Emotions welled as he sat on the patio watching the pup play with their four adult hunting dogs. Today was the pup’s last day with them, and he reflected on the coincidence - perhaps Divine Providence, all things considered - that led to this moment.

Two months prior, he left on a hunting trip with one of their dogs but found himself detoured by the compulsion to buy a grocery store sandwich. Firstly, he never bought food for hunting and secondly, a bag of snacks set on the seat beside him. Furthermore, the sandwich he craved had to come from a specific store that he had already passed.

It was there that he found the frightened two month-old pup in the cart return area where someone had dumped him just minutes before. Without a second thought, he abandoned the hunt and returned home with the pup. Hank, as he would be named. Soon afterwards, he and his wife noticed gentle, caring manner in which their dogs treated the pup and how they were careful to make eye contact before communicating in the dog-language they spoke. Their vet then confirmed what they suspected: the pup was deaf.

Now, two months later, Hank was leaving for the state prison to be part of a program that centered around inmates training rescued dogs, particularly those with disabilities like Hank. Watching the dogs romp about in autumn’s chill, he smiled fondly at how this discarded, unwanted pup, was destined for a greater purpose.

One day there was a young woman with magic in her fingers and she looked to the Forest with sparks in her hair. She lived in the edges of the Forest and in the evenings she would sneak into it and find whatever truths were hidden inside. She knew the Forest like a mother, and was familiar with it like a homeland. The Forest was out of bounds to the people. But that didn't stop her from sneaking into it. It didn't stop her from filling her bags with herbs.

She had powers that the villagers depended upon. The way she knew how to find good, clean water in the Forest springs. The way she knew what plants healed what what illnesses. The way she could make people feel better with just words alone. Everywhere she went she brought protection and healing.

But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. For life in the village was hard. It was cruel. The villagers had each other. Always, always, always they had each other. But they had to scrape by with the barest of minimums while the kings and queens in their towers and palaces feasted on excess.

But the village had the sun. It had the rain. It had the ground and the air and magic. And magic allowed the people to hold on hope and survive through the grating storms.

The kings and queens and knights and nobles feared magic. They hated it. They hated it because it was a threat to their power. It was something that was not theirs. Something that would never be theirs. It was something that they couldn't hold and tame and use. And so they tried to root it out. Get rid of it.

First they came for all the spouses of the Forest. These people they rounded up and killed. They taught their knights to find the signs of a Forestspouse. And how to dispatch them with fire and water and steel. They taught their children to hate them and to keep that hatred alive in their hearts.

It did not work. For the Forest always called its children to it. And even if Forestspouses were killed, new ones would always emerge. It was not a position that was passed down with birth like nobility was. It was not something learned like swordsmanship was. The yearning to go to the Forest and learn from it was inherent in all people. For all people were children of the Forest. And each year someone would be brave enough to act upon that yearning.

So then the kings and queens went after the Forest itself. They built tall fences around it and sent their knights to patrol it, killing anyone who they found within its arms. They told their preachers to preach about the evils and the dangers that lurked within. And they taught their children never to go into the Forest alone.

But the people of the lands didn't listen to the preachers. They merely pretended to. The Forestspouses always found ways over or under or around or through the fences, and they were adept at stepping quietly and remaining hidden.

Now we go back to the young Forestwife from the beginning. Her teacher, a one-armed older woman, had been killed by the nobles for possessing magic. And the young woman, then just a girl, had to take up her mantle while having to train herself. But she did.

And she always carried a hatred of the kings and queens within herself, and a grief, and a solemnness. She knew she must be careful. She knew she must hide her gift from anyone with power.

It might be worth noting that the young Forestwife was very beautiful, with dark curling hair and wide eyes as dark as the night. She had a handsome curved jawline and a straight, pale nose.

It was this beauty that led her towards trouble.

One day the prince came to visit the village. And the villagers threw a feast to welcome him. They had to. The prince was a smug little thing with an upwards pointing nose and cold, dead eyes and gold in his hair. The Forestwife hated him. But she had to serve him.

