What was I thinking? Decades pass, but you think you are still in your 20's. I defied laws of physics, but to what conclusion? Vanity overcame common sense and reason. I accomplished what I attempted to do, but to what conclusion? I lay helpless on the bed - unable to move anything below my waist. I could barely breathe. Each breath was precious.

I could roll off the bed, but I would end up on cold, tiled floor with my face flattened. What was I thinking?

Siri and Alexa were banned due to advice from "experts" who proclaimed that bedrooms were not the place for electronics. Now here I lay, unable to move, unable to breathe. I could possibly escape in about a week without food, but I would die before then due to dehydration. Tears rolled down my cheeks. They will find me dead, alone on my bed.

I turned and saw my only hope for escape. A pair of scissors were in reach. I was able to extend my arm and get the scissors. I kept cutting the fabric and tried to free myself. It was difficult with my arthritis - the fabric was so thick. I finally got enough cut away to be able to breathe. Knowing that without those scissors, I would have died. I took the remains of the fabric and threw them in the trash. Never again will I attempt to put on skinny jeans.

What was I thinking?

My username is the culmination of my first name initial and last name. Despite not being online, I can feel people rolling their eyes.

Knowing that Prince Charming doesn’t exist-I chose a more practical way of choosing a mate to forever define my name. The criteria was that he either cooks masterfully or that he have a last name that I could easily use to order pizza. My maiden name was so time-consuming when having to give over the phone, and I hate cooking.

Despite his ill-temper, Gordon Ramsey fit the bill, but was already married.

I settled for Garrett. Yes, Ga-two R’s-e-two T’s. Voila, everything in life sped up and pizzas could be easily ordered, (obviously pizza trumped cooking). It is now my identity (and also secured with appropriate software and identity theft measures).

I prefer to not hide behind cleverly constructed usernames (which is the excuse I use for not being very imaginative).

Having recently become single, I am now an advocate for change. Therefore and ergo, I am in the process of changing my name to Keanu Reeves. It still has excellent pizza ordering efficiencies with the added hope that the real Keanu would someday be curious enough to track down someone who has his exact same name, show up at my doorstep, and take me out for pizza.

Till then, it will take time and money to change my name, (and I am lazy and poor). BGarrett is the name- totally exposed, naked, and enjoying my pizza.

It sounded like a brittle stick snapping. It isn’t a physical pain, nor an emotional one, it is a pain from part of your soul being destroyed. It is the realization that someone you loved, trusted, and gave everything never loved nor trusted you, but took everything. It sounds like a cliche, but when the veil is lifted from your eyes and you see the demon that you thought was an angel, the feelings of betrayal makes the sound of a tree branch breaking. You can’t cry anymore, and laughter hurts. Listening to music hurts. It is a constant pain- sometimes excruciating, and sometimes a dull percussion like a faucet dripping.

I never understood the purpose of Judas betraying Christ until that moment. Christ suffered to understand what we will experience- emotionally, physically, and soulfully.

We don’t usually separate one’s soul from their emotions, but they are different. They have stolen part of your soul. Any attempts at drugs or alcohol or any other methods to forget don’t work. It only worsens the pain in the long run. So you try therapy, and it helps with the fear and sadness, but not the pain.

You then try what Christ commanded - forgiveness.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean letting this toxic person back into your life. Forgiveness means that you understand why it happened and how you can fix the pain that seems to never go away. Forgiveness means that you forgive yourself and can shed the feelings of stupidity. You weren’t stupid, you were kind and trusting. Therapy helps you reach forgiveness, but in the end, it is only you who can forgive and put that pain away and move on. You can’t repair that tree branch, but you can grow another. You discover that when you cut away the dead branches, the new ones will have more life and growth given to them.

It still hurts to listen to music. It still hurts to laugh, and the tears don’t come when you need them, but you look around and discover all the good that has happened since then. You are always grateful that the veil was lifted in time to see the good.

I am single, and my friend talked me into a speed dating meetup where you get five minutes to dig into the wit and witticism of complete strangers and then pick your date at the end. I thought it was a stupid idea but the idea began to grow on me as I contemplated what to watch on Britbox as my weekend entertainment.

“I am root”, he said.

“It is really, ‘I am Groot’”, I said correcting him. His name was Arthur Cake. My mind already labeled him a fruit cake.

The next one had a hardy physic, and I could see a flowering romance develop until he spoke.

“I have frozen my seed and I am looking for some good eggs, if ya know what I mean!” He winked at me. I grabbed my water and started drinking quickly to prevent me from laughing hysterically.

