Diamond Ball worked at the DMV in the area known as the dugout. Every day she would field the same lineup of complaints for customers who battered her with questions. They would pitch a mound of manure served on a silver plate to her in hopes to catch her making an error and thereby score some points on the man. She would windup striking them down so hard they would balk and slump away. It was a good job.

Shortly I need to do something. There is no way to get out of it and no way to make it happen sooner, and so I have time right now. Not a lot, but some. Yet all I do here is sit and quietly watch the clock, waiting. I could read a chapter, play a round, or just listen to some music. Instead, I sit and wait, both dreading and dreaming for the coming event to be over.

1

I am a wanderer in a desert of words.

Each grain of sand is a single word.

Words from long ago to the distant than.

Some sink, unheard, unspoken for millennia.

Others burn my skin, not to be soon forgotten.

They flow together forming hills, shaping stories.

They ride the wind, letting me glance at their brilliance before they drift out of sight, out of mind, once more.

I want to grasp them all in my hand, travel with them, build with them, share them with the sky… and yet, even now as I reach for those elusive words, I feel the heat of the sun, the critics, the naysayers, telling me it is too much to carry such a burden as a voice.

Without a cloud of confidence in the sky to shield me, I feel compelled to let the sand slip through my fingers and continue to wander the desert empty handed.

2

Occasional on my wanderings I will come across an oasis, a place where a single idea has taken hold and grows.

There are many others at these oases, some are friendly, others are not, but all are trying to delve deeper into the water that brought them there.

I sometimes find myself peering into those depths, and yet I never seem willing to take the plunge.

I may see something whilst I look, but I never say anything to anyone.

Is it the fear of what my fellow divers might say?

Or is my greed, wanting to protect what I know?

Either way I tend to leave the oasis and continue wandering.

I never forget where I have been though, and always, always, wonder what if?

What if I took the plunge? What if I told someone?

My only solace comes in believing that someone else peered into those waters and has seen what I saw.

3

I have seen the end of the desert many times.

It is a lush forest where many ideas have become firmly rooted.

The trees grow tall and the branches spread wide, entangling with others as they do.

Their leaves are so big the sky cannot hope to view the world below.

As the trees wrap their vines around each other, strengthening deals, many in the undergrowth try to latch on, wanting to grow big as well and be seen.

Few are successful though, as the trees, deep rooted ideas they may be, often extend their roots up from the ground to protect themselves from any one trying to steal their ideas.

These roots can often be vicious, ripping to shreds the one that tried to grab at their branches.

So instead those below look for fallen trees, whose roots no longer protect their ideas.

Most of the undergrowth will die in this forest never seeing the sky it longs for.

I leave this place to look for a friendly place to be.

4

In the desert there is a dark, perverse cave.

As I peer in from the entrance, I can see a glimpse of shadows below.

Dark ideas, so twisted they would burn alive if the sun ever saw them.

Still, my eyes are drawn to that abyss.

Blackened shapes dance happily in the crevices, not caring if one should catch them in their revelry.

As I stare at the unadulterated expression of life I feel the heat on my back ever increasing.

It finally gets to the point that I can no longer stand at the edge of this cave.

I either must delve into the darkness, knowing I may never return to the surface, or walk away, leaving behind a part of me I know exists deep inside.

The fear of what I might lose should I take that plunge is too much, and so I choose the latter and continue to aimlessly wander the desert.

5

I once saw a fellow wanderer.

We noticed each other and knew at once we were kindred spirits, and yet we still said nothing.

I could share everything with this compatriot, but what if they took it and ran away.

A chance could be taken and words shared, our individual ideas growing.

We would both feel enriched from the exchange.

We could even wander sometime together.

Eventually, though, it will come time for us to part.

What is it that will make them wander one way and me another?

Will I ever meet another such as them?

I would ask myself these questions many times after our departure.

In the end we pass by each other with nothing more than a nod and I continue my wanderings alone.

6

As night comes to the desert, I hoped the lack of the sun burning down on me would have made it easier to shape the sand, but this place has become cold and barren.

The longed for sky has gone dark save for the individuals whose sight is so scattered they would not see a dot on the sand like me.

