A small fireplace illuminated the room and its weak heat warmed our dinner. My father killed it this morning, its name was Loyal, he slid the axe through its throat like it was another tree trunk. He asked, before and after the kill, if I knew why it had to be done. I understood, since the war started all supplies were cut off from the rest of the realm.

I carved the flesh with my milk teeth, it had a stronger flavour than any of the rotten fruits we've been eating. Everyone in the kingdom was in the same struggle, even the king. When all cats and dogs are gone, what will we have left to eat?

I looked at father eating Loyal like Loyal ate its meals. He had his back to the fire, very little light reached his face, only enough to show his rough facial features: smooth skin on top of the head with a few white hairs on the side, long nose and a fat chin hidden behind a beard of grey and black tones.

"Where you lookin', boy?"

"Nowhere," I squeaked.

I felt spiky furs scratch my naked feet, in legs too short to reach the floor. I turned my head down to see a rat under the table. It briskly moved away on my sight, it was next to father's feet, its tale slapping his shoes.

The carving knife cuts through its neck, I look to my father looking down at the rat, he takes out the blade and drops it onto the table. He picks his dinner and before giving a bite he says:

"The dog is dead. A rat will do," he looks me in the eyes, "when the rats are gone, a child will have to do. Let's hope we soon win the war."

#HouseBaratheon #GOT #war

°

Roused by the pleading and the distinct sound of a man’s bawling, Fritz came to his senses. He had been hugging his legs in a fetal position on a checkered linoleum floor with small crystals embedded in it that briefly caught his curiosity, and reflected on the glass that was surrounding Fritz in his odd spot that he was still trying to understand. Suddenly, a light switched on, along with the loud sound of heavy electricity, and he could see that he was in the center of Ethel’s Mirror Maze. Not too far from his squatting form, Fritz gazed upon a discarded leather jacket sprawled out on the left side of the room.  At first the jacket had resembled a very scared black cat that lay paralyzed beneath a tall mirror.  The tall mirror was actually a succession of many mirrors, and escaped around a narrow hallway that exited his room. The hallway was also sheathed with mirrors, and it radiated a foreboding evil from it’s entrance that reflected back to Fritz, and sent a chill down his already chilled spine. To the right of him, Fritz could see a network of mirrors that seemed to go infinitely into darkness. The first layer of mirrors appeared to be clear, and allowed the viewer to see different sections of the maze that weren’t visible in any of the jerkier, funhouse mirrors that either stretched one’s height ridiculously tall, or squished one into a bloated midget. As Fritz peered into the one glass segment that allowed him to investigate beyond his limited vicinity, he realized that he could see, albeit in a rather fractured way, a veiled figure who appeared to be struggling beyond the many seeing glass plates in the dark. To Fritz he appeared like a beetle caught in amber; hopelessly lost to a undesired fate. Helplessly, Fritz watched as the tormented figure collapsed to his knees, and then toppled over on his face. This was all the nightmare Fritz needed to see to be petrified with an expectation of heart-pounding doom. Throwing himself to his feet, Fritz flew like lightening through the hallway lined with mirrors that led out of these small confines.  The mirrors repeated themselves over and over again as he ran.  When the hall finally changed, it forked into a multitude of options.  Fritz chose to turn right, and noticed in his flight that sandwiched between the rows of mirrors were planks of wood that had holes burrowed into them. Each hole appeared to be the exact size, and at the right level of a human eyeball. As Fritz came up again at a point where he had to make a decision in his path, he heard cackling laughter, and the gurgle of a throat that sounded as if it were overflowing with vital fluids.  Fritz chose the left direction, and hurried towards what appeared to be a definite outlet.  Slamming his face into a deceptive mirror, he cursed to himself, and spat blood at the glass wall.  Whoever was out there would get him soon, and here he was making the world’s dumbest mistakes. He hastened back from where he came, and took the right path instead, intent on at least solving the brief puzzle that he was now presented with. Thinking back to his past couple times frequenting this attraction in the past, Fritz chastised himself for never trying to get further in the maze then he did.  He would only drift here, and there, and then when his mind started to crawl back towards the bottle hid in his hotel, he’d give up, and walk home without any sense of revelation.  Fritz clawed at the glass walls, and bucked against them, but they were held firmly in place.  He rounded another corner in a huff, and glimpsed a slot in the wall that slid off into blackness.  Sucking in his gut, he slipped into the small fissure, and found himself in the shadowy backroom of the Mirror Maze.  Relieved to be somewhere different where he face wasn’t scowling back at him in desperation, but still anxious at every odd shape in the darkness, Fritz kept his back to the wall as he scanned the room as best he could for an exit that would lead him outside.  Someone’s breathing was quite audible now and almost seemed echoed similarly like the mirrors reflected his image.  The breathing sound increased his anxiety, as it seemed to resonate through the entire building.  As Fritz tip-toed towards what looked like a steel door in the unlit gloom, he pushed against it, and as the door cracked open, Fritz stared down at a woman bent, and writhing over a man who’s bare toes were pointed up at Fritz. She gaped up at him with eyes as black as midnight, and a face completely drenched in gore. She was chewing on something rubbery, and the man on the floor was still fluttering in a pool of his blood.  His legs and arms continued to flutter like a dying butterfly as the life left his mauled body.  His stomach was scissored open, and his intestines were exposed to the open air. Fritz sprung from his shock, and slammed the door behind him just as the deadly woman dragged herself to her feet.  The whole time her eyes were continuously locked with Fritz, and held his gaze.  Her face tightened into an ugly snarl that spoke the promise of his death.  Fritz finally shut out the face with the steel door of the cooler that the woman had been crouched in.  He attempted to lock the door, as he had backed up from in horror, but found no latch to the door. Changing tactics, Fritz desperately felt all along the walls for a light switch. A low growling sound could be heard from the room where he had witnessed the murder of the man that he imagined owned the motorcycle jacket. At long last, Fritz felt a draft of cold air on one of his hands that was probing the dark for an on/off button. He was able to pop his head through the opening, which might have at one time been a window to the outside. Fritz heard the steel door behind him swing open as he recklessly raked half of his body over the broken shards that lay scattered on the ledge of this opening. He tumbled outside on some wet sod, and immediately scrambled towards the nearest hill, and let his body roll and roll, with his hands catching clumps of dirt along the way, until he had put a vast distance between himself, and that ill-fated Mirror Maze.

