I am so stoked, all I can do is SQUEE around the house and online. I’ve edited and re-edited this post in the hopes that I got the words out and in the right order. Tonight was our bi-weekly D&D game but… I think I’m a bit too hyper and RAVENS crazy to pay too much attention to the HUGE level raising battle my character took part in (and without armor I might add). Sorry Kender, niraja and ed, thanks for dealing with me.

Saturday, we wake at “way too early A.M” and drive 3 hours North to Seattle for the packing party. I will take pictures and continue to wander around SQUEEING. I can’t wait to get my copies. I can’t wait to help fill everyone’s orders (I can sneek signatures into the books?). Next Wednesday they’re having a book signing at The Dreaming @ 6 p.m. in Seattle, WA. I’ll be making a day of it because driving from Portland to Seattle is a pain. Here’s hoping I can hang with Phil or Sandra or find something to occupy the time between arriving and the signing.

There may be one other opportunity for a signing in April, on either the 9th or 10th. I’m VERY interested in doing that one as well but kender and I need to see whether or not we’re busy that weekend.

I am totally excited and honored to be published with many of my favorite authors. These are people who will hopefully read my work in their copies. Now that the books are out, I plan to try and get the signatures of all the authors and artists who worked on the book. Thanks to everyone for your orders, support, and patience while the book’s been at the printers. I hope you all love it as much as we had fun putting it together.

She slowly crawled out of bed and shivered. Large and foreboding clouds loomed low in the sky, blocking any chance for a decent glimpse of the sun. The fireplace was dark and black and occasionally small plumes of smoke and ash rose and hovered when small pufts of wind gust their way down the chimmney of the domicle. Kaylee frowned and wished that there had been a nice warming fire to help shake away some of the wind that she knew she was going to have to deal with that day.

Just as if the house had a mind of its own and read hers, a nice warm blaze appeared in the fireplace. The strong scent of burning wood and moss wafted through the air to where Kaylee was lounging.

“Huh,” she said out loud, “that was easy enough. I do not suppose that I can take the day off today with the wind and the weather so bad outside?”

Her response came in the form of another gust of wind spattering against the window nearest her loft. It almost was saying that she had to get out and deal or else.

“Okay, okay, I get the point,” she laughed and crawled out of bed and pulled on her pants. They were cold but slipped on easily. She also picked up her medicine pouch from its position on her pillow. After she put the sage into it, she decided that she did not want to crush the delicate sage leaves, so instead of wearing it when she slept, she put it next to her against the pillow. It was the combination of the smells of leather and sage that lulled her to a deep sleep the other night.

“Ugh,” she said again. Her body was sore all over from yesterday’s climb up the plateau. She had never done this much exercise in so many consecutive days. She hoped that it was doing wonderful things for her body, whipping it back into shape. She did not think she was overly fat but just like any other city dweller from Port Riverbend, she felt that she could stand to lose a few extra pounds.

Just like the two days before her, she began her ritual by checking the bowl that had been carefully laid out. And again, it was the same mixture with raisons. She sighed and pulled out the chair and then plopped down in it. Her gaze moved from the bowl, to the cabinent that sat on the opposite side of her table and then to the windows that showed her what to expect outside. On her third pass, she stared deep down at the almost empty bowl and wondered who or what exactly prepared the food that she was eating. She thought that it could be one of the ancients, a long lost relative of hers from the old Ser’lapham tribe. Someone who was stealthy enough to slip into her cottage and set the mixture down on the table and disappear all before she woke up.

She wondered if her unseen attendants ever took the time to sneek up to the top of the loft and gaze down upon her. Kaylee felt her stomach sink, she wondered if they saw her as a loser of her tribe, a shame or stain on them. Part of her wished that she had been more attentive to her Gran and stayed all those years. But the larger part of her won out in those days, the part of her that wanted to explore and be young and free. To experience life away from being indian, a Ser’lapham.

She slid the empty bowl back to the other side of the table and looked down at her pouch. She fingered the leather and smelled the sweat of her body mixing in with the leather. It was such a fundamental piece of her tribal history. Everyone living on the reservation got one at their coming of age and guardian rite. Of course, had she stayed on the reservation for another six months, she would have had fifteen years of experience and items to carefully tuck into it, making her magic all that much more special and powerful.

Kaylee opened the bundle and pulled out the four elemental stones. It was time to do her daily reading. She cupped the stones in both hands and closed her eyes and held her breath. She thought about all that she had done the past two days and all the things she learned. She focused on hoping to find more items quickly today as well as her totem for the next direction.

She tossed the stones onto the table and bent foward for a closer look. Only two runes faced up today. Kaylee saw that the runes for water and earth faced up. The other two, fire and air faced down. “Water flows over the earth,” she thought. “It nourishes and protects it and gives everything balance and life. Hmm, so this means that I am going to proceed and nuture new ideas into fruitation. My goals, this akalam experience, will be successful and I will do well abiding by my Gran’s side as her prodigy.”

She smiled and turned her attention outside again, while she liked what the omen was saying, she was not so sure about the weather and its coorperation. She wondered about the absense of air in her reading and wondered if the wind outside correlated to the reading.

Shrugging, she seperated the runes, removing both the Earth and Fire stones from the grouping and picking up the Air and Water ones. She then mixed them up behind her back and dropped one behind her. The remaining one was the direction she decided to venture out in on this windy day.

She opened her right palm and almost laughed. She had drawn air which also meant east to her people. “How appropriate,” she thought. “As if there is not already enough of that going on already.”

She bent down to retreive the rune that she had dropped on the floor and then stood up from the table. This time, she thanked the unseen servents for their help in keeping her fed and hydrated during her stay there. Then she turned and walked out the door, attemping to keep leaves and debris from entering her home.

It was definitely a autumn windy day out. The wind was cold and bit into her cheeks and lungs when she inhaled.

“Oh gawds. It is really cold out. Okay, here is to getting this all done really quick so I can get back inside before I get sick. That would not be a good thing at this stage. There is no doctor here in Vellum Hollow and I really am not as good as my Gran is with herbs and potions.”

