I'm sorry, mom.

For all of the stupid things I do

that annoy you on a daily basis.

Biting my nails,

hugging you every five seconds,

talking your ear off;

I'm sorry.

And for the days when I feel like

no one loves me,

the days I doubt your heart;

I'm so sorry.

And I don't treat you badly on purpose,

I love you,

more than I show it.

I just have days when it feels like

the whole world is against me-

it's not your fault though.

If I'm having a bad day,

please don't assume it's your fault.

And if I don't make it as far in life

as you have,

it doesn't reflect on you-

I don't blame you for any of it.

Just know that I love you,

mom,

for everything you've sacrificed for me over the years,

and all the troubles you've gotten me out of.

I am eternally grateful.

Thank you.

my mother hated me for disrupting her absolutely perfect life

she never forgave me even mumbling hospital white death bed

I have no children no love no hugs to keep me warm and cozy

I am alone born with no love dying too the very same way

branded unlovable I grimace through life grudgingly aware

marked stamped seared burned

with a shy stench still palatable

it follows me

it secludes me

it diminishes me

I was never the loved child

I never had a child to love

my mother spat on my existence

as I spit to her on Mother's Day

I didn’t used to believe in past lives. Until I boarded a train in Vienna. There was a man a few rows ahead who looked familiar but I couldn’t put a name to his face. I considered the possibility that he looked like a childhood friend or a famous celebrity, but I couldn’t come up with anyone who looked quite like him. Sometimes I dream about people I’ve never seen - scientists swear it’s impossible, but my dad insists it happens to him, too, and he often meets people later in life that he’s seen in his dreams. When we locked eyes, something felt different. I knew he was thinking the same thing.

I recalled at that moment our story.

Coincidentally, it began on a train, the Orient Express, going from Paris to Budapest. I spent my inheritance on a ticket, which I came to regret come time to retire. We were in the dining car, and I tripped right next to his table. I have never been good at walking in heels. I had borrowed that pair from a friend and they were about half a size too big, making my balance even worse.

I knew that not everyone was staring at me, but the hush that fell over the room was significant enough to make me feel humiliated. I was not raised in the upper class - the inheritance came to me through technicality. I’d never met that side of my family. It was obvious that I didn’t belong here. I was about to regret my decision to purchase a ticket when the man next to me reached out his hand to help me stand up.

The first thing I noticed about him was the way that his brown eyes softened when I met his gaze. The second was that he was sitting alone.

“Yes, I’m traveling solo,” he said, knowing I was thinking of a way to broach the question.

“Why is that?”

“There wasn’t anyone to take with me.”

“I can relate.”

“You’re here alone?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

I realized that I was in the way of a waiter who was doing a much better job balancing a tray of plates than I was at balancing on my own two feet. I made the split-second decision to sit across from the man who I came to know as “William”, sometimes just “Will”.

We talked until the dining car closed when we were politely asked to leave, though I could see behind the waiter’s eyes that he did not like me.

“Would it be inappropriate to ask you if you’d like to come back to my room?” William asked. “And I’m not suggesting anything like that.”

“It might be, but I’d say yes if you did ask me.”

“Okay, then: will you come with me to my room?”

“Yes, I’d like to.”

I came to find that he had a nicer room than I did, but there was no reason to be jealous because I slept there too for the remaining days of my trip. William opened the door and immediately removed his suit jacket, tie, and shoes, and I started to consider the fact that he might’ve been propositioning me after all. I lingered by the door, trying to decide if “it’s vacation” or “I paid a lot for this trip, so I should get my money’s worth” was enough of an excuse to sleep with him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when he noticed I hadn’t spoken.

“I’m still trying to decide if I should sleep with you or not.”

“I don’t think you should.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

“No, but I think you should take your shoes off because you look like you’re about to fall over and I’m pretty sure you only had one glass of wine.”

“Okay.” I placed my shoes next to his and I heard the distinct sound of his body flopping back onto the mattress.

I gathered a lot from the way he smiled when he was sprawled out on the bed like his long day of mingling in the bar car exhausted him to the extent a day spent in combat would.