The prince saw her darkness and her beauty and he wanted her for himself. He did not decide to take her as a wife, for he already had a wife and he did not want to exalt a woman of such low birth. But he decided for himself that he should take her as a mistress.

He offered the Forestwife a position as a servant in the castle, far away from the Forest and all its power. The young woman was heartbroken but she knew she had to accept. She knew she didn't really have a choice against his power.

And so she bade farewell to the village that had raised her since she was a child, to all the people who she loved and who loved her. All the people who she had grown up with. All the people who she would miss more than life itself. And with tears in her eyes she walked to the castle where she would bow and stoop to the royals and be dragged along to the prince's chambers when his princess was not looking.

And so she lived her life, sweeping floors and fetching and carrying and letting herself get torn into by the man with gold in his hair. She knew she had to hide her powers. Or else she would be as dead as her mentor. And she knew she had to play the role of the meek, submissive servant. Or else her people would play th price.

At night she prayed to the Forest for deliverance, or guidance, or something. And in the quiet of the night the Forest answered her. It answered her as silently as she prayed. For it could not go through the walls and excesses of the castle without becoming mute and silenced. But even in the silence there is knowledge. Even in the silence the young woman found knowledge.

The Forest told the young woman to wait. Told her to keep getting closer to the prince. To keep biding her time. And to pretend that she cared about him and was a happy mistress.

And so she did. She smiled when he sank into her. She smiled when their fingers brushed together. She smiled when she bowed to him. She offered him prayers directed towards his gods and she offered him bright flowers pulled from the weeds of the castle grounds.

She accompanied him when he went out throughout the kingdom squashing any hints of rebellion. She accompanied him when he went throughout the kingdom soaking in the false praise the people were forced to tribute to him. She accompanied him when they went to other kingdoms to meet with foreign kings and negotiate alliances and treaties.

She hated these trips. But she knew that the prince relished in them. Relished in the time spent together without the princess anywhere in the vicinity. He was especially smug and condescending during these trips. But she bore it. She knew that this was a way out.

Eventually the prince trusted her enough to take her into the Forest for a hunting trip. The royals always hunted wastefully. Killing more creatures than they ever needed to eat and only taking part of the meat, not using every part of the animal. But still. This was a chance to enter the Forest.

Inside the Forest her spirits sang. But she had to keep the brightness out of her eyes and the glee out of her smile. But still, she soaked in the Forest's presence and let it heal her. The prince was off somewhere hunting, and so were the rest of his knights, and she had a moment to herself. She let her feet carry her wherever.

And the Forest silently tugged and pulled her to a patch of wolfsbane. She smiled. She asked the Forest if she was meant to poison the prince. Not yet, the Forest told her, the time for his reckoning will come.

She took the wolfsbane and told the cooks to put it in a stew for the king. They were hesitant at first. They asked the woman why they should risk all of their lives for petty revenge. But it was then that the woman revealed to them that she was a Forestwife, and the Forest had guided her hand towards this. They trusted her, then, and set about preparing the meal for the king.

When the king died, the royals were in an uproar. The prince was crowned the new king and he swore that he would find out who had killed his father, even if he had to search the whole lands and kill the whole entire kingdom to do so.

The Forestwife took her chance. She went to the prince and told him that she had heard the palace guards talking amongst themselves. She told them that she had heard that one of them wanted to go into the late king's quarter while he slept. She said that she had been foolish and thought nothing of it at the time but this was suspicious behaviour.

The new king chided the girl harshly for not telling him this news before. He ranted about how foolish the commoners were. He cut the woman's food rations in half. But he believed her.

In one week all the palace guards were dead.

The Forestwife won back the favour of the king with her meekness and her submission and her sweet lips and dark eyes. She used sigils and spells to make herself even more beautiful. And she always sang him the sweetest praise. She took his side in every argument and dispute he ever got into. She did her work perfectly and dutifully. And she lovingly, lovingly, lovingly took him into her whenever he lead her away to a quiet corner.

