when you’re home with me,

I feel migrated from my body

out with you in the garden of love

with your smiles, it’s flowers

your teeth as the align hedges

clothed in white like the snow

your kiss as cool as the morning dew

which softens my lips like with the leafs

and your body’s moves when you dance

like the dazzling plants swaying in the wind

your touch, so warm like the rising sun

the voice, so melodious like a nightingale on the tree

then when the sun sets, we lay on the grass, our mat

and await the moon to shine on our deeds.

©️Duncan Alidza

#love #romance #home #errotica #smiles #thevoice #deeds #flowers

Let’s take it higher

breaking the limits through

to space

Even though it’s not a race

There, we can sit on the moon

where darkness will never catch us

and put on smiles so bright

to the diffusing of our earthly plight

Then together we’ll sing

and dance till our feet injure

the ground, leaving cracks on her face,

for which we’ll run before it opens up and throw us back to earth,

We may fall running but we’ll rise

for no human eyes are there to mock

neither are there fingers to point,

since we can’t cheat

so close to heaven’s gate

at least the never deeming lights will bear us witness,

this is the world we crave

for what we’ve down, is a cave

full of human of hate!

But before we depart,

take my ring and make me your lord.

©️Duncan Alidza

#love #moon #light #lovers #space #romance #earth

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

STAR WARS

EPISODE IX

THE RISE OF SKYWALKER

IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME COMING FOR FANS

EVERYWHERE. THE FINAL CHAPTER IN THE

LONG RUNNING STAR WARS SAGA (FOR NOW)

HAS ARRIVED.

SINCE CREATOR GEORGE LUCAS SOLD HIS

FRANCHISE TO MAKE EVEN MORE MONEY,

FANS HAVE BEEN DIVIDED. SOME LOVE THE

NEW FILMS. OTHERS ACT OUT LIKE SPOILED

TODDLERS, ESPECIALLY AFTER THE LAST JEDI.

HEY, JUST SAYING.

HOPEFULLY THIS FINAL FILM WILL END ALL

THAT AND WE CAN ALL FINALLY MOVE ON

WITH OUR LIVES.

It’s here!

The final film in the Star Wars Saga, The Rise of Skywalker, with J.J. Abrams returning to the director’s chair to finish what he started. And reprising their roles are fan favorite characters both old and new: Daisey Ridley as Rey; Adam Driver as Kylo Ren; Mark Hamill as Luke Skywalker; John Boyega as Finn; Oscar Isaac as Poe Dameron; Anthony Daniels as C-3PO; Billy Dee Williams as Lando Calrissian; Kelly Marie Tran as Rose Tico; Domhnall Gleeson as General Hux; the late Carrie Fisher as General Leia Organa; and even Ian McDiarmid reprises as the dreaded Dark Lord of the Sith, Emperor Palpatine/Darth Sidious.

A year after the events of The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi, and the galaxy is at war once more with the Resistance and the First Order. Rey, Finn, and Poe Dameron fight on. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren strikes the galaxy with fear. And an old enemy, Emperor Palpatine, rises from the darkest corners of the galaxy as the ancient conflict between the Jedi and the Sith finally comes to an end. How could Palpatine be alive again, you ask. Just remember this: “the dark side of the force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.”

You all know I’m a huge Star Wars fan. I love Star Wars. I don’t think anything can change that. Not the opinion of critics. Not the whiny, juvenille backlash from fans. I’ve practically grown up with the series starting back with the Prequels. I’ve honestly enjoyed each film of the franchise. Sure, there are a handful of films where my opinion hasn’t been favorable, but there’s not a single film in the franchise that’s received a grade lower than a C-.

So how doe the final installment hold up?

First, I’m going to do something different and talk about the major issues with this film, as well as the whole Sequel Trilogy. I love The Force Awakens, and yes, I do still like The Last Jedi, although I do see and agree with some of its criticism these days. That being said, it’s clear that Disney and Lucasfilm needed a road map from the very beginning. J.J. Abrams already had something set up with The Force Awakens, but Rian Johnson kinda made his own Star Wars film that conflicted with the direction Abrams wanted to go with the Sequel Trilogy. Basically we got two different films of set up and now Abrams is trying to conclude all that set up and answer all those questions the fans had, and at the same time trying to make a film that audiences will like. It’s not an easy task for the guy. I’ll cut Abrams some slack for that. But if I’m going to be honest in my review, I need to address the big problem, and that is this story’s structure. It feels very unbalanced. Like I said, Abrams tried all he could with continuing from The Last Jedi but he also had to do some retcons of The Last Jedi too. A lot of fans will be pleased about that, but not all of them. Me on the other hand, I figured that was going to happen regardless, so I’m not too surprised, but I’m a little disappointed that they felt it was necessary to take a step backward and try again instead of trying to progress forward. Because of this Abrams was forced to wrap everything up and it does hurt this film’s story. Not to mention that there were some pacing issues. This is a two and a half hour movie yet a couple of scenes felt too long while a couple others felt rushed. Again, Abrams did all this just to please all the Star Wars fans.

Now we come to a personal complaint not against the film but the whole Star Wars franchise: catering to the fans, who have been nothing but ungrateful since George Lucas sold his franchise to Disney for $9 billion. As I said, so far I’ve been really enjoying these new Star Wars films we’ve been getting for the last four/five years. While I do have my nitpicks and criticisms, they’re not enough to take away my joy and love for the franchise. What does take away my joy and love, however, are the fans who constantly bitch and moan about these films. It’s made worse when fans would go as far as use social media to harass and send death threats to the cast and crew of these films, as well as to their families. It’s because of this barbarous immaturity why I view Star Wars fans as the most toxic fanbase in the world. It’s why I don’t talk about Star Wars to anyone in public these days. There’s nothing wrong with voicing your like/dislike about a film--or films--in a franchise. But you should at the very least do so in a mature manner, meaning act like an adult. Meaning no acting like a spoiled brat who didn’t get the toy they wanted for Christmas. No bullying or harrassing others for liking the thing you dislike. And you need to respect other people’s opinions.