I didn’t ask him if I could take off my earrings, but I did before I mirrored the way he fell backwards into bed. He later told me he liked how I was “unapologetically myself”. In reality, I was ready to apologize for any misstep I took, but he happened to be easy to please on account of the fact that we were very much alike.

We were late for breakfast the next morning and I was absolutely positive that everyone in the dining car assumed it was because we were having sex the night before - I overheard a snippet of a conversation and I wanted to go over and correct the record, but William said I should enjoy my fifteen minutes of fame. Most people are unremarkable, and that I must be remarkable since they were making remarks about me.

The truth was that we spent the night playing Gin Rummy with a pack of cards he borrowed from an old friend and “forgot to give back”. I insisted on playing until I won, but I didn’t win until well after midnight.

We were in as much of a committed relationship as two strangers on a train could be by that night, which was when I stopped by my room to grab my toothbrush before I headed back to his. We didn’t sleep together, but we did sleep next to each other. It was quite possible that he caught a glimpse of me naked when I changed into one of the complimentary robes after I spilled champagne on my shirt - actually, he made me laugh so hard it came out my nose. He promised not to peek, but if I were him I would have, so I couldn’t blame him either way.

Since the other passengers made their assumptions and judgments about us, we decided to make some about them, making up rumors about the rich folks around us as they walked through the bar car. Most of them were unbelievable and some of them were crude, but all of them were hilarious.

I remember the moment I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Will. We were in his bed and he started singing this song he had stuck in his head, but he could only remember the chorus. He gave me the tune of the verses and we worked on lyrics. He wrote them down on a napkin and kept them in his pocket. The pen was mine, but he asked if he could keep it. I had no particular attachment to the pen, so I let him have it.

It was a few hours later that I asked him why he wanted it. “Why did you ask for my pen? It’s nothing special.”

“Not to you, it isn’t,” he said. “It’s special to me because it’s yours.”

I wanted to tell him that he already had my heart and he could have my soul if he wanted it. But instead, I asked him for the deck of cards he had, and he gave them over without hesitation.

I’m not a writer like I was then, but I still carry a pen in my purse almost always. I take it out along with a receipt, so I can write him a message. I don’t address him by name because I don’t know what his is in this lifetime.

I don’t have the time or space to tell him everything I’m thinking either so I keep it short.

“Just so you know, I loved you. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time.”

When an attendant comes by with the drink I ordered, I hand him the note and beg him to discreetly deliver it. For whatever reason - maybe it’s the desperation he sees in my eyes - he places it between two napkins and hands them to the man I knew as "Will".

I get off the train before he does. When I pass by his seat, he mouths “I love you too”.

‘We need you to get some Leprechaun gold George,’ Molly stated, as a matter of fact.

George sat there open mouthed.

‘Some what?’ he replied.

‘Leprechaun gold – that’s why you have the Myths and Legends survival guide,’ said Molly.

‘But why? Do you think we’ll need some kind of ransom for my parents?’

George was now finding it hard to take all this in.

‘No,’ said Molly, shaking her head. ‘Let me explain. When you go back to see the Captain and Lady Jane they won’t know who you are, right’

‘Yes, you explained that, but where does the Leprechaun gold come into it?’

‘I was coming to that,’ Molly protested.

‘Oh, sorry,’ said George.

‘Well, the first owner of Arrington hall, the man who had the house built and hid the scroll, realised the potential of the library, in being able to come back in time and visit past ancestors, like him for instance.’

‘Okay.’ George wasn’t convinced.

Molly rolled her eyes into the back of her head.

‘He also realised the importance of the three scrolls and that one day it was bound to happen, but he couldn’t risk just anybody hearing about it and then turning up and claiming to be a long lost relative or a future one for that matter. He figured he would have to come up with a secret code or something so they could be sure who it was.’

‘So when I go back into their history,’ he said, hurriedly, ‘they will know who I am and help me if I give them some of the Leprechaun gold.’