She took a step out into the cold and moved to the East. The wind pressed hard against her and she fought it with every step she took. The wind made it hard to clear her head and walk around without wanting to close her eyes. But she needed to keep them open, to find the item that would become her totem of the air.

She made her way to the edge of the grassy field and blew into her hands. They were chilled to the bone and she was ready to give up and whine her way back home. She bent low to the ground and sat down amongst a tall clump of grass.

“Ouch.”

She put her right hand underneath her butt and felt around, moving her body into a contorted yoga position. When her hand came up from under her body it was holding stone about two inches in diameter. She looked at the stone. It shimmererd and glistened in the light of the windy day. Steaks of gold and green and brown criss-crossed against the length of the stone. It was triangular shaped and had a soft but pointy tip at the narrowest edge. She rocked the stone back and forth and each time she moved it the colors tumbled and blended back into one another.

“Huh,” she thought as her body shivered, “I guess I can call it a day today. Looks like I found what I was looking for.”

She stood up and rushed back to the cottage. When she got there, she saw a small, furry figure sitting on the porch.

“Hello,” it greated her when Kaylee got close enough to be heard over the wind.

“Hi, I am Kaylee,” she replied to the animal. It was cat shaped and had long mangy fur on its belly. Its coat was spotted with black and had blonde and brown and grey fur. Small grey tufts of fur peeked out along its ears and it had no real tail to curl up around its feet.

“I see. You are the one performing the akalam,” Bobcat replied, cleaning hir long wiskers with hir front paw. “I am Bobcat. I see you have been outside braving the wind today.”

“Yes, I have. I really did not want to go outside but I thought of my Gran and how she was counting on me.”

“I see,” Bobcat said. Hir sat still and made no attempt to move away from the door. “And I also see that you found a Sphene. Those are rather rare on this side of the Hollow. You must feel very blessed.”

Kaylee stared down at the small stone wedge in her hand. She flipped it over and watched the colors blend into each other, “I guess so. To be honest I am not really sure I understand what it all means.”

Bobcat licked hir paw and drew it over hir ear. “That is a bit disappointing. A shaman must always know hir elements and what the meaning behind the gifts are. Are you sure you are not ready for this task?”

“Well, I am not certain,” Kaylee responded feeling a bit defensive. “I know my gran thinks I have what it takes to be her successor and I am a quick learner. I know I cut out from her lessons years ago but I am hoping, and trying to make up for it by doing this quest now. Surely that must count for something?”

Bobcat nodded, “Yes, it does. However, it does make things a bit harder for you as you know. The Sphene you found is a powerful gift. It is said to help improve the mind and the ability to process information. You should keep it around your neck in your medicine bundle at all times. It will be the focus of your knowledge and can be used to help guide you through many tough situations in your career.”

Kaylee flipped the stone over again in her hand. She was impressed at the gift she had literally stumbled upon. The knowledge that this spirit was telling her was very potent.

“Of course, you still need to perform the final rite and select one of us that you have met to help guide you throughout the rest of your life. I am a seeker and secret keeper. I can guide your intuition into uncovering what is best. If you pick me I can also give you the gift of clairaudience. I know that you are scared and right now I think the best course of action is for you to give a lot of thought into whether you are ready to become that which hir shaman wants you to become. Doubt only brings misfortune and cause many issues for you to come. You need many more years of study and it will be a long and hard journey for you to take.

“However, it can be most rewarding if you do decide to press forward and meet the final remaining guide and receive the final gift from Vellum Hollow. Are you ready for this? As I said, you still have to perform the final rite and actually decide on which one of us to guide you. At that moment you will physically bond with the knowlege that the council has to offer you and that you will become apart of it. Of course, you must also choose wisely… for if you pick the wrong one you may end up being a tool for that guardian. Not all of us want to work together in harmony with you two-leggeds. Many of my bretheren want to capture and recontrol what was lost to us. They are angry at what death and destruction has befallen your world and they feel that by converting shaman to their whim, they can deceive and covertly swing things back into their favor.

“Are you sure you can handle the choice? Have you even listened to what your mind and heart have been thinking since you got here? I think not. You need to move cautiously and prepare yourself so that you choose wisely.”

Kaylee listened carefully to what Bobcat was telling her. She had been taking things very seriously however, his advice, and warnings were correct. She really did not spent much time in reflection on what she was doing and why. Only that she wanted to get it done as fast as she could and return back to the reservation to attend to her gran and learn what little more she could with her dying relative.

She figured that she would spend more time that day studying each and every one of the gifts she had been given so far and trying to figure out how their medicines could be used to help benefit her and her tribe.

“Thank you Bobcat. You have been very right and very wise. I am ashamed that I have not been paying more attention to what is going on inside me. I though that this was easy and so far it has been. But I guess I need to sit down and think more about what I need to do and what I want, and WHO I want to become when all this is over,” Kaylee stammered.

Bobcat nodded and stood up and moved away from the door. “Take care young one and I hope to see you soon. For if you choose me, I can help and guide you through many a tough spot.”

She nodded and entered the sphere, shutting it tightly behind her.

A smile crossed the lips of Bobcat. And in that instant it knew that hir apprentice would be very pleased to know.

“That went well,” Bobcat thought. “Sewing the seeds of doubt was far easier than I expected. Her wounds go deep into her and it was so very easy to tap into and remind her that she was in a world deep over her head. Of course, whatever she does next is all up to her but I believe that her will is faltering and that she may back out during the final rites. She worries too much for her bretheren.”

Bobcat trotted out into the grass and headed towards hir home located high in the southern plateaus. The wind rippled against hir fur as hir legs sprinted long and far. The winds died down a bit as hir neared the edge of the grass and plateaus. And once Bobcat reached the Southern lands, the figure dissapated into the winds returing back to the deepest part of Vellum Hollow awaiting to be called when the young seeker called back the four remaining guardians.

By now the light from the sun is painting a picture-perfect sunset across the sky. I take a deep breath of clean, untainted air and continue my sweep. Everyone else begins to bark commands at one another and starts assembling the tents. I am instructed to look for firewood and reluctantly set out gathering small twigs and branches to serve as kindling.

