patted her ample belly), good friends, good life. Until ..."

I could see the tears welling in her eyes. What could POSSIBLY make this energetic, bubbly young woman cry? I wondered.

"Mafala sorry. The bad times she remembers -- too good. Yasin Bahr. He no good, though. He try overthrow gov'ment. Six bloody days. Mafala lose whole family. February 27, 1990. Da and Brer be in da Red House, ma be at 'Trip T'. They no survive. Mafala come here March 5. Start new life." (1)

"I'm so sorry," I said, the comfortEE now becoming the comfortER.

"You good man. You no change, 'K?"

I handed her the tissue box. She dried her eyes and blew her nose.

"Life...," she stated, "She be bad us both. But Mafala -- she no give up. Fight on. Make world better place. You -- why you no do same?"

Her words stung me to the core. Accent, broken English, and all, her message of wisdom to me was clear: "Why can't you do the same? Make the world BETTER. Don't be happy simply existing, aimlessly plodding through. Do something to IMPROVE the world around you. Become a PARTICIPANT, not a SPECTATOR. A CATALYST, not a VICTIM."

She had, unknowingly, given me quite a bit to think about, and done it quite succinctly, too.

As she finished, the nurse walked in with my paperwork.

"You can go now, Mafala. He's almost ready to transfer to Bull Street, so he no longer needs a guardian. I'll wait here until he's properly transferred. It shouldn't take too much longer."

With that, Mafala gave me a quick, warm smile and left. I guess it actually IS possible for a woman -- no a LADY -- I quickly corrected myself -- to like me without having an 'AGENDA'.

==============================

The nurse quickly revived me from my thoughts. I looked over the paperwork -- standard boilerplate -- then hesitated. With the stroke of this pen, I'm sealing my fate, forever exposing myself to stigmatization, ostracization, and stereotyping.

What the hell? I thought. Nobody's ever treated me like a "REAL" person anyway. I'm just removing all doubt now...

==============================

Notes:

(1) On Friday, February 27, 1990, members of the Muslim militant group Jamaat al Muslimeen attempted a coup of the government of Trinidad, supposedly as retaliation for a police raid of their compound in 1988. Forty-two insurgents stormed the Red House, the seat of Parliment, taking hostages, while seventy-two more raided Trinidad and Tobago Television (TTT). Twenty-four civilians died in the coup attempt, which lasted from February 27 until March 4, 1990 . -- Wikipedia. "Jamaat al Muslimeen coup attempt." Retrieved May 8, 2017.

Da and Brer are, as you might have guessed by context, Dad and Brother. (I had a dear friend from Trinidad in college. I hope I did her accent justice, without mocking or being insulting. It was just so beautiful, like her...)

Inner Demons, AKA "Journals of an Angry Trans Gurl"
© 2017 Haylee V

* This is a true account of my life experiences. All persons portrayed in this story are based on actual people I've met throughout my life, and the events portrayed actually happened. No malice is intended to those individuals involved, and names have been altered to protect the identities of the people portrayed. *

* This is a copyrighted property owned exclusively by Ronald Heyward Bailey, Jr., written under the pseudonym Haylee V. Exclusive rights are hereby given to host it on Big Closet Top Shelf or any of its affiliated companies. If you are reading it anywhere else, please be aware that you are reading a pirated copy, and should inform one of the web mistresses of Big Closet (Piper, Erin, or Sephrena) the web address where you found it. *

* Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write -- Haylee V *

* And now, on to the story. *

====================

Chapter Two (Continued)

Signing the papers would seal my fate. I would slowly become dehumanized - a non-entity.

As I slowly handed the completed forms back to the nurse, she read over them to insure everything was in order. She turned and nodded to the officers guarding my door.

"Everything's ready," she said, clinically. "Just let the doctor sign off on the paperwork, and you're free to transport the patient."

The patient... I thought. Not Mr. Daniels. Not even an informal Geoff. I have become "THE PATIENT". The dehumanization process begins. Thanks for making me feel LESS HUMAN than I already felt.

=== === ===

The doctor came in about five minutes later, to inform me where I'd be "observed". He checked my heart, lungs, and reflexes. He had the nurse check my vitals, then motioned to the officers.

The officers slowly walked in, pistols at the ready.

"We're going to have to handcuff you, sir, before we transport you. You ARE NOT under arrest -- it's strictly a safety precaution - to protect you (and the officer traveling with you) from harm. They'll be removed once you're at the center."

I shirked back from him. I'd never been in trouble with the law, and the fact that they wanted to handcuff me - A COMPLETELY INNOCENT PERSON -- had me extremely agitated.

"Handcuff?" I shrieked. "I'm not wearing any damn handcuffs. I've done NOTHING wrong!"

I barely felt the needle as the nurse jabbed it in my arm. I took a step backwards, towards the bed. I almost made it, before everything went dark. Fortunately, someone caught me before too much harm was done.

=== === ===

When I awoke, I was in a sickening green room. The stench of decay, antiseptic, and urine? filled my nostrils. I found myself securely handcuffed to a slab of wood with a sheet haphazardly thrown over it -- my "bed", I was informed. I had been stripped completely naked (all I had worn was "the gown" anyway, so I didn't have much to lose) and deloused, and my head had been shorn to the scalp.

"I see you're FINALLY awake. About time. My name's Dr. Voss. We've taken the liberty of making sure you have no contraband, and have prepped you for integration with the other patients. IF you behave, you MIGHT find things go a little easier for you. If you cause trouble" -- he strongly emphasized the last word -- "like you did with transport, then you'll WISH you had the luxuries you have now. I'll be unchaining you now. Boris and Rufus here will make sure you don't give me trouble. UNDERSTAND?"

I nodded slowly, looking at the two gorillas beside him as they snarled. Are they even HUMAN? I thought.

Dr. Voss unlocked the first cuff, twisting my left arm into a VERY uncomfortable position as he did so.

"What the f*ck??!!!" I screamed in pain. "That's my arm you nearly broke off, dipshit!"

Boris just stood there with an evil grin plastered on his face. Rufus just growled -- loudly.

"Sorry," the doctor said. "Maybe the next one won't be quite as painful..."

He turned the key to the other cuff, bending my wrist back as far as humanly possible -- and a little further for good measure. I think I actually heard a bone snap...

He threw my limp arm on the bed. "Now, we have an ... UNDERSTANDING. You're the patient, and I'm the doctor. You do what I say, when I say."

"Oh, and one other thing -- That 'dipshit' comment. Cursing is verboten, as is a lack of respect. Read the handbook," he said, throwing a well-worn, dog-eared book on my bed. "You just earned a night in 'the tank'."

=== === ===

"The tank", as I would find out, was a sensory deprivation chamber. No light, no sound, no smells, nothing. Not only that, but as another measure of cruelty, they had not fed me in the 16 hours I had been there. Nor would they be feeding me -- until my punishment was up. And then, only if the doctor and his goons thought I was "behaving properly".

I wonder what a sadomasochistic dick -- tator. Yeah, that's it. Dictator -- and his two brain-dead louts consider "proper behavior"?

I was awoken about midnight for my "punishment". The lunkheads held me while the doctor tore my gown off. They then dragged me to "the tank", completely naked, and threw me in, locking the door behind me. I saw the doctor fiddle with something that looked like a timer, then the room went completely dark.

=== === ===

How long have I been in here? An hour? A Day? A YEAR??? Time just stopped for me. I drifted in and out of consciousness -- at least it was SOMETHING. Strange thoughts ran through my mind. Nightmares. Hallucinations. I wanted -- something. I just couldn't remember what. I saw visions of happier times -- with my mom and dad, my siblings, Lynne and Bethany. There was so much joy. So much ... FREEDOM. That's IT! FREEDOM. I wanted to be out of this goddamn hellhole. I wanted to be free.

=== === ===

My "perfect" world faded again from my view, replaced by the encroaching darkness. Stillness. Silence. I was alone -- so alone.

But then again, you've always been alone, Geoff. You've never REALLY let anyone in to the inner recesses of your psyche -- the deepest cockles of your soul. Have you?

I felt nauseated, my stomach churning bile. Everything was spinning around me. Faster and faster it spun. Then... Nothing. I blinked at the blinding lights. I startled as the lock on the door loosened, the sound like a million cannons to my noise-deprived ears.

Was it, at last, over? Would I once again walk among the living?

"You are free, number 3731. For now... Let's see how long you remain so."

I emerged -- slowly -- from the tank. Weary, but wiser. If I'm going to survive here I'm going to HAVE to play by this bastard's rules. It'll leave a horrid taste in my mouth, but it won't be the first time I had to kiss ass to survive. Just hope I can find some decent flavored lip balm...

=== === ===

Notes:

The mental health system in the United States (especially in the Deep South) is fraught with problems -- overcrowding, abuse and neglect, apathy, and overworked and underpaid staff. The situation HAS gotten better since the late '80s - early '90s, but still has far to go.

The abuses I describe here ARE real -- I actually suffered through this torture, and it has made me incredibly strong-willed as a result. I may never forget the horrors I endured at the hands of these monsters in the guise of "medical professionals". Sadly, some police officers, doctors, and the like still get away with these atrocities, but usually, it's much more benign -- and insidious, and begins by subtly dehumanizing the individual --ultimately making him/her into a non-entity.

As for the handcuffs, yes, I'm afraid that mental patients are, indeed handcuffed during transport to a facility -- if the police are involved. Policies differ if the facility itself provides transportation -- as most now do -- but the patient is either sedated beforehand, or strapped / bound tightly to a gurney so that hands and feet are completely immobile.

For those of you worried about Geoff, fear not. I assure you, help is coming for Geoff -- in a totally unexpected way. Sometimes, angels are found in the most unlikely of places. -- Haylee V

Inner Demons, AKA "Journals of an Angry Trans Gurl"
© 2017 Haylee V

* This is a true account of my life experiences. All persons portrayed in this story are based on actual people I've met throughout my life, and the events portrayed actually happened. No malice is intended to those individuals involved, and names have been altered to protect the identities of the people portrayed. *

* This is a copyrighted property owned exclusively by Ronald Heyward Bailey, Jr., written under the pseudonym Haylee V. Exclusive rights are hereby given to host it on Big Closet Top Shelf or any of its affiliated companies. If you are reading it anywhere else, please be aware that you are reading a pirated copy, and should inform one of the web mistresses of Big Closet (Piper, Erin, or Sephrena) the web address where you found it. *

* Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write -- Haylee V *

* And now, on to the story. *

====================

Chapter Two (Conclusion)

Well, it's been two weeks now. Two weeks of pure hell in this gulag. But somehow, I've survived. We had a "group session" today. "Boris", the Nazi, had us sit in a circle, while his goon patrol guarded the door -- the only exit. He proceeded to lecture us on all of our evils -- how we were f*cking screw-ups that didn't even deserve to be treated like mutts -- let alone people. People like us have no right to live. We waste valuable resources meant for the "worthy".

I just tuned him out. I'd heard bullshit like this my entire life. Same propaganda, different dick... err... tator. Dictator. I feigned attentiveness, though, as he plodded on. Finally after an hour, the idiot shut up. I mean, after all, even piles of shit need to breathe sometimes -- although I did wonder...

"You all need to listen to my wisdom. The world hates you. I hate you. You have no value to anyone. Yet, even you can become a somebody. Maybe not as good as me, but somebody, nonetheless. Just quit f*cking up, and start f*cking over. Think about what I said. There are pencils and paper on the table. I want each of you to write to someone that has wronged you, and make them feel as bad as you do. Nothing is better in this life than revenge, and I'll teach you worthless pieces of shit that if I have to beat it into you."

Pencils? Paper? I silently screamed with joy, as I hatched a plan. Hopefully, it would lead to my release. I just hoped it worked.

I took the smallest sheet of paper I could find, a pencil, an envelope, and a stamp. What I had to write wouldn't take long.

I sat down on my bed and began, first by addressing the envelope:

Dr. Tiffany Samuels, M.D., Ph. D., LCSW
Catawba Community Mental Health Clinic
166 Dotson street
Rock Hill, SC 29730

Next the letter:

"I need help."

I put the letter in the envelope, sealed it, then quickly dropped it in the mail slot. I didn't know if mail was searched or not before going out, so I tried to keep it as simple as possible -- just a patient asking his doctor for assistance. Perfectly normal. I just hoped "Boris" thought so as well...

About twenty minutes later, "Boris" came in.

"You send letter, ya? Ask doctor for help. Good. You a f*ck up, but you smart. Maybe Doctor can help you. I send."

Silently, I breathed a sigh of relief. It seems the Nazi thought I'd get tortured by the doctor as well, as I saw the sadistic gleam in the bastard's eye as he left. I slept peacefully that night, the first truly restful sleep I'd gotten since I came here. I marked my calendar. May 17, 1993. Monday.
=== === ===
I was sitting in my office, Idly thumbing through my mail. Today was Thursday, May 20, 1993. I was going to call it a day in about half an hour, as I had dinner plans to make tonight at the White Horse. It was my first anniversary, and my husband was taking me back to the place it all began.

Seeing nothing vital, I tossed the mail on Tiffany's desk, to sort. As she did so, I saw a shocked expression come over her face.

"What's wrong, Tiff?"

"I don't know. That's just... odd is all. I've got a letter."

"From your boyfriend, no doubt. I told you not to give him this address."

"No, it's not him. It's from Mr. Dan... err Geoff. Only it's addressed to DOCTOR Tiffany Samuels... He KNOWS I'm just the secretary."

"Maybe he's just confused. Maybe he meant it for me?"

"I don't know. It's just the way it's addressed. Like he was PURPOSELY trying to draw my attention to it. Look..."

I read the address. "Nothing out of the ordinary there. Just a bit formal, perhaps."

"Exactly. I told him to call me Tiff. And very few people would go through the trouble of listing ALL your titles, especially when they can just put a Dr. at the front and be done with it. If it was truly for me, why didn't he just write Tiff Samuels?"

"Interesting. Open it, Tiff. Maybe he's trying to send us a message."

Tiff opened the letter and read it -- slowly. Her eyes got as big as saucers, and her whole body shook. The letter fluttered to the floor.

I picked it up and read it. Something in my mind just clicked.

"Something's not right. If he wanted MY help, all he had to do was call me. He has my card. But he asked for YOU, specifically. And mislabeled the envelope ON PURPOSE. What IS going on with him?"

"I don't know, Aunt Sue," she said. "But you can be DAMNED sure I'm going to find out."

"Well, I was going to close shop soon, anyways. Calm down a little, while I call your father. We may need his help..."
=== === ===
"So, what's this all about, Sis?" Matt questioned.

"I really don't know. I just have a bad feeling that one of my patients is in trouble."

I explained my concerns, with Tiffany filling in details I forgot -- or didn't know.

Matt just shook his head silently.

"Well, I do have some leave available tonight and tomorrow. Let me get a few of the boys on the horn. We'll get to the bottom of this. Trust me."

Within the hour, Matt had assembled his team - two men and two women. He had dressed as a doctor, and his companion as a bodyguard. The women were, of course, dressed as nurses.

OK, guys," he began, laying out his plan. "Tom, you're going to be my bodyguard. Think B. A. from The A-Team. Think you can handle that?"

Tom replied (in his best Mr. T voice), "You messin' with me, fool?"

"Works for me..."
=== === ===
The group arrived at the Bull Street State Psychiatric Center about 4 P.M.

:Stay together, boys and girls," Matt whispered, "and pray that this goes off without a hitch."
=== === ===
Matt rang the buzzer of the cast iron door.

"Ya," a heavily accented German voice replied from the intercom. "Vot you vant?"

"I'm Dr, Hannibal Smith. I've come to speak with Dr. Voss. We've been ordered to transfer one of your patients."

"Enter," came the reply, as the door slowly swung open, creaking noisily on its rusty hinges.

"I'm Dr. Voss. Show me your transport papers."

Matt handed him the forms requested. Fortunately, Sally, the blonde nurse, was a master forger, who had worked as a civilian for the State Medical Licensing Board. Not to mention her father owned the best paper processing plant in South Carolina.

"You want patient 3731. A real nut job. Glad you brought muscle and two nurses. You'll need them."

Matt and the others were led down a long hall, and told to wait in the common area, while the patient was summoned.
=== === ===
I heard their heavy footfalls coming down the hall. What have I done now? I asked myself, the dread and fear heavily weighing on my mind.

Boris unlocked my door and barged in, roughly. For once, thankfully, he had left his pet monkeys home.

"Up!" he screamed. "Dress! Follow!"

I scrambled quickly to get to my feet. Whatever it was had the Nazi ROYALLY pissed.

He dragged me forcefully down the hall and to the common area, then pushed me down -- way rougher than needed -- into the chair.

"Silence," he screamed, motioning for the group to begin.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Hannibal Smith, and this is my colleague, Dr. Templeton Peck. We're here under the orders of the State Medical Director, Dr. Bethany Lynne, to transport you to a different facility. One that will better meet your needs. Nurse Gretchen will gather your things."

"Just make sure she COMPLETELY," I winked, unseen by "the Nazi", "strips my bed."

"Per the handbook," I stated to the Nazi, who just grunted and nodded.
=== === ===
With that, "Dr. Smith" helped me to my feet, wth "Dr. Peck" on the other side. We quickly exited towards the door, with the auburn-haired nurse in the rear.

I was led to a white van, and roughly pushed to the back corner. The men each mouthed a quick "Sorry".

A few minutes later, "Nurse Gretchen" joined me in the back, and we headed off --- away from my tormentor.I was, at last, FREE. SAFE.
=== === ===
Notes:

I have to come clean here. Some scenes were HIGHLY embellished. There wasn't really a covert sting, per se. More like two cops. The letter WAS, however, real, and was sent along with my "REAL" journal. Fortunately, mail was NOT checked, as a representative from the Postal Service gathered it each day.

South Carolina has STRICT laws about who can handle mail of inmates and the mentally ill, and follow FEDERAL guidelines TO THE LETTER. ONLY a sworn representative of the Postal Service can examine outgoing mail, and it MUST be done off-site, at a secure location. Mail is first x-rayed, and anything suspicious is destroyed by delayed incineration. Secondly, all mail that passes that step is subjected to drug-sniffing dog, to weed out contraband. Finally, each parcel is hand inspected, to prevent any pathogens or contagions from being released to the general populace, and to prevent stalking, threats, and any other illegal use.

If the parcels pass muster, they are then carefully resealed and sent to their destinations.

And yes, that IS (or rather was at the time, they've since moved...) the address of the town's mental health center.

* The next posting, a FULL CHAPTER, is slated for June 1. No Journal or poem, though.* - Haylee V

Inner Demons, AKA "Journals of an Angry Trans Gurl"
© 2017 Haylee V

* This is a true account of my life experiences. All persons portrayed in this story are based on actual people I've met throughout my life, and the events portrayed actually happened. No malice is intended to those individuals involved, and names have been altered to protect the identities of the people portrayed. *

* This is a copyrighted property owned exclusively by Ronald Heyward Bailey, Jr., written under the pseudonym Haylee V. Exclusive rights are hereby given to host it on Big Closet Top Shelf or any of its affiliated companies. If you are reading it anywhere else, please be aware that you are reading a pirated copy, and should inform one of the web mistresses of Big Closet (Piper, Erin, or Sephrena) the web address where you found it. *

* Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write -- Haylee V *

* And now, on to the story. *

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

Chapter Three

I winced in pain as I was tossed roughly in the back of the van. The handcuffs bit deeply into my wrists, still tender and not quite healed from the tortures of "The Baron" and his Neanderthals. The jostling of the van didn't help to allay my fears as we sped away from my Auschwitz. What new kind of Hell were they taking me to now??

The doctor(?) beside me saw me wince and slowly moved towards me.

"Give me your hands," he said, kindly.

When I hesitated, he dangled the keys in front of me. "Unless, of course, you're Houdini or something," he grinned. "It's okay. Dr. Samuels got your letter."

"D-D-D-Dr. Samuels?" I stammered.

"Yeah, that's why we're here. I'm Tom. Captain Tom Strong, codename 'Jiyuu' (freedom). Your nurses are Lieutant Tanya Charles," he said, pointing to the blonde, "codename 'Yuuki" (bravery, ghost), and the brunette's Sergeant Hillary Blake, codename 'Chikara' (strength, resources). The Colonel's driving. You can meet him when we get you back to base. Eventually, you'll be able to go back home, if you want to."

Home. Did I really hear him correctly? Had I really escaped?

"Of course, we'll have to take you under our wings, for a while at least, just to keep you safe. I can only imagine the Hell you've been through. I just wish ..."

With that, he allowed his thoughts to drift.

"Unfortunately, this IS the USA, and even vermin have rights. Wouldn't mind sending him AND his goons to Gitmo for awhile, though. On a special 'Friends of the USA' tour..."

"Umm... If you don't mind me asking, where is this 'base', exactly?"

"North. That's all you need to know -- for now."

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

After Tom freed me from those accursed shackles, he gave me a quick debriefing of their mission to free me, and their reasons for sequestering me instead of taking me directly back to Rock Hill. Seems they were... interested... in some of my skills, and more "unique" hobbies, and were willing to put them to more... beneficial... uses, if I were willing.

I figured what the hell? Didn't have too much left to lose, anyway. Just my freedom and sanity. Oh, yeah. Right. I'd already LOST my right to those -- according to the state, at least.

With my arms now free, I could move around more. At first, I winced in pain, as I had been confined too long, and the restraints had taken their toll. I ached all over, the tenseness and tension in my muscles palpable. What I needed was a nice, long soak in an ice bath, followed by a lengthy massage.

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

As if reading my thoughts, Tanya soothed, "We'll be there soon. We have full medical on staff, and once they have you iced down, and give you something to ease the stiffness and pain, we'll talk. Just try to rest now. If something comes up, we'll let you know."

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

For the first time in weeks, I actually willed -- and even allowed -- myself to fall into a deep sleep. Although restful, it was fraught with remnants -- evil and terrifying -- of the tortures I had so recently endured.

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

After what seemed like an eternity (Doesn't time seem to stop when you're sleeping?), I was awakened by Tom.

"We're here," he said, a little too cheerfully. "Welcome to Alpha Base 7. Let's get you settled in."

Someone (I assumed Captain Mike) came around and opened the doors to the van, and Tom and I helped the ladies out. As we did so, Tanya waved a small black composition book at me.

"Thanks for the tip. My 'bed check" proved useful after all. Looks like the Baron's days are numbered, I'd say."

Next, Tom exited, and helped me down, giving me a salute as he did so.

"Umm... Thanks. I think?" I mumbled, shocked, as he just stood there stoically. Tanya and Hillary did about faces and saluted as well. "But why the salutes? I'm just a civilian, after all," I said, quickly returning their salutes.

"Because," Tom began, "While you are on base, even in civilian attire, you have the honorary rank of Major. As such, you outrank me. The colonel's taken a particular liking to you, and you'll be bunking with him, if that's ok. He'll brief you at oh six hundred. Until then, just relax, and enjoy the perks afforded you at the officer's club."

With that, he handed me an ID card, saluted again, and excused the team.

Just what IS going on here? I wondered...

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

I was shown to the officer's club, where the colonel sat waiting at a corner table.

"Colonel Mike Samuels, I presume?" I asked, remembering to salute.

"That's only for 'the brass'," he whispered, as he hastily returned my salute and ushered me to a seat. "We'll have you fitted for your dress blues at oh nine hundred, then do lunch at twelve hundred. At thirteen thirty, we'll meet back at my office with the team. I'll brief you then. Dismissed."

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

Well, I didn't cotton too well to all the stuff shirt stuff, and being kept in the dark worried me to no ends, but he HAD freed me from that stalag, so, I guessed I owed him -- just a little. Besides, I look good in oak leaves...

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

I went for my uniform fitting promptly at 9:00. I heard the supply sergeant mutter sleepily under his breath, as he reached for my requisition and the proper uniform. "Damn officers. Always got to be prompt, rigt to the minute. As if waiting a few minutes would kill them."

I turned away from him, trying to stifle a laugh and remember the rank I now carried. I tried -- hard -- to look miffed when I faced him again.

"What was that, AIRMAN?" I responded.

"Uhh... Nothing, Sir!" he quickly stammered. Tears were forming in my eyes at this point, and beads of sweat were runnung down my brow from the sheer exertion of holding my laughter in. I quickly excused myself and went to the latrine. As soon as I entered, I checked to make sure it was empty, then completely lost it. Being an "officer" just might be fun after all.

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

I had my lunch (not bad for something lovingly referred to as "chow"), and proceeded to the Colonel's office. I arrived with ten minutes to spare, only to find everyone else already there.

"Sorry about that," they all exclaimed, sheepishly. "You're not used to it yet, but when the Colonel says thirteen thirty, he means by HIS watch, not base time. In the field, not being properly prepared could get any one of us killed, so we usually meet up thirty minutes early, to prepare. That way, we're always at the ready when the time to act actually comes."