‘Yes, by George, he’s got it, if you’ll pardon the expression.’ She exclaimed. ‘A simple piece of normal gold was not enough. He had to make it something rare and very hard to get hold of.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ George said, nervously.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Molly, ‘the survival guide you have there was compiled by the same man, after extensive research. It’s the only one to have ever been published. Your parents must have taken it from the library to hide it in your trunk.’

‘But wouldn’t you have noticed them doing this?’ George asked.

‘Look, just because I’m a member of the undead, it doesn’t mean I don’t like to have a rest or a snooze now and again,’ She protested. ‘ It can get boring in here sometimes, especially when no-one visits for years on end, and as for that lot, well, they never stop sleeping – and snoring, loudly,’ she added, with consternation, glancing at the old paintings on the wall, with the ink figures fidgeting restlessly within their frames..

‘It all sounds a bit long winded,’ George moaned, ‘Couldn’t he have just invented a secret handshake or something?’

‘No, that would have been too easily tortured out of someone. This way was safer.’

George gulped.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ he said. ‘If it’s so hard to do, why isn’t Uncle Felix doing it, instead of me?’

Molly could see the point George was making, but she also understood what his Uncle’s reasoning might have been.

‘Maybe your Uncle thought it was time for you to know about the family’s legacy,’ she suggested, ‘or that you had come of age, what with everything that’s happened recently in your life.’

Molly hesitated for a moment, and then decided that George needed to know the full story.

‘Also,’ she said, ‘your uncle hasn’t been in the library since before you were born.’

George was taken aback. His Uncle had been only too eager to point him in the direction of the library that morning. What could have possibly happened to make him not want to go back in? George shrugged his shoulders. Maybe instead of explaining everything to him, and have George believe he was a mad old fool, his Uncle had reckoned it would be better for him to discover the library for himself.

‘So why won’t he come back in here then?’ George said.

‘Well,’ Molly hesitated, ’it’s because of something that happened in a book he was visiting.

She sat, or rather hovered, into the chair opposite George and bowed her head.

‘He fell in love,’ she murmured.

‘Really,’ George shouted, smiling. ‘Good for him – but I don’t understand, why is that such a bad thing?’

‘Because it could never last, it was doomed from the start,’ Molly cried. 'The story cannot continue beyond a certain point and characters cannot be taken out of the books, only the odd prop that is not central to the main storyline, like some of the things you see in this house, or the silver keys for example.’

‘Oh,’ George said, simply.

It was obvious from the forlorn look on everyone’s faces, and of Molly’s especially, that this had been a very upsetting time when it had happened, all those years ago. His Uncle had obviously been much loved and was now severely missed.

‘So….what happened,’ he stammered, ‘I mean what book did it happen in?’

Molly looked up, her ghostly eyes red around the edges.

‘Have you heard of a book called 1001 Arabian nights,’ she said.

‘Er….vaguely.’

’Well, basically, the story is based around the tale of a princess who is due to be executed the following day by her husband the King, but each night she tells him a story, leaving it at a crucial moment to be continued the following evening.

‘Eager to know how the story continues he gives her a stay of execution, so that he can find out what happened next. Well she managed to continue this for 1001 nights.’

George listened intently, while Molly continued.

‘Well, your Uncle Felix went into the book and fell in love with the princess. Believing that her time was running out and that she really would be executed he came up with a daring plan to rescue her. But, it all went wrong I’m afraid…he headed back to the portal hand in hand with the princess, chased by axe wielding guards. Except the only problem was’, Molly sobbed, ‘is that upon reaching this side he was on his own, she couldn’t come through. It was only a fictional book so it also meant he couldn’t go back into it either.’

‘Blimey, he must’ve been devastated,’ George said.

‘Yes he was. You see even though she was only a made up character George,’ Molly added, ’to him it was all very real. He swore never to come back into the library, and since that day, he never has.’

*

George stood, staring at the closed up doorway, in anticipation. The patterned paper on the wall started to come together and swirl around into a whirlpool of colours, like a dancing rainbow. It was as if the library knew what George’s intentions were. The colours then began to stretch out into the distance and it was almost as if he could see what was on the other side, but rippled, like looking into a pool of water, gently wafted by the wind. He felt every nerve ending in his body jangling within him, and on the tips of his fingers, as he gripped the Myths and Legends book tightly in his right hand. He had never felt so nervous in all of his life. He had also never felt so alive.