Now J.J. Abrams delivers a film meant to cater to fan’s request. The final result, as you probably heard by now, the critics have mixed feelings about the film, yet fans and audiences suddenly love it. I’m not too surprised by this. It shouldn’t be too much a surprise since they’ve been doing this since the release of The Phantom Menace. Hell, they even hated The Empire Strikes Back when it was first released. I’m not kidding. This kind of behavior is the reason why George Lucas sold his franchise to begin with. He was hurt by how fans reacted to the Prequels so he said, “Screw it, let it be someone else’s problem now.”

I completely understand being so obsessive with a franchise. Believe me, I do. But there comes a point where you gotta take a step back and remind yourself that in the end it’s just a movie. You can get over it and move on with your life. To quote a summary from of my favorite internet reviewers Linkara (aka Lewis Lovhag), nostalgia can be toxic. Not that it is toxic it, but it can be. It’s an assumption of ours that having pleasant memories of something meant that it was always good all the time. Desiring to have that feeling again the ignores all the good that’s come since then and all the bad that was there too. It can poison you, blinding you to your own deceptions and greed of how you think everything should be until you ultimately destroy the thing you love and become the thing you hate.

We need to stop blaming actors, writers, directors, producers, and studios for them not giving what fans want. If anything, fans should be blaming themselves. Disney is not ruining Star Wars. Kathleen Kennedy, the executive producer, is not ruining Star Wars. J.J. Abrams and Rian Johnson are not ruining Star Wars. George Lucas did not ruin Star Wars. We ruined Star Wars. Us. The fans. And we should be ashamed. If you’re the person that’s claiming someone or something is ruining your “childhood” because they changed something or made it so that it caters to a new audience, then the question you really need to ask yourself is, did you really have a childhood?

I apologize if I’ve turned this review into a rant on the fanbase, but this is something I’ve been wanting to get off my chest for a while now. You don’t have to agree with me. Hell, you’re free to stop following me after this. But I’m just tired of all the complaining and whining to a franchise I love. We all need to get along and move on.

And now for the positives because honestly there’s plenty to like about this film. For starters, the acting is still great. Folks might disagree with me on this but of out all the trilogies the Sequel Trilogy (technically all of Disney/Star Wars films) has some of the best acting in the whole saga, and this one’s no different. There’s not a single hammy moment. Not a single phoned in moment. Nothing like compared to Hayden Christensen or Natalie Portman from the Prequels. Everyone in this film is top notch. Even if you don’t think the writing is good, you have to admit that all the actors do their damnedest and it works for them. All the actors play off each other very well and I love their characters. Rey, Finn, and Poe have such great chemistry together. R2-D2, C-3PO, Chewbacca, and BB-8 are great supporting characters and provide some strong comic relief. Kylo Ren is a great villain. And just to have Billy Dee Williams and Ian McDiarmid return as Lando and the Emperor made it all worthwhile.

But the two stand out characters are in fact Rey and Kylo Ren, all thanks to Daisey Ridley and Adam Driver’s incredible acting. Their scenes together and alone are what help make this movie strong. If you don’t like these two characters, I don’t fucking care. They’re great in my eyes. They’re very complex, they do cool shit, and the actors that play them are amazing.

And let’s talk about Carrie Fisher’s scenes now. Because of her unfortunate death back in late 2016 but J.J. Abrams really wanted conclude her arc in the new trilogy, so they utilized unused footage of her from The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi. Maybe in twenty years or so it will look a little obvious, but I believe that they handled her scenes very well. So thank you J.J. Abrams for this. Thank you for paying homage to everyone’s princess.

I think it goes without saying that the visual effects are amazing, right? That one’s kinda of a gimme for this franchise. But it’s still worth talking about it. The visuals are outstanding. A fantastic blend of CGI and practical effects. Even haters gotta appreciate the hard work that was put into making all the sets and designs look stunning in each new film.

Also, I don’t understand why whenever they talk about the new films they never bring up the musical score. Only I do it. Is that not worth mentioning? Well screw it, I’m gonna bring it up. John Williams’ score is truly outstanding in this film. It’s probably his best from the trilogy, and probably my third or fourth favorite musical score in the Star Wars Saga. I already downloaded the soundtrack from Itunes and I’m loving it!

The action is also great. Each blaster fight, each speeder bike chase, and each lightsaber duel had me at the edge of my seat with a gigantic grin on my face. That final battle during the film’s climax, where all the Resistance ships engaged against the thousands of First Order Star Destroyers, is the stuff I wanted to see in this trilogy for a while now.

But the most important factor that determines my judgement over a movie: fun. Can I have fun with this movie? Did I have fun with this movie? My answer: yes, I did. In fact I had a lot more fun than I expected watching this movie. I don’t care what mixed reception from critics or the complaints from the fanbase. I’m just simplying enjoying the fact that I’m watching a new Star Wars film. Besides, there’s no film trilogy that can be made that can top the greatest film trilogy of them all, Lord of the Rings.

Oh yes. Lord of the Rings > Star Wars. No denying it. No take backs. No regrets.

I’ve come to realize in life that each Star Wars trilogy was made for the generation of that time. The Originals was made for the old generation. The Prequels was made for my generation. And lastly the Sequels was made for this new generation. A generation with wild and fantastic imaginations that will one day create stories of their own. Maybe even ones for Star Wars. This is the franchise’s greatest accomphishment. Where would we be without the like minded writers and creators that have helped expand the Star Wars universe as we know it, in both the old Expanded Universe and the New Canon. I doubt we’d having anything like KOTOR and The Thrawn Trilogy novels without those creators and dreamers. And these new films are the gateways for them to create more.

I’ll say this, if you’re someone who didn’t like The Last Jedi you might like this film because, in some ways, it retcons a lot of that film. If you liked The Last Jedi, I don’t know, maybe you’ll like this, or maybe you won’t. If you haven’t liked any of the new Star Wars films (maybe going as far back as the Prequels too), I don’t know what else to say. Maybe Star Wars really isn’t your thing. Maybe Star Wars was never your thing. Again, I don’t know. There’s always Star Trek you can check out, I guess. But if you’re like me, whether you’re a big fan of the franchise or not, and you enjoy everything that is Star Wars, you’ll love this movie.