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

They quickly brought me up to speed with what was transpiring on my case. My "secret" journal had been transcribed as I slept, and forwarded to the National Institute for Mental Health, for investigation. The Colonel had called Tiffany to tell her I was now safe in their care, and to arrange the continuation of my counseling sessions. My court hearing had been allowed a change of both time and venue, to accommodate me better. They had also found out that my dear, sweet Lynne had fled the state with Bethany, and were last seen in Maryland.

~~~---===o0O0o===---~~~

Upon hearing that news, my jaw dropped. I knew EXACTLY where they'd find her, for there's only one reason she'd go there -- Charles Leon Young, Jr., her biological father, and the biggest swindler I'd ever met. But I can deal with that later, if I need to. First, I want to know why I'm here, and what's so bloody important that they need to sequester me so...

Inner Demons - AKA Journals of an Angry Trans Gurl
© 2017 Haylee V

* This is a true account of my life experiences. All persons portrayed in this story are based on actual people I've met throughout my life, and the events portrayed actually happened. No malice is intended to those individuals involved, and names have been altered to protect the identities of the people portrayed. *

* This is a copyrighted property owned exclusively by Ronald Heyward Bailey, Jr., written under the pseudonym Haylee V. Exclusive rights are hereby given to host it on Big Closet Top Shelf or any of its affiliated companies. If you are reading it anywhere else, please be aware that you are reading a pirated copy, and should inform one of the web mistresses of Big Closet (Piper, Erin, or Sephrena) the web address where you found it. *

* Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as it was for me to write -- Haylee V *

=====
SPECIAL WARNING
=====

This story, and the accompanying journal, contain scenes of an intense sexual nature, and some dialogue that may be construed as racist to some people, thus it may not be suitable for everyone. While reading of the journal is not required for the understanding of the overall story, it does provide valuable insight into the inner workings of Geoff's mind. If you are easily offended, please skip the journal.

=====
End of Warning
=====

* And now, on to the story. *

"So," the Colonel began, "You're probably wondering why you're here of all places, and why all the cloak and dagger stuff, right?"

"I must say, the thought did cross my mind. What gives?"

"Well, Tiffany told me what happened to you, and being a concerned parent, I ran a check on you. It seems you've had a rather... interesting life, Mr. Daniels.."

"Geoff," I interrupted.

"Uh, right. Geoff. You have a rather lengthy and unusual set of skills as well. You're sort of a Jack-of-all-trades. We can use those in our current assignment. That's why you're here with us. We want to offer you a chance to change your life, and do something useful with it. I'm not going to give you the whole 'Your country needs you' speal, You've been through enough of that already in your life. Suffice to say, with the skills Baba taught you, you'd make a valued member of my team."

"Baba?" I questioned. "What does she have to do with anything? She was just an old crone I hung out with in my teens. She's innocent, and I wish you'd leave the dead in peace. She did nothing to threaten this country. She was just an old gypsy I befriended. Nothing more."

"Oh, but she was, Geoff. Much more than you realize. Your beloved 'Baba' was a former KGB agent. She knew several of the top brass on a first name basis. You still have the tarot deck she gave you, right?"

"That old thing? Sure, but I haven't used it in a few years. Why?"

"The pictures on the cards, especially the Major Arcana. They're all the higher-ups in the KGB. Mob bosses, etc. She wanted to make sure she couldn't be found with such incriminating evidence, should they ever find her. And she did teach you Russian as well, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. Baba was always slipping back into her native tongue when we would talk. But I haven't used any of that since she passed, over ten years ago. I'm rusty at best, and a complete novice at worst. I highly doubt I could carry a decent conversation now."

"But you know the subtleties. The idioms and slang. The double and triple negatives, and how to use them properly. We can retrain you to get your fluency up, but you know things about the language that books can't teach you."

"OK, let's say I'm even remotely interested. What's in it for me? People have been using me all my life, to further their own agendas, usually at my expense. This time, I want something back."

"How about your country. Don't you have any pride? Any patriotism?"

"You mean the same country that classified me as gifted because of my IQ, then forced me to endure seven years of speech pathology because I had a lisp, stuttered, and had a few other, minor speech impediments? Or the one who allowed my uncle to molest me for seven years, because my story wasn't 'credible'? Or maybe the same country that would only give my mother $16 a month in food assistance while she was out on strike, while they gave her Black, childless co-worker $500 a month in welfare and $250 a month in food stamps, even after she showed up at the office driving a brand new Cadillac?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, and that I've erroneously opened some apparently fresh and still festering wounds. Of course, your lodging, meals, and all amenities will be covered at our (or rather Uncle Sam's) expense, and you will be provided with a sizable per diem. We will cover the child support for Bethany as well. While here, you will carry the rank of an acting Major of the Air Force, and be subject to its rules and regulations, and be treated as any other military officer would, with the accompanying perks. You will be subjected to a government scanning process, and once you've cleared that, you'll carry a G-2, CRYPTO / SCI clearance, with Q- and L-level designations. I assure you, you won't ever have to worry about traffic tickets again, or obtaining a job."

"And if I refuse?"

"We take you back to Rock Hill tonight, and life goes on. No job, no wife, no security. You just go back to the same hopeless situation you came from. No harm, no foul, but no better, either..."

"What the hell. I've already lost just about everything anyway. What's freedom, or a soul, between... umm... friends?" I questioned.

"Well, in that case, Geoff, welcome to Alpha Team 7, Delta Force. You report directly to me. Any problems, I'll handle. Oh, and one other thing: We're a team here. We never travel alone. You'll be assigned a liaison while on base, and a staff car and driver. Where you go, one of them will be as well."

"Can I choose the liaison? I have a certain supply sergeant in mind..."

"If he... or she... passes muster, then of course. But your tasks here, and your association with Team Alpha, remain secret. Only 6 people know the composition of this team- the five of us in this room now, and Rawhide. You'll meet him soon. Understand?"

"Aye, Sir," I said, as I rose and gave him a crisp salute.

"And knock it off with that Sir and saluting crap. When we're assembled, we're equals. There's no rank among us. As I told you, the salutes are for brass. If there's nothing else, then?"

As everyone, myself included, nodded, the Colonel dismissed us.

"Hold up a minute, Geoff," he said, just as I was about to leave.

Handing me a manila folder, he explained.

"In this folder is your complete dossier: orders, previous assignments, CO's, achievements, promotions, etc., along with a military ID (you can give Tanya back the 'fake' one she gave you), passport, and anything else you need, as well as a chit book. Anything you need can be purchased with chits at the PX. They only have value while on base. If you need cash, see me. Any non-relevant info has been blacked out. Only those with proper clearance can read that info, thus the two cover sheets. Our password for this week is bluebird, and your codename is 'Katsu'. I'll let you know when you can meet Rawhide. By the way, Susan and Tiffany will be here in about an hour for your counseling session. All they know is you're under my wing, and assisting me. They both know not to ask questions. Dismissed!"

With the utterance of that one word, I was left alone to ponder my new situation. Just what the Hell had I gotten myself into???

Author's Note:

Per the (very gentle) request of a very dear friend, I have changed the title of this story. My undying thanks to you, unnamed stranger, for making me a BETTER- A better writer, a better friend, and a better person. - Haylee
~~~~~~~~~~
Jake Illson was born a sickly child. He was 12 weeks premature, and as a result, often fraught with the various problems that come with being a preemie- lung and heart ailments, diminutive stature, slow development, and awkward social skills. Being in and out of the hospital most of his life, he didn't have much time to socialize or make strong, lasting friendships. The doctors and nurses knew him well enough, and treated him very kindly, but it just wasn't the same. what Jake longed for most of all was to have a normal life- to be able to laugh and play, have friends, and do the normal things any other 8-year-old did. But, alas! such was not the case.

Jake had a weak immune system, and was currently in the hospital, yet again, battling pneumonia. The antibiotics seemed to be helping, and the hourly breathing treatments enabled him to breathe on his own- for now. He was once again cocooned in his plastic bubble, shielded from the outside world and its plethora of contagions, but also shielded from its warmth and comforting touch. O! how he longed to feel his mother's gentle caresses and to know- for once in his life- how tender an embrace could be.

Dr. Nahwel entered the room, breaking Jake free of his thoughts. "The blood tests finally came back, Jake," he said, apprehension apparent on every word, "And they don't look good. Your lungs are quite weak, and your heart is failing. I've taken the liberty of placing you on the national donor list, but I wouldn't get my hopes up. You're pretty far down the list, and it could be weeks, months, or..." He paused, but I knew EXACTLY what he left unsaid- or never...

The thought of my predicament made me sick to my stomach- in order for me to live, someone else would have to die. I didn't want- or need- that on my conscience. "Isn't there ANY other way, Doc?" I gasped.

"There IS one... VERY EXPERIMENTAL... procedure being done in a little town called Smoky Corners, Montana. Claims they can cure 100% of your ailments. Uses nanite technology to repair the damage at the genetic and cellular level. But the side effects are, as yet, completely unknown. You could end up completely cured, or you could end up much worse..."

"At this point, Doc," I said matter-of-fact, "What do we really have to lose? Sign me up."

In two hours, I was on a plane overlooking the rich Montana prairie. When we landed, I was escorted to a dark brown limo with "Smoky Corners Memorial" emblazoned in white letters. It was there I met the physician responsible for the marvelous "cure" I was about to undergo- Dr. Hans Komstock.

"You have questions about procedure, yah?" he asked in a thick German accent. "I developed technique during war. Used many times." With that, I noticed thick tears welling up in his eyes. "Too many times, unfortunately. But that was long ago, and I did what I had to to survive. He was a very evil man..." With that, he dabbed at his eyes and became deathly quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, he began again. "You will be alright. Hans make sure. Hans make damn sure..."

We arrived at the hospital just as the last golden rays of sun were replaced by the crimson and maroon clouds of sunset. Dr. Hans (as he asked me to call him) led me to my room and began to explain the procedure.

"Nanites are little machines. They're programmed to detect- and fix- abnormalities in your genetic code. The procedure can be quite painful, so we induce a medical coma. We then infuse you with the nanites, and let them do their work. It usually takes a few weeks, so we'll be giving you IV fluids and such, to keep you alive. When you're awaken from the coma, you will be- literally- a new person, from the genes out."

"And I'll be cured?" I asked, startled.

"Yah," he said, "Right as rain. Although you'll no longer be Jake."

I was puzzled by this last statement, but thought, "What the hell? I don't have much of a life to lose..."

"Go ahead, Doc," I said nonchalantly. "Do what you have to. I'm ready."
~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, I was whisked into the operating room, given the anesthetic, and everything grew dark.
~~~~~~~~~~
I awoke with a start. I felt OK, just different.

"And how's our dear little miss today?" I heard a strange, yet familiarly comforting voice say. "I see you have awakened at last. How do you feel?"

"Wonderful!" I heard a melodic angel sing. Wait! Was that me?

"Yes," Doc Hans said, as if reading my thoughts. "The damage was QUITE EXTENSIVE, unfortunately, and your recovery took longer than expected. Your Y-chromosone had numerous mutations, and the nanites had to eradicate it totally. Having nothing else to work with, they cloned your otherwise perfectly healthy X-chromosone. As the Y-chromosome made you biologically male, its lack has turned you female. And I must say, a very lovely one at that. The nanites completed the biological changes as well, so you are biologically, genetically, and anatomically female. You will have menses, and can give birth as well."

"So Jake is...gone?" I questioned.

"The male you is no more, unfortunately. But you still have all the memories, yes, as well as new ones..." Dr. Hans explained. "I've also corrected all your IDs. It's as if Jake Illson never existed."

"But what am I supposed to do now?" I whined. "I don't know HOW to be a girl."

"Simple, Ms. Jackie. You learn. You grow. Laugh. Play. And yes, even love. Go out into the world and DO all the things you couldn't before. Make friends, attend school. Meet a boy, settle down, raise a family. In short, Ms. Jackie, LIVE. WELL."

With that, I got up, and quickly embraced this man who had given me a new lease on life.

"Yes," I promised. "I'll live. And I'll make every day the best I can..."

 

 

---

 

It all began as any other day. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and my sister and I were fighting. Again.

"All right, that's ENOUGH!" Mom screamed, totally exhausted. "Ginny, go to your room. Roni, come with me. I think it's about time you had a little dose of reality."

And with a firm tug on my ear, I was led into Mom's room, to face my punishment.

"Why do you ALWAYS have to pick on your sister, especially now?" Mom asked.

"I don't know, really," was all I could weakly mutter. "She's just so... so... I don't know. Mean? Crabby? Bossy? I just don't understand her any more. Not since IT happened. It's like she totally changed overnight. We're not as close as we once were, and it's driving me nuts!"

My sister and I had always been close, every since birth. We were fraternal twins, with her being born four-and-a-half minutes before me. We used to do everything together- take walks in the woods, ride bikes, climb trees, dig for worms and go fishing- everything. Yeah, she was a tomboy, and I, her younger brother, was all too happy to keep her that way. But every since IT happened, she's become moody and withdrawn towards me. Almost as if she blames me for getting her period. It's not my fault I was born a boy. Thankfully.

"You know she always has a rough time of it, Son. With the cramps, the pain, everything. You COULD try to be more sympathetic, you know. I suggest you go to your room and think of a way to make it up to her. Until you do, there's going to be NO..." and then she just stopped, mid-sentence.

"No what?" I asked, even though, in my mind, I already knew the answer.

"Just no," was all Mom said. "No phone, no TV, no movies, no video games, and no allowance."

"But Mom!" I wailed. "It's almost Christmas, and I was saving up for that new game I wanted!"

"Right now, Son," Mom said, "your sister is going through a rough time. She hasn't got used to her body changing each month yet. Maybe you could go easier on her. Maybe quit being so selfish and think of HER for a change. You never know. You may even regain some of that special closeness back."

"OK,Mom, I'll try," I conceded, as if I really had a choice.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next day, as I was walking home from school, lost in my thoughts, I took a wrong turn. I found myself in a completely unfamiliar shopping plaza. There were the standard shops- a Subway, a pharmacy, a Dollar Tree, and a mini-mart. Nothing really grabbed my attention- at first. Then, I saw IT- the little curio shop in the corner. And, as if an answer to my prayers, a collector's copy of Mutant Assassins was in the window. I don't know how, as from what I read, the game wasn't scheduled to be released until Christmas Eve- over three weeks away.

"So, you like my display, do you?" a rather gruff voice exclaimed. "Good. I chose it just for you. You can have it- on the house- on one condition..."

"Why are there always conditions?" is what I SHOULD have thought, but at the time, I really didn't care what they were. The one object of my desire lay within my greedy grasp, and I just KNEW I had to have it, regardless of any "conditions".

"Name it," I said, perhaps a little TOO eagerly. "I'll do ANYTHING to have that game!"

"Anything?" the odd man questioned. "Hmm... Perhaps I had better not. It's not healthy for one so young to give up so much for a mere toy..."

"Wait. What?" I said. "I said I'd do ANYTHING, and I meant it. As long as I'm not harmed or have to do something dangerous, that is."

"I can see you're quite eager, lad." he said, stroking his goatee. "All right. Your task is quite simple, really. I want you to wear these moccasins I just made. Try them out, just for 24 hours, and see if you like them. Come back this time tomorrow, to let me know how you liked them, and the game's all yours. Simple, huh?"

I knew there had to be a catch somewhere, but I just couldn't find it, try as I might.

"OK, sure. Whatever," I mumbled as he handed me the package. "But how will I find my way back here? I was lost when I found you this time..."

"No worries," the man laughed. "You'll know how to find me, when the time is right. Sayonara!"

And with that, he pushed me out the door.
~~~~~~~~~~
What else could I do? I started walking back the direction I thought I had come. When I turned around to look back, the entire shopping plaza was gone! I was standing at my bus stop, less than three blocks from home. But how?
~~~~~~~~~~
I ran to my room, just glad to be home. I threw myself on the bed, dropping the shoe box to the floor with a loud THUD in the process.

"Oh, yeah. Right!" I exclaimed. "In the excitement, I'd forgotten about these." I laughed a little as I lifted the lid. Inside was the most beautiful pair of buckskin moccasins I had ever seen!

"I've just GOT to try these babies on!" I thought to myself.

Quickly tearing my Nike's off, I slipped my feet into the soft, leathery shoes. They fit my feet like gloves. I've NEVER had a pair of shoes that felt as comfortable as these did.

Suddenly, my feet- no my entire body- began to get white hot! There was a blinding flash, and I was out.
~~~~~~~~~~
When I came to, about an hour later, I knew something was horribly wrong. There was an uncomfortable pressure- and heaviness- in my chest. Something I hadn't felt prior. I felt flushed all over, and uncomfortably warm. Every fiber of my being ached, from the tip of my head to the soles of my feet.

I felt queasy, as waves of nausea enveloped me, roiling over me as waves of a hurricane-tossed sea are fraught to do. And the cramps! My God! could ANYTHING be THAT painful? It was like someone had tore my insides apart, put them in a blender set to puree, and forgot to turn the blender off! I felt like a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle, with 18 pieces missing!

When I opened my eyes, it was as if I was staring into the sun itself! Searing pain shot through my temples, threatening to split my head in half. Every sound was magnified a thousand times, and the beating of my heart in my ears sounded like great peals of thunder. My ragged breath sounded like cannons!

"Mom!" I cried, because I didn't know what else to do. "I don't feel so good."

Mom came rushing into my room. "Is it the cramps again, dear?" she asked. "Here, these will help." she said, placing two Midol in my hand and handing me a glass of water. "It'll be alright in a few days, Ginny. Just rest. I'll bring supper up in a while."

"Thanks, Mom," I said, as I lay down on the feather-down bed.

Mom kissed me on the forehead and slowly walked away.

"Wait a minute!" I thought. "Did she just call me Ginny? And I don't have a feather bed..."
~~~~~~~~~
The Midol soon took effect, and I fell into a deep, very troubling sleep. I dreamed I was walking in the woods, yet I wasn't really me. I was my sister Ginny instead. I talked the way she talked, thought the thoughts she did, and in every way imaginable, acted the same way she did. For all intents and purposes, I had actually BECOME my sister! But how?

I couldn't shake the disturbing thoughts in my head. "You're ugly. And FAT!!! No one will ever love you... You should just curl up and die. You're useless and unwanted. Unloved..."

I heard a voice in my ear. A voice that sounded vaguely familiar, although I couldn't quite place it.

"Never judge a man until you have walked a mile in his moccasins," it seemed to say.
~~~~~~~~~~
I awoke with a start, my body drenched in cold sweat. It had all been a dream. Or had it? I quickly got up and ran to my bathroom to check. A cursury glance in the mirror ended my fears. I was still me.

Washing my face, I quickly went back to my room. this time, I slept soundly, and had no further dreams.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, I quickly got dressed and left the house, determined to make things right with Ginny. But first, I had to return the moccasins to that strange little man...
~~~~~~~~~~
I tried to retrace my steps of yesterday, and soon found myself again on Mulberry Street, facing the curio shop.

"So, the grasshopper has returned," the man mused. And raising his arms above his head, he made the moccasins disappear. In their place were- once again- my Nike's.

"As promised, your game. And a little something extra, for your sister. Merry Christmas, Roni."

"Just who are you, anyway?" I asked.

"A friend," the man smiled. "Kato Chigiri. Come. Have a cup of tea..."

He motioned me to a tea cozy in the corner, and pointed to a velvet cushion sitting on a bamboo tamani mat. He offered me a jade cup with some steaming amber liquid inside. I cautiously took a sip...
~~~~~~~~~~
And with that, I was back in my bedroom. "Dinner!" I heard Mom yell at the foot of the stairs.

"Be right down!" I yelled back. But first, I needed to take care of something...

I grasped the earring box firmly in my hand as I knocked on my sister's door.

"It's open," she said, through her tears.

"Hey sis," I said, trying to comfort her. "I know lately I've been a real ass. I'm sorry. I never gave a thought as to what you might be going through. Can you forgive me?"

I handed her the box, and as she opened it, she began to smile- the first smile I'd seen from her in months.

For inside the box were two dainty earrings- a male and female angel.

"They're beautiful, Roni," she wept, as we hugged in a tearful embrace.

Any Way the Wind Blows
(c) 2017
Haylee V

Our dear Ms. Dorothy finds herself once again transported to a very magical place- only this time, it's not Oz, and the wizard is a short, bespectacled Asian shopkeeper we all know and love
=========================================
It was early Sunday morning, and Dorothy Colleen was doing some light dusting of her many civic trophies before preparing for church. She had been awarded yet another citation for her bravery and heroism for saving the life of one of the city's most prominent citizens: Mark Richards. Winded by her activity, she slumped in the chaise lounger, beat. Another job well done!

Suddenly, she was accosted by a wind most foul, and found herself in the direct center- the eye, if you will- of an evil-looking cyclone. Quickly grabbing her favorite hugglebug, she exclaimed, "Whatever will I do, Toto? I fear I'll no longer be in Kansas when I'm done..."

As quickly as it came, the devilish twister abated, depositing her gently on the oaken floor of what appeared to be a quaint little curio shop. Still in her stocking-feet, she quickly walked over to a tea service she saw in the corner and sat on one of the lush velvety cushions she saw there. She was startled to hear the strange voice of her host...

"Konbawa, Dorothy-hime. And welcome to my shop...and Smoky Corners. I am Kato Chigiri. Please, join me for some tea..."

Having nothing better to do at the moment, and sensing no immediate danger from the funny little Asian man, she happily obliged, taking the proffered jade cup in her delicate hands.

"I have seen your many acts of random kindness, and heard your silent pleas to be that which you truly are, yet Nature did not grant. I believe I can help, at least in that regard."

Reaching for a step-stool, he quickly strolled to a high maple shelf in the back of the shop. Reaching delicately to the very top shelf, he removed a small ebony box and placed it on the table before her. The golden etchings shone in the faint sunlight that was seeping in from the windowpane, and she felt herself eerily drawn to the strange object.

"Open it," Chigiri implored. "And know, at last, your TRUE DESTINY."

Dorothy fumbled clumsily at the silver latch, but finally managed to open the strange box. Inside, she found a gorgeous jade cameo brooch.

"A reward, my dear plum blossom. For few have the compassion to wear it, and it has chosen you to bestow its magicks upon. Hurry and pin it to your blouse, as church beckons."

She donned the brooch carefully, and thanked the strange Chigiri. He bowed, and she found herself, once again, on the chaise. She went in the bathroom to change and make herself presentable.

As she was undressing, she began feeling the brooch's effects as the duckling outside began to morph into the swan within.

"Thank you," she whispered, as she realized her years of prayers had FINALLY been answered.

"Be honorable and honored, Dorothy-hime," was the only response...

The End???

Hi. My name is Ronald Bailey, but everyone calls me Roni. I live in Smoky Corners, Montana. It's a nice, typical small western town, founded by the Sioux, I believe. Nothing unusual ever happens here... at least on the surface. But, if you happen to find yourself on Mulberry Street, 239, standing in front of a quaint little curio shop, ran by an old, bearded Asian man named Kato Chigiri, you may find more than you bargained for. And EXACTLY what you need...

~~~~~~~~~~

It's been about three months since I first met Mr. Kato, but a lot has changed since that day. For one, my sister Ginny and I have once again re-kindled that closeness that only twins can share. I still don't know everything that happened to me, and am still debating in my mind if it actually happened, or if it was all just some kind of very lucid dream.Anywho, on with my story...

It was a crisp February day as I walked up DeLaney Avenue to school. The snow was beginning to melt- finally!- and there was a certain warmth to the air. I knew in my heart of hearts that Spring was just around the corner.

I was about a block away from Cass Elliott Junior High when I heard the commotion. It seems Slade and his boys were at it again, picking on another undeserving student. For what, however, I didn't have a clue.

"Look at the sissy fag!" I heard Billy say. "Decked out in pink and blue. Did mommy's little sissy dress herself today? Aww, how cute. She's starting to cry."

"Yeah," Johnny exclaimed. "Only sissies wear pink. What's your name, shrimp? Bet it's something really girly. I mean, just look at the face and hair..."

"K-K-K-Kim..." I heard the terrified youngster stutter. "Kim Cheung."

"Hey Johnny! You were right. The little sissy really DOES have a girl's name!" laughed Slade, the unofficial 'leader' of this gang of miscreants. "Kimberly..."

"Knock it off, guys!" I yelled. "And leave him alone. You KNOW what will happen to you if you don't." (Hey, when your Mom's the principal, and your father's the Chief of Police, no one- or in this case three- can intimidate you for long.

"Jeez, Roni. We were just having a little fun. Then you had to butt in. C'mon, guys. We're leaving- for now. See ya around, Kimmie..." And with that, Slade released his hold of the terror-struck youth and led his 'gang' inside for homeroom.

~~~~~~~~~~

As they left, I saw Kim slump, defeated, to the ground. Large, wet tears were beginning to form in his eyes.

"Hey! You OK?" I said awkwardly. Seeing someone break down in front of you- especially another guy- was quite unnerving.

"N-n-n-no!" he stammered, as the tears fell.

I didn't know what to do, so I just put my arms around him and held him, letting him cry himself out.

After a few, very awkward (for me, at least) moments, his sobs began to subside.

"Th-th-th-thanks," he stammered, still choking from the occasional sob. "My name's Kim Jook Cheung. I just moved here. You're very kind."

"No sweat," I shrugged. "So, where were you from? I mean before you moved here? And what's with the t-shirt? Hello Kitty IS a little girly, after all..."

"You must forgive me," he said, in near perfect English. "I came from Cambodia. The shirt was my sister's. She..."

With this, the tears began to well up again in his eyes.

"Excuse me, please. It's hard..." he whispered, getting eerily quiet.

And for the second time, I found myself caressing this complete stranger, as sobs wracked his petite frame. "Easy there," I cooed, soothingly. "It's going to be alright."

It seemed like hours as I sat, awkwardly holding Kim, waiting for his sobs to subside, even though it was probably just a few minutes.

"I had no choice. I had to leave her THERE. They would have killed us BOTH if I had resisted. Mei, unfortunately, didn't make it out of our camp. This shirt, and the locket that went with it, were all I had left to remind me of her. But I lost the locket this morning, as I was crossing Mulberry Street..."

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "I'm so sorry. Here. Let me help you up. My Mom's the principal here. We'll go get you cleaned up, and then I'll see what else I can do to help."

~~~~~~~~~~

With that, I gingerly helped Kim to his feet, and we began walking, albeit slowly, to my mom's office.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hmm...," Mom said, as we walked into her enormous office. Mom motioned for us to have a seat in the wing-backed chairs at the side of her desk. "And who's your friend, Roni?"

"Oh, this is Kim," I said with a start. "Just another victim of Slade's Screwballs. Man, would I like to put him and his cronies in their places one day!"

Mom jumped as my fist came slamming down on the oaken desk- maybe a little TOO hard.

"Let me handle that, honey," Mom said. "After all, I AM the principal. You know where the first aid kit is, and the keys to the medicine cabinet. When you're through with that, take your friend to the 'Castoff Closet'. Maybe something there will fit him, and be a little more... appropriate... for a boy his age to wear. And talk with Cicelia when you're done. The two of you will need passes to get to class, as second period is about halfway over. I assume you'll both be going STRAIGHT to Mr. Oswell's gym class when you're done?"

I mumbled my thanks to Mom as I headed out the door and down the hall to the nurse's station. You know, since Mom got her new job here in August, I spend WAY TOO MUCH of my time here...