‘So you know what to do,’ Molly repeated.

‘Yes, Molly,’ he shouted back, ‘you’ve told me enough times and I’ve got the book as well if I need to check anything.’

He took several deep breaths and counted to three in his head before declaring;

‘Okay, here goes,’ he yelled.

He ran as hard and fast as he could across the room and, with a loud whumph, disappeared into the portal.

The hero stood before the summit of the worn and haggard old steps and let out a long, hard, resigned sigh. It was now time. She had thought about this moment for days now and the time had finally arrived.

She knew that the task she was about to endeavour upon would be hard and she wasn’t sure she would have the strength left inside her to complete it, but it had to be done – and she was running out of time, before they came back. With doubt in her mind and weariness in her legs, she took one last breath of fresh air before transcending the first of the steps.

Her clothes by now were dirty and loose and, in a couple of places, had been torn by the exploits and obstacles she had been forced to overcome since she started this journey just a short time ago, though it felt that several days had passed instead.

Once into a steady rhythm the hero found it easier to mount the steps, which were laden with many traps and pitfalls along the way. As she made her way upwards she noticed, from the corner of her eye, the walls were decorated with many strange and dusty old pictures that appeared to vibrate with the colour that was within them.

Finally she reached the top of the steps and, with a sharp turn to the right, was faced with a long dark passageway. Ahead of her, about ten yards away, she saw a chink of light. It was the entrance to the room she needed. The one she had struggled all day to overcome her fears about.

She stood there staring, wondering if she was doing the right thing, wishing now that she had not volunteered for this perilous task. Maybe if she stayed there long enough it would all fade away and not be real; but, alas, she knew it was and also what ultimately needed to be done.

With a huge combined effort from all her emotional senses she moved forward until she was at the door. She checked all her weapons – one in each hand and one tucked away in her belt ‘just in case’, and made sure they were ready and working.

With one final step she moved up and, with the outside of her right hand, brushed away the dust on the old sign fixed to the wall. Wiping the streaky dirt away she revealed the mottled gold writing:

…..

‘John and Katie’s play room’

             I have a zeal for classic  deception.  The wants of man always heads to same direction. A little tickle or stretch in time, can deliver what saints deny. I did not wear mini skirt, or look at another in the eyes. My slow whisper of incriminating thoughts, makes humanity wish for more.

               They all have a mighty conscience. An inner alarm that beats my spell. A little pressure, here and there. The streams of passion eats the bell. I'm not the lady who stinks like hell. Holding the staff  laced with skulls. Blazing fire in my eyes. Canker-worms drew from my mouth. That's is fiction. An opaque reality.

              Deceptions are like chocolate candies, all taste so sweet and promising. A chocolate candy can have different colors, red, blue, orange and so on. People are all bound with tastes. Some prefer blue, others red. The taste of the candy is all the same. The simple difference is attraction. A boy may be into blondes, while another like ebony girls. They end up on a steep bed. The flux of passion as declared. All have the same consequence. She might be a talkative. You prefer a quiet girl. All are candies.

This I call classic deception.

             No man can survive on his own. You need another for his gold. Temptation cannot be avoided. In a flick of a moment. You're alone, jobless. Those thoughts I administer, make wave to the surface of your mind. Before you say, "Curtis Jackson"

you are deep in the pit of oblivion.

                  I have not always been these cruel to man. My first and only love, the creator of all things we see and observe, divorced me, and sent me packing with half his wealth. He took life, and I took death. He cheated me, yes he did. Only extramarital affair according to his rules, should split a pair. But he let me go, quick, with my belongings.            

       What did I do that hurt him so? Banishing me, from heavens mighty fold. I asked him just one single question. A request a loving husband should behold. I asked him for a joint account. Let I, Lucifer the love of your life be the second signatory to your will. You and I,  would be the board of directors of these great civilization. All you have to do is approve  this bill of gender equality. That way, we would have equal rights over all matters in the universe.