The next one had a deck of cards and asked me to choose any card. “If it is a heart, then I choose you. If it is a spade, then we can stop right here”.

“What happens if it is a diamond or a club?”, I asked.

“Then we go dancing at the country bar across the street. They are having their Friday night hoe-down.”

A vision of a hoe embedded in his head was my only thought of a good “hoe-down”.

My friend then asked me at the end of the night if anyone wanted to go out with me. I told her that there were some offers, but till then, it would be too soon. She said that she didn’t understand. I just said that I was buying a lifetime subscription to Britbox.

When did the words "excuse me" become vile curse words? I just said "excuse me" as I bumped into a woman's child. She whips around and starts spewing and spitting. As I back away in fear, others walk by looking at a little laminated box held in their hands. No one stops nor even looks.

I volunteered to be put into cryogenic hibernation in 1954, but never thought humanity would dissolve this rapidly. Only 65 years later, does the true nature of humanity show in dark contrast. "Yes sir, excuse me, thank you" are precursors to an argument or fight. Curse words that would have ostracized me are considered friendly greetings. Cleavage, tatoos, lack of modesty, layers of makeup - nothing is left to the imagination. I fear that these images will be with me for the remainder of my life.

I can feel a tear fall down my cheek. We had just begun to heal after the horrors of WWII. It is why I volunteered for the cryogenic experiment. I had such hope and excitement for the future. I now feel shame and disgust.

In an effort to determine what caused such degredation, I look for a book store. Many of the books would have never been allowed to see the light of day. The books in the children's section teach variations of sexual orientations. In bright colors and simple drawings, they describe tolerance and acceptance of various behaviors that would have had someone jailed or worse in 1954. I knew about sex from being born on a farm, but no one discussed it or glorified it until you were discussing marriage - between a man and a woman. Sure these different sexual desires existed in 1954. The horrors of WWII brought so many things to light, but we shielded the children. What happened to innocence? I do see a section on Dr. Seuss and smile as I remember many of those books - a small hope that naivety still exists?

I decided to listen in on conversations as I pretended to look at different books. Then I silently walked down the street listening. Finally, I stopped and sat on a bench near the street.

Such hypocrisy, such greed, such pride, such laziness, such lust, such envy, such anger, such obesity, such selfishness... more than 7 deadly sins. Someone killed God. I started crying.

A young man sits next to me and takes his hearing aids out of his ears. "Are you ok?" he asks.

I look at the genuine concern in his face. The deadly sins existed before humanity put words to them, and they will exist until the last human draws their final breath, but so will the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and faithfulness. Maybe it's me who lacks the last one.

I turn to the young gentleman and said, "Thank you for your concern, I was lost, but I think I just found my way." I extended my hand to shake his, and he seemed a little surprised at the gesture, but did respond by shaking my hand back.

I continued my walk down the street and continued to look up.

Everyone asks me why I am always so serious. I reply that I was cursed by my Mother. Every thing she said came true! For example, she said that just because everyone else jumps off a cliff that I shouldn’t jump, also. Luckily, I only suffered a broken ankle.

She repeatedly hoped that I would have children, and that they would turn out to be just like me. I may bark loudly at strangers and chase my tail, but my dogs are still my children and I don’t mind that they are just like me.

But seriously, it was the final words from my Mother that came true which caused my eternal look of seriousness. Since that moment she uttered those words, I am constantly asked, “Why so serious”?

I remember it well. It was a dark and stormy night. My Mother asked if I was seriously going out dressed like that. I looked at her with an expression that said “Seriously?” And then she uttered those final, fateful words; “Careful or your face will freeze like that.”

Free will exists. Without it, you are a slave. Yet, even slaves have free will because no one owns our heart and soul. We have choices. Choices have outcomes. Outcomes have consequences.

Often, barriers are put in our journey to obtain our outcomes, and this is where free will meets God. How do we know if the barriers in life are for our good?

Like any worthy endeavor, we need barriers to excel. Yet, sometimes, those barriers are warnings to stop before we harm ourselves. Free will means that we are slaves to no one, but understanding God’s will for our lives ensures a fulfilling life.

Free will without God is a life that ends in death. Free will with God is a life that ends with purpose. Life without free will is not life.

     Sixth grade is a tough time. You don’t get much sympathy from your parents. The grade school is only five blocks from our house, but, when you’re carrying a saxophone, a violin, and your books, it is an eternal hell. Luckily, orchestra practice is Tuesday and Wednesday. Band practice is Monday and Friday. That means Thursday is the only day I don’t have to carry anything other than my books.