~~~~~~~~~~

Fortunately, when we arrived at the nurse's office, Janice was out. I took the keys from her safety spot under the desk and unlocked the cabinet.

"Let's see... Adhesive strips, gauze, astringent, ibuprofen... Yep, everything I need."

I went around the corner of the office and opened what Mom and I call the 'Castoff Closet'. From the looks of him, I took Kim to be roughly the same size as I was- a 12-13 small. "Hmm... I whispered to myself silently. I think these should fit." I pulled out an Aerosmith t-shirt and what appeared to be a very faded pair of jeans,

"First, let me look at those cuts and bruises," I said. "Go sit on the bed over there. You'll have to remove your shirt, I'm afraid. I'm sure Mom can get the stains out tonight. But you'll have to wear these in the mean time."

I smiled weakly as I handed him the outfit. Meekly, and with his head bowed low, Kim trudged to the bed. I watched him carefully peel his beloved shirt off and fold it neatly beside him. As he turned his back to me, I began to notice all the scars on his back.

"Oh my Gawd!!!" I nearly shouted, as my mind could scarcely contain the horrors I was seeing. "What in the Nine Hells happened???"

Kim quickly donned the shirt, and turned to face me, slipping with a PLOP! onto the bed as he did so.

"The General and his men..." Kim started. "Sometimes, when I resisted... They beat and whipped me. I learned quickly to behave. But sometimes, when they drank, I forgot my place..."

"How horrible!" I exclaim, rushing to him. "And your sister? Did they beat her, too?"

"Much worse. She had never before known a man. The General claimed her for his own. When she refused, he took her away. I never saw her again... alive."

~~~~~~~~~~

I felt anger well up inside me, as hot as a nuclear blast. "He, too, shall pay. One day..." And it couldn't happen too soon for my liking.

I dressed the scrapes and bruises as best I could, given my level of first aid training (The Boy Scouts ARE useful for some things, after all...), but inside, I fumed silently. "Would man's cruelty and injustice to his fellow man EVER cease?" I wondered to myself silently. Funny, before I donned those moccasins, I could have cared less about man's inhumanity to man. I wonder if it's a side effect of the constant exposure to Mr. K's magicks???

Fortunately, I now had my anger firmly in check, as bandaging Kim had calmed my rage somewhat. "Well, that's as good as it's going to get, for now," I exhaled. "But I think we should see Mom again before we attempt to go to class. I need to... discuss... a few things with her in private. Come along."

With that, I helped Kim off the bed and to his feet, and gently took his hand. He, surprisingly, offered little resistance.

"Thank you," he said quite meekly. "I'll follow."

We slowly began our trek to the main office. The bell ending second period was just sounding.

~~~~~~~~~~

As we entered the office, I saw Mom talking on the phone in hushed tones. I motioned to her that I needed to talk, and she ushered the two of us in, again. I held up a finger, shook my head, and then pointed to myself. She nodded in approval. I then motioned for Kim to have a seat at Cicelia's desk, just outside. "I just need a few moments," I explained. "Please wait out here for me."

Kim grudgingly let go of my hand, and took a seat outside, dejectedly. I saw his head lower, as in defeat. I threw him a quick, reassuring smile, then ducked behind the oaken door, closing it slowly behind me. I felt Kim didn't need the added embarrassment, and what I had to convey to Mom seemed VERY personal and private.

As I sat, she slowly returned the phone to its cradle. "That was your father, dear. I informed him of Slade's shenanigans. Now, just what, EXACTLY, is going on???"

I didn't really know where to begin. What I had just seen, and the things I had heard from Kim, were just to horrific to put into coherent and complete sentences.

"Mom," I said hurriedly, "I don't think Kim should go to gym today. Or for a while, in fact. I can't really explain. Just trust me on this, OK? I think, maybe, I should just take him home- for now. He needs...time... to adjust and acclimate himself to his new surroundings."

"Hmm," Mom said, quizzically. "Your request is... I must say... unusual. But since you USUALLY don't cut classes, I'll assume it's something important. OK, I'll inform the staff. But what will you do AFTER you've taken him home?" Mom asked.

"I don't know," I said, truthfully. "But I DO need to see Mr. Kato today anyway. Maybe he has some advice I could use."

"Just call me when you're done," Mom said. "And try to be home in time for supper, dear. Your sister and I miss you, and with your father on assignment, we..." She drifted off after that. I decided to let it go, and politely excused myself. Mom has enough on her plate right now to worry about. I DON'T want to add my problems to her ever-growing list.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kim was just sitting there in silence, staring down at the cracked linoleum tiles. I had to admit, a small piece of my heart went out to him.

"Come on," I said to him, as I lifted his chin to my face. "Let's get you home."

~~~~~~~~~~
"We're home," was all he said as he fished for the keys. "You can go now. I'll be OK. We can talk later."

"Are you SURE you'll be OK? I COULD stay, you know..."

Kim waved me off dismissively. "I said you can go. Everything's OK."

With that, he opened the door, quickly went inside, and closed and locked the door behind him. I was left alone in the driveway, wondering just what had happened.

~~~~~~~~~~

I stood there for a few minutes, pondering the recent turn of events, then slowly shrugged. I mean, what could I do, really? He said he was OK, so I guess I had to leave it at that. "Just one more thing to ask Mr. Kato about," I thought silently to myself.

~~~~~~~~~~

I turned, and began my trek back up Delaney, headed to Mulberry Street, 239. "Maybe soon." I thought to myself, "I'll have the answers I need to a few questions."

In the distance, the sky was beginning to darken, and I shuddered as a cool breeze began to blow. To the west, I distinctly heard a peal of thunder, as lightning flashed in the sky just over the horizon. I thought it would benefit me greatly if I picked up my pace.

~~~~~~~~~~

I quickly made it to Mulberry Street, and I ducked inside Mr Kato's shop, just as the storm unleashed its full fury on the unsuspecting town.

"Ah, Grasshopper," Mr. Kato exclaimed. "Come. Sit. Have some tea, and tell me what troubles you so."

I bowed to him, and slowly removed my Nike's, placing them carefully in the corner, as always. I slipped on my moccasins (yes, the same ones as before), and shuffled quickly over to the tea cozy in the corner, where Mr. Kato already sat, legs folded, on his cushion.

~~~~~~~~~~

As we casually sipped our tea, I began to relay the day's events to Mr. K. He said nothing, as usual, but I'm sure he was listening quite intently as the developments unfolded.

As I finished, he rose- slowly- and began stroking his goatee, as if deep in thought. "Come!" he said. "It's time you sweetened the dung heap."

I looked at him, thoroughly and completely confused.

"My speech troubles you, young Grasshopper? I merely meant that to catch the fly, one cannot use vinegar, as you've been doing up until now. You need to, as you Americans are so fond of saying, 'sweeten the pot' with a little honey. Here we are..."

He turned to the jewelry case. Opening it, he proceeded to withdraw three heavy, herringbone gold chains that I could have sworn WEREN'T THERE when I entered the shop. Each had a giant, emerald and ruby encrusted medallion on it, in the shape of a huge triangle. The jewels set upon it clearly spelled out the letters A S.

"This Slade and his friends- they like the rock & roll music, yes?" Mr. K said, questioningly.

"Of course, Mr. K. Who my age doesn't?" I chuckled at such an obvious question.

"And they're fond of the... how do you say it?... BLING, no?"

"I guess so. Why?" I asked.

"Perfect!" Mr. Kato exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Then these are JUST what you need. Take them, and give one to each of them tomorrow. I assure you, there will be NO further trouble..."

I carefully took the proffered items from him. Having experienced his 'solutions' first hand (That really did happen with the moccasins, didn't it?), I was a little gun-shy of handling any more of his 'curios' unprotected.

Mr. K saw my apprehension, and laughed heartily. "I assure you, young Roni. You ARE NOT the target- this time..."

And with that, I found myself back in my bedroom. Funny how I never feel his teleportation magick at work...

~~~~~~~~~~

I awoke the next morning, feeling oddly refreshed and invigorated. (Funny how magick's residual effects always make me feel that way. You'd think I'd be used to it by now...)

I quickly donned my school gear, chased down my books, and gathered the necklaces. Two pieces of jelly toast and a tall glass of O. J. later, and I was out the door, headed towards good ol' CEJH.

When I arrived, Slade and company were holding up the north wall, as usual, looking for yet another unsuspecting student to victimize. I was NOT about to let that happen today.

"Morning, Slade," I called out, perhaps a bit too cheerily. "Torture any stray animals lately?"

Slade just glared at me menacingly. "What do you want, Roni?" he growled.

"Oh, nothing much. I just come bearing gifts for you and your gang... And a tiny request."

"So, give already," Slade said.

I handed out the necklaces, as Mr. K. had instructed me.

"Damn, man, these are HEAVY. Is that REAL GOLD?" Billy shrieked.

"Only the BEST for my... friends," I lied. I hope I sounded convincing, even though the words felt like battery acid on my tongue.

"What's the catch?" asked Slade.

"Nothing!" I said smoothly. "They're all yours, free. Just lay off Kim for a while, OK?"

"You mean the prissy fag in the Hello Kitty shirt? Sure. That was getting old, anyway," Johnny exclaimed,as he fastened the chain around his beefy maul.

And with that, I went to homeroom, leaving all three of them, for once, dumbstruck.

"We really gonna lay off the little fag-boy, Slade?" I heard Billy and Johnny ask in unison. I, unfortunately, didn't wait around to hear what Slade muttered in return.

~~~~~~~~~~

The day passed pretty uneventfully after that. When the last bell sounded at 3:30, I grabbed up my things and headed to Mom's office.

"I think I'll check up on Kim before going home," I told Mom. "I may be a little late tonight."

"OK, dear," Mom said. "Just call if you need me or anything."

~~~~~~~~~~

I hurried to Kim's clapboard, anxiety beginning to set in. "God," I prayed silently, "Please let him be OK."

As it turned out, Kim was MORE than OK. I found him in his backyard, practicing what appeared to be some form of martial arts. He didn't notice me in the shadows, as his back was towards me, and he was oddly focused on his drilling. I watched him, in dead silence, for about half an hour, and just couldn't comprehend how fluid and focused he appeared. "Was this the same terrified kid I befriended just two short days ago?" I wondered...

As he finished, he reached for a towel nearby to wipe the sweat from his brow. I must have startled him, for he jumped back in surprise when he saw me.

"Sorry, Kim," I laughed. "Didn't mean to startle you. Wow! You're pretty good. Just what was that I was watching just now?"

"Jeet kuun do," Kim explained. "Bruce Lee's dragon form, to be precise. Why do you ask? And what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Just curious," I said. "And you said we'd talk later. I figure 48 hours constitutes a 'later' to me... And where did you learn those moves?"

"My father was yakuza for the Japanese embassy in Phnom Penh. We were... required... to know CERTAIN THINGS. For our own safety... But that was BEFORE the General seized control of the country."

"Come inside," Kim said. "I'll tell you everything I remember."

~~~~~~~~~~

I was amazed by the cleanliness of the house, as well as its overall layout. For such a small and confined space, everything appeared immaculate and well-ordered. "You live here, alone?" I asked. "How can you afford it? Or food, utilities, and everything else you need?"

"As I said," Kim began, "My father was yakuza. It's an organization similar to your American mafia. My... connections... help out, some. And I learned a long time ago how to live within my means... regardless of how meager they may be. Now sit," he said, motioning me to a partially flattened bean bag chair.

"You'll have to forgive me, my friend. I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of PROPER furnishings. I only buy what I need, and more than one chair or bed was, in my opinion, a luxury I didn't need."

"No prob," I said. "It's actually quite comfy."

"As always, you're too kind. Tea?" Kim offered, but I politely refused. To put it frankly, I was more interested- and concerned- with Kim and his current situation than I was about being social.

Putting the carafe aside, he began. "I was raised, along with my sister, in the embassy, where I lived with my father and my mother. The four of us led pretty sheltered lives. Dad, as I said, did 'security' for the prime minister and his staff, and Mom pretty much just helped school us in the varied disciplines required of a yakuza's offspring. I was reading and writing Khmer at three, and Japanese by the time I was five. Mom hired an English tutor when I was seven, who lived with us until the coup three years later. THAT'S when my life, as I knew it, officially ended."

Kim spat as he said these last few words, the utter hatred in his voice quite obvious, even to a blind person...

"When Norodom Sihanouk ascended to the throne in 1993, Father officially became an exile. Mother, Mei, and I were to be sent to a labor camp in Kompong Som. When Mother refused to leave the embassy, she was beheaded right before our eyes. Fearing for our lives as well, Mei and I quickly acquiesced. Once we reached Kompong Som, our nightmare truly began."

"Mei, because of her beauty, was taken to be a consort to Shanouk and his court, but she somehow escaped during transport back to Phnom Penh. I wasn't so lucky. I was forced to work the rice paddies, and was beaten quite frequently, often for no reason at all. When I passed out in the fields one day, probably from hunger and my excessive beatings, I was allowed to rest on a cot in the Buddhist shrine. It was then I decided to plot my escape from that tortured gulag..."

At this point, Kim stopped,to take a drink of his tea and collect his thoughts. After a few minutes of dead silence, I gingerly urged him to continue his narrative.

"Sorry," Kim said. "now where was I? Oh, right. The temple..."

"While I was lying on the cot, pretending to be asleep, I overheard the guards talking about an envoy that was coming to transport rice to the castle. I knew this might be my only chance to escape, and possibly reconnect with my sister, so I HAD to be ready. I waited until almost midnight, then silently snuck outside. Fortunately, no one was awake, and I was able to see the transport vehicle by the light of the moon. I lifted the tarp and hid among the many bags of rice, where I remained until dawn."

"Just as the roosters were beginning to crow, I felt the vehicle lurch forward. I could begin to feel the sun's rays warming us, and knew it must be early morning. After being jostled around for what seemed like hours, I felt the vehicle stop. I could hear the driver talking to someone nearby. Apparently, we had stopped so he could grab a bite at a local eatery. We were about 100 miles from the capital. I figured it was now or never, and quickly left my covered spot, hiding in a nearby water cistern until I heard the vehicle leave."

"I slowly and cautiously crawled from my hiding spot, but luckily, no one took any notice of me. I borrowed a bicycle I found nearby, and began pedaling northward. I had heard that Mei was in Samrong, so I sent word to one of my Father's associates that I would meet Mei there Unfortunately, I was to find that he was a traitor to my cause, and deep in the royal pockets."

" I arrived in Samrong just as the sun was beginning to set, and quickly made my way to our selected rendezvous point, the Well of Shadows. I cannot tell you how my heart leaped when I saw Mei! I started to run towards her, but then I caught the look of terror in her eyes. She moved to the right, and I saw the General behind her, with his service revolver drawn. Gozanai, my 'contact', was by his side, an evil grin plastered on his face. It was then that I blacked out."

"When I awoke. I was in a detention camp, my wrists and ankles bound. Mei lay on a tamani mat beside me. When I nudged her, she awoke with a start. About five minutes later, a guard came to untie me, and led us both before the General. He agreed to let me go, if Mei became his concubine. The rest of her sad story, you already know."

"When he brought her decapitated body to me, I could not bring myself to weep for her. I buried her under that accursed tamani mat in the compound. When the guards fell asleep that night, I stole a motorbike and headed towards the shore. I saw a ship headed for Osaka and .hid in a life boat. Eventually, I made my way to the United States, and with the help of the INS, was transferred here."

I blinked in disbelief as he finished his tale, fighting back tears that, if I allowed them, would drown me in his sorrow.

"One thing I don't understand, though.," I said. "If you know Bruce Lee's moves, then why didn't you defend yourself against Slade You could have EASILY put him- and the others- in their places, PERMANENTLY."

"My friend," he began, "Don't you think I have fought enough? Besides,when one is constantly subjected to torture, one quickly learns just to silently bear it inside and not to break. The torture, after all, eventually ends. Or you do. Either way, you win in the end."

I was beginning to understand what drove Kim to do the things he did- sheer willingness to survive. I didn't know, yet, what Mr. K. had up his sleeves with the necklaces, but I hoped secretly that Slade and the boys got their just desserts.
~~~~~~~~~~
I thanked Kim for trusting me enough to reveal his story to me. Then, after ensuring that he would, indeed, be OK, I left. I had a lot to think about as I slowly walked home...
~~~~~~~~~~
I was putting on my PJ's that night when I thought I heard, distinctly, Slade and his boys screaming for mercy A smile crossed my lips as I thought of how the magick must be working its charms. I then fell asleep, to a most lucid dream...
~~~~~~~~~~
I dream that I'm in a Cambodian rice paddy. It's the early 1990s, and I'm wearing a general's uniform and brandishing a Luger semi-automatic.. At my feet sleep three very beautiful women. Women who bear striking similarities to three miscreants I know- and detest. Slade, Billy, and Johnny. I point my pistol in their general direction, and begin shouting, in perfect Khmer:

Phnheak pi krng khchel k'doi! (Wake up, you lazy cunts!)
Vea chea pelvelea daembi choi! (It's time to fuck!)
Choi ryy​ slab gurta! (Fuck or die, bitches!)

Funny, though. Before I fell asleep, I didn't know ANY foreign languages, let alone was I able to speak one with this much authority...

They slowly wake up, as I continue to shout my demands to them. As they begin to understand what I'm asking, they turn pale, and fear (or is it sheer terror?) overwhelms them.

I hear the woman who resembles Slade say "But we're NOT women. We don't belong here!" But her voice chokes in her throat as she realizes the soft femininity in her own voice.

"But how?" says 'Billy".

"And why?" questions 'Johnny'.

I fire off a shot at their feet. I don't like answering questions posed by stupid women, and I DAMN SURE hate repeating my demands to them. I fire another shot, and it just grazes 'Slade's" forehead. My next shot will not miss, I indicate.

All three women begin weeping uncontrollably. Slowly, they begin to undress. I've finally made my point to them.

Suddenly, Kim walks in, arm in arm with a strikingly beautiful raven-haired vixen.

"All is ready for transport, General," he says, bowing. "And Mei wishes to accompany you to Phnom Pehn this morning."

I lower my weapon and hand it to Kim, as I lean over to embrace my beloved Mei. "But of course, my love. Are you planning to visit the market today with Ginny? How long has it been since the two of you last had an outing together?"

The women stop crying as my lieutenant, Bei Fong slaps 'Slade", hard. "Be silent before your master, dog!" He kicks 'Billy' in the chest and pushes 'Johnny' roughly aside. "New whores!" he spits. "Never know their PROPER place. You should just shoot them all and be done with them, General."

Kim aims the pistol and gives me an inquisitive look, his eyes just BEGGING me to allow him to fire...
~~~~~~~~~~
I awake with a start, in a cold sweat. My body shivers uncontrollably as I come back to reality. It all seemed so real...
~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, I'm turning the corner on DeLaney, about to cross the gate leading to CEJH. Funny, I don't recall it ever being THIS quiet before.

As I reach the north wall, it slowly dawns on me what's amiss. Slade and his gang are nowhere to be found, "Strange!" I think to myself, as I see Ginny coming towards me.
~~~~~~~~~~
"You'll never guess what just happened!" she gushes breathlessly. I notice she's wearing a pink and blue locket around her neck, with a charm that, oddly enough, resembles Hello Kitty. In her hand are three triangular pendants that resemble the ones I gave the 'Screwballs'.

"Mr. K. gave me the locket," she said. "He said you'd know what to do with these pendants, when the time comes."

Placing the lockets in my cupped hands, she turns, and skips away, running right into Kim as she does so.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Excuse me!" she blushes.

"That's quite alright," Kim says. "Say, that's a beautiful locket you have on. My sister Mei used to have one just like it."

"I know," Ginny says, matter-of-fact, as she winks seductively at him. Suddenly, her hair darkens to jet black, and her face becomes paler in complexion, as her eyes take on a very Asiatic slant and she begins to shrink. "I love you, dear brother," she whispers. "Never forget me." With that, the locket falls from her neck and disintegrates into dust...
~~~~~~~~~~
Where once Ginny, in the guise of Mei Tihk Cheung, stood, there are now four very well endowed young ladies. Ginny, of course, I already knew. but who were these other three?

"Allow me to introduce my new friends," Ginny starts. "Meet Sasha, Barbara, and Joan..."

Author's note:

Although this is, technically, my FIFTH story in the series, it should PROPERLY be placed between "Second Mile" and "Third Time" chronologically. This is a 'fleshing out' story, meant to fill in some obvious gaps, and will explain a few things and bring the readers up to speed.
~~~~~~~~~~
"I never thought I would ever see her again," Kim thought as he locked the door to his ramshackle clapboard. "Or recall that HELL I lived through. Everything just happened so fast. What with meeting Roni and all. I wonder if I'm really up to this?"

"But I HAVE TO KNOW. Did I REALLY just see my sister Mei? Roni PROMISED me he'd explain everything. TODAY, I'm having him make good on his promise."
~~~~~~~~~~
I glanced at the note Roni had slipped into my pocket Tuesday. "Meet me Saturday, 10:30 AM sharp, at 239 Mulberry Street. There's a little curio shop in the eastern corner of the shopping plaza. Meet me inside. I'll explain everything there then, and will, at last, hopefully answer all the questions I KNOW you must have."

I reached the corner, and turned north on DeLaney Avenue. Mulberry Street was six blocks up, so I had a little time to think to myself, and reflect on the recent events that pervaded my mind. My whole body was unusually tense, as I looked forward, with a great amount of foreboding and dread, to what was about to transpire. "Do I REALLY want to know what's going on" I thought. "After all, they say ignorance IS bliss, and after the hell I've been through lately, I could use a little happiness in my life..."

I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I almost missed the turn. Fortunately, I caught the street sign out of the corner of my eye in the nick of time. I turned right onto Mulberry, and immediately saw the shopping plaza in question.
~~~~~~~~~~
As I entered the shop, I was taken aback by the sights and smells I beheld! The shelves were lined with all sorts of items for the ninja: from Chinese smoke bombs to curare-tipped shuriken, three-pronged sai to full katana and wazikashi. A rack of shozoku stood in the corner, and the smells of sandalwood and Chinese five-spice were wafting on the air. I felt- eerily- like I was HOME.

A tea cozy was set up in the far right corner, along with three tamani mats, complete with the appropriate cushions. A cubby was set up by the door, and I could see a pair of white Nike's in one of the compartments. A box of slip-on cotton uwazouri lay beside the cubby. From my years living at the embassy, I knew the drill well. I had entered the genkan. I carefully took off my Keds, and placed them in one of the cubby's slots, being mindful to point the toes of my sneakers toward the door and outside. I then grabbed a pair of uwazouri my size and gently slipped them on my feet.

As I was doing all of this, with my attention otherwise averted, I didn't see the strange little man enter the room from the back. "Ah, I see the dragon has finally arrived," the man stated, matter-of-fact. "Come, Kim. Sit. The tea is almost ready."

His voice, so gentle, yet authoritative, startled me back to reality. And yet, it sounded eerily familiar to me, as a rush of memories came flooding back to me. And then, it all clicked!

"Master Chigiri!" I squealed, unable to contain my enthusiasm. It seemed as if I were no longer fighting my battles alone. My psyche warmed to know that my mentor and friend, once thought forever lost to me, had at long last returned!
~~~~~~~~~~
Mr. K. motioned towards a cushion that sat on the floor, on top of a faded tamani mat. I quickly took a seat, and grasped the proffered jade cup.

"You remembered JUST how I like it," I said, as the gentle warming scents of cinnamon and jasmine reached my nostrils. "Oolong. Strong, but not bitter. With just a touch of honey- not enough to make it overly sweet, mind you, but just enough to make it palatable."

I closed my eyes and took a deep sip of the tepid amber liquid.

"You've met my apprentice, Roni, no?" he asked.

"Apprentice?" I questioned. "Then he has awakened?"

"Yes... and no." came the reply. "He is AWARE that magick exists, and has even benefited from some of its residual effects. But he has not awakened the power within- yet. He just simply can't seem to fathom that HE can wield such immense power unaided. I've given him the moccasins, and the earrings, but he has yet to master either of them fully. That, I strongly suspect, will come in time..."

"And the girl? Who, EXACTLY, is SHE?" I asked. "You know she can channel Mei."

"Ah, the locust blossom. That is Ginny, his twin sister. No, she has not even the inkling magick exists. I plan to meet with her soon, though. The time for her awakening approaches quickly."

"How soon, Chi? I grow weary of this body. It is weak and helpless, and I long to once again stretch forth my wings to the skies..."

"Silence, Chien Lung!" Mr. K. admonished. "Your 'host' is far from ready to work THAT KIND of magick. Besides, you KNOW you cannot freely walk this plane without Liu Kang by your side. And her 'host', sadly, is no longer of this world."

"But NOTHING is impossible, Chi. We just need the Phoenix Breath is all."

"Roni is not ready to wield it- not yet anyway. And we still must find Mei's remains, and a suitable host for THEM before we can weave the reunification spell that will draw Mei back..."

"How long, Master Chi? The balance is shifting. I can feel it. Soon, the rogues will appear..."

"I know," Mr. K. said. "I just pray there is time..."

"I see time, like the tea, has gone, my friend. I bid you sayonara."
~~~~~~~~~~
Kim awoke with a start. The dream had troubled him, even though he could not recall in the slightest what it had been about. He quickly rose from the bed, went to the sink to splash some water on his face, and changed into his school clothes. Grabbing a piece of toast and his books, he quickly left, heading up Centre Street towards DeLaney. And, he hoped, some answers...
~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey, Chief! Take a look at THIS!" Jack called. "Isn't THAT a little weird?"

Daniel Bailey had just arrived on the scene of what appeared, for all practical purposes, to be just another routine arson. Why Captain Donahue and his men at the fire department needed to drag him out here for something so mundane was beyond his comprehension. Since becoming Police Chief, though, it seems as if he was called out on EVERY case, no matter how trivial.

"Whatcha got, Jack?" he asked.

"It may be nothing, Chief," Jack started, "But look..."