Overall, I liked this movie a lot. It’s not the best of the Sequel Trilogy, but it is a strong, solid, and fitting conclusion to the Sequel Trilogy that was a ton of fun to sit and watch from start to finish. But this doesn’t mean that this is the end of Star Wars. Oh no, young padawans. Star Wars has grown so large as a franchise that there’s always room for more stories. This has all been a big learning experience for Disney and Lucasfilm. Perhaps when they make a new trilogy they’ll have a road map set up like for the MCU. Maybe they’ll have Dave Filoni, a man was practically trained under George Lucas and has made Star Wars: The Clone Wars and The Mandalorian, to make the next series of films. The future is vast and bright, my friends. Until then, I look forward to the next adventure in that galaxy far, far away.

Light Side:

-Outstanding performances

-Fantastic visuals and action

-John Williams’ score

-Plenty of fan service and cameos

Dark Side:

-Unstructured story

-Some pacing issues

-Catering to fans

-Reylo

Final Grade: C

So those are my thoughts on The Rise of Skywalker. Have you seen it? What were your thoughts? What’s your favorite Star Wars trilogy? Originals? Prequels? Sequels? Or do you, like me, love them all? Please be kind, leave a like or comment, and check out more reviews here on Prose!

If you’re curious about my thoughts on each Star Wars film in the franchise check out the following reviews:

A New Hope: https://theprose.com/post/161886/harry-situation-s-countdown-reviews-star-wars-episode-iv-a-new-hope

The Empire Strikes Back: https://theprose.com/post/169728/harry-situation-s-countdown-reviews-star-wars-episode-v-the-empire-strikes-back

Return of the Jedi: https://theprose.com/post/175640/harry-situation-s-countdown-reviews-star-wars-episode-vi-return-of-the-jedi

The Phantom Menace: https://theprose.com/post/179229/harry-situation-s-countdown-reviews-star-wars-episode-i-the-phantom-menace

Attack of the Clones: https://theprose.com/post/184308/harry-situation-s-countdown-reviews-star-wars-episode-ii-attack-of-the-clones

Revenge of the Sith: https://theprose.com/post/187177/harry-situation-s-countdown-reviews-star-wars-episode-iii-revenge-of-the-sith

The Force Awakens: https://theprose.com/post/190608/harry-situation-s-countdown-reviews-star-wars-episode-vii-the-force-awakens

Rogue One: https://theprose.com/post/120204/harry-situation-reviews-star-wars-rogue-one

The Last Jedi: https://theprose.com/post/195863/harry-situation-reviews-star-wars-episode-viii-the-last-jedi

Solo: https://theprose.com/post/217572/harry-situation-reviews-solo-a-star-wars-story

And may the force be with you, in 2020.

Best Quote:

Leia Organa: “Rey, don’t be afraid of who you are.”

#harrysituationreviews #StarWars #film #opinion #scifi #fantasy #spaceopera #action #adventure #SequelTrilogy

Much of my life has been shaped by shame. Be it because of the abuse I went through, because my mother insisted that everything about me was shameful, or because I just didn't (and often still don't) like what I see in the mirror. My family and bullies have conditioned me to look at myself as if I'm something to mock or to be embarrassed about. I was recently hospitalized because of mental illness, having two mood disorders and two anxiety disorders. Seeing myself celebrating pride in who I've become is often rather difficult.

I refuse to continue to let shame rule my life, though. I have a long way to go before I'm the person I want to be, but when I look at how far I've come, I know that I have a place among the Unashamed - be it at Pride or elsewhere.

It took me until I was twenty years old to realize that I'm sapphic. It took two more years to realize that I'm a lesbian. The reason I couldn't commit to men wasn't because I was "damaged goods" (as certain members of my family referred to me as when they thought I couldn't hear them), but because I'm simply not wired to be romantically or sexually involved with a man. I'm not damaged. There's no shame in loving other women as people believe I should love a man. I wish I realized this before I was an adult, but I can't change the past.

In this stream of consciousness, I hope to reach other people like me. People who've had their head down out of fear - be it fear of the unknown in identifying as something you don't completely understand yet, fear of how people will treat you, fear of how your identity fits into other parts of yourself (culture, religion, etc.), I know it's a lot. It's downright terrifying.

But I've found that being able to express more of myself after pushing through those fears has been very rewarding. As I've said, I'm not where I want to be. But I'm a few steps farther than I was three years ago, when I thought I was straight. Embracing yourself is difficult and often requires sacrifice, but it can also bring rewards. And Pride is what you make it. To me, it's about standing among the Unashamed. Standing tall, and telling the world that despite what it throws at me, I am worth fighting for. I have the right to carve a place and make a difference, even if it's only a personal difference.

You have the power to carve out your place and to fight for yourself. You have the power to live your life in a way that's fulfilling to you. You have the power to be Unashamed.

The girl sat alone - glancing at the whisperers beside her. The crowded desks and disgraceful laughs. The subjects of her yearning. But she sat alone. She watched some of the chatter cease, some heads raise to stare at the figure entering the room. Others continued - seemingly unaware of the prowling shark. That which fed off their conversation; and the punishment it caused.

The girl sank as the teacher stalked closer. She knew however that the shark would not look at her when their was such loud prey nearby. But she still shivered in fear, though it was irrational. For she could not control her irrationality.

"MR JONES!"

The teachers notes stabbed into the girls mind, the start of a mind wrenching headache. The girl whimpered, only barely glancing over to the victim of the censure. She watched the boy lounging on his chair, unafraid unlike the rest of his surrounding party. She admired it, she craved it. To be unafraid would surely be the most potent state of freedom.

"Yes Miss Clementine?"

The boy looked completely innocent, and the girl honestly had no idea why the teacher was so mad at him. However, the rest of the class seemed to.

"Is there a REASON my CAR is COVERED IN YOUR NAME?!"

Ah that was an idea.

"You told us to practice our spelling, I practiced"

The whole class snickered. If the girl had not been too busy trying to calm her shaking hands, she would've been quite amused as well. The teachers carnivourous face went red, and she pointed her finger. The girl - who had almost fully succeeded in silencing the banging the seemed to appear whenever she was in this class - found her efforts at self calming useless once she realised that the woman was pointing at her. Well more accurately the seat beside her.