Gathering bits and pieces of wood, no one notices me as I slip away into the forest. The trees act as a natural barrier between the distant voices of my company and I. Now left alone to my thoughts and the whistling quiet of the forest, I continue my sojourn. Beneath my feet the ground changes from the stiff hardness of dirt to a squishy, softer muck. Schlicp, schlicp go my boots and I realize that in my drift I have happened upon a tarn of water.

The lake is big and bottomless. Or so it seems. The dim light of the setting sun casts an unnatural glow across the lustrous top of the lake. The deep satin blue water soothes and seduces me. It calls out and I draw nearer, my body relaxing from all the strain taken throughout the work week.

Gazing into the clear water, the lake’s movement flows back and forth, caught in an endless exotic dance inviting me to watch. Peer closer. Peer into the swirling waters, they taunt, and perhaps you too can see into the past, future, and present. Feeling hypnotized by the lake, I wander about locating a place to root myself in trance. Another deep breath taken. From the reaction of my body towards the lake, I get the impression that this is what has drawn me into this weekend escapade; although it was my friend Becky who really talked me into it.

“It’s good for the soul,” she said. “It’ll help you relax and get away from all the stress at work.”

Nearing the shore my shoes are unceremoniously tossed off exposing my feet to the sandpapery feel of the ground beneath. Walking along the shoreline, my feet are massaged by the soft and rough sand, relieving them of all the tension that was twisted into them during the long and hard hike to the haven.

Collapsing, I look at the sky. The first evening stars make their nightly appearance and I can faintly recognize some of the constellations. A strong sense of serenity and peace enters my body, hugging it in a blanket of warmth. Strange, I feel as if I’ve been here before. Without warning, shapes begin to surface from the deep blue mirror and I return my sight back to the water.

Two large objects begin to swim parallel to the water’s surface and because of the evening light I can pass no judgment as to what these shapes really are. But they have sparked my curiosity and have taken hold of my imagination. My companions are long, about six feet in length, and take on an almost fishy appearance. But their skin is smooth!

That can’t be, my mind screams. There are no fish in freshwater lakes that big.

The strong smell of burning wood fills the air, and my stomach softly rumbles.

Yet, I am in no hurry to return to the campsite. Determined to find out what lurks beneath the water’s surface, I stay firmly planted at this spot. My eyes burn into the lake, intent on knowing what these images, playing against the water’s screen, are.

My body begins to sway with the waves. Moving closer to the shore’s edge I dangle my feet into the cool, silky water. The translucent form has reached out and in one swoop bound me in a inviting grasp. Voices now call out to me from the small glow of the campsite, off in the distance. I’m not paying them any attention. This is where I belong now. Looking away towards the glow I feel a light tug on my ankle from the water. An invitation, really, begging me to join with its freedom– deep into the basin of the Earth. The shapes in the water also speak out to me in the same way.

Aeons of secrets flood into my mind from locked chambers deeply embedded in the dark corners of my brain. There is now a choice to be made. One path cast in the light with familiar voices and the other cast in the shadows of the water and the dark unknown.

Shedding my unwanted clothes I dive. The water’s delicate-touch fills every pore of my body, caressing my skin like a lover longing for the first embrace. Kicking out with two powerful fins my slender bottlenose acts compass to guide me towards my home hidden deep within the water. Never again will my body feel the touch of the sun, it’s unwanted kiss fades into the night as the stars twinkle high above. All my worries pass out from me, forgotten into the water. My job, friends lost behind me huddled around the campfire all depart from my mind as the memories from a primal past surface and consume me.

The two figures shimmy towards my changed form, squeaking in delight, as I return back to my pod having regained my true sense of identity.

The old lady drew near, stopping by each trash can to find something of value Jordan stepped out towards her. Her movements seemed almost ritualized in the pale glow of the night.

“Hey, lady, isn’t it time you went home. Ya know this area of town isn’t all that keen towards folk like you.”

Slowly the woman turned around to face him. Jordan could see that her face was young and wrinkled and her teeth appeared nonexistent in the moonlit sky. Her hair was long and tangled, almost in the fashion of punks he hung around with.

“I know young man, but ever since my husband died and I lost my social security pension, these streets are my home. To make my living I have had to resort to digging around in the bins to find what I like to call Old Forgottens’. ‘Cuz these are treasures, not worth anything to anyone else but have lots of value to me.”

It was this last line that caught Jordan by surprise. All his waking life he felt like the old woman’s “old Forgottens,” discarded by people, left to fend for himself. Only after his reawakening did he feel he fit in with the crowd.

“Don’t you have any family to go to? Savings accounts to draw money from. Anything?” He questioned, his cold stone heart going out to the woman.

“No, ” she began, sitting down on the dirty sidewalk. “That was all spent trying to keep my husband and myself out of debt, and when he died the rest went to paying off the funeral expenses. Now its just me and ol’ Nellie here, my trusty collection wagon.”

When she talked, Jordan saw the lifetime of experience and hardship pouring from her fawn colored eyes. She has had a hard life, he thought feeling something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Sadness. Sadness for all the people that were left behind by the great United States of fucking America. Sadness, for all the people like her, having to defend their livelihood against creeps like him. People wanting something from them.

“Ma’am, ” he began, “isn’t there something I could do to help you out?”

She glared at him wondering if she could take his offer seriously or not. Then she arose, shaking off all the dirt from her tattered dress.

“Child,”she said,” there ain’t nothing you could do to help me. I am too old and too tired to continue on like this. It’s enough to wonder if the good lord has forsaken me and refuses to end the suffering that I’ve had to live with for the past few years. But unless you can put in a good word to the Lord to help me out then I guess there’s nothing you can really do to help me.”

Standing up, Jordan grinned a grin so fiendishly that the hair (or what was left of it) on the arms of the bag woman stood on end.

“Lady,” he called, “this is your lucky day. For I am an angel of your God and he has asked me to take you away from all of this.”

