the fairytale of being yours

is merely an echo of an unwatered heart

and though your words drench me in hot apple cinnamon

the meaning is quick to depart.

the ”I love you’s” are soft, but unforgiving

your love waits, i linger desperately

warm by the fire, but only an object of desire

clinging to what used to be me.

my fulfillment was mindful artistry

now it’s serving myself on a platter

your adoration fit snug in my pocket

flattery that achingly mattered.

my words are tainted with dramatic irony

knowing how the story will always end

as i hold onto you for the “very last time”

over and over again.

the fairytale of being yours

is merely an echo of an unwatered heart

i sip on our memories fondly

i place down the glass to start.

this is the strangest life

I have ever known

― Jim Morrison

The weather seemed to be more reckless today, each gust of wind doing its best to reach and touch every little bit of her skin, becoming almost vicious in its eager attempts at penetrating her right to the bone -its chaotic movements blowing out her hair in all directions, turning it into a precise construction of tangled knots with each passing moment, shifting the light under her eyelashes as they dance in front of her face. She inhales deeper and opens her eyes slowly, looking up to the sky, bare branches swaying to an unknown melody, only a few stubborn leaves still fighting the end of a season. Maybe they will even stay to spring. She smiles at their willingness to remain when so many have already given up. We are all struggling survivors here. She knew that better than most.

Slowly, she tilts her head slightly, enjoying the unexpected warmth from the sun as the wind settles slightly in its evil ways, rolling her shoulders and letting things in her stir, circulating in the bloodstream. The tinted glass reflects strawberry and emerald hues - she murmurs to herself as if chanting a long-forgotten children's rhyme, lost in thought, and then angles her hand differently, gently blocking the sunrays through her open fingers, mind gravitating to the day before. All those red tints and colorful sparks covering her eyes, opening a path to something she had no explanation for.

Visions.

Another obstacle or an unexpected help in her absurd, erratic life? Mmm, who was to say. The only thing she was certain of was that this time around, she wasn't scared of the change like before, bringing a strange sense of liberation with it.

She inhales deeply and with a purpose - piece by piece, getting lost in the things she had experienced last night, trying to catch every little detail - the scene painting itself in her mind as if moved by brush strokes that she saw in Jeremiah's hand. She wants to dive deeper into the images, curious if she could call out a vision into existence, willing it into life. She knows it's crazy, and the chances of that working even in the slightest way were more than unlikely, nearly non-existent. Don't reach too deep, child, the rocks are sharp on the way down. But then again, one has to jump sometimes, wouldn't you agree? She blinks and feels insanity poking at her, both with strength and gentleness - as if with the small hands of a child tapping at her skin and her fevered state. It goes against all common sense, yet she tests it out anyway, something in her pushing forward, willing her to make some kind of move, transforming her thoughts into something with a shape, nearly physical.

Something alive.

Her shoulders roll again, this time slower, as she focuses on every muscle in her body as if navigating each structure and cell into something more familiar. Something she has control over. She inhales deeper, air filling her lungs to the brim, trying to remember what it felt like to sink into that strange world of images and visions, and suddenly feels something in her mind adjust and switch - as if the smallest of locks opening up.

Twist, turn, click, open.

Her mind expands slowly like an invisible soft fog or some strange organic mechanism, shaping its edges with a precision that she did not expect from her normally so unsteady thoughts. Carefully, she visualizes the milky form swaying gently and growing in size, coloring its structure with pastel colors reflected in the sun - like stretching out a flexible cord, a rubber band bending and changing to her will. Her mind once again moves to the vision from last night, but then it stops abruptly, changing its direction. Instead, for no apparent reason, as if on instinct, she visualizes warm light swirling until it grows into shapes and forms. A million tiny pair of wings exploding with flickering light. Butterflies and fireflies swarming against blackness, creating miniature eruptions of blazing, pulsating things. A slight crack in the matter blooming into life. She gasps from the images dancing under her eyelids, surprise and wonder blending into one, chemicals in her body turning into an erratic state - constantly shifting and re-arranging themselves. And then, without warning, everything disappears as if it was never there, to begin with - nothingness surrounding her for a fraction of a second, only to be replaced with the strangest noise stirring somewhere under her skull.

