Rooney, Zoe and the Purple Alien

Wednesday morning, Rooney woke up and refused to open his eyes because he didn’t want it to be Wednesday. Rooney had a math test at school and he wasn’t ready. Rooney was never ready for math. He was always ready for science and history but never math. Math was dumb, Rooney thought.
“KAM! Get up now or you will miss the bus!” Rooney’s mom called from down the hall. Rooney’s real name was Kamren but everyone called him Rooney. He forgot why because they had always called him Rooney…everyone except his Mom. When he asked her why, she told him, “I named you Kamren when you were born and I will always call you Kamren.” That was Mom for you.
Rooney rolled out of bed and was dressed in his jeans and Batman tee shirt before he really had his eyes open. He knew Mom would send him back to brush his hair and put on his socks and shoes, but he headed for the kitchen anyway. Rooney took two steps into the kitchen and Mom sighed loudly.
“Kam, shoes, socks and hair.” Growling, Rooney turned and went back to his room. Fifteen minutes later, because he had to search for the second shoe, he was back in the kitchen and sitting in front of a bowl of steaming oatmeal. When Mom wasn’t looking, Rooney added on three scoops of sugar and stirred quickly before she turned around to tell him that was too much sugar.
Rooney ate breakfast in record time and was out the door only a moment before the bus stopped for him. His best friend, Andy, had saved the usual seat and poked Rooney in the arm as always.
“You ready for math?” Andy wanted to know.
“Are you kidding? I don’t like math. Why do they teach math in the third grade anyway? We don’t need it.” Rooney grumbled. Andy just shook his head to agree.
After school, Rooney stepped off the bus and ran up the drive to the kitchen door. He knew Mom would have a treat and he was anxious to share his news. He burst into the room and received his usual hug from his Mom before he could say a word.
“Mom! Stop!” She chuckled, kissed him on the cheek and asked about his day.
“You will never guess! I got a B on the math test!” Rooney was shaking with excitement.
“Of course you did. I knew you would do well.” How could Mom be so calm? He had a B…in MATH!
Rooney wolfed down his cookies and milk before changing into his play clothes and headed out the door. He and Andy were going to hunt for spies. They had decided there were spies in the woods behind Rooney’s house. But before he could escape his yard, Mom called him back.
“Kamren, I have to run over to your Aunt Rachel’s for a minute. I need to you keep an eye on your sister.”
Nothing could have irritated Rooney more. His sister was the biggest pain in the world. Zoe was 8 years old and mean. Rooney thought she was the meanest person on the whole planet. She liked to take his cars and play with them! What girl played with cars that way? She always hung around when Rooney was playing a video game. What girl did that? She followed him around everywhere if he wasn’t tricky. She was mean.
“But, Mom, I’m supposed to meet Andy!” He insisted.
“I know, Honey, and you can meet Andy in a bit. Just stay with your sister for a few minutes. I will be right back.”
Rooney walked as slowly as possible back to the house where he found Zoe standing in the kitchen munching on a cookie. She always ate slowly. She was mean. Rooney stood in the doorway staring at his sister. She just smiled back at him. She was mean.
“What were you going to do?” She asked him.
“I am going to meet Andy and we are going to find the spies that live back in the woods.” Rooney reached for a cookie but they weren’t there.
“You ate the last one??” Rooney yelled at Zoe.
“No. Mama put them away. She said you eat too many cookies and it isn’t good for you.” Zoe grinned at him. She was mean. “I want to go with you to find the spies.”
Rooney’s mouth fell open. “YOU? You aren’t going with us. NO!”
“Why not? I can help. But I think you are wrong about the spies.” Zoe talked as though she knew. She was mean.
“You don’t know what you are talking about. Why do you think we are wrong?” Rooney asked even though he didn’t want to.
“Because I have been watching the woods and I think there are aliens in there…not spies.” Zoe always seemed so certain. She was mean.
“Aliens? That’s just dumb. There’s no such thing as aliens. Don’t be so dumb.” Rooney was disgusted. She was mean.
“No? Then why do I keep seeing a purple light back there? Spies don’t make a purple light, you know. Aliens make purple lights. It’s the ship, you know. The ship glows at night and it’s purple.” Zoe always sounded like she knew. She was mean.
“That’s just… just… dumb. What kind of aliens?” Rooney hadn’t wanted to ask but it just slipped out. Maybe Zoe was an alien. She was mean.
Zoe looked at him like he was being dumb.
“I don’t know, do I? wow. How could I know what kind of alien? We won’t know till we go look.” Zoe always sounded like their Mom. She was mean.
Rooney wanted to tell her to be quiet and go away, but he couldn’t. Maybe there WERE aliens and they were controlling him? Maybe Zoe was right. NO! He would NEVER tell HER she was right, but maybe.. just maybe. Finally, even though it was giving him a headache to think about, he looked at his mean sister.
“Ok, come on, but you stay out of the way! You hear? Don’t be a pain, or you will go home.” Rooney ordered. She was so mean.
Zoe smiled and headed for the door.
A few minutes later, after leaving a note for Mom and then explaining to Andy that Zoe had to come along and she thought there were aliens, the trio set out for the woods. Rooney was annoyed that Andy thought Zoe’s idea about aliens was great. She was mean.
The three of them searched for what seemed like hours without finding aliens OR spies and were about to go back home when Zoe squealed. Rooney hurried to where she was. She was mean but she was his sister and Mom would ground him forever if something happened to Zoe.
Zoe pointed behind him. Turning around, Rooney saw a purple light shining through the trees. She was right! Aliens! Wow, Zoe was mean.
The three stood for a long while not quite sure what to do, until Zoe started walking toward the light.
“Zoe! Stop!” Rooney whispered to her. Zoe waved her hand at him and kept walking. Andy hurried to keep up with her so Rooney had no choice but to join them. He pulled on Zoe’s arm and told her to slow down. The three of them hid behind trees as they moved forward until, finally, there it was, right in front of them.
Zoe stepped out from behind the tree and stood with her mouth open. The boys followed her a moment later.
There in front of them was a glass square with a bright purple light glowing from inside it. There were smaller white lights around the edges.
Andy whispered, “What is it?”
Rooney could only shake his head.
Zoe started to move toward the glass square but Rooney grabbed her arm.
“You can’t go near it!” He wouldn’t let go of her.
At that point, one side of the glass square opened. Taht was all it took. Andy squeaked and turned to run. Rooney and Zoe followed right on his heels.
Once back in the house, Zoe was as calm as she could be.
“We can go back tomorrow. It’s Saturday and we can find out just what that thing is.”
Zoe started humming that annoying song from television and skipped from the room. She was so mean.