I walk from my house, down an alley to Cherry Street, and then turn right. It’s two blocks down to Cherry Street, cross over Lincoln Street, turn left, and then cross Cherry Street again. The sidewalk is only on the right sides of the streets, and Mom gets mad if we walk across the neighbors’ yards. The three blocks down Lincoln Street to the school is nice since it is lined with maple trees. It’s like walking down a tunnel with the sun appearing at the end of the street where the school is. Every day, except Thursday, I dream that I can levitate. I think that if I truly believe it, it will happen. The heavy saxophone and books could rest on my lap as I soar several feet above the sidewalk. A gentle breeze would blow me down the two blocks. I could turn my head and then turn left to soar down the three blocks to school. I would then touch my feet to the ground and come to a gentle stop.

Every afternoon, except Thursday, was unbearable. I had to walk back carrying my instrument and books while anxiously anticipating the afternoon cartoons that awaited me. No child has had to endure the torture that I had to go through, but I did not waste the opportunity. I concentrated even harder on soaring through the air. I had to imagine what I would see, and how it would feel. It was important to truly believe.

Before I cross Lincoln Street, I always see my Grandma’s old house on that corner. It’s a large house made out of brick. We used to go there on holidays, and all the kids would go to the attic. The attic has a small circular window that looks out on Cherry and Lincoln streets. The attic was old, and the walls were dark wood. The floors squeaked, and it was very drafty and cold in the winter. There was only one light, so it was pretty dark, but that was what made it so much fun! Since Grandma got too old to take care of the house and couldn’t walk up the stairs, some other family moved there. They don’t have any kids, but they have a nice dog. The lady there likes to plant stuff on the weekends. I’ll go by there on my bicycle. Sometimes she sees me and waves, but she’s usually pretty busy planting.

It was one week before Halloween. This is my favorite time of the year because the leaves turn beautiful colors, and the wind really blows. I tried to concentrate on floating while walking to school. I got to my Grandma’s corner when I heard, “Hey, little girl… ya’ wanna’ fly?” I looked around but didn’t see anyone. 

“I know how to fly. Want me to show you?”

The voice sounded like it was above me. I looked up, and in the window of the attic of my Grandma’s old house was a hideous old woman. “It’s a witch,” I thought to myself.

She cackled as if she could hear me. I could hear her even though the window was closed. She then began to open it. I quickly ran with my saxophone across the street. I tripped half way down the shaded street and skinned my knees. Blood started pouring out of the scrape on my right knee and stained my yellow socks. I could feel the tears gathering in my eyes, but I was too scared to cry. I knew the old woman must have seen me fall. As I quickly got up, I heard several of the top branches of the tree above me squeak and crack as if it was holding a great weight. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to know. I grabbed my books and my saxophone and ran the rest of the way. When I got to the schoolyard, I looked back, but didn’t see anything.

When I got to class, I waited for Peter Simpson to sit behind me. “I saw a witch today,” I told him as soon as he sat down.

“Where?” asked Peter.

“In my Grandma’s old house. Right across the street from your house,” I said.

“There are very nice people in that house. They have a nice dog.” said Peter.

“I know,” I told him, “but she was in the attic today. She spoke to me through a closed window. I think the place is haunted!”

By this time, several of my other classmates were listening.

“There’s a dead baby that they put into the wall in your Gramma’s old house,” said Julie Kelvar. “I’ve heard that a woman who used to live there got pregnant, and her parents were ashamed so she had an abortion and put the dead baby behind a wall. They put bricks in front so no one would know!”

“My Grandma lived there a long time,” I said. “She’s had twelve kids, and none of them died or have had an abortion! Besides, we’ve always played there, and I’ve been walking past there since I was able to walk, and this is the first time anything like this has happened!” I was a little upset that she would think my relatives would do something gross like putting a dead baby in a wall.

“What’s this about a dead baby?” asked Roger. Roger had a loud voice so we just rolled our eyes and looked at the teacher in the front of the classroom. She was looking back at us so we decided to talk about this at recess.

Recess came, and we decided to walk down the street and take a look at the house. We looked, and looked, but didn’t see anything. Peter said that he would see if anyone was home. Maybe it was the people’s grandma living there. Anyway, he went up to the door and rang the bell. We could hear the dog barking. No one came to the door. We didn’t see any car around, so we were pretty sure no one was there.

We went back to the playground. I didn’t tell Peter anything about what the witch had said to me. I was a little ashamed because I started thinking that maybe I did imagine her talking to me.