And so the king had been king for one year. And the woman had been praying to the Forest for guidance that whole year.

There came a time when the king suggested that the two of them go to the village that the woman came from. She acted beyond delighted and grateful. And she was. To see her people again. But she also saw this as a chance.

She stole some paper from the king's study and etched out detailed runes. She summoned a raven to send them to the new Forestspouse of her old village, a teen who was sometimes a girl, sometimes not either, who she had been able to occasionally write to when she could steal paper and hide. In the runes she lay down a detailed plan. A plan that would free her kingdom once and for all.

A dragon hoarding riches untold. The king was greedy, and would easily be persuaded to kill it to steal its treasure. The king was prideful and would definitely want to brag of having killed a dragon. The villagers were to pretend that they had seen a dragon flying into the forest, claws clasped with gold. They were to go to the king on their knees, tears in their eyes, pleading for him to deliver them from it. And the king would take a good portion of his knights, the woman, and go into the Forest in search of the beast.

The problem that remained was the queen and the rest of the knights. It was no simple thing to poison so many people. Not when it was impossible to get them all seated in one place. But she knew that the queen envied the way the king looked at her. She knew the queen suspected what the king did with her.

And so the woman started a rumour. A rumour that the king made love to her when they went off on journeys alone. This rumour was true. And that's what made it believable. And that's what made the queen demand to be taken along when the king went to the village.

So they went on the journey. The king, the queen. A few knights. A few servants. Including the woman. Everything went according to plan. There was a great feast, after that the villagers begged the king to save them from the powerful, gold-hoarding dragon. So the king called for a third of the kingdom's knights and planned to go into the Forest to find and slay this great beast. The woman remarked to him, just a little too loudly, when the queen was just a little too close, that she couldn't wait to go to the Forest with him. And so the queen demanded to be brought along as well. And so the king brought along another third of the knights to protect her. And they all made the journey into the greenwood.

When they came to the vast caverns that the dragon was told to be in, the woman followed them inside, claiming that if the king died she would rather die alongside him. But as they descended down and down, she pretended to have gotten scared and turned back, letting the knights comment on the cowardice of commoners and women. Once outside the cave she told the queen and the other knights that the dragon was defeated and the treasures were unbelievable. She said that the king desired the queen to come look at them. And so they descended down into the cave.

The Forestwife didn't follow them in, saying the king wanted to talk to the queen without her presence. And then she was alone standing outside the mouth of the cavern.

She felt the Forest flowing through her and giving her its power and energy. She breathed in. Then she breathed out. And she spoke a spell that sent the rock ceiling of the cave tumbling down, trapping all the royals and knights within its maw.

She knew that it would be a horrible death. But it was no more horrible than the deaths they had damned her mentor and so many other people to.

She drank from the spring water and felt it bless her with new life that she carried inside her.

She walked back to the castle and told everyone the truth. Well, the partial truth. That everyone had died within the cave and that she could say no more. The kingdom grieved. They quarrelled amongst themselves as to what to do now that there was no king.

But the woman said that she carried the only child of the dead king within her. And it was a lie. She carried a child of herself and the Forest. She carried a child of the common people and of the magic that protected them. But it was a good lie. One that they believed. Many people had seen the way the king looked at her and had had their suspicions.

And so the child grew up in the castle. With the regent king and the other nobles. But the child's mother told them where they really came from. And they listened to her.

When they were of age to take the throne, they abolished the monarchy and stepped down to let the people lead. It was the first free land that the continent had known. And it inspired all the lands surrounding it to rebel and free themselves of their rulers.

The young woman was an old woman now. And she smiled.