I try to build, however, since I doubt anyone will see it, I quickly lose the strength to carry on.

Instead, as the cold unfeeling air howls around, I lay down to rest and hope for a better tomorrow.

7

For years I wandered this desert, too afraid to make a mistake.

These time-blown sands, though, remind me they wait for no one, and having oneself drift from one idea to another, never letting any take root, is no way to be.

So, on these ever shifting sands, I will plant my seeds.

I will climb the tallest trees, reach into the deepest depths of the cave, and swim till I ache.

I will be seen by the sky.

And should the sun come for me?

Let it burn me to a crisp so I too might float on the desert wind.

Let me inspire those who come after me, the fellow wanders whose journey has just begun.

The police were the first to go. Not that that shocked anyone. With all the brutality, abuse of power, bribery being done, it had gotten to the point where they were causing more crimes than they prevented. The final nail was when a bribed chief of police shot the local politician he was meant to protect on national TV. It didn’t take long after that for the remaining politicians to unanimously decide that “While the police have in the past have done a great job at keeping the people of this country safe, it is time for the government to step back and allow private security companies take over.” The police stations were all shut down in quick order, and almost as quickly organized crime grew tenfold. Those who could afford personal security didn’t notice a difference. Those that couldn’t learned to be more careful where they walked.

Next to go were the ambulances. With rise of organized crime also came a rise in drugs. Not all drugs though were harmful. Many in fact were the same kind used in the hospitals, being made readily available for cheap. With the increase of black-market pharmaceuticals, less people opted to go to the hospitals. In response doctors increased their rates to make up for lost revenue. This in turn drove even more people away. In the end it was to expensive to keep the hospitals open any more, so they closed. Doctors open up private practices, and the need for ambulances just went away.

The fire department is the only one still around. They put out the fires still, and help get cats out of trees. The increased budget from the defunct police department allowed for better equipment, training, and pay. Most of hospital staff that did not join private practices also end up there. They might not be able to protect you from trouble, but you can bet they will do their best to get you out. You need help, emergency or not, call the fire department.

Sleep, Child of God, and peace attend thee

As we the living celebrate your life

Be welcomed into Christ's loving embrace

As we the living celebrate your life

Go knowing that we are ever thinking of you

That your memory and legacy live on

And that one day we will meet again

As we the living celebrate your life

One cold winter’s eve three young men were walking down a street. While they were walking and talking, they came across a little old lady. She say’s to the three men “Life had been good to me and I want to share some of what I have with you.” She holds out three boxes and says, “Each of these boxes has a little bit of me inside. It is what made me who I am today and hopefully can help you too.” The three men each take a box and before they can thank her the old woman has vanished. Not wanting to be rude they each open their boxes. As they do, they are filled with knowledge of a life well lived from the old women. None of them say any more that night and the three go their separate ways.

Time passes as it does, and with the knowledge he gained for the women the first man built himself an empire. It was grand and glorious. Everyone wanted to know how he managed to create something so wonderful in such a short amount of time. To them though he just smiled and keep what he knew to himself. He did not want to share what he knew for fear that once he did others would just steal it and his empire with crumble. So, he went through the rest of his life, keeping his secrets and never letting anyone in. He died of a heart attack caused by stress at a young age.

The second man never really cared for the old woman’s gift. To him it was just a bunch of useless knowledge, something he would never need. He spent his life just drifting through. Never really amounting to anything. It’s not that he didn’t know how to do something. The old woman’s knowledge was always with him. It was just never used. He lived a long, but uneventful life and died the way he lived, unremarkably.

The third man saw the old woman’s gift as a rare blessing. He knew that something a precious as this was not meant to be his alone, but something to be shared with many. He used the knowledge the woman had given to teach others what he knew. He traveled that world and met many people. While he did not become rich like the first man, he was well like. He eventual got married and had three children. His was a full and happy life. As he lay on his deathbed, he said to his kids “To each of you I leave a little bit of myself, knowledge from a life well lived. Do what you will with it, just don’t regret it.”

What is it you are to me?

The Sun, the moon, the Stars.

The very air I breath.

All that I am.

What are you?

In short:

Everything.