Fritz laid still for quite awhile, staring up at the legion of stars in the night sky. When he finally felt like he was safe in the silent darkness of the night, he took a roundabout way to exit the fairgrounds.  He had discovered this route one night, in search of a place to throw up his lunch, from a day drunk, out of sight of busy patrons. He was drifting towards the spicate fence that led out of the park just as a grubby hand shot out of the dark, and pressed his palm into it's vise-like grip.  Fritz gasped, and then recognized the fortune teller, an ancient gypsy with a crinkled complexion. The old man was fondling Fritz's silver wristwatch, that flickered like a diamond in the moonlight.

“Where you get such a fancy clock, fella? I never seen anything this fancy in all my years. No never seen nothing this fancy...No, nothing ever like this...”

Fritz gazed at the man in vague amusement. It was really only a knock-off of a much more luxurious timepiece, but he thought that if he gave the fortune teller his shiny watch that maybe he could get out of this dangerous atmosphere that he still remained on the periphery of.  He had no way of knowing how far off that psycho bitch was.

“You want it, it’s yours, I don’t really use the fucking thing anyway,” Fritz said as he let the watch spill into the gypsy’s hand of leather.  Fritz shivered from the cold, and looked off into the distance, distracted by his fate.

“No, no, you cannot go until you let me read you your scalp! I must repay you for this most generous act of kindness!”

The short, old man drew Fritz to the ground with his hand, and then darted behind him playfully. He started muttering an odd limerick of some kind as the reluctant Fritz waited to feel the aged fingers of the old coot on his thinning patch of hair.  Fritz bowed to get it over with, sighing because of this inconvenience.  Instead the gypsy grabbed him by the wrist and swiftly cinched both hands behind his back just as the blood-thirsty woman from the Mirror Maze burst out of the bramble in a mad rage.  As her eyes flashed, she advanced upon Fritz in his state of helpless captivity.  The old man laughed out loud, and Fritz knew that this was...

...THE END

©

2017

Bunny Villaire 

I'm feeling freaking frustrated, 

foes, friends, and family finding faults, 

flipping fervor for fear, 

fickle freedom, 

while flattering financial feats fondle fiction, 

foolish friction fraternize fair fantasies far from fantastic, 

fire flamed filled fences, 

forced father fatalities, 

fetal fraternity facilities feeding feminist fish foods, 

fingers forgetting fundamental functions, 

fuel fees, frantic freeway flux, and fleeing focus fade frontal foresight, 

false flight falling fifty-five feet fornenst a feeble fringe fathoming future fulfillment, 

fist of fury fighting ferocious phenomena fending folding figures funneling flaky facts, 

futile fashion, fruitless freelance, 

frivolous frequencies flooding favorable fellowship, 

fiending freakish foreign forsaken flavors framed in familiar fabric, 

flying phobia, failing phobia, 

forward footsteps filming the finale following frustration.

Chapter 12 – Hell on Earth

As we left the plane and walked to customs many hugs were shared among the passengers. Nervous apprehension surrounded me as we left customs and headed into the airport to find the promoter. I wasn’t expecting to see TV cameras and journalists in the greeting area to interview people from the “lost flight”. There were even a couple of entertainment writers waiting to talk with the Americans.

“Sir, what would have to say to the president of the airline who is standing over there?” I was asked.

“I’d ask him if Mickey or Donald was helping run the airline.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well the entire situation was handled in a Mickey Mouse way. We were left in the dark. It was cartoonish.”

The promoter grabbed me by the arm and hastily pulled all three of us into a waiting car.