"GO SIT OVER THERE AND DON'T DISTURB ANYONE! - We'll discuss the details of your punishment after class."

The people surrounding him said sarcastic wishes of good luck as he packed up his stuff and made his way over to the girl. The girl however couldn't hear them over the sound of her own heart. She barely heard his greeting. But she did, and her reply started a long series of conversations.

She still can't fathom why she interested him in the first place.

----- 2 Years Later -----

The girl jumped, every bit of her on fire at the arm now very suddenly stretched across her shoulder. She looked up - ready to pull out her karate chop but found herself stopped by the familiarity of the face.

"Seriously! I told you not to do that, you freaked the be-jeasus out of me!"

The boy laughed. He'd always found her strange mechanations amusing. In addition with her inability to swear.

"What type of a welcome back is that?"

"Maybe I'd be more inclined to welcome you back if your disappearance wasn't your own fault"

The girl had been quite upset about this actually. She always found herself worrying about him, and this was the worst of them all. He'd been sent to jail! Just the idea of him in jail with all those people at the age of 15! She'd told him not to do these sort of things, hang with those sort of people. But he just wouldn't listen to her. It was beyond frustrating. And when she couldn't meet with him, couldn't see he was okay. For the past 4 weeks she could barely focus on, well anything.

"Don't look at me like that! Like I knew the coppers would come?"

"To hell you didn't! You're smart enough to know that when you do stuff like that the police will come"

She'd moved out of his grasp. The girl couldn't let him touch her. Whenever they touched she couldn't stay mad, or stressed. And honestly that was usually fantastic but now? She wanted to be mad, she had been worried out of her wits about him. She'd told him this was gonna happen. He KNEW this was going to happen. And he'd kept doing it anyway.

"Lily calm down-"

"Calm DOWN! I've been so bloody insanely worried! I haven't been able to calm down since the moment you got locked up! You can't keep doing this!"

The girl then noticed all the eyes on her, she hadn't realised how loudly she'd been speaking. The girl averted her eyes, her heart beating rapidly. The boy put an arm around her, grounding her. Keeping her upright. He carried her along.

--- 1 Year Later ---

"Josh! What the HELL is going on!?"

The boy looked up at the girl with utter shock. He looked down again at the appliances before him, realising what she had just seen and rushed to her. Blocking her view.

"Lily, what are you doing in here?"

"Um I-I-I thought I'd surprise you"

The girl held up a bottle of wine and the bouquet she'd brought. It was his birthday he suddenly realised, that's why she was here. She however didn't seem to be looking at him anymore, but over him to the illegal artifacts scattered around him.

"That's awfully romantic of you"

Her attention returned to him.

"Josh - what are you doing?"

"Currently? Flirting. You?"

She gave him a look, a look that said I'm going to slap you if you don't give me an explanation right now. And it better be a good one. That may sound like a very specific and complicated look to perform, but she'd had alot of experience being the perpetrator of this look. She'd pretty much perfected it.

"Well - you see - I - um-"

"Josh? Stop trying to come up with a lie and tell me the truth"

"My father was out of town and asked me to take care of business for him so yeah"

He said the sentence quite fast, as all confessionists do. He looked at her, and she could tell how hopeless he felt. He looked at her in complete misery, soon embracing her. But no amount of chocolate or joking could remove the deep pit that had embedded itself in her. And she knew he felt the same way.

This wasn't a movie. People don't escape in real life.

They both knew how this would end.

--- 2 Years Later ---

It was bars that surrounded her. And everything was a sickly shade of white. Their where people fluttering around, fluttering over her. It all felt so claustrophobic. So closed. Everyone touching her. She was silent, she found it was all much more bearable in silence. It was different in the room they where guiding her to. But only slightly. It was lavender, and everything smelt of oils. The bars more ornately decorated she supposed. But she was greatful for the break from the noise. And the smell.

They all walked on eggshells around her. Not literally. That might actually be amusing. But it was how they spoke to her, how they touched her. Like she might break. A little ornate glass figurine.

She entered the room.

She always found these people alot like teachers, except they grade your mental state rather then you're tests. She definitely scored worse in that. Though she'd stopped caring about her grade long ago.

They say she's in denial. That she needs to agknowledge what happened. She found it amusing, that they thought she didn't know. She heard them speaking of her sometimes, when she roamed the halls at night. They said she was hopeless. She wholeheartedly agreed. She'd been hopeless from the moment she met him.

She sat. She glanced at the people beside her - but didn't hear them. She didn't hear their whispers. She only heard the banging.

She sat apart.

All my life I was taught to be a soldier.

I even signed up.

When the dream ended, I realized it was never mine to begin with.

A victim of another's lost fortune.

Now, I forge a new path, one that rests on my own deeds.

Much time has passed, a lifetime spent and wasted.

I am young, so they say, but I feel so old.

Each word I lay down is a pulse of light along a grim-lit path.

I write to embrace the past.

I write to know I didn't fail.

I write that I might not feel so lonely.

He enters the coffee shop just after five and nods toward the other patrons on his way to the counter. Diversity is rare this early, and he’s seen them all before. Three of the usual four are there, each having risen prior to the rest of the city for their own unique purpose. He’s never spoken to them, the motives behind their shared predawn ritual left undisclosed, but over time they’ve developed a certain kinship that means some tiny gesture is at least obligatory. They respond in kind. It’s acknowledgment, not invitation for dialogue. None are there for mindless chatter.

He stops in the soft light of the refrigerated display case. Susan, beautiful and somehow stuck working as a barista from 4 A.M. to Noon at thirty-five, greets him warmly. She pours his coffee and stabs an unnecessary splash stick into the spout. It’s habitual. He’s never taken his coffee to go. She knows this, but he’s never corrected the oversight. Her convivial nature allows these minor transgressions. She runs through her usual set of questions, eventually inquiring about his story. He’s not asked about his writing often, so he prattles on too long about plot, subplots, conflict, and theme. She listens carefully, as if it all truly matters to her. He’d like to think she’s really interested. Of course, this may only be an appeal for tips, or perhaps she’s taking the opportunity to hone her customer service skills. Regardless, the smile she flashes throughout his monologue gives a welcome stroke to his ego, and three of his quarters clang into the tip vase. They say their goodbyes, and, after tossing away the splash stick and doctoring his dark roast with cream and sugar, he claims his usual worn leather love seat and melts quietly away.