She seldom called upon God other than to damn him, so it was unusual that a downward glance could prompt such an upward exaltation from her, a subconscious plea to a God she had heretofore failed to give His due justice. But in glancing down her eyes had chanced upon those of a nearby child amidst the bustling Christmas throngs, a child whose serious expression was simultaneously transfixed on her, innocently gazing upward at her as if she could somehow be meaningful and important to him or to anybody else, which she was not, unless of course that person was a client and was therefore paying her to be important to them. The thing about it though, was that when she looked into the child’s eyes she metaphysically sensed some sort of antennae raising within her, as though she were an ant, or a cockroach, or a mouse whose whiskers sensed without seeing, whose antennae felt without touching.

”Goodness Gracious,” was what audibly fell from her lips when she initially saw him, an old fashioned phrase which she’d never used before, though one she’d heard her mother and her mother’s mother utter a million times before, back when she herself was a child. Still, it was an odd expression to unpack now.

At thirty-nine years old Mason-Lee had come to the belief that her life was beyond novel-ness. She was in a rut. Having lived a man’s work life, what she was experiencing was in effect the traditional working man’s “mid-life crisis”, though she had no concerted realization of this. The longer than necessary hours she worked were partly born of habit, partly because work gave her feelings of both accomplishment and worth which she felt nowhere else, and partly (she admitted this only to herself) because outworking and out-performing the male partners at the firm fed her feminist vanity. At the office Mason-Lee was somebody. The office and courtroom were her arenas to outdo the men, and it was very nearly only men she contended with anymore, as the women she’d associated with early in her career had virtually all given it up for family life years ago, nearly every one except for Mason-Lee, that is. She had not wanted that. A courtroom was all she’d ever wanted really; a place where she could display who she was, an arena where her strengths, namely intrigue and tenaciousness, ruled. A place where she could compete against the smuggest of adversaries and win. A place where, if men did not pay her heed, it was at their peril.

That was all she’d ever wanted, to win. Until today that is... until this very moment.

This was a most unusual child she found herself gawking at, a child she was unable to remove her attention from, and for the most impossible of reasons. The child’s eyes recalled to Mason-Lee the thoughtful expression of her father’s countenance, while the boy’s face itself displayed the softness and beauty of her mother’s. The boy had her Aunt Judith’s dark, wavy hair, and her Grandfather’s bow-legged gait. Mason-Lee felt herself drawn to the child, but no, her newly raised antennae immediately corrected that misguided thought. What she was feeling was not a pull towards. It was much more than that. What she was feeling was a connection with... but why? And how?

”Mason-Lee” was her name, though it really wasn’t. Her birth certificate stated that she was Heather Lee Mason. She had gone by Heather until graduate school, where she’d taken to calling herself Mason-Lee, as it sounded stronger to her, more masculine. She’d reasoned at the time that if she was going to be competing with men in the debate of law, then it was important that the competition begin from a level base, so she reversed her name. The ease of the change had surprised her, that all it took was to tell people something was your name, and to write it the new way when possible, and suddenly it was. Not even her professors, who had only to read her name on their correctly typed rolls, ever challenged her on it. So now, fourteen years later, she was Heather Mason only to her family. To everyone else she was Mason-Lee Heather, Attorney at Law. But still, Mason-Lee was somehow completely oblivious to the irony that in the courtroom, unlike in her classrooms at college, she was referred to much more often as the very feminine “Ms. Heather” than her preferred “Mason-Lee.“