Blueberries used to be my favorite, but now everything tastes like chalk.

She blinks a few times and stumbles slightly, thrown by the sudden thought that doesn't seem to belong to her. Not scenes, not visions. But thoughts. She swallows and staggers back as if pushed by a blast of wind or an invisible hand. This was not how this was supposed to look, nothing she had imagined. It was supposed to be a repeat of last night. She expected glimmers of another vision, a complete scene, a fresh memory, diving into someone else's subconscious. Like walking slowly into a river with bare feet, currents of thoughts washing over her skin. Instead, a voice echoed softly in her head - it sounded so familiar, but she wasn't sure why. She heard it, but it missed the melody of a real voice - it was like reading someone else's words on a piece of paper, with your own voice coloring them with private tones and hues.

I wonder how soon before I can join him.

Her pulse rushes as a new thought breaks, causing her to take another small step back. This time it's not even her doing, though she doubts the amount of control she actually had the first time around - it always felt like whatever she did was somehow not up to her, the invisible strings of the puppeteer seeming to reach her no matter what. She shakes her head, feeling out of it. Focus. Come on, focus! The last thing she heard rings out again, and she inhales deeper - her mind opened and seeming to pull things to her on its own, constantly grabbing something that she still struggles to comprehend. You unblocked something, and there is no going back now. The thought slaps her across the face, and she trembles from the sudden cold that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

I feel him missing me when I sleep.

Her heart thuds against her chest, pulse ringing loudly in her ears.

Sometimes, I even make myself believe I see him. Is that so wrong?

She moves around a couple of times, spinning like a confused child, the trees in the park blurring around into an unsteady collage of colors and shapes.

He must be so lonely there.

The voice in her head turns softer, the longing hidden in it almost unbearable to take in; it weighs on her chest. But she has been through worse - she knows this kind of ache all too well and can shield herself from it. Most pain comes from loss, so you learn to build walls. Survival above all. She breathes faster, but instead of panicking, she listens more intently, as if wanting to find the source of the sound - just like last night, she doesn't question what's happening or how it's possible, even if fear of the unknown still lingers somewhere in the background of her head. She listens, tuning into the words as if shifting a radio antenna until the signal gets better and stronger. If someone ever asked her how she was doing all of this, she wouldn't be able to answer. Whatever this was, it was happening on autopilot with a device she had no instruction to - she sighs. One giant, freaking improvisation.

I'm only a problem now. When was I not?

They erased me out of the picture the moment he was gone.

Her heart pounds faster again inside her ribs as she stumbles forward, feeling a strong pull to head left, between the north path of the park. She passes people, rushing to catch whoever or whatever was calling to her. Her heartbeat echoes in her ears, blocking out any actual noises. Once again, she stumbles and then stops abruptly, something else catching her attention before she can even register what it is. She looks around confused, and finally notices it, eyes widening as a figure in the distance smiles and waves their hand, willing her to come over. Eventually, the silhouette comes into focus, and she shakes her head in disbelief, wondering if coincidence existed or if everything was already decided in advance. Charlie. She blinks a couple of times until something breaks through. She lost the connection. Fuck. She was so close. Whatever had opened up in her mind was gone now, almost as if Charlie had blocked its signal, his presence louder than the visions.

A different pull altogether, a pull that stood above everything else.