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Rachel Morgan lost her heart when she was 17 years old. She lost it in a split second. All it took was for Daniel Rowan to look at her and smile. In that moment, something told Rachel her life would never be the same and she was right.

Rachel and Daniel very soon began to date. They spent as much time together as possible, that was until their parents decided they were spending too much time together-that they were too serious-that they could not possible know what was best for them. So Rachel and Daniel were separated.

Rachel was devastated. She knew she could not persuade her parents but she tried…and failed. So life went on and Rachel tried to go on living her life without Daniel. She eventually began dating other young men but they weren’t Daniel. Her heart wasn’t in any of those relationships because Daniel still owned that heart.

Finally, after graduation and after a bit of college and working, married…not from love but because she felt lonely and she thought it was expected. She tried to make it work, but it never did. The marriage ended and Rachel concentrated on a new job.

It was while Rachel was at her job and concentrating on her job when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Rachel turned to come face to face with Daniel. Her heart pounded and she couldn’t catch her breath. He was even more handsome than she remembered and his smile even more dazzling to her. She hadn’t know he worked for the same company.

After that, Daniel would come to talk with Rachel each evening. Those talks made her love going to work. She could barely wait to go to work. Daniel, once again, brightened her life. But reality held an ugly cloud over it all. Daniel had married and was married still. That reality kept Rachel from being completely happy, of course, but she still thrived on just seeing Daniel again.

Then, one night just as she was leaving work, a supervisor informed her that her temporary position was being terminated and she need not come back. Rachel frantically looked around for Daniel but he was nowhere in sight. She couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t know until he came in the next night and she didn’t show. She had no way of telling him.