He pointed to a bare spot on the ground, about eighteen inches in diameter. All around it were signs of the intense fire of just a few hours ago. Smoldering timbers, piles of ashes, and pools of inky black water lay scattered about, and the stagnant smell of the acrid smoke still lingered in the air. But here, in the confines of this circle, everything appeared remarkably untouched. No lingering smell of smoke, no ash- not even a burn or scorch mark could be found. And there, in the exact center of the circle, STOOD one lone, grayish-white feather, as if someone had planted it there.
~~~~~~~~~~
I carefully placed gloves on my hands and bent down to retrieve the lone feather. As I picked it up, I felt the intense heat it radiated, and noticed the crimson fire it held deep within, as it sparkled in the sunlight. "Damn!" I thought to myself. "The cycle begins again..."

Just then, Dave Donahue showed up, shaking me loose of my thoughts.

"Whatcha got there, Dan?" he asked. "A clue?"

"It's just a feather, Dave," I replied. "But it may have trace evidence. OK, boys," I yelled. "Let's secure the area and let forensics do their thing. We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

"Right, Chief," they chorused, as I made my way back to the cruiser. "I hope this isn't what I think it is..." was all I could think as I drove silently back to headquarters.
~~~~~~~~~~
I was just finishing my lunch the next day when Dean walked in with the report. I quickly tore it from his hand.

"Hey!" he cried. "Leave some skin at least!"

"Sorry," I muttered, halfheartedly as I ripped the envelope open. I didn't notice the index card that fluttered to the carpet.

"Bad news?" Dean asked, as he noticed the scowl on my face as I read the report.

"Arson, indeterminate cause. Unknown accelerant. Non-ketone, non-hydrocarbon. Possibly petroleum-based. Burning fraction higher than napalm. Possible terrorist activity. Referred to Homeland Security for further investigation."

"Well," Dean exhaled. "Seems like it's out of our hands. Hey!" he paused. "What's this?"

He picked up the card and handed it to me. I glimpsed it briefly, and my face went pale.

"Umm..." I stammered. "It's nothing that should concern you, Dean. I'm sure you're quite busy, so if you'll excuse me..." and I ushered him to the door.

I heard him mutter, "Damn near rips my fucking arm off, and it's nothing?" as he shut the door behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~
I read the card again:

"Feather. Gray-white. Species: Ave vulcanis. Previously thought extinct. Referred to Smithsonian Archaeology Department for review."

"Great!" I thought to myself. "Not only am I going to have the Feds and Washington eggheads riding my ass, but I have a goddamn phoenix on my hands as well. I thought I left all this behind when I got off that stinking island..."
~~~~~~~~~~
Just then, my phone rang, releasing me from my thoughts.

"Is this Chief Bailey? Daniel Bailey?" the voice echoed over the line.

"Yeah. Who wants to know?" I answered nonchalantly.

"This is Inspector Tom Ridge, from the Department of Homeland Security. We need to talk..."

With that, the phone went dead, as the fax machine hummed to life. In less than a minute, it had spat out a detailed map of the local area, with a big red 'x' over my house.

The phone then rang again.

"Fifteen minutes," it said, and died again.
~~~~~~~~~~
I must have been flying pretty low as I tore up Centre towards DeLaney and home. Yet I didn't encounter a single car on the well-traveled road. Even more remarkably, I caught every single light (and there were dozens) green. I made it home in twelve flat.
~~~~~~~~~~
As I was fishing for my keys to open the door, I heard a muffled voice cry out "Over here!" Then, two men jumped me and pushed me- rather roughly, I must say- to a black limo just up the street.

They threw me into the waiting limo and quickly slammed the door. As the limo tore up the road, I maneuvered myself to a more-or-less upright position.

"Mr. Bailey," the voice called out. "Forgive me for the cloak and dagger stuff, but what I have to tell you is of the utmost importance. I'm Tom Ridge, and we- no AMERICA- needs your help. We've been following you since you left the island, and we're familiar with your dealings with things- shall we say- not 'quite' human? We need someone with your rather- unique- talents. I want you to be my special liaison in this matter. It seems we have a phoenix on the loose, and ISIS is aware of its presence,,,"

OK, so I'm posting this two days early, but I wanted to do something special for a special person on (or at least near) her birthday. Besides, it's Pi Day, so...

Without further ado, I present:

Smoky Corners 3-NC: Aussie Dreams
(c) 2017
Haylee V

Joanna had just settled down to read another Larry Niven novel she had received from her grandchild. She had finished the day's chores, and it was too early for tea. She had recently restocked her pantry, and was expecting a few friends over later for an evening round the barbie, as it was her turn to host the monthly meeting.

As her mind wandered, she felt herself begin to drift off into the world of twilight. She was eighteen again, with all the vigor of a teen. The world was fresh and alive with wonder, and she had just gotten her passport a few days earlier. She had been accepted to a small college in the United States as an exchange student, and was excited to travel to the fabled "Land of Opportunity". She was saddened, however, as this would be the first time she had ventured more than a few hundred kilometers from home.

She arrived at the Brisbane airport early, and had just checked her baggage for the flight to Billings, Montana. She knew that this particular flight was by no means the shortest, as it would take close to 66 hours to reach her destination, but she had purposely chosen this itenerary, as it afforded her a 23-hour layover in Tokyo, and she had always wanted a genuine silk kimono. Besides, she wanted to see more of the
world, and viewed this as the first stop of her grand tour.

She would then fly to Denver, arriving in time for a late tea. The parka would come in handy, as she could play ski bunny while she toured the chapeau she had rented for the night. She might even meet a handsome ski instructor there before she had to leave the next day.

After reboarding, she would continue on to the last leg of her flight, arriving in Billings around 1 pm. from there, it was a simple 2 hour bus ride to the university, and her dorm in Smoky Corners. She could hardly wait!

The boarding call sounded as she was lost in her thoughts. She quickly borded, taking a seat near the window. She shook with nervous excitement as the plane lurched forward and began taxying down the runway. Her journey had begun!

The flights and layovers went without a hitch, as did the bus ride. By four pm, Joanna was getting settled into her dorm. She was beginning to get hungry, and decided to get a sandwich at the Subway in the shopping complex down the street from her dorm. Locking her door and placing the keys in her purse, she began the short walk up the street.

She quickly arrived at the restaurant and placed her order. Whenshe had finished eating, she decided to see just what this town had to offer. The curio shop in the corner caught her fancy, so she walked towards it, noting the sudden breeze as she did so. The sky was beginning to darken, and she could smell the approaching rain on the wind.

Ducking quickly inside the shop, she was suddenly taken aback by its ambiance. Knickknacks and various bric-a-brac lined the lower shelves of the shop, and she noticed a tea cozy had been set up in the corner. Never one to turn down tea, she made her way to one of the velvet cushions. She failed to notice the bespectacled man smiling at her through the beaded curtain.

"Welcome, cherry blossom. I've been expecting you for quite some time," the man stated.

"Me?" she asked, pointing to herself carefully.

"Yes, Joanna-sama," he said. "I have what you seek. Stand, and begin your journey"

She felt uneasy as she slowly rose. The man had been expecting her??? Not only that, but he knew her name as well.

"I beg your pardon, Mister?" she stammered.

"Chigiri. Kato Chigiri. Welcome to my shop... and your destiny."

With that, he took her left hand, and placed a delicate aquamarine ring on her finger. She felt her body tingle and grow warm. Her chest became heavy and more pronounced, and she noticed her jeans were fitting looser.

"This can't be real!" she whispered in awe as she saw her reflection in the shop's window. For standing before her was a quite beautiful woman.

"This IS your dream, is it not?" Chigiri questioned...
====================
Joanna woke with a start, her book dropping from her hand.

"I knew it was too good to be true," she sighed. "Just another stupid dream."

She bent down to pick up the fallen book. Only then did she notice the pale blue sparkle from her left ring finger...

Happy early birthday, joannabarbarella. And thank you for being a friend--and a damn fine LADY.

Hi. My name is Ronald Bailey, but everyone calls me Roni. I live in Smoky Corners, Montana. It's a nice, typical small western town, founded by the Sioux, I believe. Nothing unusual ever happens here... at least on the surface. But, if you happen to find yourself on Mulberry Street, 239, standing in front of a quaint little curio shop, ran by an old, bearded Asian man named Kato Chigiri, you may find more than you bargained for. And EXACTLY what you need...
~~~~~~~~~~
Well, summer was finally upon us, and I was feeling more than a little frisky. Kim had begun teaching at a dojo, and Ginny was finally beginning to get over the residual magical effects brought about by the Hello Kitty locket. For once, life was going my way, and I didn't worry about anyone- or anything- interfering with my freedom. Yep, life was, for once, GOOD. Unfortunately, it wasn't to last...
~~~~~~~~~~
I don't remember, exactly, when things began to go awry. I just knew that one day things were OK, and the next, they weren't. I believe it all began the day I met Sandy...
~~~~~~~~~~
We had left Smoky Corners earlier that morning, headed for San Fransisco, and a glorious two-week vacation. Dad, as one of the perks of being appointed special liaison to Tom Ridge, had been invited to attend a conference on the heightened security measures brought about since 9/11. For the rest of us, it meant an all-expense paid trip to the 'City by the Bay.' This was really going to be SWEET!!!
~~~~~~~~~~
Our first day in town, we were treated to a tour of one of San Fransisco's most famous businesses, the Ghiradelli Chocolate Factory. What a treat it was! I found out how each flavor was made, and got a TON of chocolate to boot! Even Ginny was finally relaxed enough to have a good time.

After the tour, Mom decided to take us on a walking tour of the city. Our first stop on this walking tour, naturally, was Lombard Street, dubbed 'The Crookedest Street in the World'. We rode the Powell-Hyde cable car to the Hyde Street stop and disembarked, and began our descent. Trust me on this- when they say five miles per hour, they're not kidding! This trek is STEEP! I guess it could have been worse. She could have chosen Vermont Street instead. Although it only has seven curves in it (instead of eight), it is much steeper than Lombard.

After the walk, we decided to search for another of San Fransisco's treasures - a hot loaf of sourdough bread. Fortunately, there was a nice deli less than a block from our hotel that delivered.
~~~~~~~~~~
After our lunch of tomato-basil soup and grilled panini, Mom and Ginny decided to take a nap in the hotel room, spent from the day's activities. I, on the other hand, had my new Nikon, and I was just dying to do some serious babe watching down by the hotel's twin pools. That's when I first saw HER...

She was sitting alone in a deck chair, reading a book and sipping a Diet Coke. Her neon green tankini only helped to accentuate her bronze skin and fiery red hair. I quickly fired up the Nikon, determined not to let such a rare beauty get away, and aimed the zoom in her direction. As I went to click the shutter, she vanished!
~~~~~~~~~~
I blinked- HARD. She was just right there. "Can my eyes be playing tricks on me?" I thought. I decided this required further investigating, so I put my camera away quickly, then turned around to begin my descent down the stairs leading to the pool deck below. It was then that I saw her out of the corner of my eye, still in the same deck chair, smiling up at me.
~~~~~~~~~~
I took out my camera again- really slowly this time. just as I was about to shoot, she again disappeared.

"What kind of hide-and-seek type game are you playing?" my mind screamed in her general direction. The lilting laughter that I received back, like so many tinkling bells, gave me the answer I needed, but definitely DID NOT want. "C'mon, Roni. Are you REALLY that surprised?" the voice asked.

"Damn!" I thought. "Didn't I leave all the hocus-pocus magick behind with Mr. K.?"
~~~~~~~~~~
My heart sank as I realized, yet again, that I had been found out. It appears, to my great dissatisfaction, that I attract magick like a candle attracts moths.

"I know what you are!" I shouted, to no one in particular. "So quit with the games already and show yourself!"

"What? And ruin all this fun?" the voice said, mockingly. "Alright, if I MUST..." it sighed.
~~~~~~~~~~
There was a small tuft of smoke, and when it cleared, SHE was standing just a few inches in front of me. I must admit, I was intoxicated by her emerald eyes and pouting, full lips.

"Don't be swayed by her charms!" my mind screamed, as I felt myself slipping away. Then, a rouge Frisbee smacked me right between the eyes.

"Sorry, dude!" a man's voice called out. "My bad!"

But it was enough. As I averted her gaze, instead focusing on finding the errant Frisbee, the spell was broken.

I picked up the Frisbee and gave it a gentle, overhand toss.

Turning my attention back to the girl, I said simply, "Now that the spell's broken, and I'm immune to your charms, just who in blazes are you, and what do you want with ME of all people?"

"I'm the nymph of this area," she said simply.

"Duh! Tell me something I DON'T already know," I thought angrily.

"The name's Sandy. And I need someone with your... unique talents."

"Sandy, huh? And if I refuse?"

Suddenly, the waters in the twin pools began to rise and coalesce into a massive 10-foot wall that threatened to drown all the poolside guests.

"Fine!" I relented. "I help, or they drown. I get it. Damn, you fae can be so friggin' bitchy at times..." I swore under my breath.

With that she laughed, and the waters returned to normal, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"So what, EXACTLY, do you want, Sandy? And why do you need me?"
~~~~~~~~~~
Sandy's gaze met mine, and I saw a lone, golden tear form in her eye, then quickly run down her cheek.

"Freedom," she said simply. "I want to actually SEE what lies beyond my pools. I want to be JUST LIKE YOU. I want to be able to laugh freely-- to cry-- to feel hunger. Sadness. And Joy. To love, and be loved in return. In short, Roni, I want to be HUMAN!"

"And you think I, of all people, can grant you this wish? I'm just a teen, not a wizard."

"But you have the heart, Roni. And the strength of character, determination, and drive. You just need the magick. And Hegemone's thorn..."

Smoky Corners 4-NC: A Kid at Heart
(c) 2017 Haylee V

AuPreviner sat at the kitchen table, idly working on a jigsaw puzzle. The kettle whistled merrily on the stove, and it was time to make the tea. He got up to fill the infuser, and gently set the metal ball, now full of fragrant Earl Grey, in the ceramic mug. He checked the water temperature -- 218 degrees, Yikes! -- and set apart some to cool slightly, leaving a digital thermometer in the cup. When the temperature read 195, he quickly poured the water in the mug to steep, just as the clock struck ten. Perfect! he thought. Now for the Tim Tams, a few scones, and the jam. The clotted cream, he remembered, was still on the counter from breakfast.

A Mozart opera played softly in the background. Bastien und Bastienne, his favorite. AuP became lost in his thoughts as the music silently played.

He couldn't remember, really, how it had all began. Perhaps when he had played dollies with his friend, Margaret. Sadly, those halcyon days ended when her mother discovered his true gender. Perhaps when he had held and fed the babe in Health Ed -- his first time holding something so delicately frail. Perhaps it was the fact that most of his really close friends were female. He just didn't know -- nor did he care.

One thing he DID know, though, was children. He knew how they thought. How they played. He knew what brought them happiness and laughter -- and what caused some immeasurable pain.

For AuP was a child -- at least in his heart he was. Where it REALLY mattered.

He had to grow up way too quickly -- family duties dictated that he become the proverbial "man of the house" at an early age. He was denied the opportunity to play. To laugh. To just BE.

And now, as he reflected on his life, it was too late. I'm too old, he thought, and too set in my ways. Leave youth to those who can handle it -- THE YOUNG AND STRONG. Alas! now I am neither.

Coming back to reality, AuP realized that his tea had gotten cold. Such a waste, actually. For some reason, nuked Earl Grey just didn't hold the same -- je ne sais quoi as fresh.

He reached for the cupboard where he kept his loose teas. A sense of emptiness shrouded him as he realized the cupboards were bare. Well, I needed to get out of the house anyway. Too damn depressing.

Grabbing his keys and slipping on some loafers, AuP left for the garage. Fortunately, it was just a short drive to Mulberry Street.

=== === ===

Upon reaching the shopping plaza, AuP was surprised to find a new shop at the end of the row. Mahō no chaya, he mused. Wonder if they have any TEA???

AuP made his way cautiously up the walkway and slowly opened the door. Suddenly, his senses were assaulted by the dazzling array of cats and tigers on display there. Cats of every shape, size, pose and material imaginable lined dozens of shelves. Paintings by Hokusai, Josetsu, and Morimuta decked the halls, and a Hayao Miyazaki film (My Neighbor Totoro, perhaps?) played on the security monitor. The fresh, inviting aromas of maple cookies, warm mulled Calvados, and Earl Grey wafted in the air, reminding AuP of the many nights he had spent in Rouen. And then he saw IT -- a traditional Japanese tea service, set in the right-hand corner of the room. Have I come home again, Grandma?

"Aah, Neko-san!" a voice beckoned him from a tatami mat. "Come. Take off your shoes, and join me for a cup. The tea is almost ready, and the croissants are still warm."

"I'm sorry, Sir," AuP said, taken aback. "I'm afraid I don't understand. I'm AuPreviner, not this Neko-san person. Perhaps you are mistaken?"

"It's no mistake, Neko-san. I was talking to you. You ARE the cat, are you not? We have much to discuss."

"It appears you know me, or at least were expecting me. But I'm sure we've never met. Just WHO are you?"

"I am Kato Chigiri. I own this curio shop. I know what you TRULY seek, and I can help. But first, the tea. You never did finish yours earlier, did you?"

Just who IS this guy, really? And why does he know so much about ME??

"I know many things, Neko-san. Such is the way of magick. Now COME. SIT. DRINK."

For some reason, the sheer power of his words held AuP spellbound. He found himself taking off his shoes, putting on the uwabaki and walking to a velvet cushion in the corner of the room. He took the proffered jade cup, and drank deeply.

"Thanks. I think???" AuP stumbled for words. Wait! How did I get HERE??? And what's with this guy, really?

"I mean you no harm, Neko-san. I simply wish to give you a gift. You'll find it VERY useful."

Chigiri reached out and handed him a neatly wrapped object. As he slowly untied the silk obi holding the rice paper together, he noticed two amber eyes staring back at him. He nearly dropped the package, clutching for it just before it hit the floor. Looking down, he felt the weight of the jade cat in his palm.

"It's a CAT!" AuP exclaimed, excitedly. "But how did you..."

"I know many things, as I have said. But alas! The tea is cold, and our time is short. Just remember that you are a child at heart. When you feel troubled, just rub the cat's belly. Sayounara, Neko-san."

=== === ===

With that, AuP found himself in his kitchen once again. How he got there was anyone's guess. His car was neatly parked where he had left it in the garage, and his cupboards were filled with loose teas from around the world. In his hand, he still clutched the jade cat tightly.

Absentmindedly, he rubbed the cat's belly. Gee, it would be nice to be a kid again, he thought.

The room began to spin -- slowly at first, then more violently. The cat began to emit a warm greenish glow, and AuP felt himself shrinking. As the room stabilized and the glow faded, AuP rushed to the hall mirror. Reflected back was a nine-year-old boy.

The spell will only last until sundown, and has altered reality to reflect your new age. AuPreviner -- The child's heart within you beats fervently. As long as it remains, you can become a child again -- but only for one day at a time. Enjoy your gift.

AuP breathed a silent word of thanks to his benefactor. "Thank you, Chigiri-sama. I will cherish it always."

He then ran out the door, heading at full speed to the nearby park. Perhaps, he thought, Margaret will still be waiting for me...

Greetings, everyone. My name is Geneva Bailey. Ginny for short. I'm Roni's twin sister. It seems he's a little... preoccupied... right now with Sandy, so I thought I'd give the intro today.

Let's see... Smoky Corners... blah... blah... Curio... blah... blah... Mr. K.... what you NEED. There. That about covers it. I hope.
~~~~~~~~~~
I was in my room, just idly fumbling with the earrings. I hadn't taken them out of the box since Roni gave them to me. Don't ask me why, but it just didn't seem right- or proper- to wear them. They're so dainty and delicate, and VERY PRECIOUS to me. They were the catalyst that strengthened our then brittle bond of sibling-hood. We had grown so far apart, so fast, but now we seemed closer than we've ever been before...

Today was SPECIAL. I was meeting with my three BESTIES- Sasha, Barbara, and Joan- to go to the DMV. Funny, before the day I first wore the locket that funny little man gave me, I didn't even know my three 'comrades-in-arms' existed. And it was just so darn cute, with its Hello Kitty motif. I wondered what ever happened to it? I've searched EVERYWHERE I can think of, but haven't been able to find it since the first day I wore it. And I SO wanted to wear it today. I felt it was my good luck charm, and if I'm going to pass my driver's test, I needed all the luck I could get...

I put the male angel (I call him Jack, but don't ask me why. It just seemed 'right') in the left ear, and fiddled a few moments with the back before it was firmly in place. I reached for the other earring- a dainty female cherub I've dubbed Charlene, and began to put her on. "I MUST be losing it,' I thought, if I'm assigning names- and personalities- to such inanimate objects as earrings.

Suddenly, I felt very light-headed. The room began to spin- slowly at first, and then with blinding speed. I heard myself crying out in terror as I began to lose touch with reality. As my consciousness faded, I blacked out, still clutching Charlene in my clenched fist...
~~~~~~~~~~
When I came to, I found myself in the back storeroom of a tiny shop, lying on what appeared to be a very weather-beaten, fold-out Army cot.

"Do not try to get up too quickly, my little lotus blossom," I heard a grizzled, yet kind, voice call out. "The magicks of teleportation take some getting used to- at first- and you're still suffering some residual ill effects from its use. I must apologize for that. I can assure you, though, your body will quickly adjust, and VERY SOON, it won't affect you at all. Here, drink this," he said, handing me a tiny china cup containing what appeared to be green tea. "It will help lessen the effects somewhat. When you feel normal again, please come to the front of my shop. We have much to discuss, Ginny."

With that, the bearded man turned, clicked his heels, and left, drawing the curtains shut on his way out..
~~~~~~~~~~
I cautiously took a sip of the tepid liquid. As I did, I felt my head begin to clear as the fog of vertigo began to ease. My head quit spinning as the room- and my surroundings- began to come into focus. I tentatively placed my slippered feet on the oaken floor. Funny, I didn't remember slipping out of my Keds...

When I felt the solidness of the floor below me, and sensed I wasn't going to faint again, or slip through the floor, I slowly rose to my feet. I placed the now empty cup carefully on the cot, and began towards the curtain- and what I hoped would be some answers...
~~~~~~~~~~
As I opened the curtain to the shop proper, my eyes beheld the vast wonders of the shop. It was like I had stepped into my own little piece of heaven! The shop had everything I could ever dream of... posters of pop icons lined the walls, and the shelves were lined with all sorts of feminine finery- I've never seen so many baubles and bangles in my life!

I stood in the doorway for what seemed like hours, just taking in all the lovely sights and sounds. the air was thick with sandalwood and cinnamon. I just wanted to drink in every subtle nuance...
~~~~~~~~~~
"Aah. You've recovered, I see," the voice stated, breaking me out of my revelry. "Come. Sit. We have much to discuss, and very little time to do so."

The strange little man motioned me to a purple cushion resting on a faded bamboo tamani mat beside a worn tea cozy. I quickly made my way to the proffered spot, and sat.

"My name is Kato Chigiri," the man said. "I hope you remember me, even though our last encounter was, unfortunately, too brief for my liking..."

"I remember now!" I said with a start. "You're the man that gave me the Hello Kitty locket. And the strange amulets for Roni. I'm sorry. I've lost that locket. it was my good luck charm..."

Mr. Chigiri jut nodded, and handed mea handkerchief. "Now, now, my little locust. There's no need for tears. It will find itsway back to you, when it is needed again. Such is the way with magick..."

"M-m-m-magic?" I stammered.

"Yes," he stated bluntly. "Magick. But not the parlor tricks you're familiar with. True magick. The kind that shapes destinies and alters realities. You have been given quite a gift. And it's my duty to see that you learn to use it properly."

"But why me?" I asked. "And why now?"

"It is your destiny, child. You are fae-borne. And the time of your awakening is at hand."

"Woah!" I stated, nearly knocking over the cozy as I jumped up. "You expect me to believe that I'm some all-powerful magical being, and that you, a complete stranger, are going to 'help' me? Just what kind of game are you playing? And for that matter," I said, the anger in my voice a white-hot flame, "just what kind of drug was in that 'tea' of yours? My dad IS Chief of Police, you know."

I turned to leave, but found that my body just wouldn't respond to my brain's commands. I stood there frozen, completely helpless, as a wave of panic began to wash over me.

"Easy, child. Had I meant you harm, do you think you'd still be here? And still unharmed, in one piece? I assure you, I mean you no harm. Your brother Roni and I have shared tea many times. And nothing has happened to him, has it?"

"Now come. Sit. Calm yourself."

I felt myself become incredibly relaxed, as i slowly slumped back to the softness of the velvet cushion. I could feel the tenseness flow out of my body. A warming peace began to envelop me that was eerily comforting. I found I was no longer frozen.

"Yes," the strange man said. "I've released you from your bonds. like i said, I mean you no harm. You're free to go, if that is your wish. But i do hope you'll stay for awhile..."

My mind just couldn't fathom the enormity of this strange man's power. With a single word, he had completely immobilized me, yet here I sat, completely unharmed, just as he had said. Every fiber of my being screamed to run like hell, but still...

I wrestled with my thoughtsfor what seemed like hours, but morbid curiosity being what it is, I decided to hear the man out- for a little while, at least.

"Fine!" I said, dejectedly. "I'll stay... for a LITTLE WHILE."

"Good!" the man said, grinning and clapping his hands as he began.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Reality is, first and foremost, mutable. What is seen as 'real' and 'tangable' is mearly our mind's way of dealing with the things around us, and making some sense of order out of the vast chaos that is existance. Magick is a way that some- very few, I might add- have found to give shape and form to the formlessness that surrounds us all."

"And you're saying that I have this- I don't know- gift? Curse?"

"Precisely. I sense in you fae blood. The fae were once one of the most powerful races on this planet. They long ago mastered control over the chaos that is- and over the elements. Fire. Water. Air. Earth. They gave order to chaos, and even mastered the powers of Life and Death. But to some, raw power was just not enough. Some weren't happy with mastering the power. These rogues also wanted Control. They wanted to subjugate others, and bend the weaker-minded to their own warped desires. And thus began the Time of Sorrows, and the spawning of the wild magicks. Magicks which now threaten the very fabric of reality itself."

"So what can I do?" I questioned. "I'm just a teenager. I don't have any 'powers'. And I'm not 'special', like you seem to think I am. I can't do anything..."