I had band practice from 3:30 to 4:30. Peter doesn’t play any instruments, and everyone else uses the main street in front of the playground to pick up their kids. So, I walked back home all by myself. As soon as I could see the attic, I watched it as I walked by. I didn’t think about levitating. I just kept watching, but I didn’t see anyone. There wasn’t a car there, so I knew no one was at home. I got to the alley, and thought how I wasted time being silly and could have spent it thinking about levitating. So, I concentrated going down the alley. It wasn’t going too well since I had to pass by some of the Halloween decorations, and they looked really great. Anyway, I got home and nothing happened.

The next day, I got my violin case and had my big science book with my homework in it. I started down the alley really thinking about levitating. As I went past Peter’s house, I started looking at my Grandma’s old house. I could see an old station wagon in the driveway. I started thinking about how to levitate. As I got to the corner of Cherry and Lincoln, the wind started picking up. It blew behind me harder and harder and made me feel as if I was being pushed down the street.

“You’re getting closer, sweetie.” said a voice. I looked up at the attic window, and there she was. The window was open, and I could see her glowing green eyes. She had a large mole on her nose, and her teeth were crooked and pointed. Her hand was on the window handle, and I could see long fingernails at the end of gnarled, wrinkled hands. Her long, stringy, gray hair was dancing around her face in the wind.

I could feel the wind pushing me closer and closer to the house. It was as if I was walking on my toes. Quickly, I turned my violin case at an angle to the wind and started turning away from the house. I felt like I was running at full speed on my tip-toes as I managed to cross diagonally across both streets. Now, it was only a matter of going down Lincoln Street. The wind blew the trees downward as if the branches were reaching down to grab me. I could hear a large gust of wind swoosh above the trees. I ran and ran.

As I got near the school, I looked up one of the trees. I could see a pair of black shoes and dark stockings covering a pair of skinny, gnarled legs. The varicose veins were so prominent that I could see them through the dark stockings. A white slip and a full dark skirt swirled in the wind and kept me from seeing anything above the branches and the skirt. I heard a high-pitched laugh as I finally got to the school yard.

I must of looked dreadful because Julie Kelvar came running up to me screaming, “She’s seen the witch again… she’s seen the witch!”

I just stood there unable to move. “Shut up, Julie,” was all that I could say.

“What did you do to your hair?” asked Elaine Copperfein. “It’s not Halloween, yet!”

I didn’t know what she was talking about, so I just walked up to the doors and waited in line for the bell to ring. Everyone kept staring at me, so I started feeling a little nervous. As soon as the doors opened, I went straight to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror, and it took a few minutes before I realized that it was me looking back. My hair had strands of gray running through it. It now went past my shoulders when this morning, it barely went past my neck. My blue eyes had turned green. As I reached to touch my hair, I noticed that long fingernails were on my hands. All I could think of was that it would be really hard to play the violin with these long nails.

I went to class, and the teacher told me to take off the silly Halloween wig.

“I can’t,” I replied.

“You will stay after school and copy your science textbook if you don’t do what you are told,” said my teacher.

I started crying and repeating, “I can’t, I can’t.”

Julie Kelvar started screaming, “She’s turning into a witch. She’s a witch.”

The room suddenly exploded with crying and screaming, and the teacher grabbed me from my seat and escorted me to the principal’s office.

“All right, young lady,” the principal grimly said to me. “What did you put into your hair?”

“Nothing. It wasn’t like this before I came to school.” I started crying.

An hour later, my mother arrived. She took me home without saying a word. She told me to get into the shower and wash the Halloween makeup off. I started crying, again.

My Mom kept scrubbing my hair and muttering, “What did you do to your hair?”

“Look at my nails, Mom. And my eyes!” I screamed.

Mom suddenly stared at me and turned white. She then realized that my eyes and nails were real. She quickly dried me off, dressed me, and rushed me to Dr. Bacaroz.

Dr. Bacaroz studied me and saw nothing wrong. “I believe that she has had a scare that caused extensive amounts of adrenaline to enter her blood stream. This, along with her developing hormones has caused this adverse reaction. I would like to take pictures of this and consult some other experts at the hospital with your permission, of course.”

After Mom gave Dr. Bacaroz her permission, he took extensive photographs. Mom was there, and she kept mumbling that the doctor was trying to help. We finally got home, and Dad was quite upset that we were so late. When he finally saw me in the light, he just stood there staring. Mom said something to him about taking me to the hairdresser this weekend to get my hair cut and dyed. Dad just kept staring.

I told Mom that I wasn’t hungry, and I just wanted to go to bed. It was quite a day!