“Was it that bad?” his cute assistant asked.

“It was far worse that that. I’ll tell you over drinks later.”

“I look forward to it.” she said with a big smile. 

The promoter pointed to sights along the way and lots of nice buildings and big homes. Conversely there were mostly older cars and people wore out-of-date clothes. The few black people we saw really looked bad. On the other side of the freeway were weather-beaten dwellings. There wasn’t much going on over there.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s Soweto. It’s not as bad as you’ve been told.”

“Well, it looks pretty bad to me.”

“Our blacks have it better than anywhere else in Africa.”

“You said we were going to be able to use black and white musicians and singers. Is that still happening?”

“Yes. You’ll meet some of them tonight at Alfie’s club.”

“Alfie’s club has the best music and great food.” his assistant offered.

Greg piped in, “I’m looking forward to meeting the people who will be helping us.”

“You’ll be impressed,” the promoter said proudly. “We’re almost at the hotel.”

The area we were entering resembled Westwood Village in Los Angeles. Lots of trees, nice shops and apartment buildings dotted the streets. As we pulled up to the hotel, two black bellmen came out with a white guy. The white guy led us into the lobby. The General Manager and his assistant waited for us at the desk.

The GM came over, “Welcome to the Claridge. I am Klaus Verhooven. I am the General Manager. If there is anything at all you need while you are here, please let me know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Verhooven.”

“Please call me Klaus.” He said as he led us to the desk. “This is Anton, my assistant.

Katie is our Front Desk Manager. They are here to help you as well.”

Katie was beautiful, tall slender and amazing eyes. She organized all the paperwork we needed to sign to check-in, “Mr. Karlsruher, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Please call me Rick and thank you.”

“Everything gets billed to me. In fact, have them all checked-in under my name,” the promoter told Katie.

“Certainly.” Anton said as he handed the promoter all the paperwork.

It took the promoter and his assistant Anya a few minutes to fill out all registration documents. I guessed they wanted to keep our names off the books to avoid any potential problems or keep the press away. After they did, I asked, “Katie could you get me a copy of everything for my records.”

“I’ll have it done in about fifteen minutes, if that’s soon enough. I’ll have it all in an envelope for you here at the desk.”

“Thank you.”

Klaus and Anton joined Anya and the promoter in the elevator with us. There was plenty of room for the bellmen to ride up with us, but they were forced to take another elevator. They got to our floor before we did. One took Greg and Betty to their room. The other came with Klaus, Anya and me to my room. A few steps from the room, one of bags slipped off the cart. Instinctively, I reached to pick it up.

Klaus looked stunned, “Please no. That’s what we have those people for sir.”

I was stunned. Yeah, if blacks were treated better than we heard as the promoter kept telling us, this didn’t show it. Klaus opened the door and showed into the room. The bellman put my bags into the closet leaving the small one on a bench by the bed. I reached to tip him and saw a bizarre custom we would see from now on in South Africa. The bellman grasped his wrist with one hand as his other hand opened and his head was tilted down so as not to look directly at me. I intentionally over tipped the bellman to overcome the slight paid him on the way to the room. Klaus opened the drapes to show a panoramic view of the entire city.

“Is everything to your liking?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Then I’ll be going.” Klaus said as he left and closed the door.

Anya smiled. “I guess I’ll be leaving, too. This looks very comfortable.”

“Yes, it does. Tonight should be fun.”

“I think it will be.” She said moving closer to me. She put her arm around my waist, leaned over and kissed me. She moved away, then back to me and kissed me again. “It does look comfortable.”

As I walked her to the door, she turned and we kissed again this time with tongues. Tonight was looking very good indeed. She left.

I unpacked a bit and went down to the front desk to get my copies of the check-in materials. Arriving at the desk, Katie came out motioning me to have a seat in the lobby.

“I wanted to explain everything to you,” she said as we sat. She spread the papers on the table.

“It doesn’t sound like you are from South Africa.”

“I’m from Kenya, but there isn’t much opportunity for me there.”

“As nice and smart as you seem to be, I find that hard to believe.”

She blushed, “Thank you so much, but we don’t have many hotels in Nairobi where I'd have the possibility for advancement.”

“I like your ambition.”

Her smile and her eyes lit up the room as she explained all the sign-in materials.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you came a long way alone. You’re not married?” she asked with a smile.

“No, and I think my girlfriend broke up with me just before we left.”

“She’s not very bright.”

I was blushing, “Thank you.”

Yes, we were flirting. It was innocent, but it was also great. I think she noticed I was puzzled.

“It looks like you have a fan in Anya.”

“I might, but I don’t get it. We barely said three words. To be honest, I am a little uncomfortable. I hope she’s not setting me up. That could pose problems.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Several people walked in together from a minivan. There was only one other person behind the desk.

“It looks like your friend might need your help.”

She shrugged, “I guess so.”

She was amazing and so nice. I knew there was great potential for headaches here. How to navigate these obviously treacherous waters baffled me. Anya wanted me and if I screwed this up she could make my stay extremely uncomfortable. Why did Katie have to show up?