"The wheels have already been set in motion, my dear," he said. "You've already been exposed to magick, at least twice now. Just believe in yourself, and let the fae within you awaken."

"But how?" I asked.

"Believe. Close your eyes and focus. Concentrate."
~~~~~~~~~~
I closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander. I saw a beautiful meadow, lush with green grass and flowers of every color in the rainbow- and a few more besides. I heard the babbling of a brook nearby, and tasted the clean, sweet, honeysuckle-jasmine fragrance of the air. i felt my spirits soaring as my body lifted itself off the ground. I felt, for the first time in my life, incredinly free. And I relished in the freedom...

I stood there, my eyes closed, transfixed in the freeing glow. I didn't notice the bright aura that surrounded me, or that I was now back in the shop. I felt warm, and at peace, as all my fears subsided. I felt the warmth begin to fade, and the aura began to bury itself deep inside. My eyes fluttered open slowly as the magick faded around me.

"Welcome, locust blossom. Now, your true training begins..."

"Smoky Corners, Montana, is a nice, typical small western town. Nothing unusual ever happens here... at least on the surface. But, if you happen to find yourself on Mulberry Street, 239, standing in front of a quaint little curio shop ran by an old, bearded Asian man named Kato Chigiri, you may find more than you bargained for. And EXACTLY what you need..."

Hi, and welcome to what I hope will become a new, unique universe for fans of trans-fiction. - Haylee V

A few notes:

First:
Mr. Kato Chigiri is your typical Asian curio shop owner. He is meant to be a cross between Mr. Miyagi and the Buddhist priest of Kung Fu. No one knows how old he truly is, and an aura of mystery surrounds him. As the proprietor of the shop, he has unique and varied sundries for sale- to those who may or may not know they need them. You may not always find what you WANT, but you'll always find EXACTLY what you NEED...

Second:
Things are NOT as they appear in this quiet town. Reality, being the finicky mistress she is, is mutable and NOT set hard and fast in stone. Mr. Kato knows and understands this all too well, as it is his destiny to give her a gentle nudge in the right direction, when needed...

Third:
Each item in the shop is unique, containing a single-purpose magick, tailor made for ONE SPECIFIC individual. The manifestation of that magick, and its desired target, is something known only to Mr. Kato. And he's NOT telling...

Fourth:
I chose Mr. Kato's name with a purpose, and NO, you WILL NOT change my mind on this. His name, loosely translated from the Japanese by which it originates, means, quite simply, "Changing Destinies". I think it's eerily befitting the man in question.

Magical Items CURRENTLY AVAILABLE in Smoky Corners

The following items are currently in use in Smoky Corners:

Angelic Earrings (Earrings of Communicative Compassion)

Current Owner(s): Geneva (Ginny) Bailey

People in tune with this item's magicks: Geneva Bailey, Ronald Bailey, Kato Chigiri, Others (?)

Function: These earrings provide the wearers (yes, they REQUIRE 2 users to function correctly!) to communicate TELEPATHICALLY with each other, and also allows the wearers to know the current whereabouts and status of each other. The earrings come as a pair - a male angel, only wearable by a female (with only ONE known exception- Mr. K.) and female (wearable ONLY by males). The wearers must possess a STRONG familial bond, or be linked through marriage or a tragic ordeal. the earrings will change form, becoming either clip-on or pierced, to conform to the body of the wearer. The telepathic range is limited to a TEN MILE radius, but can function as a homing beacon in cases of DIRE EMERGENCY, thereby ALWAYS allowing the wears to find each other, provided they are BOTH conscious. It is currently UNKNOWN if anyone other than the three mentioned previously, can utilize the earrings' magicks, but it is generally believed to be possible.

Buckskin Moccasins (Moccasins of Empathetic Excursion)

Current Owner: Ronald (Roni) Bailey, but kept safely in Mr. K.'s Curio Shop

People in tune with this item's magicks: Ronald (Roni) Bailey, Kato Chigiri, Others(?)

Function: These shoes allow the wearer to literally BECOME another person for a period of no more than 24 hours (if the target is chosen at random) or 60 minutes (if the wearer has someone specifically in mind), and allows the wearer to experience, first hand, the emotions, feelings, pleasures, and even pains of the target. The wearer retains all memory of the swap, and gains a closer, more empathetic attitude towards the target.

Aerosmith Amulet - Amulet of Abject Suffering - Amulet of Alter Self

Current Owner(s): All 3 are currently in the possession of Ronald (Roni) Bailey

People attuned to this item's magicks: Sebastian (now Sasha) Van Wharen, William (now Barbara) Donahue, Jonathan (now Joan) Reinhurst, Ronald (Roni) Bailey, Kato Chigiri, Others(?)

Function: In their now ATTUNED form, allows the wearer to travel to any one specific point in his or her life, and affect a minor change without disturbing the Temporal Directive or incurring a Time Paradox in the target's current timeline.

Hegemone's Thorn

Current owner: unknown

People attuned to this item's magics: Sandy Lakespur, Others(?)

Function: This brooch, when placed within the vicinity of any non-human entity or object, imbues its target with all the qualities of a human, for a short time. It is not currently known how long the effect lasts, if its effects are cumulative (each activation lengthens the targets time as a human), or how to make the effect permanent. The location of Hegemone's Thorn is unknown as well, but some suspect it can be found at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, floating in a pool of white hot lava.

Gaea's Gullion

Current owner: unknown

People attuned to this item's magicks: unknown

Function: Possible catalyzing agent, but as yet unknown

Chloris's Tears

Current owner: unknown

People attuned to this item's magics: The Anthousai

Function: enables the Song of the Anthousai to sound, melding Gaea's Gullion and Hegemone's Thorn into the Rose of Reality.

Rose of Reality - enables its wearer to take the shape of any human or demi-human permanently and completely. Its effects are IRREVERSIBLE. If the target was imbued with magick, but the final form unable to utilize it, then all magical abilities will be forever lost to the individual. Talents not typically associated with the final form, but that the target possessed prior to transformation, are likewise lost.

The Mandela Shift
(c) 2017
A collaborative effort by Haylee V and Leila

This is, first and foremost, a work of FICTION. Any semblance to any person(s), real or imagined, is purely coincidental. Place names have been altered, albeit just SLIGHTLY, to hopefully bring great shame upon the GUILTY.
========================================================================
It was just another rainy Wednesday afternoon. I had just gotten through with my Hell week at First Data (I work twelve hour shifts, three days on and four days off, followed by four days on and three days off. Every three months, we switch ends of the week with the other crew. What this means, essentially, is that twice a year, we work seven consecutive days, and twice a year we have seven consecutive days off, thus Hell and Heaven weeks...), and was looking forward to some hard-earned and well-deserved R & R. I had just entered my apartment and was in the process of drawing myself a steamy, soap-infused bubble bath, followed by a nice, long stint as Stacey, my "en femme" persona.

Suddenly, I began to feel quite sick to my stomach, as waves of intense nausea and vertigo enveloped me. Everything became blurry, and I suddenly had a splitting headache. I eased myself gently to the bathroom floor, and closed my eyes, praying in earnest that this feeling, and its accompanying discomfort, would abate as quickly as it appeared. After what appeared to be several hours (days? or mere minutes? I was no longer sure) the dizziness and nausea eased somewhat, and I was able- just barely- to open my eyes without getting dry heaves. I slowly stood. Putting my hands to my face, I realized, to my shock (and secret delight) that the stubble from my freshly-shaven face was gone, as was my Adam's apple. I eased myself to the mirror. While I admit, I had practiced my makeup enough to be passable, and even somewhat attractive (dare I say cute?) I was in no way prepared for the vision of loveliness that stared blankly back at me.

I reached down to feel my chest, and couldn't help but notice the increased heaviness. As I hadn't (yet) begun to dress, this surprised me. As my palm gently brushed the new mounds, I was delighted to discover that they were, indeed, real. And MINE! Hoping against all hope, I decided to see if I had undergone any other "changes". As I inched my hand closer to my "nether regions", I found my excitement (and pleasure) mounting. If this was a dream, I didn't want to awaken.

Unfortunately, I discovered that not quite everything about me had changed. "Mr. Happy" was still there, and VERY prominent. It was about this time, too, that I realized that this was NOT, in fact, a dream. Shattered, my excitement (and subsequent arousal) quickly dissipated, replaced by a morbid sense of dread (or was it fear?) as I realized the implications of the changes I had undergone. I was no longer fully male, but with the tenting of my lower extremities, I wasn't completely female either. Fortunately, I had purchased a decent gaff months earlier, but I didn't know if it would fully help my situation any.

I quickly dressed back into my discarded clothes and went into the den. I had to know just what was going on. I had to get out... get AWAY.
I grabbed my keys and left the apartment, headed for the Dew Drop Inn, THE local place for gossip in town. I grabbed a table on the fresco, ordered a mocha latte, and settled in to listen to the rumors fly. I didn't have to wait long...

"Would you take a look at the tranny fag over there?" I overheard someone whisper to their companion. "Yeah. I know. He's butt-ugly, and his Adam's apple is bigger than mine. Goddamn freak ain't foolin' nobody. They should just round them all up and shoot 'em all. F'n perverted piece of s*it..."

At another table, I could hear three women cackling quite loudly: "I was in the restroom at Macy's yesterday when one of THEM came in. I could see his thing tenting his skirt. I went to tell the manager, and all I got was a shrug and 'that's the law, ma'am.' That's the LAST TIME I'll shop there, I'll tell you."

"I know, Joan," one of the others said. "But we won't have to put up with those sickos much longer. I heard on the news today that 23 more states had approved Amendment 69. That makes 72 in total. Just three more to make it unanimous."

"Yeah, Sue," the third one agreed. "And I hear President Glibt is going to make a speech tonight as she signs Executive Order 1952. In about a week, their cancer will be just a distant memory..."

With that last bit, I got up, dusted myself off, and left for home. I'd had just about all the trans-bashing I could stand for one day.

When I got home, I threw off my shoes and coat, and sat on the couch, turning on the TV as I did so. The news was just starting...

"Greetings, citizens of Saxet. It is a wonderful day for the Omoh empire. Without further ado, allow me to welcome Her Exalted Imminence, President Melonia Glibt."

"Fellow citizens," she addressed, regally, "For decades, we have been forced to deal with (and yes, even accept- and sometimes coddle) the transgendered agenda. They have invaded our schools, theaters, movies, television industries, and public places. They have demanded- and partially succeeded- in achieving a modicum of rights. And, under the last administration, have even entered our most private sanctum (and last bastion of privacy), public bathrooms. I'm here today to proclaim, over the entire planet of Retah, NO MORE! No more will we need to endure the persistent invasion of our privacy! No more will we be forced to cater to these sexual deviants or expose our children to their cancer! With the signing and enactment of Executive Order 1952, as well as the 69th Amendment's ratification in all 75 superstates of the planet, it is now illegal to don the garb or persona of anyone or anything other than the anatomical or chromosomal sex of an individual. The punishment for such a heinous crime will be death by crucifixion, public communal stoning, or burning at the stake. No longer will we have to deal with the aberrations of the "intersexed" either. Any birth with non-binary sex chromosomes (strictly XX or XY), and any birth with ambiguous or missing genitalia will be IMMEDIATELY terminated by being sent to the recyclers for conversion to biofuels. Thank you for supporting me, and for FINALLY putting an end to the scourge that has plagued us for so long."

"This story has been a production of Big Closet Top Shelf and is posted per the author's request. If you are reading it anywhere else, you are reading a PIRATED copy, and the site that is hosting it is in DIRECT VIOLATION of US Copyright Laws. It is YOUR duty, and responsibility to report said piracy to the proper authorities."

"This concludes our special broadcast. We now return you to your regularly scheduled propaganda..." was the last thing I heard as the flames enveloped my apartment.

The Mandela Effect
(c) 2017
A collaboration by Leila and Haylee V
----------
Chapter 2

Smoke envelops the room. Oh God! It's started! Nobody waited for the orders to be signed! Were they targeting me? The living room billows with smoke. My exit is blocked. What do I have on me? I spy my luggage through the flames. I can't get to it. My purse and my wallet are there. NO! My eye catches a glimpse of the sunlight peering through my bedroom window. The smoke builds in the room.

I have to get out of here! I run up to the window. I tug at the pane. It doesn't slide open. My chair! I grab the chair and throw it towards the window. The glass shatters, and the chair plummets to the ground below. My eyes spy my backpack. Think fast! What can I throw into it? The flames are almost at the door. Smoke pours out of the apartment. The fire is seeking the air from the outside through the window. Think Stacey! Think! My nightstand. The money from Corey. It will have to do. I was supposed to deposit it before the trip. I grab the cash and throw it in the backpack. I grab some clothes from the dresser. Guys/Girls it doesn't matter. I just need to get out- quickly! I'm almost out of time!

I stare out the window. It's now or never. I stand on the window sill. The hedges. I think I can make it to them. Third story? Doesn't matter. It’s better than being burned alive. I jump aiming for the hedges. I hit with the sound of crumpling brush. A sharp pain in my ankle. I scream in agony. My ankle caught something. I landed wrong. I can hear the sirens in the distance. I don't want to wait around for anything. My ankle sears in pain, the peripheries of my vision fade with every step. I have to make it to my car!

My car! It has been vandalized! "Tranny Whore!" a few voices yell out. They've smashed the windows to my car and slashed all four tires! I can't do anything about it right now. If they catch me, I'll end up in worse shape than my car. I try to walk, gingerly. Each step on my right leg make me see red. My ankle burns with pain as I hobble away. The hospital? No, I can't go there. I can barely think over the pain. I have no ID. They'd have to report me.

Corey, at the clinic. He’s my only choice. I grit my teeth with eacth step. Every few steps I have to compose myself. Maybe he can patch me up. I need to get off the streets. I take as many short cuts as I can figure, back alleys and parks. I'm trying to stay out of the main roadways. I press my shoulders against the walls and fences, in a vain attempt to keep the weight off my disfigured foot. Relief washes over me as approach the rear of the clinic. I've almost made it to the entrance! Privacy at last! My ankle is swollen; I’m in a cold sweat. The adrenaline must be wearing off. I’m going into shock. Pausing to catch my breath , I quickly kneel behind the dumpster near the clinic. My vision continues to cloud. I’m starting to shake. My phone! There’s no way to call Corey.

I see two figures in the distance, hobbling towards the rear entrance. They look worse than I do. Watching from my vantage point, I shudder at the horrors I see. It has started. People are getting their jollies beating up anyone that looks trans. The two knock on the door and Corey quickly answers. I see concern crossing his brow. More people are approaching, and they don't look friendly. They brandish semi-automatics and I hear the shots. NO! I scream in a silent whisper. Tear pour down my face as the hoodlums gun down the trio execution style. They run away whooping and cheering. "Bagged two more trannies, and a damn Symp too!"

I settle on the ground, still dripping cold sweat. A hand cuffs my shoulder and I jump. Startled, I turn toward the figure, expecting my fate to be the same as Corey's. I see a young woman wearing a lab coat. With tears in her eyes, she motions for me to remain still. "Shhh!" she hisses, while trying to comfort me. But I am in too much shock to care...

Chapter 3
========
"Bethany Carl," she whispers, motioning me to follow- quietly. She stealthily helps me towards the dumpster. Fortunately, we are not discovered. As we reach it, I see an almost invisible door on the side of one of the buildings slide open silently. She pulls me through quickly. As I glance backward, I see the opening fade. In its place is nothing but common brownstone, like everything else around the clinic. "We can talk freely now, Stacey," she says. "The walls are completely soundproof."

"The holo-projectors function beautifully, Chance," she calls out. "I don't think ANYONE will find our base now, especially those hoodlums outside. Unfortunately, we just lost Corey, though."

I could hear the wavering in her voice as her eyes filled with tears. "He was a good man, and a damn fine doctor," she whispered. "He didn't deserve to die so heinously."

"We'll have to retrieve the bodies soon," a voice boomed out, "before they're reported to the State. No one deserves what the Empire will do to them. At least WE can see them off in an HONORABLE way."

I knelt, the shock of what I witnessed was just too great. I had just lost a dear friend, just because he was doing his job- a job he loved. In such a short time frame, the world, as I knew it, had gone completely mad, bigotry had spread, consuming everyone. Not only that, but I was now a hunted fugitive, and EVERYONE was out for my blood.

"We MUST get you patched up and ready for transport to New Detroit soon, Stacey," the voice said, "If you are to survive the night. I'll do what I can here, but the rest will be up to the two of you- and the Underground. This base won't be here in 48 hours, and neither will we."

I don't know just how pleased I was at hearing that news. With my right ankle bent at a 90-degree angle, I knew I could not very well travel, especially the 2300+ miles the voice was indicating. I also didn't know if I could fully trust my rescuers. At least they haven't killed me- YET I thought.

I saw a fairly tall, dark-skinned man slowly approaching me from out of the shadows. He wore almost the same garb as Bethany, and had a stethoscope around his neck. He was smiling, but I was really too distraught to find that comforting at the moment.

"Dr. Chance Covington, at your service. Welcome to the Resistance, Stacey," he said.

I looked at my ankle. 2300 miles? I'll never be able to make it in my condition.

“Let’s have a look at that leg.” Dr. Covington’s face stern. He looks like a man that is used to triaging patients. Quick and cold. “Bethany, do we have a Grenal scalpel at the clinic? I’ll need a cortical fuser too if you got it. Her ankle is broken. I’ll need to set it and fuse it. A neuron disruptor if you got it. She’d pass out because of the pain if we don’t have one.”

“We don’t have a cortical fuser.” Bethany becomes more agitated.

“What about a micrograf? It would take an hour maybe two but at least she’ll be able to walk.”

Bethany shakes her head. “We’re only a class C clinic. We have nothing that can work on the bone.”

“Well, best I can do is a carbon-nano-tube-cast. It won’t fix anything. Just keeps everything immobile until we can get her to a real infirmary.”

"I'm right here," I reply. "And a CaNT? Really? As in can't do sh*t? I'd rather just leave it broken, if that's all you've got."

“We HAVE to do SOMETHING." Bethany replies. "We can't take you anywhere high profile, and we NEED to immobilize the break ASAP to prevent any further damage. The closest place with Class B equipment is 5o miles south.”

“Benson?” Dr. Covington clarifies.

“The Benson-Rhodes facility?” I add. “That’s 50 miles in the wrong direction. I’ve been there. If you think this place is hostile…”

Bethany and Dr. Covington share a look. “How would you know about the Benson-Rhodes facility?” Dr. Covington looks at me questioningly.

“Corey. Corey, must have told her. He must have shared it with her at some point.”

“Alright fine. Corey must have trusted her.”

“Back to our problem. It’s Benson or not nothing. If you can’t run. You’d be an even greater risk to us. We’d risk more exposure.” His olivine eyes bore into me. “Just think about it?” His expression softens. “Bethany, let’s have a look at what you do have. We’ll have to get Corey too.” He says sadly.

Dr. Covington and Bethany leave the room. I stare at my bum ankle. The pain is excruciating, and my ankle looks like someone tried to join two mismatched pieces of PVC together- badly. Bethany returns with a compression cast. Advanced first aid. It brings down the swelling and can immobilize the ankle so I don’t make it worse. “he’ll be able to at least see if the bone is displaced.” She places the neuron disrupter on my knee. This should help with the pain. Normally, we place it at the base of the spine or the back of your neck, but we need you to be ready to move at anytime. It takes an hour or so to wear off if we place it on your spine.” She slides the cast on my leg and it begins to compress it.

I thank her and she somberly makes her way out of the room. I look around the room. What’s going on? A resistance? They seem organized. That fast? But how? The news reports say the President just signed the act? How in the world could they have set this all up this quickly?

My thoughts turn to Corey. He didn’t deserve that fate. Was he part of this ‘resistance’? Why did he not say anything to me? Tears run down my cheeks as I recall his assassination, bringing me roughly back to reality.

"Mother! Does this damn thing hurt like hell!" I could feel the intensity of the pain as a raging fire consumes my leg. Morphine or Dilaudid would sure feel good right about now! Sh*t! It hurts! I scream in agony as I lift my ankle. “GODDAMNIT!”

The pair rush back into the room.

“What’s the matter?” Bethany rushes over towards me.

“Don’t you have some pain killers? Or ANYTHING?”

Bethany gives me a puzzled look. “Let me turn up the neuron disrupter.” She pulls out a tool and appears to be adjusting the small device resting atop my knee. “Do you feel any better?”

“That NOT DOING A DAMN THING!" I scream. "For chrissakes, just give me some damn morphine!" I hiss, tears streaming down my face.

She gives me a worried look. “I’ll check with Chance to see if we can give you anything.” Bethany hurries out of the room.

I can hear bits of the conversation between the two.

“I’ve got it at 8 already. The pain can’t be that bad.” Bethany implores Chance

“Maybe it’s defective. We don’t have much here we can use anyway. Let’s get the cast compressed on her, get her ankle immobilized, and get out of here. I don’t want to attract any more ‘e-ttention’ than I we have too.” They’re voices are growing louder as they approach the room.

E-ttention?

“I’ve got the compression cast on her already. It should have reduced the swelling by now.”

“Stacey, how are you feeling.”

“How the blazes do you THINK?” I snap, then quickly regret my harsh words. "Sorry," I say meekly. "It just hurts so damn much!"

“Let’s have a look, shall we?” He moves over towards my ankle. “Looks like the compression cast is working fine.” I take a look at my ankle. The swelling has subsided.

“I’ve got another neuron disrupter.” Bethany offers.

“Swap it out.” Chance orders Bethany. “This may hurt a bit when she turns it off. You’ll feel a burst of pain, but she’ll get it the other one back on as soon as she can.”

Bethany does something with her tool on the device on the neuron disrupter What the heck is a neuron disrupter anyway? Painkillers would be easier that fiddling with technology, that quite OBVIOUSLY, doesn't work at all.

Bethany looks at me with concern. “Alright, I’ll make this quick okay. On three… One, two, THREE!” She turns off the device. I and tries to swap out the other device in its place as fast as she can. I don’t feel a difference. She puts the other one on. “Whew! That was a lot of pressure. They teach us that in med school. But, I’ve never had to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Swap a neuron disrupter. God, you didn’t even twitch! That other one must be defective. How’s the leg?”

“Same… Whatever that ‘neuron disrupter’ is supposed to do… I’d rather have some good old fashion painkillers.”

Bethany looks over at Chance. He walks to my knee and the disrupter. Bethany hands him the tool. “Can you feel this?”

“Yes, two taps on my shin.”

“We’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“What?”

“Hold her down while I re-set the ankle.”

“Wait. What?”

“I’m sorry. but we do need to set the ankle for it to heal properly.”

“What about the…”

I feel a sharp pain as he grasps my foot and roll the bones into place. I pass out from the pain.

The Mandela Shift

A collaborative effort of Leila and Haylee V
(c) 2017

*Author's note:

I talked at length with Leila the other day. She is going through a rough patch right now (nothing that should concern our gentle readers, though), and I have had issues with my health and moving into a new residential care facility. She has given me the go-ahead to post the next chapter of our combined saga. We sincerely hope you like what we've come up with.

Haylee V*

Chapter Four

I wake up as an antiseptic stench fills my nostrils.

"Welcome back, Ms. Manhaus," a young Vietnamese nurse said. “You've been unconscious for the last two hours. You're at the Benson-Rhodes Medical facility in Perdition. Closest you can get to Hell without actually being there... We've drawn some blood and established an IV. The neural disrupter proved... ineffective... on you, so we requisitioned some ‘old-school opiates’ from the local veterinary clinic to help with your pain. We’ve never had to go that route with any other patient. We don't quite understand why they work on you, or even how you knew which of these outdated medicines would be effective. You're quite an enigma, if you don't mind me saying, and we're running some tests to determine why, exactly, you respond the way you do. The head nurse, Catherine Clarke, is in quite a quandary over you."

I nod my head and say a simple ‘Thank you.’ The machines that are hooked up to me look totally foreign, but I at least notice the screen monitoring my vitals, and feel some degree of comfort- something somewhat familiar amid this miasma of confusion.

"Where are the people who fixed my leg?" I ask, confused.

"Dr. Covington and Nurse Bondeaux, I mean Chance and Bethany? They're with Nurse Clarke, discussing treatment options to get you moving as quickly as possible. You realize, of course, the dangerous situation you're in," she questions. "You are now able to walk without aid, but you may want a LIMITED supply of pain killers. The roads aren't well maintained around here, and traveling will be painful as you'll be jostled around quite a bit. By the way, I'm Kim, Kim Marquette."

"Stacey, with an 'e'", I say. "So, what's the 411?"

She looks at me with utter confusion. "411?" she questions. "Well, it’s going to rain in a bit, but why do you need a weather report at a time like this?"

Now, I'm the one confused. How did she get 'weather report' from that? We're DEFINITELY NOT in Kansas, Toto, I think. "No, no, dear," I say. "I need to know my situ--what's going on, and how I can return to Hagerstown--and life as I know it."

"Hagerstown? In what country is that?" she says, typing it into her tablet.

"It's near Baltimore, in the United States?" I falter.

"You're joking, right? The United States hasn't existed in over 250 years, ever since Trump and Putin started World War III. Damn near nuked the planet, but they DID, finally, put an end to ISIS."

250 years? That DOES explain a few things. "Isn't this Earth?" I ask.

"Never heard of it," Kim stated, even more bewildered. "What state is that in?"

What STATE? Definitely NOT Kansas... "Where, EXACTLY, am I, then?" I ask in frustration.

"I've told you already. You're at the Benson-Rhodes facility. In Perdition. Calmexico. Third capital-general of the great Omoh Empire. In The United Federation of North America…”

“UNITED FEDERATION OF NORTH AMERICA? OMOH EMPIRE? What PLANET are you from?"

She looks at me with anguish. “Retah. Have you really lost THAT much of your memory? You don’t have any head trauma. We checked for that." she explained, rather exasperated.

I am SO NOT in Kansas... "Hoooo Kayyyy," I sigh. "THAT explains things! I don't know how to explain this to you, but I'm not exactly from around here."

"I never would have guessed," she snickers.

Well, at least they have sarcasm here.

"OK, I'm all ears..." She’s thrumming her fingers on her tablet.

"The world, at least as I know it, is called Earth. It's the year 2017, and there are seven continents. I live in a country called the United States, on the North American continent. Every country has a separate government, different culture(s), and different religions. While not exactly condoned or widely accepted, transgenderism IS legal, and there are groups that OPENLY support LGBT, without fear of governmental intervention. We are free to go and come as we please, to say whatever (within reason) we want, and basically pursue happiness however we happen to find it."

"Sounds like a wonderful place," Kim states dreamily while shaking her head no. Winking, she comtinues: "I'm unfamiliar with the terms you use, but it doesn't really matter. What IS important, however, is how--and even better why--did you get HERE?"

"That’s what I’m trying to figure out. But I REALLY want to go HOME."

"Well, if anyone can help you, it would be Chance."

“And maybe I can click my heels three times and chant ‘there’s no place like home?’”

"WHAT???" Kim questions.

"Nevermind..."

“Really, though, he knows things most people don't."

So, the doctor can help me. Interesting. "And Bethany? What’s her deal?"