I woke up the next morning, and other than the shock of seeing myself in the mirror, I felt pretty good. I grabbed my violin, my books, and started going down the alley to school. The wind was blowing, and storm clouds were swirling above. It sounded to me like the wind was singing, “Fly, fly, fly above the earth. Those who are tied to it, will die to it. Those of us who fly above it, will decay not to it. Fly, fly, fly, little one, become us, become one with us.”

I felt intoxicated (like the time I got into Mom’s wine, by accident, of course). It was such a pretty song. “Fly, fly, fly above the earth,” I started singing. Violins were playing. Saxophones were playing. Everything swirled and twirled. I no longer felt the ground, and I could smell grapes in the air. The autumn leaves were blazing by in flashes of red, orange, and purple.

“Fly, fly, fly,” I started screaming. Suddenly, I heard a crash, and everything stopped and fell silent. I looked down and saw my violin smashed on the sidewalk. I looked around me and saw that I was at the top of a 20-foot tree. I saw my Mom’s car driving toward the tree. She suddenly hit the brakes, jumped out of the car, and looked at my violin. She started screaming my name, and I yelled, “Mom, I’m up here! Help me!” She looked up, saw me, and screamed and screamed and screamed.

A neighbor came out and saw me in the tree. To make a long story short, the fire department came and got me down. Dr. Bacaroz sedated Mom and took more pictures of me. I didn’t have to go to school the rest of the day.

We cut my fingernails before I left for school the next day. My hair was down to my waist, and Mom insisted that she walk with me to school today. The one day that I don’t have to carry any heavy instruments, and she decides to help me go to school. It was raining, and I had to wear my yellow raincoat and galoshes. Mom tried to get me to wear the stupid yellow cap that goes with the raincoat, but I wouldn’t. As we got to the corner where my Grandma’s old house is, a lightening bolt exploded a few feet from where we were. I thought that Mom was going to have a coronary. She started crying hysterically, and I kept telling her that it was OK. After a few minutes, she calmed down and realized that she wasn’t doing me any favors by freaking out. She muttered something about the medication that Dr. Bacaroz put her on, and she practically shoved me all the way to school.

As I put my coat away, Mom talked to the teacher for a while. Everyone was staring at me. Julie Kelvar then started whispering to Peter Simpson about how freaky I looked and that I was strange to be dressing up for Halloween so soon. After a few minutes, I looked at her and said, “Put a sock in it, Julie.”

Suddenly, a dirty, white sock appeared stuffed in her mouth. Her eyes just about popped out of their sockets. Peter looked at me in terror. I felt my mouth hit the floor. Quietly and slowly, I turned around, stared straight ahead, and tried not to think of anything. I decided to just concentrate on what the teacher said and on reading my books. I could feel everyone staring at me.

At recess, no one came near me. I could see Julie Kelvar waving her arms in the air and telling everyone what had happened. I sat on the swings and just stared at the ground.

“Got to be careful what you wish for! Sometimes, wishes come true. Fly, fly, fly. They don’t want to play with you, but you know I will.” It sounded as if the old woman was right behind me, whispering in my ear.

“I wish you to go away. Did my wish come true?” I asked.

“Most times, wishes don’t come true, but a spell and a wish don’t mix, don’t mix. Just fly, fly, fly. Fly, little girl. Where does a wish come from? A witch? A wish? Just fly, fly, fly,” she whispered.

The bell rang and I returned to class. Mom came and picked me up for lunch. We went to the fast food place to get a burger. Mom didn’t say much, and neither did I. I went to the library during the afternoon recess, and Mom was there after class to walk me home. I could see all the mothers in their cars staring at us as we walked down the street. All the children rushed into the cars to tell about the little witch at school.

I could hear the kids ranting and raving, and I could hear the mothers’ thoughts. “Poor, pathetic child. It’s obviously the parents’ fault. She had better stay away from my child.”

As soon as I went to bed, I had nightmares. I dreamed that my fingers fell off, and I tried to scotch tape them back to my hand, but they wouldn’t stay on my hand. I dreamt that I super-glued my lips together and starved to death. Needless to say, the night was long, and I cried all night. Finally, I got up and looked at the clock. It was a quarter till three.

“It’s the witching hour. Fly, fly, fly. The world is your servant. Fly, fly, fly,” the wind whispered and sang.

I kept thinking that the witching hour was supposed to be midnight.

“No, you idiot,” said the wind. “It starts at a quarter till three, central time of course.”

“Of course,” I said.