               You should know men with politics. They prefer women as a commodity. Use and dump when ever they please. Every moment I cry lake of fire, hoping my love would one day have mercy on me. My voice was not loud enough, so I went into the heart of men. Convincing them to join my protest. So many Hashtag the campaign and tweeted to hell.  With Instagram desire and snap chat temptation, the  Christlike Facebook followers  are my best friends. 

            Moreover, It as been said that, I'm not omnipotent. That is, I cannot be at different places at the same time. Obviously, I have minions. As a fallen queen, my title comes with some benefits. I don't mean flashy cars, castle, gold shoes, diamond earrings. That my dear, is all part of my brand. I have demons who specify in different categories. In my organization, just like many other company around the world, we have hierarchy.

This rankings are based on the ten  commandment God gave Moses on Mount Sinai. My primary goal is to frustrate heaven as much as I can. To make my beloved husband beg for my  forgiveness.

       Lucifer Morning-star (my organizations name) is divided into three. The stealing department, Killing department and my favorite, the destroying department. To explain how they all work, I will use a simple example. Say we have a man. This man from a tender age gave his life to Christ.  The stealing department  primary objective is to make sure that man rely on petty crimes. "Pilfering" as dictionary calls it. One good example is small time gambling or betting. These demons will make all the wells of blessings connected to this man unavailable. They try to stall the angels on the way to deliver such blessings, by talking about those days when they were angels of God. Cracking old jokes and so on. The unfortunate man would be tempted to bet or gamble his tithe or offering. Since those lovely demons would have made the odds of winning enticing. After, when the progress of this department seems fruitful. Things go as they are planned. His file is emailed to the killing department.

                      Wait, did I tell you every man alive as a file in my organization. Here at Lucifer morning-star we have detailed profile of everything a man does. From his great great grandfather to his unborn generations.

                 At the killing department, the wells of blessings of that man is poisoned with low self esteem. He begins to stop going to church, he stops believing in God. When that happens, his file is emailed to the destroying department. There the wells of blessings are destroyed. Oh! I love that word. He's marked for hell and marketed to the public as  hell candidate. There are more intricate explanation as to how my organization works. For more about Lucifer Morning-star please like my  incriminating thoughts and always ask for more. We are in your mind to help.

                In conclusion, people are fund of saying, the devil cannot pray to God. Why would I pray to someone, when I know where he's. If I need anything from him, I will go and ask him face to face. They are only jealous that I have a better audience with him than they do.

I bled too deep

canoe sank neat

 pupils dilated

'felt sea sick.

I know I have a long way to go

But, the truth I follow

I deserve better than this

I know I do

Whatever politics you use

 Certainly, ain't  blue

You piped my pen

like it's cigar not hemp

God surely as not forsaken me...

       He's never this cold. The warmth of his smile sublime dry ice. When the frosty moon bites my unprotected night, his sunny words lit my yellow soul. He's the only star in my galaxy.

   He hits me when I misbehave. Complaints and gambles my minimum wage. After his debt grazed our properties, paranoia and whiskey became his buds.

     "Your food is getting warm, won't you eat?"

He flares like a discharge of molten plasma

      "Woman, I'm thinking, let me be."

The rocks of a mountain stumbling down, his right palm like  thunder meets my face, the storm in my eyes begins to rain. He won't even look at me. It's like I'm his shadow that doesn't exist. We once did things together, trips and parks. Now, I'm an obstacle that needs to be removed. Where is that man that once loved me? He never stood farther than ten centimetres from me.   We played scrabble and chess for weeks. Every single sub-particle of moments was rich with love.

          Now, as I walk pass his favourite chair, the stench of irritation absorbs the air. Choking for attention, my wits deflects downwards. The walls of silence are louder than thousands of sirens. My head disconnects from my backbone and my sorrowful lungs. As the mighty sun sits on the western wings, my heart is set on a bow taut string, ready to dive to loneliness.

     Planetary bodies distort time and space. The heaviness of his body only pulled me away. The little emptiness I felt when he was alive, ripped wide open, as I mourn at his wake. The giant star of my galaxy is dead. His kidney exploded in liquor supernovas and left me with a black hole of devastation.