Rachel told herself it was for the best. It was a situation that had no positive side. She dealt with sadness and she dealt with missing him for some time afterward, but ultimately had to move on. So she went through her life trying to forget that her heart still remained with Daniel.

Time went by and Rachel married a second time. Again, she had no heart to give to the marriage and that fact eventually took it’s toll, ending that marriage as well. For a long time, she was certain something was wrong with her that she couldn’t make a marriage work. But that wasn’t the case. The fact was, Rachel couldn’t love someone else when her heart was already taken.

Many times, Rachel tried to tell herself she was romanticizing the entire situation-that she was imagining things-that she was living in the past and wasting her life because of it. But she simply could not deny the hold that her feelings for Daniel kept on her. So Rachel realized she could not have a relationship with anyone and went on to try and live a life by herself…until life intervened once again.

That afternoon, Rachel was on her computer when a name jumped out at her. Daniel Rowan. She told herself it could not possibly be him, it had been so many years. The odds were too much, but Rachel ignored her logic and reached out to that name. When the answer to her message arrived, Rachel was afraid to look. She hesitated for hours. When she finally looked, her heart pounded and her breath refused to come. It was him. After all these years, here he was and happy to hear from her. Rachel was in tears, but she was also afraid that the dreams she had kept deep inside since she was 17 would be dashed.

Rachel and Daniel chatted a while and it was as if no time had passed. They still had so much in common and they still felt as they had all those years ago…but Daniel had married a second time. As much as Rachel loved him still, she knew she would never ask anything of him he could not give..BECAUSE she loved him she would never ask such a thing. Neither of them would go down that path.

Rachel could only ever speak for herself, of course, but her heart had always been, and would always be, Daniels. She would always love him as she had her entire adult life. But Rachel was a realist and knew her life was not to be the fairy tale she had always envisioned. No life ever was. So she cherished the friendship with Daniel that had always been there. She reminded herself that there were no fairy tales and life nearly never works out as we might hope.

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I Remember My Mother

It is beyond difficult to lose a parent. It feels as though your very soul has been ripped into a billion pieces and a huge number of those pieces are lost forever, leaving you less than whole. But this story isn’t about pain and loss and grief. While those things never really leave you, this story is about hope, love and becoming.
I lost my mother when I was a small child. As the oldest of four children, I think I am the one who holds the most memories of her. The visuals and such fade over the years, but some things remain.
My mother was a fun loving person, as I recall. She enjoyed music and dancing. She also loved being a mother.
My mother watched soap operas. I recall one of her “stories” was Secret Storm. I also remember that she had a routine-she did all her chores in the morning so she wouldn’t miss her stories. After her stories were over, I had my own…Captain Kangaroo, for one.
I remember helping my mother with the dishes. She would wash them and I would stand on a chair and “dry” them before lining them up on the counter for her to put away. While we did the dishes, we talked. I remember her telling me, when I was about 9 years old, about “woman” things. I also remember that she talked about these things in such a matter of fact way that I was never embarrassed or afraid about them.
I remember my mother at the kitchen table making home made noodles. I remember her working the dough with her fingers and I remember her cutting, by hand, the individual noodles. I remember being fascinated that she could create them so easily.
I remember my mother frying eggs for us. She would scoop them into our plate and then chop them into tiny pieces with the fork…always over easy. To this day, so many years later, when I fry an egg for myself, it is over easy and chopped into tiny pieces before I eat it.
I remember my mother’s reaction the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I had stayed home from school that morning having a brand new case of mumps and was laying on the couch with a new coloring book and crayons as she always seemed to have on hand when one of us was sick.
The television was on and as I watched, the horror in Dallas unfolded. I remember callling out [hoarsely] to my mother that something happened to the President. She walked into the room just as it was announced he had been shot and [as I recall] was not expected to survive. I remember my mother falling to the floor on her knees in despair. From then, she and I watched together as it was announced the President had died and then we watched as Lee Harvey Oswald was killed by Jack Ruby. It never occurred to her, I suppose, that I was very young to see such things, but I remember feeling sad and upset but not frightened because I was with her. She held me close as we watched and I felt that security.
I remember my mohter having a telephone that stood on it’s end and chirped like a bird when it rang. The dial was on the bottom where it sat on the bedside table. I was fascinated by that telephone.
I remember a dozen red roses sitting on top of our black and white [as opposed to color, for those too young to know]. As I recall, my Dad bought them for her…perhaps as an anniversary or birthday.
I remember on the last anniversary they shared before she died, my Dad bought a book shelf with sliding glass doors. Then, I remember a salesman coming to our door selling World Book encyclopedia. My mother bought a set, the covers were red. When they came, she put them in the glass front bookcase. I still have that bookcase here in my office and when I look at it, I remember my mother.
I remember those encyclopedia and how my brothers and my sister and I would pull them out and lay in the living room floor looking up…everything. I can remember telling my mother arbitrary facts learned during those times. I remember my mother was always interested and fascinated by any fact we learned.
I remember my mother cutting two holes in a white sheet and I became a ghost for Halloween. She or Dad would then walk us up and down the short streets of our tiny town where we would gather our goodies from every home.
I remember my mother always listening to KXOK radio out of St Louis. At that time, they played all the popular songs of the time and one memory that stands out is of her dancing across the kitchen to Mack the Knife by Bobby Darin. I learned later in life that this was her favorite song. I also remember my mother listening and singing along to Moon River by Andy Williams.
I remember my mother saying she wanted to learn to play the banjo. She never did. I often wonder what other dreams she may have had that were never fulfilled. With that in mind, I strive to reach my own dreams in order to honor her as well as being the best I can be.
My mother passed away suddenly in 1964 at the age of 33. She left behind a devoted husband and four children-I was the oldest at age 10. Yes, there have been many, many times of grief and pain and loss, but there have been more times of remembering her spirit and her joy for life. There have been many more times of remembering the love and security she gave us. There have been many more times of remembering her sense of humor and there have been many more times of being thankful I had her for the short time I did. I am who I am partly because of what she gave me.
We mourn the loss of someone near to us, but we must also remember to cherish the things they gave us while they were here.
I remember my mother.