I opened the window and flew out. As I soared above the telephone and electrical lines, I could see inside and outside every house. I could see and hear everyone’s dreams. I flew over Julie’s house and made her dream of dirty, white socks attacking her. I flew over Roger’s house, and made him dream of walls that cried, dripped blood, and had dead babies in them. I flew over Elaine’s house and made her dream of Halloween makeup that wouldn’t come off. I flew over my teacher’s house, and made her dream of spending the rest of her life teaching grade school. I flew over Dr. Bacaroz’s house and made him dream of reporters who kept taking pictures of him. I flew over their houses, and with each dream, I felt great. I showed them who the real witches were! Finally, I flew over Peter’s house. I made him dream of Samantha Stevens who granted him his every wish.

“Enough! How dare you compare us to Samantha Stevens. No self-respecting witch would twitch her nose unless she wanted to spew snot over Lake Michigan!” There she stood on the roof of my Grandma’s old house. Her skin glowed like moonlight, her eyes were piercing green lights, her yellow teeth glowed, and her lips were vibrantly red.

My flying came to an abrupt halt on top of Peter’s house. “He’s my friend,” I screamed.

“You have no friend! You flew, flew, flew, and you will pay, pay, pay.” With that, the old woman started flying towards me. I turned my back and jumped. The wind grabbed me, and I started flying towards my house. I felt her fingernails as she tried to grab my ankles. I let out a roar, and a lightening bolt flashed behind me. I roared and shrieked and screamed. Trees swayed, cars overturned, and Halloween decorations were twisted and smashed. I flew into my window and slammed it shut. A few seconds later, I heard a thud as she slammed into the closed window.

I looked out the closed window and saw nothing. Suddenly, her face appeared, smiling, and then she flew away.

I turned on the light and gasped as I looked into the mirror. My hair reached my ankles and had turned completely gray. My fingernails had grown several inches. My eyebrows were black and thick. My eyes were a fluorescent green. My nose had grown longer and had a slight hook at the end of it. My skin was the color of moonlight.

The next morning, I got dressed in a black dress. Mom and Dad looked at me when I went to breakfast.

“It’s Halloween,” I said. “I figured since my hair hasn’t been cooperating, that I might as well go with it. What do you think of my costume?”

Dad grunted something about “kids today”. Mom went to her purse and got some pills. The television was on and was saying something about a storm last night that caused damage around the town. Mom asked me if I wanted her to walk me to school today. I told her no. I felt fine, and that whatever I had, I thought that I was getting over it. It made her happy.

I didn’t take my saxophone, today. It was Halloween, and I knew that I probably wouldn’t be going to band practice. It was overcast and looked like it was going to rain. I started walking to school. I could hear the wind starting to sing. I no longer listened to it as a song of intoxication. It was now a battle cry. I knew who I was, I knew what I had, and I knew what I needed to do.

I walked down the street and stood briefly in front of Peter’s house. I didn’t have to look to know that he was standing behind the door looking out of the window at me. I could hear him thinking, “Go get her, Samantha!”

I walked up to my Grandma’s old house. It was quiet, other than the wind, and the attic window was closed. A car was parked in the driveway, but no one seemed to be around. I stood there and stood there, but nothing happened. I finally decided that maybe now wasn’t the time, and, I turned my back and started walking across the street. Suddenly, a gust of wind hit me full force in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me. I was sucked into the attic window and found myself in the middle of the attic with the old witch on top of me with her bony fingers wrapped around my throat.

We were both writhing and roaring and shrieking. Lightening flashed, thunder exploded, and the wind roared. We tumbled across the room. I got up, and she grabbed my calf sinking her long fingernails into my muscle. I roared like a lion and felt skin ripping as I raked my fingernails across her face. She slammed my head against the floor, and I elbowed the other side of her face. I jumped up as she started to stand and threw my whole body against her knee. I heard the bones crackle and snap, and she collapsed shrieking. As I stood to catch my breath, I saw the walls start to bend. Shapes were beginning to appear in the walls as if there were creatures trying to get out. I didn’t know what to do. I was obviously out of my league and was being “out-witched”. Fear grabbed me, and I couldn’t do anything. I started thinking that I was going to die.

I decided to let temporary insanity take control and found myself yelling “Samantha Stevens” and twitching my nose. I looked around and found myself alone in the attic. There was no noise other than a dog barking. The door suddenly slammed open, and the lady that owned the house appeared.

“How did you get into my house? What are you doing here? I’m going to call the police!” she shrieked.

“Wait!” I screamed. “Some of my friends were playing a Halloween trick on me, and they got a ladder and made me climb it, and then they just left me here.” I tried looking at her to see if she was buying my story. “I’m so scared. I’m so sorry.” I started crying.