Anya picked us up at about 8 PM. Katie had left by then. Anya came directly to my room. She did look really good. We spent about half an hour fooling around before going to get Greg and Betty. I felt really bad about that. I was thinking about Katie.

Alfie’s club was on a bizarre street. The street was surrounded by walled homes. Part of the sidewalk was a boardwalk similar to the one in Atlantic City. The rest was very old cement. The stores were old and rundown. Through the windows, you could see empty shelves. What was for sale appeared old and patched together. The outside world’s economic sanctions were choking South Africa.

Alfie’s place was tired and dingy. The bar was more of a counter-top than a real bar. Each table was different than the next and no two chairs seemed to match. The clientele was mixed which shocked me. What was more surprising were the pictures on the walls. They included Mick Jagger, John Lennon, Hugh Masekela and many others hung in the dusty room. This was long before Photoshop. I couldn’t believe all those superstars would be able to find this hole in the wall.

As I looked around, the steaks looked good, but It didn’t look like they had more than one bottle of each kind of booze, a few bottles of wine and a refrigerator containing a couple of cases of beer. There were lots of people here. Was Alfie going to run out of booze? I was very confused. Alfie’s didn’t seem to have enough product for this big a crowd.

Shortly after we sat down, the promoter leaned over to me, “You’ve had a tough trip. I think you should take two days off to get your bearings and get over the jet lag.”

“Do we have the time?”

“It’s better to wait a couple of days than to do it over.”

“That sounds good. Thanks.”

A young black kid and an older white guy went up on stage with guitars. The white guy started playing some tasty, jazzy blues riffs. He was so smooth. The kid couldn’t have been more than 16-18 or so. I figured it was teacher and student. The kid mirrored the older guy’s riffs but with a little more rock flavor. The kid slowed down and looked at his guitar. He tapped with his fingers. He tapped the strings. Then he stretched them a little. I don’t know what he did next but instantaneously his guitar soared. The place erupted. He went higher and higher. The old guy started playing co-lead. It was beyond amazing.

I looked at the promoter, “Please tell me these guys are going to play with us.”

He smiled, “The night after tomorrow you’ll hear your drummer, bass and horns.”

“Are they this good?”

“Yes.”

I was very happy. A large black man came over to the table with an Indian woman. The promoter stood up and greeted him. “Rick, this is my friend Lefty. He went to university in America.”

“Nice to meet you, Lefty. Where did you go to school?”

“I got an MBA from Harvard.”

“Would you mind if I asked you a question?”

He started laughing, “I’ll answer it before you ask it. I came home to train the next generation of blacks so that some of us will be ready when apartheid ends.”

“Doesn’t that make you a marked man?”

“Well, I represent several white companies who want to do business in the townships.”

“Do your employers or the police know what else you do?”

“I keep the two separate and I make the distilleries I represent a lot of money. Would you like to come to Soweto tomorrow night?”

“Is it safe for me?”

“I’ll call the hotel and meet you in the lobby.”

He saw my nervousness,” I don’t know how to put this...”

“How can a black man get into your hotel if he isn’t an employee?”

“Are you psychic?”

Lefty laughed. “Believe it or not, I’m not black.”

I think Lefty was the blackest person I have ever met, “What?”

“You see, I have two white great grandmothers. That makes me colored.”

Anya, the promoter, Lefty and his girlfriend were all laughing at my confusion.

His girlfriend tried to explain, “Indians and coloreds have rights Africans don’t. Lefty and I can travel if we are willing to wait.”

Lefty entered, “Hospitals and schools are much better for coloreds than for Africans.”

“Do I even want to know how people know the difference?”

“Being American you won’t like it,” Lefty explained, “It’s on your birth certificate and identity papers. It follows you all your life and you can’t change it. People try to buy colored birth certificates. It also lets you live in better places.”

I was shaking my head. “Aren’t there about ten times as many blacks as whites in South Africa?”

Lefty laughed, “Now you are making yourself a target. They have all the guns and we can’t vote…yet. So, would you like to join me and see how the other part of South Africa lives?”

The promoter wasn’t happy about this turn of events, but I had to do it. If it were very dangerous or if I could get into trouble, wouldn’t the promoter or Anya jump in to stop me?

“I’d like to do that Lefty.”

Lefty nodded respectfully to me. That made my night.

The steak was wonderful, and the music continued to be great. Several other people sat in and a wonderful black lady sang. It was an incredible night.

As it got later, Anya’s hands found several parts of me. One under the table, the other had her fingers running through my hair. Normally, I’d be loving it knowing what was inevitably about to happen. I didn’t know how to stop it short of faking being sick.

Was I really falling for Katie? How could I explain this to her tomorrow? Katie saw what was going on with Anya and seemed to try to understand. But would she understand me coming back to the hotel the next morning or Anya leaving when Katie was working? It’s one thing to talk about something like this in the abstract. Even a great person would have significant challenges to be accepting of activities like the ones that were about to happen if they would see them up close.