______

Charlie

He smiles at her, surprised, eyebrows lifting. He knew that eventually, she would come over - her batteries most definitely on a dangerously low level by now - it's been over 24 hours since they last saw each other, and a part of him gets knocked over the head, realizing he didn't notice before how long it has been. But then again, it made sense. He was too preoccupied with his endless rushing thoughts to take in the passage of time, too loudly centered on what happened between them, even if he tried to pretend otherwise. He knew deep down they would be alright, but the thoughts still prickled at his mind. That's why without noticing it fully, he dived into his work deeper, doing his best to put some things aside for the time being. If he didn't want to go crazy, he had to be practical - hovering somewhere near a neutral state, rewinding himself to a moment when she wasn't so important to him - when their time spent together was much simpler and involved fewer rules to follow, And fewer eggshells to step on.

Yet now that he sees her, a smile spreads on his face - a feeling of relief stirring under the tensed muscles. That strange feeling of coming home after a very long day - he shakes his head at the thought and waves a hand towards her. For a moment, Nora's stare is blank, and she looks out of it, lost and confused, her features suddenly twisting and darkening. His body freezes, mind sending alarmed signals that her reaction was related to what happened between them - but then she suddenly smiles back, rolling her shoulders a few times and running over to him. He lifts his eyebrows again, amused at the sight, while at the same time feeling the physical strings in his forearms loosen up, mentally melting away as if iron elements heated by fire.

I don't think I ever saw you jog.

Don't get used to it, and treat it as an anomaly. Damned souls don't run. They stagger gracefully towards hell.

He makes a face, and the smile reaches her eyes this time. She lifts her hands in the air.

Fine, no hellfire today. Just make sure not to use the word jog and me in the same sentence again.

Deal. Hmm, Nora?

Her stare lifts slowly, her mind still seeming to be elsewhere.

You had a strange look on your face when you saw me.

I... I know. But it would be hard to explain.

I thought we were used to that by now.

He furrows his eyebrows, and she sighs, wrapping her heavy leather jacket tighter around her body, a thick, too-long, grey hoody sticking from under its edges and sleeves, the bottom covering most of her thighs, black skinny jeans looking too thin for this kind of weather. He gazes at the green, woolen hat put low over her head, and then his stare falls to her round, steel-grey eyes. She shrugs her shoulders.

Fair point, Charlie. I just don't want to get into it now, especially since your day is probably very busy.

She has a funny look on her face as she gazes at the hospital building behind them as if she sees it for the first time - her eyebrows pulling together into a frown like she's trying to solve some difficult equation and failing at it. Then suddenly, her stare shifts slightly towards him, a cautious look changing her features.

Did anything unusual happen today?

Not that I can think of, just the regular. Why do you ask?

Mmm, no reason. It's just a feeling.

She crosses her arms and frowns again at the building. It's more than apparent that she's not satisfied with the answer she got. If he wasn't so concerned with her behavior, he might have even found it amusing. She looked like a child moments away from picking a stick from the ground and poking at the hospital entry as if waiting for what strange, unsettling things would fall out of it.

Nora?

He asks after a while when the silence starts to get uncomfortable. She blinks a few times and shakes her head, returning to reality from wherever her mind was.

It's nothing big, I promise. Don't over-worry about it, stud. You will get grey hairs faster.

He makes a face at the comment, and she waves a hand in the air dismissively and then unexpectedly catches some color to her face, looking embarrassed, shifting sides of her hoody away from her neck as if wanting to let some cool air in there.

What now?

No, nothing, my mind tends to wonder.

About?

Mmm, just that salt and pepper looks good on some men.

He lifts his eyebrow, not connecting the dots at first, and then clears his throat as the fog lifts slightly - and watches her grin, in some bizarre way gaining confidence from his awkward reaction.

You're a handsome man, Charlie. That's why, even after all this time, some of the nurses eye me as if they were wondering which poison worked best on the likes of me.

You're not funny.

Oh, I'm serious. And the medicine supplies they have at their disposal...

She claps her hands with enthusiasm and nods with an impressed look.

Well, let's just say I tread very lightly these days around women in scrubs.

Unbelievable.

Why, thank you. You're far too kind, Mr. Evans.

She bows dramatically, and he sighs, even though, in truth, it feels like an enormous relief that they were slowly setting back into their old routine. He shakes his head.