“There, there now,” she said as she tried to comfort me. “You kids need to behave. Someone could get hurt. We’ll forget it this time, but if you kids try to do something like this again, I will have to call the police, OK?”

“OK,” I sniffled.

I walked out her front door, and made it to school without any problems. The bell had already rung, and I had to run to make it to class in time. The class was silent. No one looked at each other. When we went to recess, no one played with each other. We all stood quietly by ourselves.

My fingernails looked like the same nail-bitten ones that I had before this week ever happened. I decided to go to the bathroom and check the hair, eyes, and skin situation. Other than a few gray streaks in my shoulder-length hair, I was pretty much back to normal except for the eyes. They were an eerie green.

It wasn’t long before the events of that Halloween were forgotten, and everything returned to normal. Years passed by, and other than occasionally passing by an old house and seeing the face of an old woman in the attic window, I’ve led a pretty quiet life, and I’m always very careful what I wish for.

But, when Halloween comes around and the fall leaves swirl into a small whirlwind, I can’t help but hear it saying, “fly, fly, fly.” I just have to open the window for one night, take a ride, and see what the other monsters are dreaming about on Halloween night.

     He was so excited that his hand trembled as he tried to put the microphone close to my mouth. After all, this was the interview of the century. There were so many questions. I had never been anywhere long enough for someone to interview me. 

    

“How did it all start?” he asked.

     “I honestly don’t know what the catalyst was,” I replied. “I always say a prayer every time I drive past some poor animal that is dead on the side of the road. I remember asking if someday I could do something to help one of those poor creatures. I also remember being so repulsed by the news every day. Always hearing about poor people and creatures that have met violent ends. I stopped watching the news.” I noticed he was a little offended by what I said. 

     “No offense,” I quickly added.

     “None taken,” he mumbled.

     “I guess it was that one night that I was at a convention in Washington DC. I remember that there was a large thunderstorm. The air conditioner in my hotel room wasn’t working, and I opened the window as much as it would open. The wind started to really blow. I turned off everything and was ready to go to bed when a flash of lightening lit up my whole room.”

     “Then, the room disappeared. I was in a large nightshirt one second, and then I am dressed in a long white dress in the middle of a road in Israel - in the middle of a gunfight. I couldn’t tell you who was who, but there was a mother and her son about 200 feet from me hurdled together behind some bricks. The bullets were flying all over, and I had to cross the street to get to them. All I know is that I was so mad that this was happening. I wasn’t thinking. I just crossed the street to where they were. Bullets were zinging all around me. Some small kid comes up to me and throws a grenade. All of a sudden, he blows up. A man runs out from some rubble and points a gun at my head. He pulls the trigger, and he drops dead from a bullet wound to his head. Everything stopped then. People stopped shooting. I went over to the mother and son, but they were already dead. I said my little prayer that I say for the animals."

     "I thought at first that it was all a dream.

Then whoosh, I’m in Atlanta. A man about 7 feet tall is standing in front of me, and I’m standing in front of a battered woman in a fetal position on the floor. The man looked very surprised. I probably looked as surprised as he was. Still, I hugged her as he put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. Instantly, he falls over dead, and blood is coming out of a gaping hole in his head. The lady on the floor stares at me in shock, and then she fades away. Then, I’m suddenly somewhere else in the world.”

    “Do you think your power comes from God?” the young reporter asked.

     “If you are wondering if He talks to me or asks me where I would like to go, no. There is no burning bush to talk to, and no one to have a nice brunch with. So, no one or thing has confessed to giving me this power,” I replied.

     I hesitated a moment and sighed. “I know that I don’t have any relatives to speak of, but I wouldn’t mind having a chance every once in a while to go shopping or to go to a movie instead of instantly getting whooshed off right away to prevent some horror. This is actually quite nice being able to stay in one place for awhile and to talk to you, even if I am doing most of the talking.”

     The young reporter smiled and shifted the microphone to his other hand. “I am afraid that I won’t be able to ask all my questions before you disappear again,” he said. “It took me quite a while to figure out where you may be next.”

     “Yes, I was wondering how you were able to find me?” I asked.

     “You won’t believe it if I told you,” he chuckled.

     “Please, I have to know,” I said.

     “I just said a little prayer,” he replied and smiled a big grin.

     “Mmmm, this prayer thing is quite powerful, but you’ve got to be careful what you ask for! Remind me to tell you the story of when I prayed for blonde hair. Anyway, you really didn’t answer my question,” I said.

     “Let me ask the questions first,” he insisted, “then, if you are still around, you can ask your questions. So, do you think that you are a messenger from God?”