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My Final Election Post

I first tried to express my honest personal opinions, complete with well researched points. I was told how uninformed and ridiculous my opinions were. I let that slide and continued to exercise my right as an American and express points I had fully researched. I continued to express my opinions which were fully based on that which I had seen and heard myself. I was called names and bullied. At one point I was even threatened. It became clear nothing I could say would make any difference at all.  The hurt and stress became so overwhelming that I made the decision to simply back away and keep my thoughts to myself unless specifically asked. 

But I have been a proud American for a very long time and have always taken great pride in being involved. Remembering what has made me proud and what has inspired me in the past, I decided I would make one last post on this election and then I am done. 

My disclaimer is thus: everything here is MY opinion. All of these are MY words and it is my right to express myself as I see fit.  

I will not respond to, nor do I WANT comments on this particular post.It us too late for a debate. Minds have been made up and stubbornness is a formidable wall.

With that in mind, here are my thoughts…thought out and researched.

In 1933, while campaigning for leadership of Germany, Adolph Hitler, among other grand promises, declared his promise of a parliamentary democracy (to keep the type of government). He promised to fix all the problems Germany’s citizens faced-unemployment, low wages, poverty, etc.. He was believed and accepted as a “savior” and on January 30, was named Reich Chancellor.

On Feb. 1..two days later, Hitler dissolved the parliament he had promised to maintain. 

On Feb. 3, the social democratic newspaper, Vorwarts, was banned.

Feb. 4, freedom of the German press was limited.

Feb. 12, the Vice Chancellor demanded Catholics aid the Nazis.

Feb. 16, Catholic papers warned against the Nazis.

Feb. 19, all Catholic newspapers were banned.

Feb.28, German President abolished all free expression of opinion.

March 3, the candidate opposing Hitler was arrested.

March 5, Nazi party wins the majority.

March 23, Hitler granted dictatorial power.

April 1, Nazis begin a complete boycott of Jewish businesses.

April 7, Nazis ban Jewish people from holding legal and political office.

April 26, Jewish children banned from attending German schools.

May 2, Hitler bans trade unions.