"Well, she's a pip," Kim stated, her eyes glazing. "We did the Hokey Pokey together." With a whisper only I could hear, she added, "Her 'hokey' would poke me quite often", then she said, loud enough for anyone to hear, "Until Glibt took over and made such... activities... illegal. I really thought our love would survive, but Bethany's not exactly the type to remain... monogamous. Catherine transferred here from New Britain, and with her fuller figure and dark features, Bethany kinda went wild. When I found out about their tryst, I was heartbroken. Catherine and I have had issues ever since..."

I saw her head perk up, as I heard a female voice just outside. "Yes, Chance, I said DOUBLE HELIX! Exactly! Not a triple helix. Damnedest thing I've ever seen. AND, she has paired chromatids, 23 of them, not the usual complement of 48 chromatid strands. She looks Retan but, I don't know, EXACTLY, where she's from, but it sure as hell isn't here..."

Kim spies someone. I turn to look. I’m not sure whom she is looking at. Kim starts to look agitated.

"Beever Falls. Funny name for a town, right?" Kim diverted. "There's no beavers in Calmexico, let alone waterfalls. Did anyone ever tell you how it got it’s name?”

I shake my head.

“The town got its name from the founder's son, Clarence Beever. Seems his father, Harry, a rather rotund man, fell off his horse, killing him instantly. He was so heavy, that they had to bury him on the spot he fell. Not to mention the horse had just taken a MAJOR DUMP on him after he fell. NO ONE likes to mess with horse sh*t... The town came to be called Beever Falls in his memory- or so the legend goes..."

At that point, a stocky woman walks in. Her name tag says, ‘Catherine Clarke’, (yeah, it actually TALKED!) She’s followed in by Chance, with Bethany close on her heels. "Ahem..." she uttered, trying to get Kim's attention. "We DO have other patients here, Kim. Try to remember that."
------------------------------
Damn, what a hard-assed bitch, I thought. We have NAMES for people like that where I come from. One name in particular came to mind. And I'm NOT all that racist. Really.

"So tell me, Ms. Manhaus," she eased herself into our conversation, "Just WHO are you, really? We've done NOTHING to bring Her Excellency's wrath down upon us. I send the dissident reports nightly, containing everything I can acquire about the patients I treat. YOU, however, are NOTHING like the other 'seekers' I've seen..."

Seeker? Just who the HELL does she think I am, anyway?

"I see why the neuron disrupters failed. No MEMUs and where are you from exactly? Another planet? Where’s the rest of your kind? On a spaceship? I don't know what your mission here is, but from your genetic makeup, it impossible for you to be alive. A double helix tRNA? That’s something impossible even for the Great Omoh Empire." she said, bowing low as she emphasized the last part.

What are MEMUs? I think she meant my DNA was wrong for this planet. Yup! Not Kansas, Dorothy!

Kim interrupted. "I think can explain," she said, glancing my way waiting for my assent to continue. I nodded. What choice did I really have, anyway? Catherine WAS, after all, the most senior medical professional in the room.

Kim related my story to the others in the room, with me adding in details where appropriately. Bethany and Chance looked nonplussed by the story, having already heard something similar from me earlier. Catherine, however, turned white- not an easy task for an African American or African North American Federation something or rather. I should know, chameleonism is one of my abilities. I can blend into my surroundings and change physical characteristics at will neat trick I picked up from good ole Uncle Sam. At least when it works. I didn't know others had that ability, though...

Catherine motioned towards the bathroom, and urged us all to follow her in there- quietly. Shutting the door carefully, and ensuring the lock was secure, she began. "Sorry, Stacey, can I call you that?” I nod wondering why all the secrecy. She continues, “All rooms are monitored. Due to public outcry, public baths are the only exception.”

Do we REALLY need to see people do their business?

“What I say goes no further. Stacey, you MUST, somehow, get to New Detroit. Chance and Bethany know the way, and I'm sending Kim along to help you if any 'issues' come up. She has proven herself to be quite... resourceful... at times. I've done what I can to make you as ambulatory as possible. If you're CAREFUL, and avoid the main roads, you should be OK. Unfortunately, this means you'll have to MANUALLY travel, as the 'tubes' are heavily monitored. I've apprised Chance the best route to take..."

With that, we headed out. Next stop, Black Rock...

Many years ago, a very wealthy nobleman took his son with him to tour his vast lands. Along the way, the son saw many of the nobleman's poor serfs. As night approached, and being far from home, they reached perhaps the poorest serf they had encountered. The man and wife looked bedraggled - their clothes were little more than rags, their small hovel run-down, and crowded by them and their three children. Cats and dogs ran in and out frequently, and the food was nothing more than fruits and vegetables -- there was no meat, no cheeses, no bread, and especially no wine. They drank water from a creek that ran out back of their hovel. They had no lighting at all in the house, save for a tiny fire in the fireplace, which served as heating and for cooking. Stars shone through the poorly thatched roof.

Upon returning home, the nobleman asked his son, "How was the trip?"

"Very good, Father," the son replied.

"And did you see how poor people live?"

"Yes."

"And what did you LEARN?" the nobleman asked smugly, as he looked out over his vast estate.

"I saw that we have no dog, yet animals ran freely through their house, bringing the children laughter as they played. I saw that we have a small pool in our garden for swimming and bathing, while they had an entire creek to splash in. I saw that we often drink wine -- which can be quite bitter at times, and never manages to truly quench my thirst, while they drink pure, crisp,refreshing water from their brook. I saw that we have static, smelly oil lamps for light and a smoky oil stove for heat, while they have a cheerful fire and infinite twinkling stars. We eat bland meat and strong cheeses and crusty bread, while they feast on the very fruits of their labors -- the vegetables were crisp and flavorful, and the fruits were sweet and filling. Our patio reaches only to the front yard, while they have the entire horizon at their disposal. Our clothes are hot, scratchy, and heavy. -- confining. Theirs are light, airy, and cool -- freeing. I see your brows often fraught with worry, while happiness overflowed their house."

As he finished, the nobleman just stood there, speechless.

The son then turned to his father and said, "Before the trip, I never realized how truly POOR we were..."

Note:

I have tried to find out the origins of this parable. Though a Google search of the moral comes up with about 13 million hits, most sites report the author as ANONYMOUS. If you know the originator of this parable, Please PM me. - Haylee V

OK, I'm a little late posting, but here's today's fable. It's one that reflects my Lakota roots. Enjoy. - Haylee V

The Brave and the Rattlesnake

One day, a Lakota brave went up a mountain into the timberlines to gather wood for the fire. While he was busy gathering the wood, he happened upon a rattlesnake, shivering in the cold.

"Brother brave," the snake said, pleading, "Please help me. I am freezing up here, and if I stay much longer, I shall surely die."

"I cannot, Brother Snake. For you are a trickster, and might bite me on the way down."

"I won't!" he pleaded. "Please! You CAN'T let me die up here."

The brave continued to deny the snake's requests, but his resistance was failing. He couldn't stand to see any of the Great Spirit's creatures suffering, even a snake. Finally, he gave in.

Picking up the snake gently, he placed the nearly frozen reptile in his wood basket and covered him with a blanket.

"Promise me, though that you won't harm me."

"I promise, young brave."

Slowly, they made their descent down the mountain. Just as they were on the outskirts of the village, the brave felt a sharp pain in his thigh.

"But you PROMISED!" the brave cried in agony, as the venom coursed through his body. The brave knew that soon, he would breathe his last.

"Such is my nature, young brave. You KNEW what I was when you picked me up. Only a fool WILLINGLY subjects himself to imminent danger."

Note:

This story was told to me during the Yap Ye Iswa festival (Day of the Catawba) in Rock Hill, SC, in 2006. That rendition used either a Water Moccasin or Copperhead (depending on the elder telling the story), as both of those vipers are quite prevalent in the Upper Piedmont region of the Carolinas. This version is from the Lakota, as I attended a Pow Wow in the summer of 2008 of the First Tribes. The origins of this story date to antiquity, and it has been passed on by word of mouth ever since. Aesop also had a (modified) version of it in his fables, although the story itself predates even him.

* Edit *

11-June-2017: I have found this fable, albeit in a modified form, in a book titled The AEsop for Children on the Library of Congress's website. Here is the link to that story. Apparently, this is the earliest known record of the tale. -- Haylee V

I heard a story the other day, and I thought I'd share it with everyone. I'm not entirely sure, but I think it may have come from an old Ann Landers column or something...

The Difference Between Heaven And Hell

A devout man went to sleep one night, and dreamed that he was face to face with God.

"God," he said, "I have a question. I've always heard about Heaven and Hell -- how one is a divine Paradise, and the other pure Evil. But I never FULLY understood either of them. They were never REAL to me. Can You explain them so that I can FINALLY understand?"

"Dear Child," God replied, "that is a simple matter. Follow me, and I will SHOW you the answer."

God led him to a room sealed by a huge door. He opened the door, and the man could smell a rich, appetizing stew simmering. He saw a myriad of people standing around the pot, all with wooden spoons in their hands. They were emaciated and saddened, as the handles of the spoons were much too long for them to reach their mouths, and the stew would spill on the floor whenever someone would try to feed himself.

God explained to me that this was Hell.

He then took me to another room. Same pot of stew, same spoon, same myriad of people. Only they were beaming and happy. Each looked VERY well-fed and content.

"This is Heaven," God said.

"But I don't understand. Everything in both rooms is identical, yet these people are happy and well-fed. Why?"

"Because, My Child," God explained, "They have learned to feed one another."

Isn't that our quest as well? Feed those that cannot feed themselves -- physically, emotionally, financially, or spiritually.

Be blessed, everyone. *Kisses Always*
Haylee V

Once upon a time, two Buddhist monks were walking along after a horrendous thunderstorm, marveling at how nature could be, in one instance, so tranquil and beautiful, yet in another, so violent and devastating. As they were walking along the path, they soon saw the wood bridge spanning a fjord had been washed away, leaving little way to cross the stream except to wade in the swiftly-moving water. As they were removing their sandals to do so, they noticed a young woman, heavy with child, struggling to ford the raging current.

Now, being devout monks, they knew that touching a pregnant woman was taboo, and would amount, essentially, to breaking their sacred vows, requiring intense cleansing to rectify. The elder monk just shook his head sadly and waded on, knowing there was little he could do and still remain chaste.

The younger one, however, took pity on the woman. Being full of compassion, he bent down, and gently put the woman firmly on his shoulders and helped her across, setting her down on a grassy knoll on the other side. He then went back and got her things as well. He then went about his way, quickly catching up with his fellow monk.

They walked along in silence until dusk, when they finally reached their monastery. Upon entering, the elder monk could remain silent no longer, and chided his brother monk.

"Why did you help that woman, knowing it was taboo?"

The younger monk contemplated for a few minutes in silence before giving his answer.

"Dear brother," he replied, "I left that woman on the grassy knoll on the other side of the stream. Why are YOU still carrying her?"

This was originally told to me in a Religion 102 - Eastern Religions class in college, and it's originator is listed online as Anonymous. If any reader knows the author, please PM me. -- Haylee V

Just a Bum
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, a wealthy and respected king, eager to learn if the loyalty and compassion shown him was genuine, or just out of fear for his position, decided to test his subjects.

This king was known far and wide for his handsome baby face and regal bearing. I must do something to disguise my appearance, he thought, lest I be discovered and my plans ruined.

The king advised his grand vizier that he would be taking a lengthy journey, and that the vizier should rule until he returns. The vizier, however, had plans of his own, and wished to usurp the throne. This is the PERFECT opportunity! he thought.

The king then prepared for his journey, locking everything of value in his vault -- save for one thing -- the royal sigil, with which he could prove his identity, as well as his right to the throne.

Donning a set of peasant clothes and an old nag, the king silently sneaked out of the castle that evening, leaving a notice of his departure on the vizier's door.

The king rode his nag for several days over the open countryside, stopping only to eat and resting at dark. After a week, he was about two hundred leagues from the castle -- far enough to enact his plans. Since he hadn't shaved, the beard growth hid most of his fine features. He then took his hunting knife and ripped his tunic and breeches, giving them what he hoped was a well-worn appearance. He then sent the old nag back to the castle, knowing she would eventually find her way back.

Everything was set. The king appeared, to all appearances, to be nothing but a wandering vagrant. He slowly made the trek back to the kingdom, taking great care to keep his signet ring well hidden.

A fortnight later found the weary king back at the gates of the city, where he sought refuge amongst the town's peasantry. He was allowed entry into the city, but unfortunately could find no quarter, and ended up sleeping in an open field. Having no money, no job, and no residence made the king even lower than a serf in the eyes of many of the townspeople.

"He's just a bum," some would say, as they turned corners to avoid the vagabond.

"Careful. Who knows what that vagrant's capable of," said others.

Finally, hungry, cold, and completely exhausted, the king came to the hovel of a poor, but honest farmer and his wife.

"Come," the kind farmer said. "No one needs to be out in the cold. We haven't much, but you can make yourself a straw pallet by the fire. The stew on the hearth may look thin, but my wife has ways of making even that filling. Please help yourself. She can make it stretch. And have a draught from the cistern as well. It may be only water, but you'll not find a more refreshing beverage anywhere else in the kingdom."

The king thanked the kindly couple for their hospitality. To think, he thought silently. They have almost nothing, and don't know me from Adam, yet they gave me so much. Such compassion is very rare among my subjects.

The king ate and drank his fill, then turned to leave. He casually let his ring shine in the hovel's dim light, then smiled as he left. "Your kindness will not be forgotten," he whispered.

Now fully rested, the king made his way back into the castle, imploring the guards to grant an audience with the vizier.

"Out of the way, mangy cur!" the guards commanded. "No one may see the Grand Vizier save the king himself."

With that, the king raised his signet. "It is I. Have no fear, but DO NOT tell him who seeks him."

The guards nodded, then opened the door to the throne room . Bowing, they quickly resumed their posts.

The vizier was seated on the king's throne, being fed grapes by a concubine.

"WHO ARE YOU, DOG?" the vizier bellowed, "To come before the Almighty Grand Vizier?"

"It is I," the king stated flatly, flashing his ring. "I have returned to take back what is RIGHTFULLY mine. Step down."

"YOU LIE, THIEF!" the vizier roared, reaching for his scimitar. "But even if you ARE the king, the throne -- and this kingdom -- belongs to ME now. Today, you'll breathe your last."

Swiftly grabbing a sword from one of the suits of armor lying nearby, the king set to defend himself against the treasonous vizier. The vizier was no match for the king's prowess, and quickly fell before his blade, dead.

"Such is the fate of all who would usurp the throne," the king stated before calling his guards. They quickly came and hauled the dead body away.

"Now, just who is WORTHY enough to take his place?" the king asked, rhetorically.

"Summon the farmer and his wife to me, IMMEDIATELY!"

"As you command, Sire."

"Have them brought to me in an hour. I must go and make myself presentable. Traveling can do DREADFUL things to one's appearance."

The king motioned for the concubine, who had been watching close by -- wide-eyed -- to attend to his needs. Before long, she had him once again looking his regal, baby-faced self.

The farmer and his wife were brought before the king. Both quickly prostrated themselves, terrified by the summons.

"Arise, my friends," the king called out jovially. "And NEVER let me see you bow before me again. There is no need, for you both are more REGAL than I shall ever be. You showed me compassion when you didn't even know me. Such compassion is rare. You treated me not as a stranger, but as a dear friend. You have earned my respect and undying gratitude, and -- if you'll accept it -- a position of honor by my side."

The farmer and his wife were dumbfounded, as they rose, only to find the king get up from his throne, walk to them, and KNEEL before them. They gladly accepted their new positions, and lived in peace the remainder of their days.

Moral:

One should NEVER judge another by outward appearances.

Treat everyone you meet BETTER than you treat yourself, for you never know when you may entertain an ANGEL unaware.

OK, Gentle Readers, here's today's fable for your enjoyment.

True Riches
(c) 2017 Haylee V

One day, a farmer went to the convenience store to feed his one vice -- gambling. He knew that the odds were against him ever hitting it big, but he indulged himself once a week, allowing himself to purchase a single $1 lottery ticket. He had never won, but got joy just the same by the anticipation.

His wife, however, saw this as a needless expense.

"Why waste money on something so frivolous, anyway? You could be saving for a bigger house, a newer car, or even some finer clothes for me. I have NOTHING!" she whined incessantly.

The farmer just smiled and took it in stride.

"One day yet we may have all the finer things in life. Just wait and see..."

The next evening, as was his custom, the farmer went out to buy his ticket. When he returned home, however, his wife was in an even fouler mood than usual.

"You're late!" she bellowed. "I had to eat alone. AGAIN. Your supper's in the stove, ruined. I fell asleep waiting for you, and forgot I had left the stove on, until I smelled the smoke."

"No worries," the farmer smiled. "Missing one meal won't kill me, I guess."

The next evening, the farmer was watching the drawing. He had his ticket in hand as they drew the numbers. Imagine his surprise when he found out he had won! Twenty-six million dollars. He and his wife were set.

The next morning, the farmer started up his old, dilapidated pickup, and helped his wife in. The journey was rough, as the truck had very little padding, and rattled and clanked like it was in its death knell. Finally, they arrived at the lottery office and gathered the check. Photos were taken, and the usual rigamarole ensued. At the end of the day, the pair returned home, beaten, but bearing the $26 million dollar deposit slip.

A few days later, the farmer was visiting his friend in the next town over, when a cyclone hit, destroying everything his friend owned.

"Don't worry, friend. I still have my lottery winnings. I'll help you rebuild. That's what friends are for."

He quickly wrote his friend out a check -- for a million dollars. "This will get everything rebuilt," he said, "and afford you enough to survive until you get back on your feet. Besides, I still have twenty-five million left, so no worries."

Upon finding out what he'd done, his wife was LIVID! "We could have brought our OWN house with that. Yet you just threw away a million of OUR winnings. I'm going to bed. YOU... you can sleep with the dog tonight."

The next day, the farmer visited his fishing buddy. Unfortunately, as they were talking, a hurricane blew in, destroying the friend's entire fleet.

"No worries," the farmer said again, reaching for his checkbook. "Will five million help get you back on your feet?"

Upon hearing this, the wife was even angrier than before. "Think of the luxuries we could have had. I could have cruised around the world for a year! How can you be so wasteful? Tonight, not only do you sleep with the dog, but you also go hungry. GOOD NIGHT!"

A week later, the farmer was visiting his friend who owned the best hotel in the land. As they were sitting at a nearby bistro having lunch, the hotelier watched in horror as the building caught fire. Fortunately, everyone was evacuated safely, but the hotel lay in shambles, burnt completely to the ground.

"I'll never be able to rebuild," cried his friend. "It cost me about twenty million the first time. I simply don't have that much..."

The farmer reached over and handed his friend a check -- the last of his fortune.

When he arrived home, penniless, he tried to explain things to his wife, but she simply wouldn't hear of it.

"You had a FORTUNE just two weeks ago, yet now you're penniless. You're a worthless excuse for a man, and I don't need you. Take your things, and GET OUT of my life. We're THROUGH!"

For the first time in his life, the farmer actually cried. He had lost it all -- his fortune, his farm, and his wife. He had nothing left in this world. Sadly, he turned, and began to head for town, his head hung low.

As he reached town, he realized just how hungry he was. He walked into the local diner, begging for just a crust of day-old bread. His farmer friend overheard, and took pity on him..

"Come home with me, my friend. We're still rebuilding, mind you, but one more mouth to feed won't make much difference to my wife. After all, it's the least we can do."

The next morning, the farmer awoke to breakfast in a warm, soft bed. As he looked around, he realized that he wasn't on his friend's farm.

"Welcome," the hotelier said, amicably. "I know the room's a bit small, but you can stay here until we get rebuilt. It's the least I can do..."

The farmer thanked his friend, tears in his eyes. Yet something was still missing. He decided to take a walk on the pier. Maybe, he thought, the fisherman can tell me what's lacking. After all, he IS the most worldly of my friends.

Unfortunately, the fisherman was out to sea. His daughter, however, greeted him cordially.

"I don't know how to ever thank you," she gushed. "For years now, it's been just me and Dad. After the storm, I thought we'd be lost -- separated forever. My only option was to marry the rich banker -- a man I didn't trust, and liked even less. You gave us hope."

"Yes, but what does that matter now? My wife has left me, and I feel so... alone."

"You're not. I've always loved you, and if you'll have me..."

The farmer and the fisherman's daughter were wed the next month. Nearly everyone in town came to the wedding -- except the ex-wife and the banker, who had secretly been having an affair for years. The farmer now knew true happiness. He had friends that cared, a nice place to stay, plenty of food to eat, and the unending love of his new bride.

True, the wife now had the fancy house and cars, the clothes, and all of life's finer things -- until her new lover was arrested for embezzlement and racketeering. As she watched everything being taken away by the Feds, she began to cry. She turned to her "social circle", but, as she was now poor, and had a felon as a lover, she was no longer "worthy". She didn't want to go back to her ex-husband, who, in her mind, was still worthless. Having nothing further to lose, she slipped off in the night. The next morning, the coroner found her, dangling alone from a tall, gnarled maple far away from town.

Moral:

Being rich is not about how much money one has, but about the GOOD one can do with it.

Always strive to do good in everything you do, and happiness will follow you wherever you go.

I was reading my messages today, and was surprised (and very pleased) to find a message there from someone who is having a rough time of it right now. This parable is dedicated to her.

The Cog
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, a famous artisan in Bavaria was building a cuckoo clock for the Baron. Being an horologist gave him a great sense of pride. The work was laborious, as each tiny piece had to be meticulously placed by hand to make the clock function and the birds chime.

After toiling for sixteen hours a day for over a month, the finally felt his work fit to present the Baron. Wrapping the clock carefully, he placed it into a crate and loaded it in his carriage to deliver to the Baron the next day.

Upon receiving the clock, the Baron was thrilled. The clock kept perfect time, and the bird's harmonious trills brought the Baron great joy for many happy months.

Happy, that is, until the Baron's niece accidentally knocked the clock off of his mantle while the Baron was away, dislodging a very tiny cog in the process. The niece quickly placed the clock back on the mantle, hoping no one would notice.

Since the staff rarely entered the Baron's chambers except to dust, and none had ever entered on the hour, no one noticed the bird no longer sang, as other than that, the clock still kept perfect time. All was well.

After about three months, the Baron returned from his journey, albeit distraught. His business meetings had gone alright, but had not produced the results the wealthy Baron was expecting.

Perhaps my cuckoo will sing for me, the Baron thought. Its sweet trills always eases my stress.

But alas! without the missing cog, the bird remained silent.

"Summon Herr Uhrmacher at once!" he commanded. "Only he can make my bird sing again!"

The clocksmith came without delay, and quickly assessed the problem. Unscrewing the back carefully, he replaced the missing cog.

As he set the clock upon the mantle once more, the cuckoo sang out, even sweeter than before. The Baron was overjoyed, and rushed to reward the weary clocksmith. Once again, peace reigned, and did so for as long as the clockmaker survived.

Moral:

No matter how small or insignificant we feel we are, we are all part of something much greater than ourselves.

Lest we forget, the loss of even the smallest cog can cause the entire machine to stop.
We are the cogs, and the world is our clock. Working together, we can become a thing of beauty.

* Hope you all enjoyed this. Kisses! *
Haylee V

A Little Goes A Long Way
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, a poor baker decided to bake a loaf of bread. He gathered all of his ingredients, and set about making the dough.
After kneading and proofing it, he set the dough aside to rise in the afternoon sun, being mindful to pinch off a tiny bit and store it in a jar in his cupboard, for later use.

"Why do you ALWAYS do that, Father?" his son asked one day.

"I need to replenish my starter, Son," the baker replied. "So I take a tiny part of each loaf, and let it sit in the jar for the next day's baking. Without it, the bread will not rise."

With that, the son's mind was placated, and he went back to his chores.

After a while, the baker set about making the loaves for the day. He rolled out the 12 loaves he needed, and then rolled out two smaller loaves - for himself and his son. After placing all the loaves on to bake, the son noticed a very tiny loaf had also been placed in the fire, along with the others. The loaf would not have fed even the smallest of children, and was little more than a mouthful.

"Why do you always make a tiny loaf with the scraps, Father, instead of adding it to your jar?"

"We have enough for the proofing already, Son. It takes very little, and too much will cause the entire batch to be worthless. Thus, I always cook the excess into a charity loaf, for the Abbot or the Nuns. Someone can ALWAYS benefit that way, and nothing goes to waste."

The child thought on this as well before he continued his playing.

One day, the baker went out, leaving the son to make the daily loaves. The son divided the dough as always, but thought to himself, If I use all the dough, I can make us each a bigger loaf, and we can feast tonight. It's such a tiny thing, anyway. Surely it won't really matter if I don't set aside something for the proof jar or the charity loaf.

The son made the loaves and set them to cook, and then went to play as usual. Unfortunately, he forgot all about the bread, and all the loaves burned beyond repair. There would be nothing to sell today, nor would there be a grand feast. The child's heart was broken.

When the baker returned at the end of the day, he was disappointed, but not crestfallen. He knew that they would get by, somehow.

"I'm sorry, Father," the son said meekly. "But now what will we do?"

"We will go to the Church and pray, Son. Things will work out."

So they left their hovel -- the baker with a wise, knowing smile, and the son looking defeated. When they arrived at the abbey, the abbot shook hands warmly with the baker. After explaining the situation, the abbot gave the child a warm smile and a knowing wink. He handed the baker a wrapped basket and a small pouch, and gave him a blessing before sending the pair on their way.

When they returned home, the child's curiosity finally got the better of him. As his father laid the basket and pouch on the table, the child sneaked a peek into the basket. Inside, he found two fresh loaves of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a small bottle of wine. Inside the pouch were 10 gold crowns -- enough to cover their expenses for a week -- and a tiny jar of starter.

The boy then turned to his father, confused.