Was the good part of me finding its way through the fear and despair? Could I break through the fog that was enveloping me?

I can’t make any excuses for spending the night with Anya. I did it. That’s what happened. She had to be at work early and dropped me off at the hotel before Katie got to work. I went to my room, took a shower and went to sleep. A few hours later I woke up and called Greg’s room. He wasn’t there. I had to go through the lobby on the way to the pool to find him. As I got there, Katie was going on a break. She motioned for me to meet her outside.

We met on the street on the street a couple of doors down. Her smile was brilliant. I had trouble looking her in the eye. She leaned over and held my hand.

“It’s OK.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s scary down here. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do.”

I held her hand tighter and laughed, “Would going to Soweto tonight with a black guy fall into that category?”

“Please be careful. But you want to see it for yourself, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“I’ve got to get back to work. Please be careful.” She leaned over and we kissed sweetly and briefly.

Chapter 13 – Seeing The Real South Africa

“You aren’t actually dumb enough to go to Soweto are you?” Greg asked.

“Yes, Lefty is coming by in a couple of minutes.”

“My uncle can’t protect you there.”

“Right.”

“You don’t think we have protection down here.”

“I’m not sure. This isn’t like California or New York or even Europe.”

This was the first time I had seen Greg off his game. I kept thinking about how odd it was. Greg took off.

Within a couple of minutes, Lefty came into the lobby to get me.

“Are you sure you want to join me tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t think any less of you if you don’t.”

“I gave you my word.”

“You don’t have to be macho. You will hear things and see things you’ve never seen. You’ve got a good heart. Some of this will hurt you. I’m here if you need me.”

That frightened and soothed me. What was I about to see and hear? There was a three-year-old top-of-the-line BMW out front.

“Is that yours?”

“One of mine.” Lefty said chuckling.

“How?”

“I went to Harvard,” he said slapping me on the back.

We got into the car and started our drive.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Thinking he was talking about, Anya I responded, “Not really. I can’t figure out how not to be involved with her.”

“Not the girl from last night; the one who works at the hotel.”

“How the hell did you know that?”

“It was in her eyes as you left. I understand your dilemma. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Remind me never to play poker with you.”

“Get ready. We are about to enter our hell. Remember hell is a location, not the people who are forced to be in that location.”

He was being very serious. He truly loved the people of Soweto. It’s the only explanation of why he stays when he doesn’t have to. Within less than a mile we went from world-class freeway to potholed streets and ending on an uneven gravel and dirt road. How could this happen so quickly? If this were the overt face of the community, what could be lurking out of sight?

There were burned out cars and junk on the street. We went past hovels. I felt myself getting ill. Lefty saw my face and body language. He patted me on the back.

“It will get better, but there is worse.”

“Worse than this?”

“Much worse. You couldn’t handle it. The world knows but doesn't want to tell the whole truth.”

“How...”

He cut me off, “There are evil people. Like it or not, there are many of them in this country.”

We turned off onto a semi-paved road. Soon there were small but basically clean yards. Clean in comparison to the hell we had just seen. These people tried.

Lefty turned into a driveway. There were lots of people in the yard. I heard laughter and music. Getting out of the car, I saw a lady sitting at a card table with a cigarette box taking money.

“What’s this?”

“The government won’t allow us to have bars in our own townships. This is what we call a shebeen. It’s like a moving club or party. The person whose home we use charges a small fee to pay for the food and liquor. Hopefully, they will make a small profit. Every penny is huge here.”

“The government won’t even let you have your own bars?”

“They are doing everything they can to keep us from building an African middle class. The government understands how dangerous that could be.”

Lefty paid our fee. We went into the living room. People were eating, drinking and having fun. My presence startled a lot of them. Lefty laughed.

“This is my friend from America. His name is Rick. He bravely wanted to see our township for himself rather than listening to the Dutch tell him how phenomenal it is.”

There were cheers, which made me very self-conscious. An older man brought me a drink and welcomed me to his son’s house.

A man about thirty approached, “Are you the American from the paper?”

“What are you talking about, sir?”

A lady said, “You were on the front page of the Joburg newspaper with your comments about your flight. It’s was very funny.”

Lefty was laughing, “I didn’t know I was bringing a star. What did you say?”

“Given the fact it took three days to fly from Brussels to Joburg, I asked if Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck happened to be running the airline.”

Lefty was laughing loudly, “You may have to watch your back. The Dutch don’t like people talking to them the way you did.”

A couple of other people clapped. Others stopped by to welcome me and tell me they would look after me. I was really touched. Some of these people clearly had little to nothing but they were willing to help a stranger.

“It’s not a game, young man,” an elegantly mannered old man said to me. “You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

“Understand what, sir?”

“For instance, calling me “sir” would make you a target to any white who heard you.”

“No.”

Lefty looked over. He was quite serious, “Jambo is right. Forget compassion, forget manners, and for your own safety you must think more like they do. We will understand.”