Come one. As you pointed out, I'm a little busy right now, but at least let's get you away from the cold.

She nods and then winces, face becoming more pale - he reacts fast, knowing the symptoms that would follow soon after. Quickly and without a word, he takes her hand, and she follows as the double doors slide open before them, his fingers lifting in the most familiar way, wrapping around her wrist. He still didn't understand how this strange magic between them worked and what it really meant to be a healer. And maybe he never would. But it doesn't stop him from putting his thoughts into action, focusing on spreading warmth to her body, concentrating intensely on building a vision in which she feels better, willing the action into existence. It takes a moment, but finally, she seems to relax a little, and he turns around to make sure.

Better?

Much. Thank you.

She whispers softly, and it takes all of his willpower to let go of her hand. Yet he does. Letting out a sigh, already missing the closeness that the little gesture provided, troubled by how attached to her he seemed to be, by how familiar it was just to be around her. At times, it got difficult to remember life before she stormed onto his path like the unstoppable force of nature that she was. Nora's stare lifts, meeting his, but he just shakes his head.

Sometimes, there were no words for all the crazy things going on inside someone's soul.

__________

54. https://theprose.com/post/706199/the-motion-and-interaction-of-erratic-things

(part 1)

55. https://theprose.com/post/706205/the-motion-and-interaction-of-erratic-things (part 2)

56. https://theprose.com/post/743987/uncharted-territory

57. https://www.theprose.com/post/744018/call-it-a-security-breach-if-you-want

For everyone still keeping up with the story, thank you, it means a lot *inserts gratitude and tons of hearts*

This book is also edited and progressively posted on Wattpad.

Feel free to visit me there ;)

https://www.wattpad.com/user/Lunardreams54

From Russian spy satellites,

And airplanes soaring by

The entourage that huddles close

In it's pursuit of fame or acceptance

Resembles the tail of a dragon,

Winding, and curling like some enigmatic

Crop circle,

Totally unaware of itself...

Similarly it is prophesied

That Fenrir the Fame wolf

Will kill Odin and destroy the world

In the forms of

Skõll and Hati,

The two ravenous wolf children

In never-ending pursuit

Of the Sun and the Moon...

If Skõll ever catches the Sun (Sol),

And Hati ever snatches up the Moon (gulp!),

Bottoms up,

They'll have their ravenous supper

And we'll all hit that high water mark...

Finis, finito...Adios!...

Ah, but Jörmungandr,

The World Serpent is also a child of

Loki,

Like the insatiable wolves,

And I like to think of him as a

Good Luck Dragon...

Oh Good Luck Dragon,

Please continue to reveal

The status of our humanity

Like a mirror to the soul!...

Help us see our saturation

In the darkness!...

Our permutation

In the humdrum!...

Help us infiltrate this Kingdom

Of the Blind

With your copious eyes that see

Through the many layered

Fabrications of society...

As you float and hover

So seamlessly through the skies

Unseen,

Staring down so childlike at

This Babylon that toxifies

With it's innumerable

Advancements...

Sometimes I catch a bit of scales

Become apparent in the sky

If I stare at nothing in particular,

And then perhaps a speck

Of your golden grin

Before you vanish into dark night...

Luck Dragon of the open skies,

You are the hope,

And guiding light...

Lead us into new respite

So we may find fresh favor

With God and nature, and all things...

This is your year,

Your magic sings

Inside us now

As you take hold...

1/2/23

Bunny Villaire

Witches brew,

a cold, dark misty night,

screams haunts the neighborhoods,

black cats rule the fears of man,

and potions drunk changes a life.

Evil controls what you think you believe,

but that belief is taken to a darker side,

and the soul becomes blackened,

Forgotten.

__________

Turkey’s lives given up

to appease the masses

as families join together,

Celebrating a joyous moment,

never giving thought

a turkey did have a soul;

destroyed,

to feed the masses,

which, upon the next day,

forgetting the reason for celebration.