He stretches and glances at his phone’s cracked display. 7:30. The time has passed quickly. It always does. He packs up, the zest he began the day with fading, and embarks on an interminable three minute drive to the office.

He arrives and swipes his ID card across the front entrance security box. He’s half hoping it doesn’t recognize him and bars him from the building, but a bolt snaps open. He considers leaving his laptop at the door and running for the hills, but he doesn’t have the courage to follow through. Instead, complete apathy sets in, and he enters. The lock snaps shut behind him, trapping him inside with all the other nine-to-fivers. He zigzags through endless halls, trudging bitterly toward his workspace. He reaches it and collapses into his ergonomic feaux leather office chair–his tiny, confined, soft-walled haven sad but welcome. Others pass on the way to their own cubicles. They’re well-rested, ready for work, and excited about the prospects of a new day. Customary greetings and salutations are exchanged. Questions are asked whose answers mean nothing and are often ignored. He smiles and plays along, abhorring this routine. Some, he knows, are sincere. There’s a pervasive glee emanating from them he can’t understand, but he won’t begrudge them their joviality. He hopes they’re all truly happy, but knows there are others out there like him, adrift and treading water in this sea of office minions, business casual bureaucrats, and spike-heeled corporate ladder climbers. Even more appalling are the ones who’ve abandoned themselves to this fate, the ones who think that this is it, that if they can just push through to the weekend, they’ll be okay, the short two-day respite all they ever have to look forward to. It’s a sad and miserable microcosm. He tosses out one last “good morning” and turns toward his computer before anyone else approaches. He places headphones over his ears, shutting everything out but the despair.

_

She wakes at 7:30, as late as she can sleep and still make it to work by 9:00. She permits herself one snooze, then rises, uncertain what good the extra nine minutes has done her. She washes her face, brushes the knots out of her hair, and pulls it back into a ponytail. She knows, at forty, it’s worn its welcome, but she can’t seem to let it go. She examines her neck and jowls in the mirror, scanning for a new crease, sag, or blemish, and grins when she finds none. The reflection isn’t what it used to be, but it appears younger than it is. More importantly, it disguises her threadbare soul. She applies only a bit of make-up, highlighting her better features and masking the imperfections only she notices. She again inspects herself and is pleased with the improvement. One day, maybe soon, she won’t be so easily satisfied.

It takes her ten minutes to decide on an outfit. Like the snooze, she’s allowed for this in her carefully regimented day. She picks through her wardrobe, running her fingers across fabric she knows like her own skin. There’s a solace here, surrounded by the things she had once carefully chosen and found so necessary. She isn’t sure why. A large part of her is shamed by the excess. She flips off the light and stands alone in the dark, the chosen ensemble folded neatly over her arm. Eventually, she exits.

_

He followed along with the conversation, not really listening, but hearing just enough to understand the situation. It sounded like a job for programming, thank God, but he knew they’d ask his opinion at some point, he being the client’s data management contact. His answer is prepared, but he mock-listens another eight minutes before he’s consulted. He clears his throat.

“Have them transfer the data via email. Programming, make this priority until the issue has been resolved. I’ll be in constant contact with MGC, so it’s imperative that you keep me abreast of your progress. MGC is an important client. Let’s be cognizant of this.”

Imperative. Abreast. Cognizant. The higher-ups in the room would eat that up. He was the consummate professional. Consummate. That was good, too. He stowed it away for later.

He glances at the project manager, hoping the answer provided is sufficient. He longs to escape this shiny corporate chamber and wander back to his low-lit cave. Meetings are the one thing all in the office despise. They await the PM’s reply with bated breath, anxious to be granted release. For a brief moment, he almost feels a part of them.

Eventually, the PM nods and speaks. “It’s a start.”

Meeting adjourned.

_

She is content with her day. She enjoys her job. It’s not what she envisioned doing with her life, but, really, looking back, what did she ever envision? She never lent a career much thought. All she ever wanted was to be a good mother and wife, to maintain a happy home. She hoped to find a man who desired the same. Together they’d share that old-fashioned American dream. She sorted through the masses until she found him—at least she thought she had. He was talented, driven. He would do great things, things that would allow her to be what she desired. He had worked so hard, toiling away daily at this story and that script, refining his skills often with classes and workshops. She waited patiently, hoping he would catch a break. He was chasing a ghost. He hadn’t a modicum of success. Now, years later, he languished away at a desk job he despised. Though exhausted, he still managed to write daily, his path somehow still clear before him. He carried on through years of disappointment and heartbreak. She marveled at his tenacity and determination, yet towards her, he had floundered. Why? Marriage took effort he was clearly capable of, but he had relegated their relationship to the periphery. She thought often about where she would be if she’d passed him over and continued her search, or selected another option prior. Had she considered the possibility or probability of their lives together? Though she was doubtless to blame for some of what they had become, it was his cold selfish nature that finally severed the little connection that was there to begin with. She could have walked away a long time ago. Maybe she should have. That’s not what she did.

Instead, she became more career minded. The change in tactics eventually landed her here. This place challenges her. It allows her analytical talents to, if not shine, at least shimmer. Maybe someday she’ll head in another direction, but until then, and, even if things never change, she’ll be okay here. It’s the one place she feels necessary. Leaving is always difficult. Today, like every other day, she chats with a few co-workers on the way out, stalling as long as possible. When she can dither no more, she boards one of the four glass elevators and sinks back down to reality.

_

They’d gone a long way toward resolving the client’s problems by the close of business. Everyone agreed a happy hour had been earned. He found it necessary. The first and second shot relax him. The third and fourth allow him to become an active member of the group. The beers in between cause him to forget, even if briefly, the things that constantly weigh on him.

_

She nearly makes it to the onramp before traffic slows to a stop. Not bad, considering the usual downtown gridlock. She speaks with her mother to pass the time. They have the same conversation four days a week. Only the most rudimentary information passes between them. Her mom eventually asks about him, granting her the opportunity to open up. She tells her he’s okay. The answer is always satisfactory.