“You can do more quietly listening and taking our stories home with you. Tell them to all who will listen.”

“But I’m a nobody back home.”

“We are nobodies here. Who better to tell our story?” A very old lady said quietly.

Soon the party was breaking up. I received lots of hugs and wishes of good luck. Lefty and I got into the car to head back to the hotel.

“You can’t let anyone see you like this ever while you are here.”

“Why?”

“It won’t be safe. Your story while in South Africa is that you went with me to my cousin’s house for dinner and a few drinks.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You have to do this. You can’t even tell the kid you brought with you. The reality is I’d bet at least one person in the shebeen was a paid Security Police informant.”

“You are talking crazy.”

Lefty pulled the over to the side of the road. “Not listening to me is crazy. You may have been active in all sorts of protests in college in the US. If you did one here, you could end up dead. Please Rick, listen to me. I know asking you to do this is wrong. But you are my friend. Please let me look out for you while you are in my country.”

This scared me more than anything I had ever heard. I was trembling. “I went to your cousin’s house. We had dinner and drinks.”

“Thank you.”

It was still early when we got back to the hotel. I followed the company line at breakfast the next morning with Greg, Betty, the promoter and Anya. It was difficult, but I did it.

A little while later Greg and I decided to walk the few blocks to downtown. All of a sudden, I heard the screeching of tires and brakes. Then there was the unmistakable thud of a car hitting a person, then another person, then a light pole. I looked up to see a minivan wrapped around a pole. Two white people were on the ground. Several cops appeared out of nowhere. They helped those two victims. A black lady was on the ground bleeding. Three cops surrounded her. They didn’t help her. Ambulances helped the white people and the driver. The black lady was bleeding and crying.

“Aren’t you going to help her? She might die. Make a tourniquet at least.”

“Move along, kaffir lover. You don’t expect me to touch that, do you?”

I was on the verge of attacking the cops. Greg grabbed me and pulled me as hard as he could. I was sick. I was trembling. I pushed him away and ran. I just ran.

I had seen the pure evil all those people told me about last night. They told me so matter-of-factly that it seemed surreal. We were living in the last quarter of the twentieth century. This couldn’t be happening.

To this day, I still cannot fathom the level of their indoctrinated madness and evil. It was incomprehensible to anyone with a soul.

I had to be perfect. My first test was upon me. Katie was working. I tried to hide my pain and revulsion.

“Hi.” She was beaming. Then she looked at me, ran from behind the counter and dragged me into an office. “What happened?”

I couldn’t say anything. I tried, but nothing came out of my mouth.

“You saw the accident.”

“Yep.”

She hugged me. I could feel her tears on my neck.

I remember my body giving way as we hugged. To this day, I break into a cold sweat thinking about that morning. I still can’t comprehend the level of inhumanity I saw that morning.

Personal Data:

Better Late Than Never

Reality, memoir ties in with with another fiction title

70,000 words

Rick Karlsruher

Trident represents many true life stories that show the world to readers and include famous people in them.

The hook is life is truly stranger than fiction – another hook is you can get another book that is naturally paired with this one that is about a very hot topic in the world that is 100% opposite of this book. We can pair an outrageously humorous book with this terrifying true story.

A Story Almost Told tells of my real life odyssey trying to get a movie made. It starts out innocently and has many famous people innocently involved. Included in the story are stories that are individually amazing, but taken, in toto, defy any logic or rationality. From the beginning, it is amazing. The IRS and FBI use my dream as bait in a sting. We get to see the true horrors of apartheid in South Africa and immediately thereafter the opulence of Monte Carlo and even being arrested in New Orleans. There is much more.

The Target audience is anyone who enjoys excitement, seeing different places and real life. 

I’d say the age group is 21+.

I have had an interesting life. I have done writing, music producing and international marketing. I even started a website to help new/undiscovered authors that has had over 6,000,000 page views.

As a platform, I have about 1700 Twitter followers, an email list of about 8000. I am an amazing interview. With Trident’s access and the publisher’s web, we’ll make both books major hits and likely get movie deals.

I have a degree in communications from Wake Forest University.

My style is conversational. I draw people into the story and make them think they are there. I’ve been told my personality is a bigger than life.

I love sports, movies, comedy, reading, music and being with people.

I live in Huntington Beach, CA.

The end of the day. An entire day of work and she proudly walks out of the police station with neatly tied brunette hair, carrying as much energy as when she went in. Melissa was always like that, when she loves something, nothing can make her bored of it, not even for a second. I do wish she loved more things like she does her work. She never admitted that she concealed a hatred for her last job. I’m happy I could give her this gift- I know she only joined the academy due to my death.

She never left my sight since that day- well, that’s not completely true- I do also look after my other special girl. Tomorrow is her first school day. I'll have to keep an eye on her. I know how hard the first day can be. Melissa knows it too, she has been drowning in stress for a week; the first thing she took out of her locker was a pack of gum and chewed them all like it was her first meal of the day. It doesn't take long for them to lose their bland taste. Eventually, she checks on our girl as she pulls out her phone on the way to the parking lot.