And Mason-Lee was still a “Miss,” though she was plenty attractive enough, and more than successful enough to be considered quite a catch. Even still, she had rarely been asked out on dates fifteen years ago, much less now. Looking back, which was something she frequently did these days, she had to assume that this was because she’d been as driven then as she was now. Driven people, she reasoned, have neither the time nor the inclination to “put themselves out there.” Mason-Lee had certainly never done that. She was nearing forty and had had sex with exactly two people in her life. Her current lover, seven years younger, was a nice looking if somewhat effeminate beta-male “friend” whom she felt empowered over, whom she could manipulate, and whom she was thus willing to let herself go with, as he could be easily discarded and knew it. But even with that, Mason-Lee did look forward to their usually wine-fueled, weekend trysts. While usually tender and compliant, there were those moments when “Drunk Steven” forgot himself in his inebriation and became a real man, contorting her for better access, holding her with a strength she had not believed he possessed and literally pounding her, his skin slapping her belly or her ass with such force that it reduced her into a willing submissiveness that she didn’t know she desired until she was lost in it’s throes. It was strangely in those moments, when she was at her most vulnerable, and when his body literally hummed with desire for her, that she felt the most empowered. That in those moments Steven, or any man, could want and need her so badly that it would take the threat of death before he could or would stop. Mason-Lee had been pleasantly amazed to discover the equalizing properties that sex with a man could offer, that she could be both submissive and in control; sex providing the physical sensations that he craved while supplying her with the rare moments of complete and undivided attention from a man that she so longed for.

Mason-Lee’s other sexual partner had been her college roommate, whom her younger, more naive self had allowed to seduce her. Mona was smart, somewhat pretty, and had never from day one hidden her interest, which was very attractive in itself. In honesty, no one had ever come after Mason-Lee with the intensity that Mona had, and Mason-Lee had happily bathed in the attention Mona showered her with. And she could not say that those sexual experiments with Mona had not had their highs, but sex with her had mostly felt coerced, almost forced, as if she was performing on a stage for an audience’s approval rather than giving of herself without reservation the way that Mason-Lee felt a ”real” relationship should be, though she’d had no experience at the time to base that on. And never, no matter how uninhibited Mason-Lee had eventually become with Mona, was she sure in her mind that this was what she wanted long-term. And in the end Mona had really only amounted to a “breaking away” experiment, so that all that became of their relationship was the begrudging realization that Mason-Lee was not a lesbian, that is to say that Mason-Lee had actually been more in love with the idea of lesbianism, of women empowering women, than she had been in love with Mona… and so, at Mona’s sad expense Mason-Lee had given it the old college try, masquerading herself as one.

The child was being led away now, his tiny hand in his mother’s, his face turned back over his shoulder, his fascinated and fascinating eyes still locked on hers. He felt it too, didn’t he? This same connection she felt? Unconsciously, Mason-Lee began to follow.

The hundreds of oblivious gift shoppers quickly became maddening. Every single time the masses got between she and the child, blocking him from Mason-Lee’s view, she experienced an uncomfortable, almost unreasonable panic twinging from her chest outward to her extremities, much as the pain from a diseased heart must do, leaving her desperate and afraid, so that she used her hands and voice to push bodies out of the way, heedless of their sexes, their ages, or their capacities. She found herself desperate to find the boy’s eyes again, and to ensure that they were searching back for hers, and each time she caught up to him his eyes were looking back, leaving her even more desperate for him! She felt an almost undeniable craving to rush forward, to take the boy in her arms, to kiss the child’s mouth, to smooth his hair, and to pull him close to her so that she might feel his pulse, and his breath, and his cheek against hers. “Was this how it felt to be a mother,” she wondered? It must be! But why this child? And why now?

It was then she remembered the eggs.

Back at thirty years old, when Mason-Lee’s career was just beginning to sky-rocket, she’d read an article, actually an advertisement about a woman’s reproductive timeline. The article had informed her that she was peaking. Her chances at producing a child, though she had not desired a child at the time and was doubtful that she ever would want one, would only diminish going forward. But according to the article her eggs could be removed and saved, frozen before their genetic qualities began their inevitable deterioration. Oocyte Cryopreservation it was called, and ever one to hedge her bets Mason-Lee had called the phone number supplied by the article that very day. Within a week she had plopped down the required $12,000, set up an automatic withdrawal on her credit card for the $1200 annual “storage” fee, and made appointments for the required hormone injections that were necessary prior to the actual harvesting. A few short-lived physical side effects later, some cramping pains mostly, the entire thing had been pushed to her back-of-mind. But now, as she and this child gazed at one another through the nameless, shapeless throngs, those hoarded eggs were pushing their way back into her front-of-mind, the eggs hardening in the now roiling waters of her heated anxieties, forcing the thought that she did not want to think to surface upward…

Could this child be hers?