Then as laughter poured out of his mouth, he bared his fangs toward his dumbstruck prey. Then reaching out both of his arms he cradled the old woman in his arms. All forgiveness left his body as he bit down and drained the life from her body. Looking down at her dead corpse once more, he noticed that the woman did not appear scared but relieved that the suffering had ended.

As he turned to make sure that she was comfortable in her final resting area Jordan thought to himself, Just another nameless victim, wanting the escape that only death can provide.

Short black hair and tired grey-blue eyes are all I can remember of him now. Inhale deep, exhale and ritually place the paper over the flame, cleansing me of his torment. I want to be free, to begin anew. Where to begin? When will it all end?

The flame catches the torn edge, shrivelturns releasing the pains in my chest from real to memories later locked away. So many memories tied to him. The ring, the love, moving away from it all to escape. Always a new beginning, never a happy ending. Relationships never end well, some do; but were they really a relationship to begin with?

Fake. Probably not.

Yellow and red consume the paper, the beginning of the end. Anger and confusion, are all that’s left of three years devotion. Time to recast the wheel of fate and see where it leads me, I think. The paper slowly shrivels into a fetal position like a baby sleeping. Black charred scars are all that’s left of the feelings awaiting to be replaced by someone, something new, exciting– always better.

But will there be another? Do you really want to go through this again? Perhaps it’s better to end it here. Spill the seeds of life and snuff the flame. Darkness is the only escape from the madness living provides.

It all begins in another time, another place. He needed me just as much as I him. It started during the season of growth and knowledge. In the distance the schoolbell rings, and the ants race in. Classrooms fill the mind with trivial musings. Life provides the real learning: harsh, cold and painful experience. I in a degree of the senses, he in a program of the logical. Opposites attract they say, and like moths to the same flame were we.

Flames dance across the mirror, reflecting the daemon destroying the dreams of the heart. Cast in shadows, my chestnut hair hangs in my face. Dark skin darkens further beneath the brown depths of my eyes. Razorblade slashes the wrists, marks of a true artist, metalglint from the light reflecting the pain within. I tear another page from the journal as a melancholy satisfaction flows over me.

Melpomene is the artist’s mark, tragedy tortured torment. Blood and script the tools of my creation. And from out of this marriage what comes? Only the thought of When will I ever be whole? Fuck living the two lives of a madman. I want to be one, to have the normal life of others. But even that is stretching it too far, I suppose.

The flame dances in the dark of the room, mimicking the motions of a person insanity lost. Mimicking me. Depression and mania are the fuel that feeds my life. Extremities are my playground. From which life has sealed my fate. To take them away from me would water the flame that builds inside this stone cold heart. Shatter the desire, and spew me into a thousand tiny fragments of a puzzle.

This will be the end. I repeat this over and over like a mantra, half expecting to see it true. The smell of burning paper hangs thick, adding incense to ritual. But, I’m human and we lie. I know that one day I will rebound. Pick up the scattered pieces of the jigsaw puzzle and find someone new to provide the motif. The next masterpiece in creation.

Silently I breathe the flame out and look outside. A new beginning unfolds out as the clear black sky above, turns to grey.

I will not cry anymore. The rain, it cries enough.

My kit is a backpack filled with things I consider useful. Pens and blank books for authoring stories and making notes; books for inspiration and reading; my tarot deck for that surprise read or two; and my portable music player. I drag all this stuff into my bag every time I set out for my hikes. Today, with spring emerging from the snow, I added my camera in the bag. I was hoping to get a few good shots of the city.

My mind wanders, my brain processing the sights, smells and sounds of the street. People hurried to and from the sidewalk to stores. Some were seated in chairs and tables, chatting, reading or drinking tea and coffee. A few seated patrons hold chain or leather leashes in their hands. Fuzzy canine companions laying patiently at their masters’ feets waiting for them to finish their rest and continue leading them on their walk.

Laughter cries out from behind me. I turn my head, smiling as I watch the two women hug in welcoming embraces. My eyes continue watching the women, hoping to capture some details of their happiness so I can paint the scene later. Since I dare not appear so foward, I continue walking the other way; not paying attention to where I’m going or what or who may be in front of me. What happens next startles me, although I know better that it shouldn’t. I run smack dab into this woman.

A faint “Oof” escapes my lips. The tranquil world around me collapses in a single jolt.

She wears a long, red, button-down shirt and black jeans. Her blonde hair frizzes in curls. A small bag is clutched tightly in her hands. The bag is nothing special, mostly black, prolly just her purse.

She smiles, takes no real notice of me as I recenter myself and my kit on my back. Instead, she extends the bag forward. I blink.

“Here you go,” she says dropping the bag into my hands.

My mouth opens, poised to explain to the woman that I am not a theif and that I didn’t want her bag. She skips off, humming. I close my mouth and watch her skip away. I blink in disbelief, my mind not knowing what to do next. The musty smells of the bag waif into my nose. It’s like a combination of years of smoke and perfume have melded into the fabric. While the bag itself is not heavy, I can tell something does appear to be inside.

I spin around in place, hoping to catch the girl. But she’s long gone. The street behind me appears the same, empty with no trace of her. Even the two giggling women are gone, having disappeared into a store. I quickly begin walking to get out off the sidewalk and onto a bench. Plopping down, I set the bag next to me. My mind wanders again. Attempting to make sense of what just happened to me. Questions quickfire through my mind. What am I going to do with this bag? What is inside it? Why me? Is she going to want it back? Do I dare open it?

It’s the last question that stops my racing mind. She said it was for me. But what if I’m not supposed to open the bag. I want to open the bag, and see what’s inside. Curiosity grips me badly. But fear of what may be inside keeps me from doing it in public. Cancelling my hike, I vow to go home and open it there. I drag the kit off my back, open it and quickly shove this gift inside. My eyes drift back to the street, hoping that no one is watching.

My heart races and while the small sting of disappointment hits my heart, I’m more ready to get home and open the bag. I briskly walk back to my place. Despite how fast my legs carry me, this time I make sure I don’t run into anyone else on my way home. The apartment building comes into sight and I rush into the door, throwing it open with a resounding WOOSH, run up the stairs and fumble to get the door unlocked. Safely inside, I slam the door behind me and turn the lock.