"Hi Mum," her voice is usually quite deep to assert dominance, but she never puts on that facade with family. "How's everything? Is she nervous for tomorrow?"

"Everything's lovely." Maybe because I'm from a rural part of England to me her mum- Eleanor- always seemed to have a sort of 'posh' British accent. "We've been playing games, like match the cards. I'm knackered, she's giving me quite the struggle. She will be the student with the best memory in her year."

"To be fair Mum, how hard can it be to win against a sixty-year-old?" While she takes out her car keys, I see something move inside her car- the arm of a man- hidden behind the driver's seat. "Ok Mum, could you please pass it to Ellie."

"Hi Ma'!"

"Hi, Sweetheart." The sound of the door closing brought a flinch upon him. "Are you nervous for tomorrow?" I get a glimpse of the man's knife as he slowly pulls it out of his pocket.

"No, Nan says I'll be the most smart girl of the school."

"Yes, ya' will be!" She casually puts the keys in the ignition and turns on the engine.

"Nan's saying fo' you not to talk with me when you're drivin'."

"I'm not." She laughs, and the man stands a bit straighter.

"She sayn' she can hear the vrrm vrrm."

"Ok, fine. I'll see ya' at home darling. Bey, Sweetie."

She hangs up the call and looks up to the mirror to see the man quickly trapping her hair with his big bear hands, as she tries to open the door, but he's able to bring both her arms above her head and holds them with one hand while bringing the knife to her throat.

"You scream and I'll kill you." He cut off her shirt with the knife, she tries to fight it and the bastard brings back the knife to her throat. "Don't move, b*tch." As he pulls his hand, she bends forward and bites his hand deep, her teeth scratch his bone and disarm him. The knife tumbles next to the seat. He stiffly moves forward as he tries to reach the lost blade, she frees her arms and grabs his shirt by the chest and hits him- head to head. He gets dizzy from the hit and again she attempts an escape, but his fist strikes her face, and again. I try to give her strength. It's the only thing I can do. He grabs her throat with both hands. "I can't trust you now!" She tries to reach the knife next to the seat but it's too far. She won't reach it! She can't even see it, I try to tell her: more left, further, further! She's almost there. "Now you have to die."

With a struggle, she finds strength to say what could be her dying words: "You too." She immediately engages the gear and moves the car briskly through the park and crashes into a street light- they both fly out of the window!

Their bodies just lay there, dying the floor red. I know she's alive. Her soul has not yet joined me, neither has his- I will personally escort him to Hell if need be. Now, I can only wait and hope that someone will hear the silence of my cry for help.

*

The voices around me are dead whispers failing to arouse my attention, my only focus is on her face, illuminated by the light of the young morning. She's resting so peacefully, being purified by the whiteness of the blanket embracing her.

Please, don't give up, you're going to be alright! I won't leave you until you 're awake. Remember? 'Until death do us apart.' Not even then.

"It seems someone is waking up," said the Doctor as she gets closer to the next bed, where He rests. "No, sir, don't get up yet. You need to rest."

"Where am I?"

"You're in a Hospital, sir. Can you tell me your name?"

"Ralph. My name is Ralph."

She then proceeded to ask several questions about his identity and what happened.

"Sir, do you remember what happened last night?" Ralph's eyes rapidly searched the room, he tries to contain his grin in seeing Melissa sleeping next to him.

"Yes, me and my girlfriend were... having fun, you know? And she accidentally stepped on the throttle."

"Your girlfriend?" Says an old man in a bed in front of him. "Aren't too old for her? What are you? 50?"

"Mr Johnson, please."

Ralph looks around the room to see who else is in it- just a nurse on her way out.

"I apologise for him. I should also inform you that we contacted Miss Campbell's mother, she said she's coming today."

I can hear his cracking voice whispering "Miss" and then responding "Oh... That's good to hear. Hum... could I be left alone with my girlfriend? This was very emotional and I want to... express myself." He starts getting up.

"No, no, sir. You need to rest, please, just relax, we'll take care of her..." A beeping sound interrupts her. "I have to leave, please, just rest." Not even a second after her disappearance into the empty corridor and Ralph starts getting up.

"What are you doin', you inbred?" Said the old man "Get back to bed. A kiss ain't wakin' her up- she ain't sleeping beauty."

"What would you know about waking things up with your old m*nge." He closes the curtains around Melissa's bed and cautiously pulls the pillow from where her head lays.

I reach her pale hand and try to imagine the smoothness of her skin, with a desire for her soul to hear my words: 'Seeing your beauty everyday suppresses my grief, not the beauty of your now grey eyes or of your tender hair, but the beauty I fell in love with- your passion and fighting spirit. You're not going to let it end like this. You're going to fight for justice, you're going to fight for you, you're going to fight for your daughter!' I believe my words were heard as I see her fingers twitching as if sparks of energy were running through her arm.