It’s “mother” was walking faster now, forcing Mason-Lee into an uncomfortable, high-heeled jog to keep pace as she slipped, sliced and fought her way through the smiling idiots with their bulging plastic bags and their maxed-out credit cards. God damn them, would they not get out of her fucking way!

Could her eggs have been stolen? Sold to someone else? Just how many eggs had that clinic harvested from her? She didn’t know! The number hadn’t really seemed important at the time, yet how could she not have acquired that basic fact? And it only took one egg, didn’t it? One healthy egg to produce a child, yet how did one verify? Through DNA testing? She would have to do some research on the matter, Mason-Lee thought as she continued her bent-kneed shuffle after mother and child, her anxious hands clinging tightly to her own bulging, plastic shopping bags.

They were in the parking lot now, woman and child. In another moment the woman would be strapping the child, which Mason-Lee now considered to be “her child”, into a car seat and driving him away to God knew where. Her anxiety turning to panic Mason-Lee fought for control. What to do? A DNA test could only be forced if she had the boy, or if she at least knew where to find him. The woman held up a key-fob and pressed. From two rows over came an answering chirp which the woman bee-lined for.

Mason-Lee, generally the most thoughtful, analytical, and nonplussed of people, found herself in a blind panic which left her startled and defenseless when the woman wheeled on her with an expression twisted in fear and concern. “I don’t know what your problem is lady, but you’d better leave us alone!”

”What? What do you mean?” Mason-Lee’s own timid reply surprised her.

”I mean,” the woman’s angry voice twisted the words like licorice. “That you have been following me since Macy’s! Go away! Leave us alone!” The woman huffed away, towing the boy in-hand. Temporarily taken aback, Mason-Lee let them go, but the moment didn’t last. It couldn’t last, could it? Not with what was at stake! With the woman’s back turned Mason-Lee dropped her bags and rushed forward, grabbing the boy’s free hand and tugging, but the smaller woman did not yield. Caught up in their tug-of-war the boy’s shrieks attracted on-lookers with cell phone cameras at the ready. Letting loose of her child the woman jumped at Mason-Lee, swinging and clawing at her with an unexpected ferociousness as Mason-Lee hauled the child up into her arms and began to run with it. But with all of her education and training she should have known how it had to end.

Try as she might, she could not run fast enough, nor far enough.

It was not one of those nice, hide-away, rich people jails Mason-Lee was taken to, but was the regular city holding cell where she stood in a corner, unwilling to sit on any one of the filthy cots amongst the tattooed and drug addicted whores and thieves whose disapproving eyes stared at her gentrification from beneath tired, heavy lids. The only good in the wait was that there was plenty of time to contemplate what she had done, and what she might do yet. Well past her anger at the slowness of a system which she was observing for the first time from its other side, Mason-Lee, a perennial chess player, pondered her next moves.

Holding the child had been all she’d hoped it would be, even if she had been running for their lives at the time. With him in her arms Mason-Lee had felt alive for the first time in seemingly ever. With him in her arms she had finally felt a purpose beyond herself. To the layman it might have seemed that Mason-Lee had acted rashly, but no. Mason-Lee was a lawyer. A good one. One who understood the system she worked, and those who made it up. As a first-time offender she would be released on bail from this dingy hell-hole, and as a lawyer she would have access to the names and address of her accuser or victim, however you wanted to look at her. With that information, Mason-Lee would file her own case, the system’s first “maternity case,” where she would herself accuse the other woman of stealing her eggs, and thus kidnapping Mason-Lee’s unborn child, rather than the other way around. She could undoubtedly find something in the woman’s past to besmudge her with before the jury. There was always something, wasn’t there? If she could have the ”other mother” incarcerated, she might be able to keep the other mother in systematic limbo for years while she wrangled the boy through the foster system and back out in her favor. After all, money really could talk, and Mason-Lee had enough to make it sing.