My heart still pounds. I catch my breath before moving away from the door. My apartment is small and modest. It’s more of a studio and I can easily cross from my bed to the small kitchen, which consists of a single stove, small refridgerator and a small counter with a sink. I set my kit on the bed and take one more long, deep breath. I sit down and pull the kit towards me as my fingers open it. Carefully, I pull the bag out. I gently place the bag into my lap and stare at it. Again the struggle between opening it and turning it to the cops battles inside my head. This is a hard decision to make. Curiosity wins over rationality as it normally does for me and I open the bag.

A deep ripping sound comes from the bag as I accidently tear and expose the black silk lining. The inside lining of the bag appears a deeper color than the light black, smooth velvet exterior. I shove my hand inside the bag and draw out the only contents. A box. The box is small. No bigger than a match box. Red ribbons done in bows wrap the box. A small card dangles from the ribbons, attached to them by a red tread. Hand written letters, carefully drawn in old english calligraphy reads, “For You.” I giggle and smile at the gift.

My inner child gets the best of me and I carefully shake the box. The box clanks as the objects inside hit the walls. Something IS inside the box. And while a small part of me is relieved that there is more to this surprise than meets the eye; I was hoping that it could have been a prank. Again, I debate whether or not to leave the box wrapped. Part of me wants to stop right here and keep the object as is. The other half wants to see what is inside. I savior the image of the box awhile longer and then begin the slow process of opening the box to see what lays inside.

First, I untie the bow. Then I remove the ribbon completely from the box. The shiny fabric slides right off the packaging in one sweep. The card, with it’s note, stays on the ribbon. As I have always done with 23 years of previous gifts, I set the ribbon aside. Since there is no wrapping paper to rip into, the process of opening the box is shortened. Turning the box around in my hands I look for the latch to open the box. There is none. Instead there is a small crevase in the lid of the box. I close my eyes as my thumbs push back on the box’s top. The lid slides off easily.

Two seconds pass before I reopen my eyes. Chuckling, I dismiss the notions of exploding boxes from my mind. Obviously, there weren’t any inside THIS box.

My gaze drops to the opened box. Two small items are nestled inside. One is a small crystal heart. It’s smooth surface glints in the sunlight streaming in from the window. The other is a piece of paper folded in half. Not wanting to disturb the stone, I carefully extract the paper. Two pictographs are brushed onto it. I recognize them as Japanese kanji. A translation in English reads below it:

Be Here Now

Another smile creaps across my face. Peace fills my body as I reflect upon the gift, the words and the stone… and their gentle reminder to always remain
in the present.

Kelli, a girl with blonde hair. Last night I caught you and her dancing. Man, did you have me fooled, telling me you were studying. Next you’ll be telling me she never meant a thing to you ñ you only love me.

“Oh baby, I’ll never leave you” is that what you’ll say? Put that foot a few more inches deeper down your throat, Babe. Quit looking dumbstruck, you’ve done this before. Rumors have a way of spilling out when it comes to little midnight snacks. Stuttering broken promises won’t make it all better; it’s a little too late for that now, don’t you think? Thought you had me fooled? Until now, I believed that you were the one. Vacate my apartment, leave now. When this is over maybe I’ll look back and laugh. Xenophobia. You’re afraid of women, you’re afraid to commit and that women will get too close and find the real you posing behind the mask.”

Zither music plays in the background, a solemn melody about lost love found shattered in the dust.

Primal smells of sweat hang thick in the air. Strobe light effects and smoke ebbflow along with the listless bodies of the dancers. Then she walks in, materializing from the smoke itself. At first, there is nothing noticeable about the newcomer. Her physical features aren’t what draw them to her. No, she looks the same as the rest of the pulsating crowd with her ankle-length black velvet dress, a popular style from the Gothic era. Her hair is long, straight and blonde. Just your average adolescent immaturity hoping the local scene provides her with fun this Friday evening. Nothing too special here except what sits upon her head. A big red velvet crumpled tophat one size too large for her head beckons them from the hypnotic rhythms of the music.

She pauses at the entryway and the big red velvet crumpled tophat slides down over her eyes. She lifts the hat up and sets it right again as her eyes adjust to the scene unfolding around her. A foot slides out from under her dress and then another and she glides into the nightclub. She smiles when the perky goth in pink stands next to her and reaches out to touch the velvet. Soon, a second goth, dressed in black from her head to her toes, stands next to the first in pink. Together, they stare at the hat, admiring it. A few minutes later, the movement becomes a parade. The big red velvet crumpled tophat draws more and more people away from the chairs and stools and the dancefloor.

The nightclubbers flock to her. They are captivated by the big red velvet crumpled tophat and its wearer and what the pair might offer them. To some, the hat becomes the center of intense desire. They want it. They try and steal it from her. One reaches out and tries to grab the hat off the girl’s head. A boy jumps over two followers in an attempt to get a better view of big red velvet crumpled tophat that draws attention. Guys acting cool and tough, their leather jackets shielding them from emotion, lean against the wall. They mutter to one another, taking bets as to who will win this girl over tonight. Others wager how long she will keep the hat.

The crowd of people gathering around her crescendo as the attempts to steal the hat increase in number. A few believe that if they wear the hat, then they too can have the same power that she has over their peers. Two boys slide up to the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat, their eyes sparkle mischievous plans. They elbow one another and laugh, daring each other to grab the hat from off her head. One whips his arm out, snakelike, and comes close to snatching the hat from the girl’s head. She sees this and her eyes cut into slivers. A simple warning, do not try that again. The boys quickly back off and vanish back into the darkness. Her face relaxes and once again a smile forms. A few more attempts at removing the hat are made. A few of them almost succeed, but the girl with the cobalt blue eyes and rose red lipstick manages to keep the hat upon her head. She seems to enjoy the attention and jovial atmosphere that it fosters and isn’t offended by her familiars’ playfulness.