“Great, honey. That’s good to hear. Tell him I said hello.”

Her mother digs no further, though the truth is just below the surface. He’s not well. She’s not well. Her mother knows, but she doesn’t want the responsibility of that conversation. Her mother wants grandchildren, though it’s been made clear they aren’t an acceptable topic of discussion. To fight back, her mother reprimands her with a feigned ignorance about everything else going on. There’s an uncomfortable silence before they continue, the truths that teeter precariously between them nudged aside but not forgotten. Mercifully, the call ends after four more minutes of minutiae.

She slips a CD into the dash slot. Something inside snatches it from her and draws it all the way in. Music begins to play as she settles into her seat, readying herself for the long haul. A truck thumps up beside her, its muffler clearly having seen better days. Inside is a man ten years her junior. He’s already noticed her, a sly grin plastered across his face. She smiles back. The ponytail has earned itself another day. Traffic begins to inch forward. She turns her attention back to the road, aware of and enjoying her neighbor’s continued ogling. Something near the steering wheel sparkles in the sun, reminding her who she is. She drops her hand into her lap and peeks down at it. After all these years, it still takes her breath away. He’d hired a jeweler to design the exact ring she wanted. The diamond, an heirloom given to them with the blessing of his family, fit perfectly into the white and yellow gold setting she had sketched out. It was a perfect union. She remembers how often she used to show it off. It gave her such pride. Now it had lost its luster.

_

He arrives home having consumed a false sense of enthusiasm. The alcohol’s clearly been good to him. He grabs a beer from the fridge, lingering a moment in the cool air before retreating. The quiet of the house is deafening. Dread begins to set in, despite his effort to avoid it. He snatches another beer, heads for the den, and scans the room for the remote control. When he doesn’t immediately see it, he leans over the sofa and tosses decorative pillows around until he finds it smashed between two cushions. He falls into his recliner, turns on the TV, and flips through the prime time selections. A subliminal-like montage of everything wrong with America flashes in front of him—reality nobodies made rich (or richer) by their penchant for lunacy and absence of dignity, celebrities who take the podium at award shows and force-feed their opinions to the masses, news stations unabashedly biased and laced with agendas, talk shows that exploit the destitute for amusement, manipulative advertisements that placate our desire to have it all for the low, low price of whatever. Eventually, he gives up trying to find something of substance and stops on a football game. It provides just the sort of distraction he had been hoping for. He wants to eat, having only had an appetizer at the bar, but he fears sobering up. He’s walking a tightrope. It’s a delicate balance, one he’s developed carefully that will allow him, when he finally lies down, to slip through the fingers of introspection and fall gently asleep.

_

She eats alone in the kitchen, the TV in the background airing a program about rich housewives. It provides a welcome white noise. She enjoys a second helping from the family-sized casserole she’s made. She drinks a second glass of wine as well, and, for good measure, gulps down a third for dessert. After placing the leftovers in the fridge, she pours herself a fourth glass, but thinks better of it and leaves it on the counter. She wants to be okay if he arrives for her tonight. It’s why she still wears the ring, why she still prepares such large meals. She stares into the television a moment before turning it off. For years she wondered why anyone would need a TV in the kitchen. Now she knows. She flips off the kitchen light, fleeing the darkness there for that of her bedroom.

_

The post-game interviews begin at 11:30. The losing, eight-million-dollar-a-year quarterback talks about how hard the loss will be to swallow, how he won’t be able to sleep that night thinking about it, and how the pain will stick with him for some time. Such bullshit. He turns the television off. The game had been a rout and provided only the smallest of diversions, but it had been enough. The sudden silence is dense, constricting. He despises it. It reminds him that soon he’ll have to wake up and do all this again. He rises, moonlight guiding him toward a familiar destination. He opens the door and again stands in the cold light. He reaches for another icy can, but decides against it, closes the door, and heads to the bedroom. The darkness there is complete. He sprawls across the duvet, fully clothed. He’ll sleep, but not until his troubled mind has exhausted itself. He doesn’t want this life, and is unsure why it’s become what it has. It’s bent, broken. There’s a bitterness that seethes under the surface. He holds no sway over it. It renders him powerless. He sits up, intending to get that beer after all. It’s his usual defense and would put a stop to this. He reconsiders and lies back down.

_

She doesn’t sleep. She remembers everything-every word spoken and left unspoken. She remembers begging and pleading, the counseling they both attended, the counseling she drug herself to when he refused. She recalls his yelling, something she had resorted to on occasion as well. She’s long since abandoned her efforts. When he went silent, she knew he was finished. Nothing would make a difference. His first blank, wordless stare had been a punch in the gut she’d feel forever. He had a way with words. She used to beam at his well-timed compliments and impromptu terms of endearment. When he declared his love, she always asked “why?” and eagerly awaited his response. It was never disappointing. For years now, they had spoken only when necessary. She knows the next real conversation they have will be devastating. The inevitability keeps her up at night. Respite used to be so easy, but now she tirelessly awaits their fate, her bed a lonely haunted place.

_

He was still awake an hour later, that last beer he didn’t drink solely responsible. She was miles away, in her own little world, probably not sleeping either. He had been unable to speak candidly with her for some time now. It had been years since his needs had been nurtured or considered. He pled for them to be met often, vociferously when required, but the results were always temporary. The desire to speak still reared its head on occasion, but what could he say? They’d both made an oath years ago to take one another ’til death parted them. Had he been too quick to judge others? Was the life they lived another example of a fraudulent America? They had been a sham for years. Theirs had become a false union, the truth bundled up and hidden from the rest of the world. Should he just end things for good? If he spoke, would she even hear? Would it matter? A familiar knot hardens in his chest. If he doesn’t speak soon, even if only to the surrounding all-knowing walls, his bitterness will defeat him again, and maybe for good.

But the words won’t come.

Minutes later he rises, tugs the covers aside, and slips beneath them. He wants to speak, but he’s not done punishing himself. He hates himself for what he’s become. The knot in his chest tightens, nearly incapacitating him. Tears form in his eyes. He gives in to the pain and, somehow, the words escape him. His voice cracks as he speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

The knot loosens. He turns onto his side, wondering if she’s heard.