Mason-Lee might have blown her chance when younger, but she would not blow this one now. No, she would use every tool of this conniving, ruthless trade she had mastered and she would win. She would have that child… hers, or not.

I started this year with this in my mind"Be brave and bold". I was for sure not consistent but still I challenged myself to lengths the younger me would be proud. And I am proud of myself too. I learnt more during 2023 than I've learnt for the previous 17 years of my life. Thank u for all the lessons u gave.

I behold the vast sea without an ending in sight. It swallows me in whole and i'm merely dust in its might. I let the moments pour over me and i sink in the moments i've been the happiest, frustrated, angriest,saddest,anxious,bored,touched . I recall the people that i've met in my life. Dear 2023, would you believe me if i told u that u r special. I met good and bad people. I saw the best and worst in people. I learnt the power of words. I understood the importance of kindness. And here I am sinking deep in the smiles and laughs and tears, anxieties and breakdowns, trust issues and trauma,and let them drown me.

..................

They can't

They are just there

Without much power

Because it is I who have that power.

I grew closer with the people who taught me friendship. I am friends with the most wonderful people from school and classes. I feel blessed to have so many supportive friends. They lend me strength and I do the same. I met great teachers who I'm still learning a lot from.

And i've met shitty people. *sighs*Oh I was disappointed and I still don't get why some people act the way they do

But I've come to realize that it's life. Sometimes it is shitty and sometimes it's great and sometimes its neither. It's the same with people but a little more complicated.

I learnt that family is the best thing in my life. 'Understanding', yes, i think it is a power many people possess. But some don't . Some do but ignore it at times. I'm not perfect. None of us are. But we hold a purpose to our lives in mind even if we don't voice it out loud. Or voice it at all. And I haven't realized mine neither. Dear 2023, but you taught me one thing. All the moments that I have lived through upto this moment are now memories I hold dearly. And I'm letting them go.What doesn't kill u make u stronger. And this is the strongest I've ever been. And i will be stronger. I welcome 2024 and i will be brave,bold and kind not exactly in the order.(hehe)

Goodbye 2023!

And if u made it to the end,thank u and happy new year

“I have something for you,” My mother paused, “but would you still want it if you knew how I got it?"

She's holding my hand as we're jaywalking in our little town. The rich scent of petrichor hangs in the air as the morning sun breaks through rain clouds. Rays, like gold coins, litter the black asphalt before us in a beautiful display. I needlessly try to avoid a small puddle; my shoes are already wet. Our car was recently repossessed, so we've been walking a lot lately.

As I ponder her question, my mother produces a candy bar from her jacket pocket. I wonder where it came from as I certainly would have noticed her purchasing it from the store we just left. She’d bought only cigarettes.

As she hands the candy to me, I understand she has stolen this item. I also realize she was trying to do something nice for me. But why this way? I was young, yet old enough to know that stealing was wrong. I felt shame, even though I was not the one that stole.

I decided, at a later time in life, she was simply doing the best she knew how.

Oh! yes

to be born

Seven Eleven

like Pop

Fizzie

Sizzling

'n Burstin'

to Heaven

with Music

to Swing to

'n wild Beats

to Sing to,

Oh! Truly

to be like

your Heart

always filled

with such

gratitude,

'n the Can

Do attitude!

to Let loved

ones Go on

'n Experiment

into the Cosmos

'n Back a

Round again!

while Your

Feet 'r Thumpin'

'n Eyes 'r

Jumping to

See what

Life's

Got as It's

New Great

Surprising!

{ ❤️ Happy Birthday Bunny! ❤️ }

Long ago, in a time when the Earth and heavens were intertwined, a celestial love story unfolded. The Sun, radiant and powerful, was deeply in love with the Moon, gentle and serene. Their love was forbidden, for their realms were meant to be separate, and their union would upset the delicate balance of the cosmos.