__________

The night sky, bespeckled,

children awaiting a jovial man in red,

parents exhausted, happy this moment,

this last second of hope for joy,

will end.

No more jostling in the crowds,

deciding last minute gifts,

the overall preparation of decorations,

a tree glistening when lights turned low,

awaiting for that sound—that invisible movement,

as a man in red is never seen, yet,

items are left behind,

only to be discarded months later.

Witches cackle their own “ho-ho-ho” as their brew has taken hold of humanity.

For years so it seems,the age-old question "Does size matter" actually comes into play this time around. And no, this has nothing to do with sex. Let us proceed.

Encompassing an estimated 1,218.37 acres (1,904 square miles), the Grand Canyon is capable of holding 1 – 2 quadrillion gallons of water. If you poured all the river water on Earth into the Grand Canyon, it would still only be about half full.

The smallest thing that we can see with a 'light' microscope is about 500 nanometers. A nanometer is one-billionth (that's 1,000,000,000th) of a meter. So the smallest thing that you can see with a light microscope is about 200 times smaller than the width of a hair. Bacteria are about 1000 nanometers in size.

The Michigan Micro Mote is currently the world’s smallest computer at just 2mm x 4mm and requires an average of just 500 pico watts in operation and just 35 pico watts in standby or about a millionth of the power of a mobile phone on standby.

For a computer to be classed truly as a computer it must have an input, a processor to handle the data from the input and then output the results somehow. The Michigan Micro Mote has a processor, a radio for wifi communications, a solar cell and battery for power, a photocell for communications and can have a variety of sensors like pressure, temperature, imaging etc making the Micro Mote a fully self-contained computer that can run on just the normal lighting in a room.

With the largest telescope ever, The Arecibo Observatory should look familiar even if you’re not an internationally renowned scientist. It’s appeared in a handful of fairly popular movies, most famously in Golden-Eye and Contact. In the real world, it’s located in Puerto Rico and is the largest radio telescope on Earth. In fact, it’s so big it was easier to turn an existing limestone sinkhole into a telescope than to build one completely from scratch. The telescope’s main function is to track planets and asteroids passing Earth, with the latter focusing on those that could potentially damage our planet, though it’s also been used as a broadcasting station. In 1974, scientists used the facility to translate and send pictures to M13, a cluster of stars 21,000 light years away.

Sequoia trees are the biggest living things on this planet (by volume). They can grow up to 275 feet tall and 26 feet in diameter.

Manmade, Three Gorges Dam, this dam spans the Yangtze River in China and was built at the cost of $37 billion (U.S.). Considered the biggest hydroelectric dam ever built, it displaced 1.3 million people. It even has the capacity to slow the very rotation of the earth by strategically shifting significant masses of water.

Friday - August 10th

The Squad Room – 8:33 a.m.

“We are running out of time. Anyone have any ideas as to where our killer may be? Anyone?”

She looked around the room

Silence.

“There is something we’re missing to all of this. Something that may be as obvious as the noses on our faces, something that could be so ordinary and we’re just missing it. C’mon people\, think! What have you seen that isn’t the way it should be?”

There was a stillness in the air before Damien Sorrenson spoke up.

“I don’t know if this is anything or not, but my partner, Jack, stumble over a rapper from Taco’s Supreme. It was out there at Brewster’s Gun Club. When he threw it in the trash, he noticed several more wrappers. Probably just kids hanging out; what with the place closed and all.”

Wrappers. Baker remembered.

“Anyone happen to know where the closest Billy Burger’s is?”

“Sure,” Jack Mallory said. “Same place as Taco’s Supreme. Palymera.”

“I found a bunch of wrapper’s there Wednesday, and now you two find taco wrappers. I don’t think kids would be out there two days in a row from Palymera. Doesn’t make sense to drive almost fifteen miles when they have better places to have a picnic or a party.”

Baker looked around the room.

“Devon and J.W., Mallory and Sorrenson, Lowery and Banyard, Clausen and Klugston, saddle up. We’re going to Brewster’s. Wear your flak-jackets and helmets.