     I hesitated. I never thought about it before in that way. “Yes, I believe that I am. How else do you explain the wings?” I asked.

     “The wings?”

he asked in surprise.

     “Oh, you haven’t seen the wings, yet? Quite awesome! It really scared me the first time, and people pee their pants when they see them. The first time happened in Africa. There was a poacher hiding behind some bushes with his high-powered rifle aimed at this elephant. I knew that I could not get to the elephant in time to save him. Like that mother and child in Israel, I’ve learned that I have to make physical contact with the victim in order to save them.

I was going to yell so that the poacher would see me, then there was this loud ‘VA-WHOOSH’. I can’t do it justice. It’s not quite as loud as thunder, but it carries as much punch. It has to be at least a twenty-foot wing span. And as those air-filled bones and feathers unravel, it is quite the sight to see!”

     “Can I see them now?” he asked.

     “No,” I sighed. “I haven’t any idea how to make them appear. It is one of those unanswered questions that I have. I feel like I’ve just been given the world’s most powerful weapon and no instruction manual.”

     “Have you ever flown with them?”

     “With the wings?” I thought for a moment. “No, but I hope I don’t. I’m afraid of heights.”

     He laughed and then continued. “So what happened with the poacher and the elephant?”

     “After you do this a few times, you see that people always react in just a few ways,” I responded. “Some continue with their violence out of fear. Others go into shock. Depending on their heart, they either try to kill me or they stop what they are doing.”

     “What do you mean, ‘depending on their heart’?” he asked.

     “You know how the eyes are the windows to the soul? Well, I look in their eyes, and you can see some of them thinking ‘this is too scary for me, I should leave this alone’. Then, their heart takes control and they think ‘I’m not letting anyone stop me from doing what I want’. Then they shoot or stab or bludgeon or do a million other things to try to kill me or the person or the animal they want dead. If they would just leave it alone, no problem. The poacher was like that. He aimed his rifle at me and then pulled the trigger.”

     “He died, right?” asked the reporter.

     “Oh yea!” I answered. “It is really bizarre how it works. He pulled the trigger and I see the bullet, or whatever else they use, move very slowly. It looks like it is just about to hit me, and then I suddenly become the poacher, and the poacher becomes me. I see the bullet hit the poacher and go through him, and we suddenly switch back.”

     “That must be why people find the bullets in impossible places,” he replied. “What about common human functions – eating, sleeping, drinking, etc.? How does that work when you have no control over where you are transported?”

     “It’s weird, but I don’t have to do that anymore. I feel like I close my eyes for a second, and then I’m somewhere else for just a few minutes at a time.”

     While the reporter seemed to be thinking about his next question, I decided that it was the opportunity to ask a few questions of my own. “Now, let me ask you a question. Am I appearing somewhere every few minutes or is there a time lapse between my sightings?”

     “There is a definite time lapse,” he replied. “If you want to go through a few of your appearances in order, I could probably tell you if there are some in sequence that I know about and how long it took.”

     We discussed my appearances, and it was decided that it could be minutes, days, months, or even years between my sightings although I never noticed any time lapses between my appearances. 

    

We both sat silently for a few moments before continuing. His words about being a messenger of God really bothered me. What if there is something that I should be telling people when I save them? Shouldn’t I hear God’s voice and understand why I am doing this? Maybe this power isn’t coming from God, but something evil?

     “Why the sudden silent treatment?” he finally asked breaking the silence.

     “I was thinking about what you said – about being a messenger of God. There are a few things that bother me about that.”

     “Like what?” he asked.

     “How come God hasn’t spoken to me? The messengers in the Bible get to speak to God,” I said.

     “The messengers in the Bible also get their heads usually chopped off or worse,” he replied.

     “What if my purpose is to be the messenger of the antichrist?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure that I don’t want that job. Maybe I’m doing the whole thing wrong. I should probably say something meaningful and religious when I save someone. What if this is it and I don’t fade out any more?”

     We both sat staring at each other for several minutes in silence. I felt as if I were going to explode, then a great peace came over me. I realized how truly stupid I was. He looked back at me, and we both knew what I was going to ask next.

     “Why me?” I asked. “I’m not a saint by any means.”

    

The young reporter just smiled, and I started to tear up.

“Prayer is a powerful thing,” He said.

     I smiled and cried. “Thank you for not looking like a burning bush. I’d ask you to brunch, but it’s Sunday. You have to be in all the churches and listen to everyone’s prayers.”

     “Don’t worry, I’m a multi-tasker,” He replied.

The microphone magically disappeared. He took my hand, and we walked down the street together.