But love knows no boundaries, and the Sun and Moon devised a plan to meet in secret. Each night, when darkness cloaked the Earth, they would come together, embracing in a passionate dance of love. Their celestial union illuminated the night sky, casting a soft, mesmerizing glow over the world.

However, the gods soon became aware of their forbidden love. Furious at their defiance, they punished the Moon, decreeing that she would bear the burden of their affair. From that day forward, the Moon would change shape, her appearance shifting as a reminder of her forbidden love with the Sun.

During the first phase of the moon, the New Moon, the Moon hides herself from the Earth, a symbol of her longing for the Sun. As the days pass, a thin sliver of the Moon appears in the night sky, signaling the Waxing Crescent phase. The Moon slowly grows, revealing a larger portion of herself with each passing night.

In the Waxing Gibbous phase, the Moon nears fullness, embodying the ecstasy of her reunion with the Sun. Finally, the Full Moon arrives, illuminating the night sky in all her splendor. The Moon shines bright, basking in the embrace of the Sun, her forbidden love realized.

But their time together is fleeting, for the gods' decree must be upheld. As the days pass, the Moon begins to wane, her shape diminishing. The Waning Gibbous, Third Quarter, and Waning Crescent phases follow, marking the Moon's descent back into darkness and her inevitable separation from the Sun.

And so, the Moon's ever-changing shape serves as a reminder of the celestial love that once ignited the heavens. It is a myth that teaches us the consequences of forbidden love, the agony of longing, and the beauty that can arise from the most tragic of circumstances. The Moon's shifting phases capture the essence of love's eternal dance, forever inspiring poets and dreamers who gaze up at the night sky, yearning for a love that knows no boundaries.

The room was filled with a haze of smoke, swirling lazily in the dimly lit space. The sound of chatter and laughter mingled with the melodic strains of an old vinyl record, scratching against the needle's touch. It was my fourth birthday party, the day that would forever be etched into the depths of my mind as my first memory.

The air was thick with anticipation as the guests milled about, their faces hidden behind a veil of mystery. I watched from the corner of the room, my wide eyes absorbing every detail, every nuance. The flickering light from the neon sign outside cast strange shadows on the walls, painting a picture of intrigue and danger.

Suddenly, a man burst through the door, his leather jacket clinging to his broad frame. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. He had an air of danger about him, an untamed spirit that seemed to emanate from his very core. His eyes scanned the room, and for a brief moment, our gazes locked. In that instant, I felt a connection, a spark that ignited within me.

As if on cue, the music shifted, morphing into a pulsating rhythm that set the room ablaze. The man, whom I would later come to know as Tony, moved with a grace and precision that defied description. He danced through the crowd, his body contorting and twisting in time with the music, as if he were a marionette controlled by an invisible hand.

I watched, mesmerized, as Tony weaved his way towards me. His movements were hypnotic, his presence commanding. He reached out his hand, a sly smile curling on his lips, and I took it without hesitation. In that moment, my hand in his, I felt a surge of adrenaline, a rush of exhilaration that coursed through my veins.

Together, we danced, spinning and twirling in a frenzy of motion. The room became a blur of colors and sounds, as if the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder. The music enveloped us, becoming a living entity, guiding our every move.

But as quickly as it had begun, the dance came to an abrupt halt. The room returned to its former state of noise and chaos, as if the spell had been broken. Tony released my hand, his eyes locking with mine for a final moment before disappearing into the night.

As the years passed, that fateful birthday party would remain forever etched in my memory. It was the catalyst, the beginning of a lifelong journey filled with adventure and intrigue. Tony had become my guiding star, a symbol of the untamed spirit within me, propelling me forward into a world of danger and excitement.

And so, I embarked on a path of self-discovery, where the boundaries of time and space blurred, and reality became a mere suggestion. In the realm of Tarantino-esque tales, where violence and redemption danced on the edge of a knife, my story would unfold, weaving a tapestry of blood, vengeance, and ultimately, self-redemption