“Rancid dreams, knives bleed,” pours out of the loudspeakers as a fight between two rivetheads combusts. A boy with dreadlocks and goggles shakes his head at something a boy with a tall blue mohawk says. He punches the mowhawked rivethead in the arm and leans back against the wall. His eyes follow the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat as she moves around the club. The boy with the mowhawk nurses his arm as anger festers inside. A knife appears. The air changes from lightheartedness to something darker, more primal. Perhaps this is where the night begins. A circle of onlookers forms, bloodlust in their eyes. They expect something majical to happen, something violent to kickstart their desires. But the bloodmajic never occurs. The girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat comes into view before any damage gets dealt. She steps up to the boy with the mowhawk. He growls at her, daring her to make a move. His shoulders sag as the light causes something wet to sparkle on her face. A single tear forms at the corner of her eye, an unspoken sign of broken trust. In this moment of angry confusion the two boys glance between their savior and each other, awkward, wondering where to escape. The knife disappears, concealed, and the two melt away as if nothing ever happened. The circle, broken, parts. Those who were interested in the fight now return their gaze to the big red velvet crumpled tophat, somehow knowing that it offers them something better.

The fast beat lingers throughout the hazy world this girl creates around herself. Dancing, she entices her followers like a messiah leading a chosen few to salvation. Along the way, the club’s atmosphere changes noticeably from the common angry, reckless demeanor to a more friendly and caring mode. People standing near the bar look into the mirror and see her. They turn and stare at the hat as she passes them. Those who gather around lose interest in the music, and become exhilarated by the felicity the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat kindles. Those still in the groove of the night also begin to glance around and whisper among themselves as the smoke obscures their vision of the wandering parade.

It’s obvious that this girl is alone. Not a single person emerges from the crowd to claim her, although they all desire her. She shyly smiles and giggles at the attention she draws as the tophat slips down her eyes, obscuring them and her smile from those gathered about her. Innocent and pure. All this attention is one big happy flirt to her. Her intentions seem no more devious than the big red velvet crumpled tophat that sits atop her brow. Yet, at the same time, her path seems planned, as if she is searching for someone or has a mission to fulfill tonight.

Off to one side of the nightclub an altar stands. Two figures clothed in black attire sit at a table laced with purple silk. A man sits on the left, a Victorian poet’s shirt ruffles as he languidly gestures around him. Deep black kohl burns rings around his eyes. To his right, a woman with tight fishnet stockings on her arms and legs eagerly listens to him. The chair masks the crinkle dress she wears. Her hair is done up in braids. Ten cards lay silent on the table, their wisdom locked in static pictures. A candelabra burns between them, casting dancing shadows across the familiar pattern in cards.

As the music rises and falls, so do the hands of the reader who divines answers from the pattern. “Ashes to ashes. Fallen rose to dust. Tarot cards, speak to me of trust,” the conjurer whispers into the cards. Just as he does, the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat crosses their path. The client glimpses the big red velvet crumpled tophat as it passes in front of their table. The reader, half expecting the cards to provide insight into the life of the woman across from him, sees a new vision crying out instead. His eyes widen, his face becomes even more pale, as a forlorn story unfolds from the cards.

Love is fragile. And when the last petal fell from the rose, a voice cried out from Heaven. I fell in love that day. It was you, wasn’t it? The one with the soft blonde hair and dreamy blue eyes. The one who leapt into my mind stirring crazy thoughts around? Yes, it was you. It had to be you.

But, I couldn’t.

The tarot reader’s eyes flicker back and forth, darting from the card with an image of two people chained to a devil to another depicting three dancing women. The cards, the story, nothing aligns.

Fear wouldn’t let me. Fear of rejection, stupidity. Perhaps I’ve gone too far, my mind screamed. But there was no turning back. I am condemned, my penance is life. To show others kindness so they can walk into the light. Yet the desire for you still burns within, intense and bright, even more so.

His eyes jerk from the client and then back down again.

You are the only cure to my disease. We are dangerous together. Fiery inspiration consumes me when you are near. Deviant thoughts enter my mind. I imagine what it is to kiss you, to probe your body with my tongue. Never knowing how you feel in return, but knowing that out of friendship a petal can never a full rose make.

Lucifer, my sweet. My fallen, my beloved. You called out to me, touched my heart in places I dare not know existed. One passionate kiss was all it took. I want to play a special role in your life, but know that I cannot. We are separated by a destiny that is greater than our friendship. Tonight… perhaps redemption.

The reader looks up, his eyes search the room. But she is gone. He cannot spot the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat. He reaches down into his pocket and retrieves a smooth folded up piece of currency. A shaking hand slides the currency across the table, over to the woman in the fishnet stockings. She looks at him, confused, but gladly takes the money back. She shrugs once more, as she leaves to find some other way to get the answers she seeks.

From out of the void, a voice emerges and approaches the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat. The voice shakes, fearful desire, as he carefully forms the words, “Are you having fun? Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, I’m having a good time,” she replies mechanically, “and no, I wouldn’t like a drink.” Her suitor appears crestfallen, distraught. This softens her, wakes her up. She reaches out with her hand and gently touches his cheek. She allows herself to break free from her meandering mission to dance a song or two with the starstruck admirer while onlookers watch in jealous contempt.

Swept away by the ambiance, the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat suddenly spots a faint outline huddled alone in one far corner of the room. “She’s not insane. She’s gone insane,” a voice cries out in lyric. Excusing herself from her partner, she glides her way over towards the form, leaving him with tears streaming down his face.

“Mind if I join you?” the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat asks, her voice barely audible above the fast-paced beat of the music’s drum machine.

A thin girl perches on a cold, metallic barstool. She appears as if a halo were hanging from imaginary horns upon her brow. Black raven locks veil dead eyes from the chaotic world smothering her. Plain jeans and a Skinny Puppy concert t-shirt are all she wears. Unlike the others in the club, who are drawn to the big red velvet crumpled tophat, this one is different. She’s undisturbed by the hat’s presence.