May 10, Nazis stage book burnings.

June 13, the Gestapo was established.

June 22, German social democratic party was banned.

July 1, It became illegal to belong to any party other than the Nazi party.

July 14, Nazis began mandatory sterilization of all with an hereditery disease.

August 1, Gernany declared the death penalty for ALL anti-fascists.

All of these happened within 8 months. When something like this occurs very quickly, the general public doesn’t realize the problem until it is too late. 

The instillation of fear and anger to ‘persuade’ the masses has been a handy tool for as long as politics have been around.  “Tell them what they want to hear and once you have them roped in, screw them.” 

This not only happened in the past but is happening now.  So many of us are so blinded by our general frustration, fear and anger that the loudest voice is the one to grab attention. So many citizens simply accept what they are told without learning for themselves and because of this lazyiness, are dragged into an abyss where recovery is all but impossible. Laziness and stubbornness cause them to be overrun and to become puppets.  This behavior and lack of attention brought horrors to the citizens of Germany 80 years ago. 

You don’t think it can happen here?  You think we Americans are too smart for such a thing?  

German citizens in 1932 and 1933 thought that way as well. 

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No Title

“Why? Because, Abigail, you do EVERYTHING sloppy and half-assed! That’s why. You never do anything fully, completely and correctly! If anyone calls you on it you go into extreme defensive mode and you lash out in the ugliest possible way. You threaten people you are supposed to care about. You never-EVER-accept responsibility for anything that is wrong. There is always someone else or some other circumstance that is to blame. No one can tell you anything…about ANYTHING. You know everything.

If you tell someone to wait 10 minutes, you make them wait at least 30, if not longer. When you say you will be somewhere in an hour, it is a fact it will be closer to 2. When you have to be somewhere at, say, 2:00 and it is 30 minutes away, you leave at 10 minutes until 2..or at 2:00 on the dot. You have absolutely no consideration for anyone. Oh, you claim to be very caring and considerate and compassionate. You claim to be honest and forthright, but if you have to tell people you are those things, you are none of them. 

You cannot possibly be considerate of others if you cut them off mid sentence with a comment about something which has nothing to do with what they were saying. People talk to you and you aren’t listening. You are off in your own Twilight Zone. When someone tells you something going on with them, the first thing you do is whine about your own problems. Then, after a while, you apparently realize what they said and make a token offer of sympathy. But your thoughts and words and actions betray you at every turn. Your thoughts and concerns reach no further than the end of your nose. 

You are the most selfish, self absorbed, inconsiderate, rude, whiny, obnoxious bigoted person I have ever had the misfortune to know. You suck the air out of the room as soon as you enter.  THAT, my dear, is why I am leaving and I am never coming back.” 

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Bye, Felicia

I walked out the front door of my home that morning to the exact sight I saw every morning-the same sight that could be seen from any direction-row after row after row of homes all the exact same design and all exactly the same color-beige.  I lived in a beige community. 

Every house looked exactly the same right down to the lawns and everything in them. The beige community allowed only the one color for houses and allowed only one decoration in the yard-a concrete birdbath-all placed in exactly the same place. There were shrubs beside each home, all in the same number and placement-but no flowers were permitted.

Every house had a one car garage attached to the right of the front door. No automobiles were to be parked outside that garage. NOTHING was permitted to take away from the uniformity of this sight.  It was beige in every way.

As I stood there, I watched several automobiles back out of their garages. Every car was dark grey and the same make and model. I found myself imagining someone sitting somewhere with a controller guiding everyone’s movements.  I found I didn’t like the thought. That was the moment I made my decision. I was going to escape the beige community.

I spent the next few weeks thinking and making preliminary plans for my escape. At first, the plan was to simply move away, but I soon came to a realization. No matter where I moved, I would have to conform to someone else’s plan. I was not prepared to conform. The answer was simple. I would form my own community and make my own rules.

While I quietly searched for the perfect site, my rules began to take shape. The first rule was simple: 


The rest fell into place as I thought of what I wanted to accomplish.