She has. Something catches in her throat. His words haven’t affected her this way in some time. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath to calm herself. She knows she won’t cry. She had dried up, her supply of tears exhausted long ago, when she thought they could still make a difference. So many things had been said for so long, but never this. Now it was her turn. What did she want? Did she want to continue down this path, as difficult as it may be to traverse? The answer, she realizes, has never changed. She replies calmly to the darkness.

“Me, too.”

The stillness overtakes them again. The fan in the neighbor’s outdoor AC unit kicks on, its familiar rattle welcome. It gives them both a chance to recover. They know more should be said, but the words will have to wait for another time.

He reaches for her in the dark. His fingers brush against the inside of her thigh, just below her panty line. In better times, his fingers would linger there, but it’s not a place he feels welcome anymore. He pulls them away to signal his error. Now that he has his bearings, he moves his hand higher, resting his palm on the slope of her thigh. It’s cold there, but familiar. He feels, just for a moment, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. He’s unsure exactly what it is, but it’s a welcome departure. He closes his eyes.

His fingers feel foreign to her. She had nearly jumped at that first touch. More surprising, it made her feel something she didn’t think possible, something vaguely sexual. Odd. She had used that against him for so long—giving and withholding it as it suited her—that she’d forgotten her own longings. She was shamed and was glad his hand retreated, but pleased when it came to rest elsewhere. Though she finds his touch cold, she allows it. Her dry eyes become wet, but she stubbornly wills the would-be tears away. His touch, his words—what do they really mean? She considers briefly before realizing she’s forgotten to take out her ponytail. She tugs out the band, slips it over her wrist, and, after shaking her hair out, rests her head back on the pillow. She shuts her eyes.

Eventually, they sleep. His hand never strays from her, the coldness between them slowly growing warmer. The AC unit clicks off, and the silence returns. They don’t hear.

As I stumbled forward, the heat smacked my face. It stung my eyes, burned my nose and I felt as if the little skin that wasn’t covered was already burnt toast. My lips, tongue, and throat were parched, and I’d only just arrived. I tilted my head back as I sipped from the camel skin canteen I carried. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and replaced the cap.

When I’d stepped into the machine, trembling, it was late winter at home. I had been sweating, but that was from fear, not heat: Would it work? Would I actually travel through time? Had I and my new mentor eliminated all the flaws or would I be in my lab still? Again. Or worse, would I end up nowhere and merely cease to exist? I’d achieved some sort of success, it appeared, for here I was, melting in the sun. I smiled as I looked around. All I saw was sand, sky and sun. Not my lab, at least. In the distance, I could see something not sand, so I started walking towards it.

Fortunately, I had dressed with the hope that I would indeed arrive, and thus was covered from head to foot, a loose scarf and robe protecting me from the heat. The sandals I wore were comfortable although not quite of the period. I didn’t even know if they wore shoes 2000 some odd years ago, but barefoot on burning sand did not interest me at all.

As I walked, my heart began to pound – not from exertion, or fear, but rather, excitement. If I had calculated correctly, very shortly I would be meeting the man who had had such an influence on human history. A world religion and its many offshoots. I frowned as I thought, and an endless number of wars, the Inquisition, the beheadings of kings and queens, unremitting hypocrisy, pain and death. I wondered: If I tell him of the future, what will he think? What will he do? I was startled out of my reverie by a terrible sound.

“Get thee hence, Satan,” his voice reached me, loud and ominous: as clear as if he were at my side though he was still some distance in front of me. I looked around, but saw no one, nothing. No horned creatures, no snakes, not even what might be considered a fallen angel. My heart skipped a beat. Not even my machine. I wondered if it was no longer visible because it was no longer there. I shook my head and kept walking towards the man who I assumed was he whom I had crossed centuries to meet.

“Do you not hear me? I know you in all your forms, Satan,” he continued, loud, almost echoing, which was rather scary in the desert. I looked frantically everywhere as I approached and still saw no one.

“Stop right there. Your efforts are wasted here. You cannot touch me. I know what I must do,” he said firmly, grimly. I stopped as it dawned on me that he must be talking to me.

“Are you talking to me?” I questioned more than a little confused. I’d been called a lot of things, from brilliant to lunatic; Satan was not one of them. Not even witch.

“Don’t play with me. I know your tricks. Your guises. Should I think you an innocent woman alone in the desert who just happened upon me? Perhaps you’ve just come to wash me, feed me, care for this miserable body that has been burnt by the sun these last 40 days, without significant sustenance, nor the cooling, soothing touch of water…or woman?”

I shivered. “Well, uh, I really don’t know what to say except that I am not who you think I am. My name is…”

“I care not for what name you call yourself. I know who you really are,” he snarled, inches from my face.

“But, um, sir, really, I am just a woman who has always longed to meet you, talk to you.”

“Your first mistake, Satan. I am no one, unknown. How could an innocent, young woman know anything of me were she not in possession of your knowledge? Confess. You come to tempt me, to change me from the path, the path chosen by my father for me to follow, to save men, all mankind from eternal damnation, forever absent from my father’s presence. To save them from you,” he spat out the last words.

I leaned back though I didn’t move, afraid to show my fear. His eyes were wild and red. I could count his ribs; he wore only a loincloth and his skin was burnt by the sun and crusted with dirt. If I were home, I’d look down and hurry by, assuming a recent psychiatric hospital release. But I wasn’t home.

“I know this is going to sound really crazy,” I began, “but I know you because I come from,” I hesitated then continued in a rush,” well, the future and I made a machine that allowed me to come back in time so that I might meet you. And talk to you. I wanted to hear the truths you speak as you spoke them, but I also wanted to share with you some of what is going to happen in the future in the hopes that it might, I don’t know, encourage you to do things differently, maybe…if possible.” I stopped, thinking I sounded like a recent release from the psychiatric ward, too. What had I been thinking?

He smiled an unfriendly smile that did not reach his eyes. “Is that not what you did yesterday, Satan? And all the days before? Show me with your words and pictures the wealth, the kingdoms you might offer me were I to prove myself to you, to follow you and not my father? ‘Turn this stone to bread.’ ‘Throw yourself from this height.’ ‘Kneel before me that I might give you all this, and you might be so great’,” he finished, sweeping his arms around as if presenting the desert to me.