"Aah, my Son! You have discovered my secret. Each day, when I take my charity loaf to the abbot, I also give him a jar of starter, so the Nuns can make bread for the needy. They also sell the loaf I bring them to help run the abbey. That's how the abbot was able to help us today."

Moral:

A small gesture, when multiplied by many hands, can blossom into a veritable bounty.

Charity need not be anything grandiose. Even a small gift, given with love, can work wonders.
The same can be said of evil deeds and gossip. It only takes a tiny fragment to ruin someone's life or reputation.

The Hen and the Hawk
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, a beautiful, but somewhat misguided hen lived on a farm. She spent her days doing what most hens do -- scratching the ground for seeds and worms, preening her feathers, or laying eggs. She had a relatively good life -- safe and easy.

Unfortunately, though, she wasn't happy. She would often gaze longingly at the sky and watch the wild fowl fly overhead in absolute freedom -- a freedom she yearned for with every fiber of her being.

One day, as she was preening her feathers, she glanced over her shoulder and beheld a most beautiful hawk.

"Come with me," he said, "And I will teach you to soar the heavens."

She knew, deep down, that chickens couldn't fly, and the hawk was selling her little more than a pipe dream, but she still had the burning desire buried deep within. At first, it was easy for her to resist the hawk's charms -- just a matter of plain old common sense -- but the longer the two talked, the deeper her passion to be free became.

Eventually, she found herself looking for a means of escape, so she could learn to soar with the hawk.

A few days later, in an attempt to beat an oncoming storm, the farmer carelessly left the gate to the hen's pen unlatched as he was feeding them their corn.

Seizing the opportunity, the hen bolted, right into the waiting arms of her hawk lover.

"Can you REALLY help me soar?" she asked.

"Surely. Just follow me."

The hen, by now completely smitten with her ersatz Lothario, followed the hawk to a high cliff.

"All you need to do is to jump off," he said, "And flap those gorgeous wings. Don't worry about anything else. I'll join you once you're in flight."

With the words of encouragement, the hen made her leap. She flapped like crazy, but could not stay aloft. She fell to the ground with a sickening thud, breaking her neck.

The cunning hawk just laughed. "Looks like chicken stew for dinner tonight...".

Moral:

We are defined by the company we keep.

Nothing can ruin a good person quicker than falling in with the wrong crowd.

A Duck's Dream
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, a mallard lived on a vast farm. The farmer spared no expense to ensure the happiness of his animals -- there was always plenty of seeds and grain, fresh water, a nice pond to swim in, and a comfortable, heated hutch to sleep in at night. But still, something was missing. Although the drake seemingly had all of the creature comforts the farmer could afford him, he knew he was little more than a prisoner in a cage. What the duck desired more than anything else was to be like his wild cousins -- FREE. Free to fly high into the sky -- to soar on gossamer wings to places yet unseen.

"You're a domestic duck," his friends would say. "Your wings are too weak to make the flight to the Southern Lands. Think of how good you have it here on the farm. The children ADORE you, and come daily to feed you crusts of bread. You have a warm place to sleep, and plenty of clean water to drink. You have a life of relative ease. Don't do anything foolish to jeopardize what you have."

But the duck would not be swayed. One day soon, he knew he would get his freedom.

About a week later, some local students came to the farm on a field trip. While they all oohed and aahed over the ducks, one student happened to unlatch the pen. The duck saw his opportunity and took it. Before the farmer could catch him, he had taken high in the sky, far away from the safe world he had known.

The duck flew for hours. With no plans, he soon found himself horribly lost. As night was falling, he managed to find a small pond to bed down in for the night.

The pond's waters were brackish, and a thick skin of algae covered the surface. Few insects came around the pond, and those that did were quickly caught and eaten by the bullfrogs. The water was foul, and unfit for the duck to drink. The duck found himself alone, hungry, thirsty, and tired. It was only then that the reality of Rule One took hold: In the wild, there is no fresh, clear water. No children with smiling faces feed you corn and bread. In the wild, it's every duck for himself, and you either adapt or go hungry.

His belly empty, the duck tried in vain to find a warm spot to bed down. Unfortunately, the squirrels, badgers, and bullfrogs had already taken possession of the choicest spots, so all the duck could do was catnap on a rotted log. Rule Two of survival in the wild: There are no cushy heated hutches. To survive, one must be willing to sacrifice comfort for concealment.

Unfortunately, the poor duck got very little sleep that night, as he was constantly shivering with cold, and his empty belly ferociously reminded him of the soft bread of home.

As dawn was breaking, the duck heard familiar voices coming from the underbrush. Men!, thought the duck. I'm saved. Surely one of them must have a crust of bread!

With renewed enthusiasm, the mallard began to quack quite loudly. As long as they can hear and find me, I stand a chance at a full belly.

One of the men quickly found the duck, and steadied his rifle. A flash of light tore through the sky, and the duck smelled the unmistakable odor of sulfur. Too late, he realized Rule Three of Survival: The hunter always gets his prey in the end.

Moral:

The amenities others are afforded often look the most appealing to us once we start taking the luxuries we have for granted.

The grass MAY LOOK greener on the other side of the fence, but it's also probably loaded with herbicides, pesticides, and other chemicals...

Mapiya Woksape Creates the Moon
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Many millennia ago, when the Earth was still young, a brave scout decided he would catch a rainbow. Few of the elders knew how or why they were made, or if they could even be captured. No one in Ahiyu Wigmuke's village had ever heard an idea so foolish -- or foolhardy.

"If Wakantanka had wanted us to catch the sky, He would have given us all eagle wings. Put away this dream, and focus on the harvests. Winter is fast approaching."

But Ahiyu would not be swayed. He WOULD capture the rainbow, and weave its colors into the tapestry of his life no matter what the cost.

"If you INSIST on this foolishness," his mother advised, then go see Mapiya Woksape, for she, alone has ever touched the clouds. If anyone can help you in this quest, she can. But be sure to bring her a worthy gift, lest ill fortune befall you."

I must bring Grandmother Woksape a worthy gift, if I am going to request her help, he thought.

Ahiyu searched the areas surrounding the village for a week, but could find nothing suitable to give her. Perhaps it will not matter, he thought in desperation. And I must begin my journey TODAY, or I might not get another chance.

Ahiyu grabbed the basket that his mother had prepared for him. Fortunately, she had made pemmican the day before, as well as a few loaves of fresh bread. This should stave off my hunger, if I ration it correctly.

Ahiyu thanked his mother and set out at once to find the shaman. He knew his task would not be easy, as she had alienated herself on the tallest mountain in the Black Sands many years ago to live the life of a hermit.
=== === ===
At first, the trail sloped gently westward across the Prairie. Ahiyu covered much ground during this time, reaching the base of the mountain after just three days of light travel. But he knew his quest had just begun. Winter was beginning to set in, and the night air brought the Arctic's chill with it. He had to find a cave for shelter before nightfall...

Ahiyu began his perilous climb up the mountain after lunch. Fortunately, the sun was still high in the sky, and the trail, at least below the timberline, was well traveled.

As dusk was approaching, Ahiyu spotted a small outcropping just off of the trail about 100 feet. It appeared well used, so Ahiyu set his pack inside and began to gather wood for a fire.

After gathering the wood, Ahiyu headed back to the rocky overhang and pitched his small tipi, then set to build a small fire -- just enough to heat his meager rations. His sina was quite warm, and he would need no fire tonight, as the animals were all hibernating, and therefore posed no danger.

That night, Ahiyu dreamed strange and fantastic dreams -- dreams of Wakantanka, of clouds, and of rainbows. he saw the shimmering lights flow into his wicker basket, and felt the warm sun shine upon him.
=== === ===
The next morning, Ahiyu awoke to find the sun quite high in the sky. He quickly repacked his gear and began his trek up the mountain once again. After about two hours of traversing the rocky trail, his feet were quite sore. His moccasins did little to prevent the jagged rocks from tearing into the soft flesh of his heels. He was now way above the timberline, looking at clouds below him. About 500 feet above, he could make out a thin tuft of smoke from what appeared to be a makeshift lean-to. He had arrived!

Almost tripping several times in his haste, Ahiyu rushed to the smoking shack. He saw a white-haired old crone idly tending a fire, and singing to herself. Ahiyu knew the words well -- it was one of his favorite lullabies.

"Hau, Kasai!" Ahiyu greeted the wise crone.

"I know why you are here, young one. I also know you bear no gift. Do you expect my help for free?"

"I have but three days rations and some pemmican. Nothing more."

"Then how will you pay?"

"I'll give you anything, if I can but capture the rainbow, Honored One."

"Anything? Even your very soul?"

"Yes. Anything. I must weave the rainbow. No price is too great."

"So be it. Come.. Empty your basket and hand it to me now."

Ahiyu promptly did as he was ordered, and when the wicker basket was completely empty, he handed it to the crone.

She threw it into the cauldron, then began chanting in a language long since lost to Ahiyu. He tried to listen, but found himself drifting off to sleep.
=== === ===
The next morning he awoke to find himself on a sheer cliff, overlooking the vastness of the Earth. This MUST be magic, he thought, for no mountain can be this high.

In his hand was his basket -- only it had been somehow magically transformed to SOLID GOLD!

All around him, Ahiyu saw rainbows, resplendent in their beauty.

Take your rope and tie it to the basket's handle. Then cast your basket, and you will have your rainbow, said the familiar voice of the crone.

Doing as he was instructed, Ahiyu quickly pitched his basket over the cliff's steep side. Unfortunately, the rope wasn't secured well enough, and he felt the basket slipping out of his grasp. Thinking quickly, Ahiyu dove for the basket and caught it -- just as it was going over the cliff.

Ahiyu gazed at the rainbow in his basket for a moment, relishing its radiant beauty, before the gravity of his situation beset him. He felt the wind rushing through his hair, and knew that soon, he would meet his end on the jagged rocks far below.

The crone found the body the next morning, cold as stone. She picked up the basket lying beside Ahiyu, and took the captured rainbow out. Chanting softly, she wove the light into a thin cord, and wrapped it around Ahiyu's lifeless body, making sure it was securely fastened. She then made a lasso out of the remainder, and caught the passing sun. Immediately, the lifeless corpse sprang to life.

It's now time to pay, young brave. You will now forever chase the Sun, never to catch her -- never to feel her warming rays again. But don't fear! For you will lighten her dark shadows from this day forward...

Moral:

He who chases rainbows loses the sun.

Many people grasp daily for the unobtainable -- fame, wealth, or popularity -- only to lose what they already have -- strength of character, sense of worth, and compassion for others -- as a result.

The Crow and the Dove
(c) 2017 Haylee V

One day, a dove was flying in unfamiliar skies and became lost. Seeking help, he landed and began walking to a nearby town.

Now, in this town lived a very old, but very wise crow. Unlike most crows, this one was extremely kind, and known for both his generosity and good deeds. Everywhere in the town he went, he was treated with the utmost respect, and he gave far more than he received. When asked why he wasn't like the other crows -- usually harbingers of strife, discord, and ill fortune, he simply replied, "Someone in my youth was kind to me. When I hungered, they fed me. When I was injured by a hunter's bow, they nursed me back to help. If someone could show that level of compassion to me, just a lowly crow, should I not go and do the same to others?"

The dove walked into the town just before dusk, tired and hungry. He was full of pride, and knew he could get what he needed by merely taking what he wanted. After all, everyone knows that doves brought joy, happiness, and good fortune. No one in their right mind would deny a dove's requests. Or so he thought.

So the dove began to strut his stuff, and just took anything he wanted, without regard for anyone else. After all, he was a dove...

Eventually, word of his actions got to the town constable. Something MUST be done about the rogue dove, the townspeople cried.

So the town appointed the crow to be sheriff. "You must go and apprehend the dove," they said, "and make him pay for his crimes."

The crow set about his task, but was deeply saddened by it. How could someone so beautiful -- a harbinger of peace -- be so inherently wicked? he thought.

Before long, though, the crow caught up to the dove, who was once again up to his evil ways.

"You must stop this," the crow admonished.

"Why should I?" the dove replied. "I am a DOVE, after all. I should just be able to take anything I want. Everyone knows doves bring peace and happiness. So what if I'm looking out for myself first?"

"Then I'm afraid I must arrest you, for you are breaking the laws of our land, and bringing evil to our people."

With that, the crow captured the dove and locked him up in the town's jail. Peace once again returned to the town.

Moral:

It takes more than fine feathers to make a fine bird.

So many people rely on word of mouth, and let their reputations preclude their deeds. A truly wise person will never just rest on his laurels, but will daily strive to make new ones in his wake, letting his ACTIONS define him rather than simple word of mouth.

Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, a rich nobleman had two fine sons, whom he was grooming to take over the family business. The elder son proved to be a shrewd businessman, tough on his customers, but quick to make a profit, sometimes overcharging his customers for their needs or using otherwise shady tactics. Anything for a quick buck seemed to be his credo.

The younger son, however, lacked the business acumen of his older sibling, and often allowed clients leniency with their payments on their loans, and tried to work with them to help them get their loans repaid in a timely manner. He charged a small amount of interest, and sometimes would waive the fees entirely. Although loved by his customers, he often times barely managed to show a profit.

The dichotomy of his sons actions worried the nobleman greatly. How could he assure his business would remain after he retired, when neither son could decide how to properly run it?

The nobleman decided to test his sons, to see which method was the most profitable, and who would, ultimately, inherit the business. Dressing as a poor peasant, the nobleman first went to the elder brother for a loan.
=== === ===
"What can you offer me as collateral on your loan?" the son asked.

"All I have is my hovel, my farm, and a cow, Sire," stated the disguised nobleman.

"And how big is the farm? How much grain can you harvest?"

"The farm is small, my Lord -- only two acres -- but it can produce about 30 bushels per harvest, in a good year."

"And how big is the hovel?"

"It has three rooms, Sire -- the sleeping chamber, the cooking chamber, and the bathing chamber."

"And how much milk does the cow give?"

"She gives 6 gallons a day, Sire. Two gallons each milking."

"So, if I calculate correctly, your house is worth about three thousand crowns, your harvest worth 300, and you can get about 3 crowns a day from milk. That's not very much to work with. If you're willing to sign it ALL over to the bank, I will loan you 500 crowns, payable in one year's time, with 50 crowns in interest. That's the best I can do."

"So be it," he said.

As he left, he overheard a customer crying.

"I was just two days late with a payment -- my last. My wife got sick and I lost her. Now, the bank is taking everything else. I have nothing now, and no reason to live. How can a man be so cruel and heartless? He would not bend in the slightest..."
=== === ===
The nobleman then went to the younger brother. Same story, same assets.

"How much can you AFFORD to put up for collateral," the son asked.

"I need a gallon of milk and a bushel of wheat to make ends meet, Sire."

"I will give you a 1,000 crown loan. Will you be able to pay me 25 crowns a month for 42 months?"

"I can, Sire."

As the nobleman was leaving this time, however, he overheard an overjoyed customer tell his friend, "I don't know what I'd do without this bank. He worked with me, and even forgave the fact I was late. He said he trusted me, and to just make a payment when things got better. Yep, this is my THIRD loan with the bank, but the first time I've ever had a problem repaying my debt. He was so kind to me, that I hope I can return his favor some day."
=== === ===
The nobleman took these words to heart. The next day, he called his sons into his inner chamber.

"I have seen how you each do business, and have made a decision."

"But when did you come in, Father?" they questioned. "For surely your presence wasn't announced."

"Aye, my sons. I hid my appearance. For I was the peasant you each greeted yesterday. I saw how you, John, took advantage of your customers, and lacked compassion, and how Eric tried to comfort his customers in their time of need. I'd rather have a customer who does repeat business, even if he should occasionally fall behind, than one who has nothing but evil things to say about my bank. Therefore, I'm giving the business over to Eric. Run it well, my son."

Moral:

A man will only receive back as much as he's willing to give out.

As my father always said, "Treat a man well, and he'll always remember you. Treat him poorly, and he'll never forget you."

The Hoarder
(c) 2017 Haylee V

One day, in the tiny hamlet of Pine Grove, lived an eccentric junk collector named Thomas. being a junk collector, he was quite poor, and survived by living off the discarded trinkets and baubles of the more well-to-do.

"Why do you collect such junk?" the townsfolk would often ask. "It's completely worthless to anybody. You should find a real job, like helping the farmer or the miller. At least then, you'd be assured of your next meal."

"I do alright," Thomas would always say dismissively. "I have enough to eat, and a little in the bank for rough times."

One day, Thomas was out walking with a friend. As they passed the stables, Thomas noticed a discarded tack, containing a nice length of rope.

I could use that rope, thought Thomas, happily.

So he excused himself for a moment to talk with the livery owner for a moment.

"Sure, you can have the tack. It's useless to me anyway. Take any of it you need."

Thomas thanked the livery owner and gathered the rope, coiling it around his shoulder. "You never know...," he said.

His friend just shook his head, and they continued walking.

Soon, they came to the potter. He was just taking some pottery out of his kiln as they walked up.

"This will never do!" the potter cried, reaching for a malformed bowl, to smash it. "It is too deep to use as a bowl, yet not deep enough to be a cistern for holding water. I have no use for it!"

"Wait!" Thomas cried. "If you're just going to destroy it, may I have it instead?"

"Sure!" the potter said, happy that no one else would see his failure.

Again, his friend just shook his head, sadly, as Thomas added another "worthless" item to his pack.

As they continued on, they ran into the baker, carrying a sack of what appeared to be scorched loaves.

"May I have one?" Thomas asked.

"Aye, laddie, you may, if you wish. But they nae be fit for eatin'."

"It's OK," he said, adding it to his pack.

By this time, the sun had begun to set, and it was time to return to the hovel. As they left the hamlet, Thomas happened to find a rusty fishhook along the path. He gently bent down, and added it to his growing pile of "junk". To it's side, he also noticed a small broom handle, the straws of which long since used up. Fortunately, the binding strings holding the straws were still somewhat attached. This, as well was added to Thomas's pack.

Soon, the pair reached the fjord, but were shocked to find that the cords holding the bridge together had become frayed, and the bridge now lay broken.

Reaching into his pack, Thomas quickly withdrew the rope, and quickly patched the bridge.

They safely crossed the fjord, but Thomas's friend didn't appear too well.

"What is wrong, my friend?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I have missed lunch. I'm an hungered, and I thirst."

"No worries," said Thomas jovially. "Sit under yon tree, and I'll get a fire going. Soon, you'll be sated."

Thomas then pulled the crockery out of his pack. Going to the edge of the fjord, he quickly filled it to the brim with cool, fresh water. Handing it to his parched friend, Thomas commanded him to drink.

Thomas then took the discarded broom handle, and tied the fishhook to one of the wayward strands still attached. Tearing off a piece of the loaf, he baited the makeshift pole and cast it deep into the middle of the stream. In no time, he had a nibble, and pulled forth a rather large trout. Repeating the process, he soon had enough fish for a wonderful meal.

His friend was overcome with gratitude. "To think, that the things I saw as useless would provide our salvation."

Which just goes to prove:

Moral:

One man's trash is another man's treasure.

Too often, we discard things before they have exceeded their usefulness. Often, this includes us discarding people we think are useless as well. Everyone has a purpose. No one should ever be judged as useless. We should all strive to strengthen our brothers and sisters, so that their inner talents can shine brightly.

Watch Where You Sit!
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, there lived a clever carpenter in the town of Cedardale. he was known far and wide for being the best craftsman of his trade around, and as word of the quality of his work spread, he began to get an ego. it wasn't too long before he became boastful of his skill.

One day, he was heard boasting to his friend in the town square, "I can make just about anything you can imagine, and out of any kind of wood you bring me. Yes, when I build something, it's built to last."

The retainer to the king heard this, and immediately ran to tell the king her good news.

"Sire," she bowed deeply, "I have found the man you seek. he claims he can build anything, and it will last indefinitely. Perhaps he can solve our termite problem, and build you the throne you desire."

"Send for him at once! If he can do as he claims, I'll give him half my kingdom. But if he fails..."

So the carpenter was summoned, and soon appeared before the king.

"Is it true you can build ANYTHING out of wood?"

"It is."

"And it will last indefinitely?"

"It will."

"Then I will give you everything you need to build me a throne. I'll come in thirty days to test it. If it is as you say, I will make you second in command, and give you half my kingdom."
=== === ===
The carpenter was overjoyed, and quickly went to work to make the king the grandest throne he could imagine.

At the end of the thirty days, the king came to inspect his work.

"It is very beautiful to the eyes," the king admitted. "But can it pass the ULTIMATE test?"

The carpenter simply nodded.

The king, pleased, went to sit on the throne. A few seconds later, he began to hear cracking noises coming from beneath him. Before anyone could react, the king had fallen to the ground, soiling his regal robes.

"You idiot!" the king raged. "Did you not think to test the wood first to see if it was suitable to bear my weight? You have made me look like a fool. Guards! Seize him!"

Moral:

Pride goes before a fall.

One should never boast of past accomplishments, or rely on them too heavily to establish a reputation.
A person's ongoing words and deeds should define him or her, and not the things of the past.

Today's parable was inspired by a story I read by a dear friend, Sarah Goodwoman. It's a story of betrayal, revenge, and ultimately, healing. You may read it --> here <--

How Brother Mole Lost His Sight
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Many moons ago, when the Earth was still new, and the Great Spirit still walked among His creation, there lived a rather rambunctious mole. Brother Mole was well known among the other animals for playing tricks, most of which, though annoying or embarrassing, proved harmless.

One day, the animals were talking together about Brother Mole's tricks, when the Great Spirit, unseen by them all, overheard their complaints.

"He stole my honey!" said Brother Bear, "and replaced it with mud from the swamp. It took nearly two days to get the taste of that filth out of my mouth. I nearly drank Lake Eerie dry!"

"He swapped my eggs with Sister Crocodile's,", said Sister Goose. "The hatchlings nearly snipped all my tail feathers off!"

"He put a termite's nest on my dam," cried Cousin Beaver. "Took me two months to rebuild."

"Something must be done about his pranks!" they all cried out, "before he really hurts someone."

The Great Spirit chuckled at these pranks. After all, they WERE harmless -- for the most part -- but He also took their complaints and concerns under advisement.

A few days later, Brother Mole was feeling frisky, and decided to play a trick on Old Man Cougar. Now Old Man Cougar was a skilled hunter, but his eyesight was beginning to fail due to his advanced age, and he was also becoming forgetful. He had retreated to his cave, where he had two nice salmon roasting over his cooking spit.

"Greetings, Brother Cougar," he called out. "It is I, Brother Mole. You invited me for dinner, remember?"

"I did? I don't remember."

"Yes. You said that since you had two nice fresh fish, that I could join you. Are they done?"

"I think so, but I can't really see well enough to take them off my spit. Can you hand me my glasses beside the fire?"

Mole just couldn't resist the opportunity. He grabbed a glowing ember from the fire, being careful not to burn himself. He knew that Cougar's thick shin wouldn't register the heat until it was too late, and he jumped at the chance to have a little fun.

Cougar grabbed for the ember, placing it in his good eye, thinking it was his glasses. Immediately, he heard a sizzling sound and felt the searing pain as he slowly realized what had happened.

"How could you?" he roared. "You have blinded me, after I offered you my hospitality. I wish the Great Spirit would blind you as you've blinded me!"

"It is so done!" a voice boomed, as Mole's world quickly faded to darkness.

Moral:

An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

Pranks have a way of backfiring, and often, so does revenge.
Be careful when you wish evil on others, because in the end, you will lose as well.

* EDIT: *

Although this moral has been attributed to Mohandas Gandhi, there is no OFFICIAL record of him actually speaking the line, according to The Gandhi Institute for Nonviolence. Louis Fischer, in his biography of Gandhi, DID, however use the phrase in referring to Gandhi's philosophy of passive resistance. The phrase is a twist on the biblical verse found in Exodus 21:24. Reference to the longer phrase ("An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth makes the world blind and toothless") is documented in a 1914 transcript from the Canadian House of Parliament, where a Mr. Graham is arguing in opposition of the death penalty. This is the earliest documented use of the phrase I can find.

Check out the full story HERE. - Haylee V, 12-Jun-2017

The Cross-Eyed Bear
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, in a forest deep and lush, lived a very lonely, very sad bear named Thaddeus. Thaddeus wasn't like other bears. Sure, he loved honey, and splashing in the stream, and catching fresh salmon. All bears do. But Thaddeus had a very unique problem -- his eyes.

You see, Thaddeus was born with what one would call a "Lazy Eye". Although it didn't affect his health, as he could see perfectly fine, it did make him the butt of many jokes and pranks from the other forest animals. The constant ridicule and taunts caused Thaddeus to withdraw into himself. As a result, this kind, gentle bear had no one he could actually call a friend. Even his family shunned him because of his appearance. Many nights Thaddeus cried himself to sleep out of loneliness.

Then, one day during a huge storm, lightning struck a tree in the distance, setting it ablaze. Thaddeus saw the tree ignite, and was quick to respond, rallying the animals together at the river. In order to survive, they must all cross to the safety of the other shore. they knew the river would contain the fire, as it would not be able to jump over such a large body of water.

Unfortunately, the torrential rains had caused the river to swell well beyond its borders, and the swift current was too much for any of the animals to forge safely. They began to panic. If they could not cross, then they surely all would perish.

Thaddeus looked around in desperation. Even though they had all basically ostracized him, his conscious would not allow him to let anyone die in such a horrid way. Just as all seemed hopelessly lost, Thaddeus spied an old oak out of the corner of his eye that had fallen across the river. With a little help, a well-timed jump, and some luck, the animals could safely cross.

Thaddeus quickly formed a plan, and informed the other animals. He first helped all the little, weaker animals cross, and then began to help the bigger, less agile ones. Only when he was sure everyone else had safely crossed did Thaddeus start to make his escape. By then, the fire was right up against the shore.

Thaddeus leaped upon the oak. Unfortunately, his weight was too much for the old tree to bear, and it snapped in two when he was about halfway through. The current quickly caught him, and swept him away -- too fast for the others to save. In an effort to save those he considered his friends, Thaddeus had given his own life.

Moral:

No greater love has anyone, than he would lay down his life for a friend.

In this life, we all have our "cross-eyed bears".
How we choose to carry them, and what we do with them, will help define our very character.

I'll Give You The World...
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Alaine had to be, without a doubt, one of the loveliest and most graceful women in the entire world. Everyone in the hamlet of Dervonshire simply adored her. Women wanted to emulate -- no, to actually BE -- her, and men courted her day and night, trying in vain to win her favor -- and her heart.

But Alaine, both noble and gentle in all her ways, would have none of it. She was her father's only child, and had sworn to her mother, on her deathbed, to look after Papa until his dying day. She didn't mind this task, as Papa was every bit as kind and loving as she, herself was. But, as hearts are often wan to do, she longed for someone her equal, to share her life with.

True, she loved Papa dearly, but it just wasn't the same. Who would she turn to when he passed into the Great Beyond? She needed someone that would love her unconditionally, and help her take care of Papa as well.
=== === ===
One day, a handsome stranger rode into town on a gorgeous white palomino. His attire spoke volumes as to his wealth, and his charms set every girl's heart aflutter. He was suave and debonair, and exuded sophistication and breeding in every movement he made. In short, he was every woman's Prince Charming.

He set his sights immediately on Alaine, determined to win the heart of the unwinnable goddess of the land. Many nights would he treat her to dinners by candle ligt or midnight serenades. He lauded platitudes on her, and poured on every charm he possessed, eventually catching her eye.
=== === ===
"My Dear Alaine," he stated. "What must I do to win your heart?"

"My wants are simple, Sire. Love me, and help me care for Papa."

"For you, my beloved, I would give the world."
=== === ===
Alaine was overjoyed at hearing this. She gladly accepted his proposal, and the two were wed.

After the honeymoon, however, the "prince" began to show his true colors. He had Alaine's father placed in a nursing home -- the worst in the country, and proceeded to usurp the family fortune. Having no further need to disguise himself, he reverted to his old ways -- tyrannical and overbearing.

"But you promised me the world,..." Alaine cried, heartbroken.

"Aah, sweet, innocent, naïve child," the prince said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don't you know? I would have said absolutely anything to get what I wanted. It's not my fault you fell for my charms."

Moral:

All's fair in love and war.

One of the sad truths in life is that there are some people that will do almost anything to further their own selfish agendas.
Never sacrifice your morals or principles for these smooth-talking charlatans. Always stand your ground, and you'll come out on top in the end.

It seems to me that in the past week or so, several GOOD PEOPLE I know have suffered tragic losses. Some have lost health or wealth. Some have lost dear friends or loved ones. Some have lost happiness and hope, or even the very will to go on another step. Today's parable is dedicated to all of you, with my undying love. -- Haylee V

Reaping the Harvest

A farmer had two sons, who were always trying to one-up each other. Whatever the younger one would try to do, the elder would try to do better, or harder, or longer, and vice versa.

Soon, the contests got out of hand. The field lay ready for harvest; the grain hung heavy from the stalks.

"I will reap the harvest myself!" cried the younger son. "I'm much better with the scythe than you are, brother dear. I'm willing to bet that by sundown, I'll have the whole field threshed. Then father will know who the better son is."

So saying, the brother headed to the field, scythe in hand. It was still the cool of the day, as the sun was still inching its way skyward. The brother worked diligently, and soon had cleared the first few rows. The sun was beginning to beat down stronger, but on the son worked.

As the noontime hour approached, the son began to get tired. The sun was now high in the sky, and beat mercilessly down upon the ill-prepared son, for he had forgot to cover his head or to take any water skin with him. He sat in the newly plowed row, hungry, parched, and sunburned.

"Surely I can rest for a bit. I still have plenty of time left to harvest the rest of my fields."

So saying, the younger son headed indoors to the shade provided, where a hot meal and cool drink awaited him.

"Tired already?" the elder brother jeered. "Then rest, and I'll show you how a REAL MAN handles the harvest."

So saying, the elder brother gathered his sickle and headed to his side of the field to begin.

Although he also worked diligently, he found that he could get no more done than his brother. Cutting the stalks, binding them, threshing the grain and then gathering it together in the storehouse, and then burning the chaff proved too much for just one man to handle. At sundown, the elder son came in, weary and forlorn

"It appears that the task is even too great for me, brother dear. The harvest is just too great."

With that, the father smiled broadly. "Tomorrow, my children, I shall show you how WE, working TOGETHER, can bring in the harvest. Rest now -- both of you -- and we will begin at sunrise."

The next day, the father woke his sons up at the crack of dawn.

"Jacob," he said to the eldest, "You are good with the plow and thresher. You will gather and bundle the cut stalks."

"David," he called to the younger son, "You are good with sickle and scythe. You will cut the stalks. I will thresh the grain and burn the chaff.

Having been assigned their tasks, the three began to harvest the field. By lunch time, they had completed the harvest, and gathered inside for a celebratory lunch.

"Working together," the father explained, "We accomplished what we could not separately. Remember well this lesson, my dear sons."

Moral:

Burdens shared are burdens lessened.

Often, when faced with an overwhelming task, we like to "go it alone", shunning the help of those perhaps more skilled. This is also true when we are troubled, as we don't typically want to bother others with our affairs. but when we DO reach out, our hearts are always lifted, and our loads always seem lighter.

So I say to you, dear friends: Be well. Be happy. Be blessed. Always. -- Haylee V

How Deep Is Your Beauty?
(c) 2017
Haylee V

Once upon a time, a poor farmer married a beautiful princess. She was every bit as charming, graceful, and genteel on the inside as she was beautiful on the outside. The two were madly in love with each other, and even though the princess had to give up her right to the throne in order to marry such a commoner, she never once regretted her decision.

The couple was by no means rich, but their kindness was known far and wide, and due to their generous nature, that seldom lacked for anything, as their kindness would always be repaid when they found themselves in need.

One day, the princess discovered that she was pregnant, and was delighted to know that quite shortly, she would have the family she had always wanted.

But alas! such was not to be. For the princess carried twins, and being petite, she simply could not endure the delivery. While the first daughter was born healthy, the second was breech, and misshapen. The birth took its toll on both mother and child, and shortly after the second child was born, the fair princess died

The town mourned the loss of the princess, but in time, things returned to normal. The farmer somehow managed to raise his two daughters alone. The elder one grew in beauty, but her heart was full of bitterness, especially towards her twin. Why, if not for her, she would have had a complete family - a father AND a mother. Nary a day went by that the bitter sister didn't, in some way, try to add to the younger sister's misfortune.

But the younger sister, having inherited her mother's gentle nature, took it all in stride. She grew up kind and compassionate, and took great pains in helping those who were unfortunate or downtrodden. Being an outcast herself, she could truly empathize with their plights.

Soon, both girls reached the age where all women leave home to seek out lives of their own. The elder sister, being radiant like the very sun, had no trouble finding suitors, and was soon betrothed to the king's son. The younger sister, however, had no such luck. Men would ask her to remove her shawl, which always covered her deformed face, and upon seeing her, would always run away, never to return.

One day, the farmer , being up in years by now, and unable to do heavy lifting anymore, asked his eldest daughter to fetch some water from the town's well. Although she felt the task was beneath her, she grudgingly agreed.

As she was returning from the well, an ugly and gnarled troll happened by, and asked her for a drink.

"Please, beautiful maiden, spare a drink for a poor, thirsty soul. I fear I cannot make it to the well myself."

"Why should I?" the sister replied. "I am beautiful, and you are horrid. If I were to be seen with you, my reputation would be ruined. Get away from me, you filthy, ugly beast!"

"Your beauty is shallow, and will one day fade, but by then, everyone will know your true nature."

And with that, the troll vanished with a puff of smoke. The elder sister just shrugged and continued on her way, completely unaware that the curse had already begun its work.

The next day, the farmer again needed water. With the older sister being away, he asked the younger one to perform the task. She happily agreed, proud that she could at last repay, in some small way, the man who had raised her.

Along her journey back, she, also met the troll.

"Please, fair maiden, spare me a sip of water. I thirst, and cannot make it to the well myself."

"I say," she exclaimed, "that few have ever called me fair before. Sure you may have a drink. Drink your fill, kind sir. I can always fetch more, if needed."

"You are kind and tender of heart. Such inner beauty is rare. One day, all will see it."

And with that, the troll vanished in a puff of smoke.

The sister was dumbstruck at first, but quickly hurried home, to aid her father. She failed to realize that her scarf had fallen off in her haste.

As she knelt by her father, she noticed he had an odd expression on his face.

"Who might you be, dear?" he asked.

"Oh, Father. Don't be silly. It is I, Druscilla."

"But you... you look so like your mother. Even your face is radiant. Here, see for yourself."

Taking the proffered mirror, she gazed into her reflection - only to find it radically changed. Gone was her horrid disfigurement, replaced by beauty beyond compare.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed, as she dropped the mirror onto her father's lap. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for her fine fortune.

Meanwhile, the elder sister was dining with her betrothed, when, all of a sudden, the room got quiet, and the prince's face turned white.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked innocently.

"I never noticed before what an ugly old crone you were," he said. "To think you bewitched me with your foul magic. I'm glad, for whatever reason, the spell was broken before I made a dreadful mistake. Guards! Seize her, and dispose of her as we dispose of all witches."

After a few days, Druscilla began to worry about her sister, who had not returned home yet, so she went to see the prince. From the moment their eyes met, they both knew it was love.

"Will you marry me?" the prince asked.

"Yes," Druscilla replied, "But only on two conditions. You must allow my father to live here in the palace with me, and you must release my sister from the dungeon, and restore her to her rightful status."

For, even though her sister had always treated her cruelly, she was, after all, family, and Druscilla, in good conscience, could not bear to see anyone, even someone as wretched as her sister had been, to suffer.

"Anything for you, my love," he replied.

And they lived happily ever after. The elder sister never did fully regain her beauty, but she was known far and wide for her wisdom and humbleness.

Moral:

TRUE beauty comes from the heart, and works its way out, until the whole person shines with its radiance. Don't be fooled by the shallow, fake trappings of what some erroneously label "beauty".

If I Had All the Gold...
(c) 2017 Haylee V

Once upon a time, there lived a handsome, but very greedy and conceited prince. In fact, the only thing this prince loved more than himself was gold.

One day, while out strolling his vast kingdom, he happened to see a poor peasant getting ready to throw a basket into the river. Upon reaching the peasant, he realized the basket in question was filled to the brim with what appeared to be golden eggs!

"Wait!" said the prince. "Don't you know how valuable those eggs are?"

"Why?" the peasant replied. "I haven't eaten in three days, and all my goose can do is lay these. They're not even edible. The goose, and these eggs, are TOTALLY USELESS!"

"In that case," the greedy prince said, seizing his (quite literal) golden opportunity, "I propose a trade. All the geese in my kingdom, in exchange for your one goose and all her eggs."

Why, thought the poor peasant, If I had that many geese, I'd never be hungry again. And I'd have the softest bed and warmest quilt in the land, with all that down.

"Deal!" said the peasant. "I'll fetch her to the castle at once. You already have all the eggs she's laid, except the very first one. I threw it in my garbage, but I can get it for you, if you want it."

"Indeed I do!" the greedy prince said, rubbing his fingers.

So, the prince gave up his entire flock, but now had the world's only golden-egg laying goose.

The next day, the prince was out walking again, when he overheard a farmer crying.

"This cow is no good. The milk she gives is completely useless. Every time I try to make cheese with it, it turns to gold, and the same thing happens when I try to churn it. I end up with a bar of gold instead of butter. Her only use now will be for the slaughterhouse."

Again seizing the opportunity, the prince spoke up.

"I'll give you every cow, bull, steer, and calf in my kingdom, if you'll trade me this cow, and all the milk she's given you thus far."

Without hesitation, the farmer agreed happily.

The next day, the prince overheard yet another farmer.

"My land is completely worthless. Everything I plant comes up solid gold. The trees only give me solid gold apples and pears, my fields only produce solid gold wheat stalks and corn ears; why even the stream has nothing but solid gold fish. I'd trade it all, just for a decent, farmable tract of land."

"I'll give you my castle, and all the surrounding land. Do we have a deal?"

The farmer was all too happy to agree, so the prince moved his cow and goose into the farmer's hovel that day.

Every day that passed, the greedy prince's gold collection grew. For every egg he took, the goose would lay two more in its place. The cow never seemed to run out of milk, giving back two quarts for every one milked. For every golden fish the prince caught, two more would replace it, and his fields yielded their golden fruits in ample supply. The prince had never been happier...

Until he began to get hungry. Having nothing to his name but the gold, he went to the market, to try to barter.

"Of what use are golden fish or apples? Or golden cheese or corn ears? We can't eat them, or really do anything at all with them other than look at them glisten. They're useless."

Finally, a kind peddler took pity on the prince.

"While I have no use for your golden wares, I also can't stand to see anyone, no matter how greedy, go hungry. Although the fare is meager to a prince of your wealth, you may share with me."

And that meal, to the greedy prince, meant more than all the gold he owned, for it had saved him from certain starvation.

Moral:

Money isn't the only thing in life.

Sometimes we forget that the only value something- or someone- has is what we choose to give to it, and what we see as "valuable" others may see as "useless". Always strive to be valuable to everyone you meet, and you'll never truly be poor.

It appears Parable won out, so here you go!

The Friend Unchosen
(c) 2017
Haylee V

"God, I hate these damn crippled bums!" James exhaled, as he stumbled drunkenly down the alley. "All they ever do is beg for handouts. They're just a burden on society and good for nothing. They should all just be rounded up and put out of their miserable existence."

He was drunk as a skunk, but he didn't care. He was a made man now, having just signed a $75 million, 5 year, iron-clad contract with the Detroit Lions. As of 9 AM tomorrow, he would be the go-to quarterback for the team, now that Matthew Stafford had officially announced his retirement.

The party had lasted a little longer than he had expected, and his girlfriend had left when it had just begun to get rowdy, claiming an early work shift tomorrow and a slight headache. In truth, though, she just didn't want to see him drunk off his gourd yet again.

"Excuse me, Sir," yet another vagrant accosted. "Can you spare a dollar for a cup of coffee?"

James rolled his eyes in disgust at the legless bum.

"Here's a ten," he sneered, throwing the bill o n the ground at his feet. "Now why don't you just crawl into a sewer grate somewhere and drown? You're killing my buzz."

Laughing maniacally, he stepped off the curb, never once bothering to notice the flashing signal. He never saw the swerving truck as it plowed into him.

James lay in the hospital bed, clinging to life. The operation had been successful, but he had lost a lot of blood- both after the accident (and in transit to the trauma unit) and during surgery. His left leg, unfortunately, had to be amputated shortly below the knee, and his right leg had been completely lost. He would never again walk unassisted. Finally, the doctors felt he was stable enough to wake from his medically induced coma.

The first thing James saw as he opened his eyes was the legless bum, strapped to a gurney beside him.

"How do you feel, friend?"

"Why do you care? And just who the Hell are you, anyway?"

"I'm the rat you told to crawl in the sewer and drown. When I heard the screeching tires, I just had to see what happened. You lost a lot of blood. You almost died, in fact."

"I wish I had. My life's over."

"No, it's just begun. You're young, and you'll adapt. I'd hate to think that I wasted 2 pints of my own blood on someone who's just going to give up."

"But why save me, of all people? I was so mean to you..."

"I couldn't just sit there and let you die."

Moral:

We don't often get to choose our friends. Sometimes, they choose us instead.

Always strive to treat everyone as if your life depended on their friendship, because one day, it just might.

Today's parable is very special to me and is written from the depths of my heart. Given what I'm currently going through, I felt compelled to write about my experiences. It is deep, it is dark, but hopefully, will also be far-reaching and uplifting to those out there that need it. I hope you enjoy it. - Haylee V

It's Time To Go
(c) 2017
Haylee V

Jake sat in the hospital bed, tears streaming from his face as he digested the news: Stage 4 Squamous Cell Carcinoma- the deadliest form of lung cancer. In less than a month, he would die.

"But why? And so soon. Surely we can try one more round of chemo. Radiation. More surgery. Anything!"

"We can increase the morphine and try to make you comfortable. Beyond that, all I can tell you is to start to make peace- with yourself and others. If there's anything at all that you don't want to leave left undone, then do it."

Monica trembled as she held her brother's hand. "Maybe it's time," she whispered.

"I'll never forgive him for what he did to our family!" Jake screamed, perhaps too vehemently, as he was wracked with a major coughing jag immediately afterward. "That bastard ruined our family. Mom loved him, and he did that to her. Became that disgusting thing. I don't care if they did cut off his damn penis. He was our father and her husband, yet he freely chose to become that 'Vicky' thing."

"Have you even met her? She's pretty amazing. And happier now than Dad ever was. If Mom and I can forgive her and move on, why can't you?"

"Because..." Jake began. "I had to give up my life... my dreams... to be the provider he never was. Had I not enlisted in the Navy and worked in the shipyards, I would not have been exposed, wouldn't have gotten sick, and wouldn't be dying now. He... no, IT... can rot in hell for all I care."

Just then, a silver-haired woman walked in, tears streaming down her face, ruining her makeup and causing her to resemble a raccoon.

"Jacob Wesley Abrams," she began. "I never stopped loving you. I never meant to affect your life so much by my choices. I had no choice in my actions- the testosterone in my body was causing my liver to fail. When I received my diagnosis and told your mother, we tried- hard, to stay together. But same sex marriages were forbidden back then and had we stayed together, the two of you would have been forever separated in the foster care system. I knew I would not be allowed to keep you, so I did the only thing I could. I was left with the choice of leaving you voluntarily, and living as a woman, or staying, doing nothing, and dying as a man. Your mother loved me enough to encourage me to choose life. Now, if you're willing, I'd like to share my life with you again, Son."

"I'm... sorry, Dad... err, Mom... err... Just what the hell do I call you, anyway?"

"How about just calling me forgiven? We can work out the details later. For now, I need to embrace my Son. It's been far too long."

Moral:

Nothing is ever as heavy as a grudge, nor ever held as long. We should always be willing and open to offer forgiveness to those that have wronged us, and to accept forgiveness from those that offer it to us.

The Scram-bacopanca-bagemuffi-biscandsausag-inator
(C) 2017
Haylee V

Once upon a time, and long before anyone had ever heard of such modern conveniences as electricity or microwaves or fast food restaurants, there lived an inventor named Thomas.

Now Thomas wasn't your ordinary kind of inventor- Heavens, no!- he liked to make complicated machines to perform simple tasks, like raking leaves or washing clothes or baking bread.

One day, the king called upon Thomas to make him an invention- one that would make quick work of preparing breakfast. For you see, the king loved to wake up every morning to fresh coffee and warm toasted bread with butter and jam. But unfortunately, every time the royal chef would place a piece of bread on the cooking spit, it would fall through the slats and into the fire- hopelessly rendering it forever inedible.

Thomas was sure he was up to the task and set forth quickly from the palace to the royal junk heap, to obtain parts for his miraculous machine to toast the king's bread.

Along the way, he ran into a merchant selling fresh eggs and bacon.

"I bet the king would love scrambled eggs and bacon with his toast. I'll have to add something that will cook them as well," Thomas said to his apprentice John.

"The king just wants toast. Nothing more. There's no need to make things so complicated."

"It's no trouble at all. I'll just need a few more parts is all..."

Next, he came upon a group of lumberjacks just sitting down to breakfast. The smell of sausages, pancakes, and warm maple syrup wafted on the breeze, filling the inventor's nostrils and making him quite hungry.

"Aah! Now that smells divine. Surely I can add something that would make such a wonderful addition to the king's breakfast," he thought aloud.

"Toast. And jam. That's all the king requested," John reminded him. "Must you make things so complicated?"

"Nonsense," Thomas replied. "Just a few more parts is all..."

Soon, they passed the local bakery. Thomas eyed the freshly made cakes, muffins, and bagels eagerly.

"Surely adding such delicious baked goods can do no harm."

"Toast. T-O-A-S-T. And J-A-M, jam," John replied.

"It's only two or three more parts. What harm can they do?"

John knew he was defeated, for Thomas's mind was set to make an elaborate machine for the king. He silently listed the things he would need to make a machine the king actually wanted.

Finally, they reached the royal junkyard, and Thomas quickly proceeded to gather all the parts for his miraculous invention. John, however, just gathered the few parts he thought he would need in order to make the king something that would toast his bread in the morning.

Having completely filled his wheelbarrow, Thomas turned to John, quite satisfied.

"Now, the fun begins," he stated. "By the time I'm finished, the king will have a breakfast befitting someone of his stature: Scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, pancakes with warm maple syrup, bagels, biscuits, and muffins.

John, however, just shrugged and set about making his bread toaster.

The next day, with their machines completed, the pair went before the king.

Thomas began to set up his complicated apparatus, while John simply handed the cook his toaster. Within minutes, the king had been served his warm toast and jam, while Thomas was only half-through assembling the complicated device.

"Just you wait, your majesty!" Thomas beamed. "Once I'm set up, you'll have the grandest breakfast around!"

"But will it make toast?" the king questioned.

"Toast?" Thomas replied. "I never thought of that, in my rush to make you the ideal breakfast."

"Then your machine is useless to me. Take it (and yourself) away. For this day, I now know who the true inventor is."

Moral:

Sometimes, the simplest things are the best.

We often tend to add to our problems when we overthink things. It is only when we take a step back, and truly examine the challenges we face, that we realize that the true solution- the simplest solution- was staring us in the face all along.

(c)2017
Haylee V

The clouds spread, dark and foreboding, over the expansive field. Soon, the little light that had been radiating in the late autumn day would completely be gone, as the sun set in the Western sky and the dusk spread its nocturnal blanket over the land.

James looked worriedly over the unfinished cistern on his potter's wheel. He had started in the early dawn, just as the first rays had shown over the horizon, turning the horizon a rich crimson, and driving the indigo-infused strata away for another day. Can I finish the lantern today? he silently asked himself.

James was a perfectionist's perfectionist and would accept nothing less than the absolute best out of himself and his work. A plethora of discarded crockery lay in waste at the feet of the old potter's wheel, forever blemished in one of James's vain tirades to produce the "perfect" piece.

"Come inside, Father," his son implored, "For the darkness approaches quickly, and soon night will fall upon the land. You have done much today, and tomorrow is another day. Besides, supper is almost ready.

His father, seeing the futility of his efforts, quickly acquiesced. Soon he was seated at the table, breaking bread and eating the thin stew his son had so lovingly prepared on the hearth.

"A most excellent meal, my Son, as always. Being Baker Timothy's apprentice has surely paid off for you, unlike me. I can make nothing worth a tinker's damn anymore, ever since Baldo left for the king's court. I just no longer have the inspiration."

"Hush, Father," Daniel admonished. "You are still a valued member of the community, and your urns and milk churns are the talks of the land. But come to bed, as the fire is quickly dying out."

Upon uttering this, the last ember in the hearth quickly died out, leaving the tiny hovel in complete darkness. Reaching up on the mantle quickly, Daniel grabbed a ceramic candle holder, inserted a tapered candle, and lit it. As he did so, the light quickly filled the entire room, illuminating it with its soft, warm glow.

Upon seeing this, James remembered the simpler times, when, as an apprentice himself, he had first fashioned the candle holder. It wasn't the prettiest thing he had ever made, by far, but it served its purpose well.

Moral:

Sometimes, functionality can be much more valuable than beauty.

Many times, in an effort to find the "perfect" item, whether it be china, an expensive vase, or even a mate, we forget our real intent- to fill a void in our lives. If we step back and truly remember what we are seeking, we can work past the facade of beauty and find that which we are really seeking.

Once upon a time, in a country far away, lived a poor vagrant named John. Now, John didn't have much -- just the tattered rags on his back, a well-worn tent, and an even more worn donkey, Gladys -- but he was content. His bed was usually the soft grasses of the field, or the hard, cobbled stones of the city streets. His friends were the various birds, rodents, and other vermin of the city and wildlands

Every morning, John would pack up his tent and load it on Gladys' back, then begin his daily scavaging runs of the city, ofthen finding odd uses for what others in the city considered mere junk. Some items he was able to sell or trade for coins, with which he would buy grain for his dear Gladys. Sometimes, he was even fortunate enough to earn enough to buy himself and Gladys a warm place to sleep and a decent meal.

One day, as he was resting by the castle gates during the heat of the day, a traveling noble happened by in his fancy chariot. When Gladys saw the huge orange wheels, she obviously mistook them for carrots, and took a huge bite out of the nearest one, breaking it off its axle and throwing the nobleman to the ground. This made the nobleman quite upset and embarassed, and he petitioned the constable to fine John for the damages.

At the trial, when the judge saw that John had no means to pay, he ordered John thrown into prison for a year (to work off his debt), and ordered all of his [very] meager posessions (including Gladys) turned over to the nobleman. In a smug tone, the nobleman snidely turned to John and remarked, "Maybe now, you and your kind will learn to respect those above you, and stay in the dumps where you belong. As for that beast, I have no choice but to care for the old bag (as is our law), but if I could, I'd..."

But John instead of returning with a snide remark of his own, merely bowed down before both the judge and the nobleman and thanked them both profusely.

"Often, have I struggled to provide adequately for Gladys. Now, though, I know she will have nuch food and decent bedding, as will I -- for at least a year, that is. I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me."

Moral:

"No adversity is to great to break a content and contrite spirit, nor is there any amount that will sate a greedy heart."

When one finds true contentment, and becomes truly thankful for the blessings he or she has been granted, NOTHING can stand in the way of his or her happiness.