2. Colors are required.

3. Individuality is required.

4. No two consecutive homes could be the same color.

5. Automobiles must be a personal statement.

Then, I began to consider the people who might live in my community. I wanted those with personality. I didn’t want people who would follow the crowd like a herd of sheep. I was certain the ideal residents would be the artistic types.  That brought the next rules.

6. Every citizen must create.

7. Every citizen must practice an artistic pursuit .

8. Each week, there will be an artist’s display on the town square where each citizen will display that which they have created.

I felt I was now developing the perfect community but I knew, of course, that people had a tendency to be, at times, hurtful and judgemental so more rules were needed.

9. No citizen will ever judge or criticize another citizen’s art, work, actions or personality. 

10. If any citizen has a problem with another citizen, they will QUIETLY bring that concern to The Committee.

After all, there had to be a governing committee since people could never be trusted to govern themselves. So that subject had to be addressed.

11. There will be a committee of three to oversee the community and deal with all issues.

12. All decisions made by The Committee will be final. There will be no arguments and no appeals.

I looked at this last rule and smiled. I decided that should any decision go against a citizen and that citizen was not happy with said decusion, they would receive one final order:


One last rule for my list.

13. Should any citizen disagree with any rule, with any committee decision, or create any drama, they will be required to leave the community permanently.  


It was perfectly simple. I would allow no nonsense, no drama and no negative behavior. I smiled believing my plans were perfect.

Some weeks later, I found the perfect site for my community.  I laid claim to a small island off the eastern coast of our republic. I immediately built my own home precisely the way I chose. When completed, my home was painted sky blue. I painted the front door bright red and I planted an array of flowers…all types and colors. I placed bird houses in the trees-all painted bright happy colors. Finally, I looked around my wild and colorful yard and I knew contentment.

I then spread the word where I could inviting like minded individuals to my island, which I named Shambala, after my favorite song. In only a few weeks, there were dozens of people inquiring about moving to Shambala. I knew I could not simply open the gates, as it were, and allow just anyone in, so I prepared an extensive application for each person to complete.

The applications soon began to arrive. I went carefully through each one to choose only those who seemed appropriate for my community. Within a couple of months, I had chosen 10 people for acceptance.  I soon greeted these people at the dock-my new neighbors. I liked most of them on sight and immediately knew who I would choose to sit the two open committee positions.

All the new residents were given the list of rules and required to sign an affirmation of agreement with those rules. All signed and were anxious and excited to be started.

My choices for committee members were a young woman named Arturia, who was a weaver. Arturua was in her 30s and of a tranquil, quiet nature.  The other committee member was a man in his 60s named Bastian. Bastian was a woodworker. He carved and also built unique furniture. I felt they both would be a great asset to our society.

In the weeks that followed, the new residents completed their homes. None were large or elaborate, but were definitely distinctive. Each one proclaimed the resident’s individuality, just as the rules required. I was pleased, also, to see that no two homes were the same color. 

Each resident had chosen a site for their home without regard for order. There were no streets on Shambala. A resident was free to choose where they would live while always being considerate of the other residents.

Life on Shambala settled into a quiet, tranquil and creative existence. The Committee had only to deal with making sure supplies arrived from the mainland and created items were shipped back for selling. I was thrilled at my creation.  Until I had to deal with Pater, the leather worker.

Pater had built his home farthest from other residents and rarely associated with anyone. At the weekly art shows, Pater set up his creations but had little or no interaction with anyone else. That was fine since the idea for my community was for all residents to be oeaceful and comfortable. All were encouraged to be themselves. Parer certainly followed that rule.

But Pater had a secret.    

If I had known about his secret, he would, of course, bever have been accepted. But Pater lied on his application. In my excitement and naivete, I hadn’t considered being lied to…it was completely against the purpose of Shambala. I thought all my residents shared my vision and my dream. That dream was soon to become a nightmare.

On a particularly grey  morning, the residents were gathering for the art showing. I was wandering through the tables looking at the various offerings when I came to a blank space. I asked around and discovered the space should have been occupied by a lady named Grinjil. Grinjil was in her 50s and did remarkable things with yarn. She crocheted and knitted and every resident was amazed at her creations. Grinjil was also an exceptionalky kind person, loved by us all. It was also very unlike her to miss an art showing. I was concerned so I made my way to Grinjil’s bright yellow home. I walked up the stone walkway admiring the abundance of flowers and grasses she had planted. 