The girl adjusts on the stool, pauses, cockshuresmile, and replies noncommittally, “Sure, why not,” and bows her head back down.

“Inner darkness only provides a false sense of security.”

Taken back by the girl in the weird hat, she replies, “What did you say?”

“Look Kelai, death is not for you yet. I see the real you and you’re different than the rest of these lost souls. As much as you’d like to disbelieve, your life is yours to control. What you have inside of you carries hope to this world seeking salvation.”

The words cut cold and feel shocking to Kelai’s ear. Her skin shivers with bumps. Stunned, Kelai looks over her shoulder, afraid some’s listening in to this bizarre conversation. Her body shifts uncertainly on the stool, poised to run. “I don’t know you. How did you know my name?”

The girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat leans in closer, so her words weigh heavy with understanding. Tenderly, she places a cold hand upon Kelai’s arm and says, “That is not important. Take what precious thoughts I offer you. Your dark moments will pass in time. They will pass. To be here is to be among the living. Allow yourself to revel in the moment. Enjoy the life that has lovingly been given to you. It’s too early for you to retire, and there is so much more for you to become before you give up.”

The music in the background fades into a melody. Kelai’s brown eyes gaze upon the girl wearing the big red velvet crumpled tophat searching for traces of deception, but cannot find any. Suddenly her eyes widen, then glass over, as waves of released feelings fall forgotten onto the floor. A pang of recognition awakens Kelai as the music behind then climaxes in a fury of anger. An arm extends and the two embrace, a soft touch during a moment of chaos. The girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat lets the embrace linger for a few minutes before detaching. The girl in the Skinny Puppy concert t-shirt smiles once more and becomes lost in the grasp of the dance floor.

Feeling satisfied, the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat also returns to the dancefloor to treasure the moment for a few more hours. She relishes this opportunity to come out tonight, to this nightclub, have some laughs, flirt, and dance to the beat of the drum. Her feet move delicately, purposefully. She allows the music to carry her arms high into the air. She tosses her head back and allows the light to shine down on her perfect skin. The fog and light chase her fingers and wrists as intricate patterns spiral in and between them. She dances as if tonight were the last. Yet, as the moon sets and the climax of the night comes and goes, she leaves.

The club now returns to the way it was before her miraculous arrival. Hardly a trace of her remains as smoke once again fills the room and the faces in the crowd become as blank and untouched as they were before. The reader, disturbed by the visions the cards laid out for him on the table, slinks quickly out the door. His hands buried deep within the pockets of his pants. The deck of cards still sits on the table, in that familiar pattern, abandoned. The girl in the Skinny Puppy concert t-shirt dances late, well past closing, a few people scattered around her. They spin and laugh and enjoy life as only those who have gone to the edge and come back can.

There wasn’t anything too extraordinary about the girl in the big red velvet crumpled tophat. But things changed because of her. Nothing truly extraordinary about her. Except, maybe the pair of wings that never once disturbed the delicate balance between man and angel.

This is what a lit degree gets you- a shitty job and a four-pack-a day habit. It seems like coughing is the only thing I’ve accomplished since graduation. If I’d known what the damn things would do to me, I’d have chosen another vice! I’ve seen all my dreams and aspirations left in the dust. Just wanted a good, reliable job that kept me out of bankruptcy. Twenty years and half a lifetime’s worth of coughing, here I am, the maintenance supervisor for a rundown apartment complex.

Supervising this place means you’ve gotta be there to help tenants twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Each and every tenant has a complaint about their residence. For example, the lady in apartment 410 complains about a problem with the heater. This means going into the basement. I hate going down there. It’s dark and damp, with unidentifiable noises calling out from everywhere. Someone would think I’ve watched too many horror movies as a kid. Basements give me the creeps. I avoid going down into them at all costs. But, after fifty or so complaints and a threat to call the city, I decided to check it out.

With toolbox in hand, I take a deep breath and languidly venture down into uncharted territory. The flashlight provides me with little light so anything to be seen has to be close. Never did it occur to me that lightbulbs would make a good investment.

The storage area lays in disarray. All I can see is the chaotic pattern of boxes, varying in size and shape, along with tattered furniture covered in dustbags. Each item is carefully labeled with the tenant’s name and its memory laden contents. Faceted into each wall are three small windows covered with sheets. What little light does enter the room covers everything with an unnatural glow. Overhead, the labyrinth of pipework, copper and pvc, networks across the ceiling like cobwebs created by spiders.

I inhale a deep breath of musty, antiquidated air and begin to cough. You’d think the doctors and scientists would have come up with a cure by now. Ah, there it is, the criminal in question. I put the toolbox down and quickly give the patient a once over. Everything seems to be in working order. I don’t get it, what’s wrong?

CRASH

The noise hits me sending a flashback of memories through my mind. All the horror shows I’ve ever seen, from Jason to Michael, come flooding into my hyperactive imagination. Slowly I turn my body scanning the room. The urge to bolt from the basement screams from every inch of my body. Curiosity has gotten the better of me. I have to find the cause of the noise.

That’s when I see her. Tucked away behind storage boxes hiding in a niche in the wall, next to some boxes. Scared her out of hiding. Scared me. I have to struggle to keep from choking on the phlegm arising into my throat. What transpired here during these few precious moments are enough to last me through the rest of my life. Her lessons (if one can call them lessons- taught by a child so young) are etched into my memories never to be forgotten. A student trying to survive in the school of hardknocks.

I point the flashlight beam directly into her face.

“What in the fuck are you doing down here?” I exclaim. “This is no place for a child to be playing around. There’s a lot of dangerous things down here. You could get hurt.”

Nothing. Only two blank eyes staring back at my face.

“Where are your parents,” I continue, choking back another round of phlegm.

Looking away from my eyes, she whispers, “It’s not my fault. Daddy never wanted me and Mommy got beat up by a badman in funny clothes, and I don’t want anyone else to take care of me.”

My God, I say under my breath, and so young.

After a long and awkward pause, I venture, “What do you mean a badman?”

“The badman my Mommy works for. He beats her whenever she don’t give him enough money. I got scared and left. She never notices me anyway.”