“It’s now 8:46. I want all units approximately one-half mile away from the property by 9:15. Clinton and Davis? I want you at the entrance off Highway 60 to make sure no one other than us and emergency services go up that road.

“The rest of you run your routes. Be safe out there and keep our streets safe.”

She looked at Dianne.

“Come with me.”

She walked into Satchell’s office.

“Captain, you might want to get in your car and follow us to Brewster’s. I think we’ve found our potential killer.”

Satchell stood up, saying, “I’m right behind you.”

The wrapped package held in his hand, he put in his desk drawer.

Brewster’s Gun Club – 9:25 a.m.

“Mallory and Sorrenson, go around to the back side of the building, maintain your position there. Keep your radio, and this goes for all of you, to open channel 05, but keep it set on low.

“Devon and J.W., front side. Lowery and Banyard, left side, and Clausen and Klugston, right side.

“I’m going to try and talk whoever is in there into coming out without any possibility of someone getting injured or killed.

“Dianne, hand me the bull horn.”

“If nothing else,” said Satchell, “the bull horn will get their attention. Then we could call them on the phone.”

Baker nodded and brought the bull horn to her lips and flipped the on switch.

“This is to whoever is inside the building. This is the police. We have the building surrounded. There is no chance for escape. Step out of the building with your hands locked behind your head.”

Silence.

Every officer in position were at the ready. Each man held a riot gun at port arms, ready to be used. Like them, Baker, Satchell, and Dianne had the safeties off on their own weapons and like everyone else; they were counting the passing seconds.

No one came out.

Baker wondered if anyone was really inside, but she kept at it.

“I repeat. Step out of the building. Place your hands behind your head. There is no chance for escape. Do not take lives of those you love. I promise you, come out, and there will be no violent repercussions.”

They heard a scream, then a shot was fired. Every weapon was now trained on the building entrance to the range rooms.

In the back of the building, Mallory radioed Baker.

“I found an opening back here. It’s a small crawlspace, but I’m sure I can fit through it.”

“Take it, but listen, Mallory. Before you take out the primary, check the situation first. A shot has been fired but that doesn’t mean anyone’s been hurt. Relay back to me what you can see.”

“Roger that, Baker.”

Satchell handed Baker his cell.

“Phone’s ringing. Take it.”

Baker grabbed and listened to it ring eight more times before someone picked up the landline.

“Help us! Please!”

It was a young voice, probably a child. A boy.

“There—there is a gun against my head, and—and I, I, I’m supposed to say I de-deserve to die! But I don’t want to die! Help me!”

Baker shouted loudly as she could into the phone.

“Whoever you are, answer me! If you kill those people with you, you will never see the light of day again. You will spend the rest of your life in prison! Is that what you want? In prison, reliving this moment the rest of your life? Is it?”

Baker heard cackling laughter.

“This is funny, honey!” The phone disconnected.

Baker heard a female voice. On her radio, she heard Mallory.

“Baker, my view is so-so, but what I see is Jimmy Brewster, and he’s down. He’s either been shot or suffered a brutal blow to his head. I can see blood.

“I can see a woman holding two hand guns. One looks to be a .45 semi-auto mag, and the other; not sure, but it might be a Lugar, vintage German style.”

“Okay, Mallory. Do you know if the woman is Jimmy’s wife, and can you see his son?”

“Never saw his wife before, and I can’t see the boy, but I can get a clean head or heart shot. Just say the word.”

“Hold, Mallory. Wait for my signal.”

She looked to Satchell and Dianne.

“It’s the Brewster’s. All three of them, I’m sure of it. Mallory did see Jimmy. Lydia is holding them hostage.”

“She’s been drinking for years, ever since Blake was born without legs. Now, she’s unstable. We have to stop her, Baker,” said Satchell.

“I know. Mallory says he has a clear shot, but I have to try once more to talk her down.”

She hit speed dial on Satchell’s cell. This time she got a response after the first ring.