I kept silent, thinking, well, I’m in the right time. He’s in the desert, apparently at the end of the 40 days and he probably hasn’t started seeking his disciples yet. Doesn’t quite look like what I’d expect but he probably cleans up pretty good. And anybody’d look and sound a little crazy after 40 days alone in this heat with no one around, and no food or water from what I could see. No one thinks about the details…

He laughed. “Have you given up so easily this time? I have worn you down, have I? I told you, you have no hope here. I know what I must do.” He turned from me and began to walk away.

“Wait, please! Where are you going?”

He stopped. “I don’t need to tell you. You already know.”

“May I follow you?”

He looked over his shoulder and down his nose at me. “As you wish,” he said sighing, his shoulders hunched forward. “What shall I call you, that I might not put fear in the hearts of men who hear me speak your name?

I smiled. “My name is,” I hesitated. Why had my mother been so unoriginal in naming me? At least he would not think me even more out of place. “Mary,” I finished.

He frowned, eyes hard. “So too is my mother called. You call yourself thus to soften my heart as I think tenderly upon her gentle hands and eyes. I will not kneel before you, you cannot weaken me. Leave me!”

“Please, don’t send me away. I don’t wish you to bow to me or deny your father, or your destiny, or whatever it is that is calling you. I just want to walk with you, know you. And maybe one day, tell you of what I have seen and known…if you’ll listen.

He looked at me, so intently I was sure his eyes could see my heart pounding, read my thoughts as I heard them in my head. “As you wish. It appears my father wishes to test me more. So be it.” He looked up. “As you wish,” he repeated, softly.

“Come, Mary, let us begin.”

As I drew close to him and we began to walk, I said, “If you prefer, you can call me Magdalena. It’s my middle name and that is what my mother always called me. Magda or Maggie for short.” In that instant, I sucked in my breath and covered my mouth. I turned around and knew the machine was invisible because it wasn’t there. My mentor’s name, Dr. Luciverio took on new significance as I guessed who he was and why he encouraged me so in my efforts. And why, in a way, this man before me was correct in his assumptions. What I didn’t know was what was going to happen next. That part of his story was never told, or at least it’s telling did not survive the centuries. Will it this time?

Hey, it’s time! Man after 9 months of this tiny womb, I’m ready for the wide-open spaces. Start pushing Mama!

Oh whoa! You've got to be kidding! Do you really expect me to come out through that tiny opening!? That is going to be one hell of a tight squeeze, oh my gosh!

Huh? Wait, what's that sharp object? Oh, they’re making the opening bigger.

Uh, Um, thanks but that's still kind of small, don't you think? Oh, hey hey hey! What?

Grunting? Hey, don't grunt! Oh, she's grunting!

Oooohh, here I go, right through that opening! Get ready to feel some pain, Mama!

HELLO WORLD.

Hey, What! You spanked my ass!? Whaaaaahhh!

Oh, I'm sticky. Yuk. Hmmm but this towel feels nice. Hey lady wipe this gunk off my face. Yeah, that’s it, just wrap me right up in this towel. Mm nice. Oh hey, who's this? She's smiling at me. Ah, I know you. Mommy?

A finger? Let me squeeze your finger.

Mommy? Hi Mommy.

“As acting captain, I cannot allow this. There are 1000 people aboard this ship.” “Yes, but there are 70 billion people down there on that Planet.”

“No, I protest. When I was appointed acting captain after Dale died, I was appointed the responsibility to protect this ship at all cost... Even if it meant my life.”

Ron watched the view screen. Their weapon, a massive weapon was firing up. He could see the electrostatic glow as it grew brighter and brighter on the end of it. The vessel was several times bigger than the USS Nova. An unbelievably large fraction of the size of the planet it was about to destroy. A planet with billions of people who could die if Pete continues with his protest.

“Pete. There is a thousand of us on this ship. There is billions of people on that planet. Our wives, our sons, our daughters are on that planet. Pete, your unborn grandson is on that planet.”

Pete just stared ahead at the view screen. Ron knew he was weighing the facts in his mind.

“You and I joined the fleet together. And, Pete, when we joined, we took an oath. An oath to protect this planet, to protect this galaxy at all cost."

Pete finished Ron's words, "Even if it meant our lives.”

The two men looked once again on the view screen. Pete considered. ‘The need of that many outweighs the need of us few’. He sat down in the captain’s chair. His trembling hand reached for the comm button on the console.

“Attention Crew. This is Captain Myers. We are about to engage the enemy vessel at ramming speed. We may or may not survive. I suggest that each of you pray your final prayers to whatever god you know.”

Turning off the comm, he gave his orders to the bridge crew.

“Ready engines. Full ramming speed. Phase weapons, full power, torpedoes on continuous fire.”

"Engage."

The USS Nova, speeding with full force toward the massive enemy ship. The torpedoes fired continuously on the ships engines while the phase weapons were concentrated on that long glowing rod like weapon beneath its main hull. A sudden blast of a bright orange red emanated from the back of the enemy ship. Nova’s crew watched as the ship began to crack as the engines burst into flames. The USS Nova continued its collision course with weapons

firing strong. The glow of the enemy ships firing rod began to fade, but suddenly grew a bright once again, greenish yellow, then orange, spreading through the entire rod. The image on Nova’s view screen was suddenly replaced by a blanket of a bright yellowish blinding burnt orange. The image returned seconds later, showing the enemy ship as it burned and was slowly disintegrated by the power of its own weapon.

Ron looked to see Pete with his head leaned back on the captain’s chair. He could see the emotion in the acting captain’s eyes, overwhelmed, trying hard not to cry. Ron even sensed the emotions of the rest of crew, who usually are cheering when the Nova has come through a battle with great success.

All on the Nova's bridge were quiet with a feeling of relief. Aside from what they watched on the view, just imagine the images playing on the view screens of their minds. How, when your time has suddenly come and it all races through your mind, reminding you of the life you took for granted. Each of crew members the bridge just breathed, calming themselves after the realization that they almost died to save their home.

To save the planet Earth.