At the door, I called out to her but there was no answer.  On Shambala we didn’t have locks on our doors, we simply respected everyone’s privacy so I knocked twice to no response. I then opened the door. Grinjil lay on the floor with a length if yarn wrapped around her throat. She was dead.

I called the committee to her home where we tried to find any sign of who might have done such a thing. There were no clues. 

All residents gathered a couple of days later to honor Grinjil and to mourn. Everyone was there. I found myself searching faces trying to see something which would give away the killer. Because we had a killer among us. The Committee met repeatedly to try and find a solution but there was no solution.   Finally, we decided we must have a meeting of residents to try and make things right.

All the remaining residents gathered in the community center that evening. I addressed them, explaining we had no clues to the identity of the beast who had killed Grinjil. I explained we must have everyone’s help to solve this horrible situation. I looked at each face. One after the other looked at me with sorrow and fear in their eyes..until I looked at Pater. I couldn’t really explain the look on his face, only that it was wrong somehow. 

I asked Pater to stand and tell us where he had been before the art showing. His response was that he had been home gathering his things for the showing. I then decided to bluff. I asked if he had ever been to Grinjil’s home to which he said a quick “no”.  Clenching my fist behind me, I asked why, then, did we find one of his gloves next to her when we found her. Pater quickly reached a hand into the pocket where he had tucked his gloves. He then glanced around the room, his face white.

Pater jumped to his feet and started to run but was tackled by Bastian. Two of the other men assisted in restraining Pater. He didn’t resist, but looked around with a smirk. I was about to state he would be taken to the mainland for punishment when one of the women stood.

Kalara cleared her throat before reciting rule #13. Several others rose and all escorted Pater to the dock where they tied his hands and feet. Bastian attached a large block of metal to the restaints on Pater’s hands. As a group, the resident’s of Shambala shoved Pater off the dock. They all stood silently as the bubbles slowed and, finally, stopped. Then, one by one, each resident turned, each going to their respective homes without a sound.  All I could think as I saw my dream die was…

Bye, Felicia.

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Stream of Thought-a Peek Behind the Brain

Yesterday we saw two smart cars. The resulting conversation was an excursion into the ultimate stream of thought, not to mention the comedic tendencies of me and my family. I wish we had recorded it, although it is likely it would not be nearly as funny to anyone else. Perhaps it was funny because we were tired. That happens often to people. I wonder why really average things become hysterical once you are exhausted.  When I am exceptionally tired anything can set me off into a laughing fit. Does that happen to you? And have you ever noticed when someone is laughing hysterucally, their expression looks as though they are in pain? I know thats how I look. I also know that when I am laughing my hardest, the tears flow freely. I also wonder why that is. It seems to me, laughing hysterically seems to grab all the other emotions and force them to react as well. Emotions are amazing things. They can come out of nowhere with no warning, or they can occur right on schedule just as expected. Either way, if allowed to proceed on their own, they can become uncontrollable. I think most of us are taught from a young age to “control” ourselves where our emotions are concerned. While that is necessary sometimes, at other times being too restrained can be detrimental to our well being. Perhaps that is a part of the world’s problems. I don’t know, of course, but my theory is that too tight a control on our normal and natural selves keeps us from being the person we are meant to be. Then there are those people who throw convention out the window and are completely themselves. Mostly, perhaps, they are the happier ones..but at the same time they find themselves condemned and ridiculed for not following the herd…for DARING to think for themselves. If you ask the average person about self expression they will regale you with their ‘belief’ that each person should speak for themselves..but  many times, that same person is the one looking down their nose at the person in the unusual clothing or the person happily dancing as if no one is watching. Personally, I would rather be the one dancing..and often am. But don’t take that as assurance that I CAN  dance. I am a terrible dancer and have, more than once, suffered a minor injury for my serious lack of rythym and grace. BUT I don’t care. When I am in a mood where dancing is my only option, it is a blessed day and I WILL dance..with a warning to anyone nearby to stand back. Better yet…take cover!   ~and all because we saw two smart cars yesterday.

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