“We all have to die. It’s the only way. I’m a terrible mother. Jimmy’s not a father, and Blake has been tortured by all of this. Don’t you see? It’s the only logical choice left. First is the man who helped me spawn my poor child. Then Blake, to end all his pain, suffering, and ridicule. Then me.

“Can’t you see? After that, we’ll be a real family, in heaven. It’s the only way!”

Baker could feel her anguish and listened to her voice as it was choked with a flood of tears.

“Lydia! Listen to me. If you kill Jimmy, you also kill a man who has been a friend to many people. You kill him, you kill a good and kind memory to many of us.

“And Blake. What about Blake? He’s made friends in school. He gets along in school with my son and his friends. My son, Stevie, has told me how funny and how much fun it is to be around Blake at school. A lot of kids like him. You would be killing—no, forget that; you would be robbing him of his chance to choose and make a difference with his own life. It’s what every mother wants for their child. To see them grow and make their generation a little bit better than the one before.

“Don’t take that away from him, Lydia. As a mother, you gave him life. Only God has the right to take Blake from you and Jimmy. Just come outside and let’s talk. Let’s end all this.”

“Jimmy’s already dead.”

Baker jumped, a startled look on her face as she stared at the cell.

She hit the talk button on her radio.

“Mallory! Tell me you did not just fire! What happened?”

“Never saw this happen before, Baker. I swear!”

“Dammit! What? Talk to me!”

“She just put the .45 in her mouth and pulled the trigger.”

Brewster’s Gun Club – Two Hours Later

Carl and his F-team were all over the place . The County morgue wagon arrived, and after Carl checked over Lydia Brewster’s body, he signed a release form where the ME would cite the obvious cause of death.

Two ambulances pulled in. One for Jimmy, the other, Blake.

“I loaded the van to spend a week at the Pocono’s. The van’s in the barn. Things were all

right until after we got on 60. Lydia pulled a gun out of nowhere and started shouting orders at us.

“We came here. She had me carry Blake from the van to the range room. Then she threw handcuffs at me and had me handcuff Blake to one of metal legs. Then she smacked me in the head. When I came back around, I was cuffed to Blake’s left hand with my right, and my left hand was cuffed to another metal leg.”

“Was, or did she give you any indication as to the what and why with all of this?” asked Baker.

“Prior to keeping us locked down, nothing I can think of. I’d leave the house every day like clockwork, and she’d either be dead drunk or almost there. Blake would comment sometimes she was passed out before he left for work.

“I know our marriage went to hell shortly after Blake was born, but I tried to keep us together. I guess I didn’t try hard enough.” As a passing thought, he added, “The keys to the barn are in Lydia’s pocket.”

One of the paramedics step forward saying they had to get Jimmy and Blake to the hospital.

Jimmy’s head injury from the bullet, wasn’t as bad as it first looked to Mallory. The bullet creased his scalp, but he would still have to have x-rays to make certain there wasn’t any other damage.

As to Blake, the boy was traumatized by the events and would require several days in the hospital as well as professional counseling.

Driving back to the Twenty-Second, Dianne said, “Kind of amazing in a way, that Lydia could be so drunk and yet follow up on every riddle she ever wrote.”

“Dianne, it’s hard to tell which Lydia was doing that; the sober or the drunk one, but either way, she almost managed to do what she had planned. And now, it’s over.”

Lydia Brewster wouldn’t be tormented any longer.

With Graham long behind me, I continue on my trail to the fairy tree. The closer I am, the more I realise how majestic she is. She stands like a queen-- firm on her roots upholding a trunk that stood the tests of time. She stands above everything else in her vicinity, with her branches wide like a queen on her citadel’s balcony. If she doesn’t know where Jo is, I don’t think anyone does.

I hover over the cold river, dark and deep, shielding a moon of its own. The moon underneath seems considerably closer to reach out to rather than the one in the sky. It makes me wonder why no one might have attempted the same. I hold myself from investigating the possibility right there, right then. It was bare and empty, after all. What will it change if I successfully reach out?