`    He was not my husband or my lover. He was and still is my only mother.

                "I love you, daddy, rest in peace."

   Everyday we discover something new. At first, we thought bacteria were independent organisms. To our surprise we discovered they actually communicated with each other through a medium we call, quorum sensing. Just when I thought the real excitement of discovery was coming to an end. On my fourth tour at the Amazon jungle, in a park full of  brown-throated sloths and golden-headed manakins, I stumbled upon a Picasso.

      That day, march 4, 2017, I can never forget. After taking lots of pictures of a lek of manakins practicing their courtship dance. I sat beneath a Cocos nicifera tree. In my bag pack, I had a sandwich, chocolate bread stuffed with peanut butter  and jam. To drink, a bottle of   Pepsi. Hmm! Can't wait to get started. While the delicious meal took my breath away. I felt something moving at my back. At first, it was soothing. I thought to myself, maybe its just my reaction to such salivating meal. That movement gradually became uncomfortable. I stopped eating, took a step forward and turned to see a transparent fluid as shapeless as amoeba.It was moving from the root of the Cocos nicifera tree to a pile of loamy soil close by. At that moment I did not notice that my camera had switched to camcorder mode, and, it was busy recording that awkward moment. I took a piece of dried branch and tried to pin it down, but it ran into a hole that I did not notice earlier. In my 15 years as a zoologist, I have never read or seen anything like that 9 inch amorphous monstrous fluid . After about five minutes still rapped in shock, my thoughts became aligned. "Why didn't I take a picture of that thing?" I asked myself. The only proof I thought I had was my shirt. That guy must have put some of its genetic material on me. I pulled off my shirt and placed it in a nylon bag. My shirt, just became a specimen.

     Heart broken, the spirit of excitement that made me take pictures left me. I switched off my camera and returned to my hotel room. My aid, Herrera was excited to upload my pictures from the camera to the system. He's always excited. After some minutes of awkward silence, I got worried and asked,

                                      "Herrera, what is it?"

He looked at me with a curious smile and answered.

                              "Mr Albrighton, What is this? "

I turned my attention to the monitor and saw the video of the monstrous  fluid organism that I just encountered. My mood glowed brighter than the dog star. It was like that classic moment in a movie where  a mans life is about to change in a split of  seconds. I grabbed Herrera by his head, with my both hands and kissed his forehead.

            "This, my boy, is my ticket to the hall of fame."

I knew I had to take every step with absolute care because, I'm not the only hungry explorer in this parts. I told Herrera to spend the night in my room and begged him not to share what he just saw with anything alive.

Taking a closer look at the video, I observed something. I thought I saw the amorphous transparent fluid organism go into a hole. But what I saw in the video amazed me. The giant disguised it body shape as a circle and sat on the soil like a chocolate cup cake. To me it looked  like a hole because the transparent fluid deceived me eyes like a magnifying glass. It magnified the black spot I saw by making it look like an infinite hole. This guy is a chameleon cheat. A mimic octopus philosopher stone. It was able to this, in a blink of an eye. It was right in front of me all along. I must think carefully on how to study it, capture it. And maybe, just maybe, I would get a Nobel prize for biology.

       The next day, march 5, 2017, I woke that morning with a weird eccentric feeling. Its like I was in an action movie, where the good guy wakes up with great aspiration and fire. And in the background, a slow charismatic tune that sets the audience on an imaginative ledge. 

      KNOCK!!!!   KNOCK!!! HOUSE KEEPING!

That must be Mrs Mariana. I can identify her lovely voice any time any day. Herrera sluggishly reached for the door and let her in.

     "Senior Al-bite-ton, I see you and Herrera have been busy all night."

     "How many times will I tell you Mrs Mariana its Albrighton."

      "OK! I brought fresh towels, slippers and your dry cleaned soldier shorts and shirts."

"Oh! Thank you Mrs Mariana you are a darling. Hmm! Are those lemon I smell." 

                    "Yes, its our own locally made starch"

                 "Wow! I never get tired of hearing you say that"

           "Herrera, make sure you wash up  quickly, and learn from senior Al-bite-ton.       