I throw out a couple more questions, “What’s your name, kid? Where do you live?”

“My name’s Katryn, and I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Smart kid, I think and continue, “Well, you’re going to have to talk to me. Especially if you want my help. Now…”

“I don’t need your help,” she says defiantly. “This is my home now. I am never really alone. I’ve got Sam and my dreams, they keep me company. Nobody else wants me.”

As she spoke I caught a flicker of sadness pass in her eyes. She’s afraid of living like this, in the streets. She misses her parents, and wants to go home. Pride and fear keep her from coming out. She doesn’t trust me.

“Don’t you miss your Mommy?”

Pause.

“Nobody wants me,” she whispers again, struggling to hide the tears. “Once the police found me and tried to put me away but I stopped them. They won’t bother me or Sam anymore. This is my home.”

I shake my head at the mention of this being her home. This isn’t any place for a child to grow up. Frustrated, not knowing what to say next, I look at her. Cutest little thing. From the dim light, I can tell she is no older than twelve or thirteen. It’s hard to believe that one so young falls to the denizens of the street.

Dark brown eyes sadly peer out through shaggy, unkempt raven black hair which hangs in her face like heavy leaves clinging to a weeping willow. Her thin, frail frame shows the bones through her tattered and worn clothes. Clothes so old that the colors which once adorned them have almost been cried out. She doesn’t wear shoes.

How long has she been away from her home? I grow angry. How can our society allow this to happen. To anyone. This could’ve easily been me. I am torn between offering to help her get away from all this and leaving her there to fend for herself. Nobody wants their life to be like this. But, who wants to help them? No one wants to take on the responsibility for people like her. If the situation were reverse, would someone do the same for me?

She owns few possessions. A faded yellow blanket (supplied with holes eaten by rats) is her only protection from the harsh cold. The blanket is carefully laid in a heap on the concrete carpet. Her most treasured prize of all is a love-worn brown teddy bear. A bear without its button eyes is her sole companion. Altogether an image not too pleasing to the eye.

Remembering that I placed a sandwich in my toolbox, I take it out and offer it to her. Pausing at the gesture, not knowing whether to trust me or not, she slowly reaches out to take the plastic-wrapped sandwich. Our hands touch and in that brief instant our lives joined.

Then she says something that I will never forget, “I can see death on you. It stains your colors.”

Slightly taken back, and a little surprised I reply, “What did you say?”

“The death, your cough. You should be more careful of what you put inside you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was it a joke? Some childish vision, dreamt up by this homeless vagabond. It makes me uneasy. She makes me uneasy. She’s not natural, my gut screams to me. I need to get away.

“Uh… sure Katryn. Whatever you say. Hey look here’s twenty bucks. I know it’s not a whole lot, but it’s all I’ve got. Why don’t you go and get a decent meal, maybe go to a shelter. Living down here isn’t the greatest of places.”

She declined to accept the money. The desire to survive on her own conflicts with the need for help. Shrugging, I put the money back. Still wish she would have taken it. It’s the least I could do to help, without getting in too deep. I take one last look at her before heading back up into reality’s playground.

Later on, I go back downstairs, just to check up on her. Nothing. Maybe she found her way out. Maybe my talking with her helped her to escape the horrors of life in the gutter. She taught me a lot about life in that moment we spent together. Unspoken words can mean a lot to one who’s down and out. Companionship and comfort is denied and alien to them, and must be offered on our behalf. It will always be her eyes, silent and sad, filled with expression, constantly wandering- looking for escape, that I will always remember. She gave me something that no money could ever buy.

Then I realized I hadn’t coughed in several hours.

He strolled down the street. Most of the houses were one or two stories tall. It was a newer development, so most of the trees were still yearlings and not yet as high as the first story houses. Some of the houses looked the same with their uniform design and uniform colors. They were all made of wood. The monster sniffed the air. Then he turned and found what he was looking for.

It was the house next to the barking dog. It was a two-story home, stained brown with green trim. The lawn had no trees and allowed the monster to come and go without too much of a trace. Sniffing the air once more, the monster double-checked to make sure his prey was still unaware of his presence. Licking his chops, he then bent down and peered into every window of the house searching for his snack.

No one inside or outside sees the giant bending down peering into the home with a giant red eye. The first floor was empty. There was no one in the living room where the papasan chairs and soft were white, complete with matching black pillows. The kitchen, spotless and empty, was large enough to double as a dining area. In one window, the monster saw huge shelves filled with books. A fire was dying in the fireplace suggesting that someone inside was recently awake. But not now, all was quiet in the house.

The second level was just as quiet. Two girls sleeping in their bunk bed, dreaming perhaps of boys they wanted to date. The monster spots Jason Jenkins in his bed, the third window from the left. Still asleep, his body breathing rhythmically. Completely unaware of what is about to happen to him. His wife, luckily for her, is away visiting relatives.

Sizing up the roof, the monster traces its molding, looking for a weak spot. And he finds it near the room Jason sleeps in. Grabbing under the roof with his left hand he
gets a good hold onto the roof. Placing his other hand on the backside of the roof, straight across, he straddles the right side of the building. Taking a deep breath and summoning all of his strength, the monster peels back the roof like a tuna can.

This startles Jason. A green arm reaches in for him, stealing him away from his family like a child reaching in a box of corn flakes to remove the prize decoder ring. He is only given a few seconds to react. Not fully awake or comprehending the reality of his situation, a muffled meep is all that escapes his mouth.

His children awake now, find their father gone and the roof torn off the house. Miraculously they escaped unharmed.

The police arrive later, aroused by a call from a hysterical neighbor, finding the roof of the house laying in the street.

Scratching his head, the detective in charge whistles, ìNever seen anything like it in my entire life.î

Another cop nods in agreement and says, ìYep. Looks like a freak tornado ripped through and tore the roof clear off. Took it and Mr. Jenkins with it.î

A strong gust of wind comes in from the west, blowing the caps off a few of the policemenís heads. High up in the atmosphere, a satisfied monster walks away trying to figure out the way back home.