I am now only a few feet away from the fairy tree. And another few feet away from Jo. I bring myself to a halt when I reach a distance from where she could hear me, “Ma’am, have you seen a little girl?” The fairy tree doesn’t answer. She seems to be stargazing. I decide to ask a bit louder this time, “She is a young girl. She is missing.”

That gets her attention. Not much, though. She asks me something widely different, “Isn’t it beautiful?” I am unable to understand what she is trying to convey. “What is?” I ask. She is a wise lady. The ones with wisdom always make the simple things appear cryptic. Perhaps, it is what this is.

“The stars. The night sky. The cold wind. Look around. With your eyes open.” She says. Is this a riddle? Does she mean that I am not looking hard enough? But where is Jo? The tree continues, “Did you find what you are looking for?” Now, it’s a bit terrifying. Not terrifying. I am not terrified. But it feels weird, like a murderer asking whether their prey is happy tonight.

“I am Camila. And you?” Camila! What? Why? Camila literally means young. And she is old. Way old. Her barks seem to have wrinkles like that of Jo’s grandmother. This is hopeless. This psychic tree is not taking me anywhere. Why is everything so fruitless tonight?

I walk away from her. Some part of me still anticipates a call from behind, finally sharing the relevant details. But she doesn’t. She goes back to gazing at the blank sky the moment I take a few steps away from her. Hopeless. A small blade of grass is called Graham, and a too old fairy tree is called Camila! Who even names these people?

“I did?”

########

I know the chapter feels like a let-down after what might have seemed like a nice start. I wrote the beginning a few weeks ago, but I could never finish the chapter after that. So, this is much more of a rough effort to get things done rather than a well-written chapter. I hope you guys forgive me for that (: The chapter does follow the outline, just not good enough... I will try and make up to it with the next chapter ^-^ Hope you guys like it!

For over 55 years, I have delved, looked into, wondered and written about many things. From a birth to death, from love to hate, sadness to joy, and all points that intersect.

I have written so much, offered up advice to other writer's on how to publish, how to better their own writing, while all during this time, I kept my own writing, so to speak in the background, and for the longest time, unwilling to put myself out there for the world to see, other than here on Prose.

Today, that all comes to a screeching halt.

I have now officially put one of my collections of poetry on a website that distributes to several store fronts for sale. Scattered Thoughts, although it isn't the same Scattered Thoughts I am doing here (I have three Scattered Thoughts collections, hopefully that will take care of any confusion).

I have to give kudo's to a couple people, one being TW, for telling me about D2D (Draft to Digital). The site is easy to navigate and my collection, withiin less than 24 hours was listed with five store fronts. And will more than likely have more added by days end, and the days ahead.

Two others, Voidkin_Killer (who did the design cover for all the Scattered Thoughts and EstherFlowers1 for her contribution ... I couldn't have done this without your help.

So now, it's official, after probably writing a billion or more words in my lifetime (that's just a guess, don't take me literally), I can now say I am a published author.

Over the course of the next three months, I will put up the remaining Scattered Thoughts, as well as a collection of short stories and the first book of my Evil Series. From there it will vary as to what I will submit and when.

It's a good feeling and now comes my shameless plug.

If you like what I write, then I am sure you will like what is in this collection. It's only $2.99. This is the link and right now you have several options with whch store front to purchase from. That can all be found here: https://books2read.com/u/bpzXMk

So I say to all of you writer's and poet's, if you have ever had the thought to make a dream you have come true, this is one of those times when you can finally crosss that threshold and make it a reality. This link can change your life, or at least get you started in the direction you have privately thought about. https://www.draft2digital.com/

And while writing this two more store fronts have been added.

Life suddenly became better.

I am but one human being,

self-reliant, prideful,

in search of a place.

Be it the city,

deep country;

I seek happiness.

I hold private scars

only I can ever see.

The pain needs buried.