           Some day you will save us from those big pockets who are tearing down our           heritage and calling it modern globalization."

        "Yes ma!"

      "Mrs Mariana, I would love some hot cocoa with ginger and six tea spoon of evaporated milk."

        "OK! senior Al-bite-ton, I'll make that for you."

She gently leaves the room and closes the door behind her. I looked at Herrera and said,

        "When will she learn to pronounce my name right?"

He smiled like always and nodded his head sideways. After few minutes of taking turn in the shower, my hot cocoa as ordered was on point. My day was ready to get right on track. Herrera in his own way was ready for my first speech about our classified mission that we were about to begin. With a giant loaf of bread on his right hand and a pocket knife covered with peanut butter, that awkward silence rang in my ears.

       "Now listen carefully, we have a big day ahead of us. First, we must plan on how each event must occur, and avoid unwanted  suspicion. We have a good advantage and bad a advantage.The bad news is, I don't have a personal lab. The person that I know that does, is a giant pain in the ass. Do you know what I mean?"

                    "Yes, I certainly do"

           "OK! I need a sophisticated lab to analyze the DNA of that amorphous  monstrous transparent  fluid organism."

           "That is a long name. Since this is more like a covet op... Why not AMT!"

          "No! that will surely attract suspicion. We have to cloak that abbreviation in a word of some sort. Like, uncle Sam for United states of America. It as to be close to common words used every day."

          "Why don't you take the video to the institute of zoology in London and get all the help you need?"

         "Not in these days of media apocalypse. You don't go to those guys half corked. Someone may snatch my discovery right under my nose. I need to do much more than that. Proof that it exist."

           "But, Mr Albrighton, that is a difficult task."

           "That why we are scientist. we fight till we get the result we want. If we get this right. Our names will be remembered for generations.  So, are you in or out."

             "I'm definitely in. Besides, you won't survive a day in the jungle without my help."

          "That's true, now, on the name, hmm!!! what do you think about, amtracks"

            "No! Water is a good common name for such thing. Since we know its transparent and shapeless. Pure water is transparent and sometimes look shapeless. It takes the shape of its containing vessel."

           "You see, we have just started, and you proof to be a genius already. Yes! Water it is. To the good news, of which you just did. We have our initiatives to guide on this journey. One other  thing we can observe from the video is that it was on the stem of a Cocos nicifera tree and like chameleon it can blend in with its immediate background and like the mimic octopus it possesses the ability to  impersonate. In this case, it impersonated a hole. Which can only mean that this organism is a lot more smarter than it looks."

                "We must answer the question why now? Until this moment, why haven't we as humans discovered this organism? Have this organism been right under our noses all this time. Is it a result of today activities, i.e Did it undergo evolution. Having a parent family from the group of living organism that we know or is it a complete alien (from  another planet). I'm sure much more questions will pop up as we go on.

   Your today duty is to find out all you can about the Cocos nicifera tree. Water was on it for a reason. Since it might have perceive my disturbance while I took pictures. Why didn't it hide from me. Why did it let me relax on it? Gosh... I might be undergoing some kind of change in personality as we speak. Their is about a million possibility as to what may be going on. So like I said, you take Cocos nicifera"

             "What about you Mr Albrighton, what will you do today."

             "I  will, go to the pain in the ass friend of mine that as a lab here in Brazil. And try to find out what kind of DNA sequence that organism possesses."

             "How are you going to do that. You don't have a specimen"

            "I do, my shirt, the one I put yesterday. It in a nylon in my bag pack . Thank God for forensics, I think I can salvage something from it."

        "Let the games begin..."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Melinda was born in May

All who came brought a gift

Even I, came on the fifth

with the shoulder of a manta ray

It was such a lovely day

Paparazzi, even in the lift

Pranksters shuffling their cards, so swift

Caught unaware, no words to say

Suddenly, silence ceased the room

Its like an angel descended from above

My haughty shoulder became a broom

Pranksters cards gradually dissolve

Photographers frustrated, camera's couldn't zoom

I had no gift to offer, nothing, but love.