Ralph holds the pillow near to her face, the whiteness of the pillow swallows her nose. The sound of the curtains being pulled banishes the deadly white cloud from her skin.

"I was just fluffing her pillow!"

"Hello Mr Hancock," Said an old doctor with a frown sharply carved in his mouth, "Having women problems again, I see. Please go back to your bed. You know, most people I meet are very forgettable, even when they're dying they can be very monotonous; but you and your idiocy will always persevere in my memories. Please go to bed." Ralph finally complied. "Just last week I was laughing about your situation." He gives a mocking smile. "First, you're mysteriously stapled in the genitals and now, you had a car crash while trying to be 'playful'." A group of nurses comes in and starts taking Melissa's bed away.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Calm down, Mr Hancock. We're just taking her away to ask her a few questions about what happened when she wakes up- it was my suggestion."

"I told you what happened!"

"I have no right to doubt you, but seeing that you're on the sex offenders register and how last time your story was... dubious, to say the least... I find it better if no misleading factors influence her memory, to gather the best recall of what happened." Ralph stands up again. "Mr Hancock, go back to bed!" Says the doctor while blocking Ralph's way to her bed.

"This is not your job! You can't do this!... Hey! She's waking up." He pushes the doctor out of the way and grabs the bed.

"Where am I?"

"You're in a hospital, Miss Campbell, we're just going to take you away to ask you a few questions. Actually, can you tell me if you do know this man?" He leans forward to hear the answer while Ralph tries to pull his head away from her view.

"Miss who?" She asked- leaving the room in complete silence, soon interrupted by the doctor.

"Do you not recall your name?" She shook her head. "Can you recall anything about yourself? Address, family, friends..." She repeated her answer.

Ralph leans forward and caresses her cheek. "Don't worry, I'm here. I'll help you remember, sweetheart."

Our last stop. The group was already tired and with low spirits after the first Auschwitz camp, where we saw the famous gate “Arbeit macht frei”. The weather seemed to fit our mood, heavy rain falling from the grey clouds onto my black umbrella. On the way to the entrance, something peculiar caught my eye: One girl, about 14, wearing the Israeli flag like a cape and dancing on the train railways, moving her cape like Dracula, Zorro and other childish movements. I checked to see if anyone else was as intrigued as me, but the large group showed little interest to this peculiar girl. She suddenly stopped, with her head looking down, picked up one of the coal black stones of the tracks and went back to her dance -with a smile.

We were divided into groups, each about ten people, but no one showed comfort to chat, we instead quietly heard the brutal drops of rain falling in the mud.

"I know we're all down," said the leader of my tiny group "it's been a long day, it was not meant to be uplifting." He stepped on the railway tracks, each foot over a metal snake. "There's something I want to tell you, whatever it is you're going to feel, whatever way you deal with it- it's your experience. There is no wrong way of experiencing this... place." And so it started.

The old wooden barracks gave us cover from the sky’s water bullets. I always liked to say that I have a “good imagination” though I found out that this is not always a good thing; as I had to imagine 400 men all sleeping in this cold room, and the number increased every day. I remember wondering about the little things: “Who built this? Were they content about its use?” Apparently no, they didn’t even know about it, as this was built for 52 horses. It was hard to focus on my thoughts, the cold wind would slide through the fist-sized gaps between the wall and ceiling, and the wall and ground. Not even my leather jacket was enough to keep me warm. I fail to imagine the burning cold that the prisoners must've felt during nights of winter, with their thin striped clothing and the dirt floor covered with ice. All sleeping together, sharing each other's heat- all 800 of them. 52, 400, 800... I'm not just saying numbers to be accurate after researching them. No. These numbers have stuck in my head for two months. My imagination made sure I wouldn't forget.

The camp didn't seem to have an end- I know that describing something as "not having an end" is a bit of a cliché, but it truly felt like it: with no trees and no buildings remaining from one side of the camp to the other- just grass, hidden by the thick fog. Its emptiness gave me the sensation that I was standing still- walked and walked but nothing change.

At the end, behind the end of the tracks, was the memorial, many people didn't seem to appreciate it: Huge pieces of stone, no sculptures, just big square stones. Alongside it, big metal squares with the words:

"FOR EVER LET THIS PLACE BE A CRY OF DESPAIR AND A WARNING TO HUMANITY, WHERE THE NAZIS MURDERED ABOUT ONE AND A HALF MILLION MEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDREN, MAINLY JEWS FROM VARIOUS COUNTRIES OF EUROPE.

AUSCHWITZ-BIRKENAU 1940-1945"

Each one was written in one of the languages spoken in the camp, all 16 of them.

It still wasn't the end. The long path continued to the right to see the "additions" that were never finished? They were to me. After so much that happened, after so many... and this place can still be described as unfinished... They wanted to make it larger! Faster! These sort of things should bring fury to our spirits, but instead, a response of a peaceful and respectful silence seemed more appropriate.

In our minute of silence, a group of Israelis passed by us, listening to their loud cultural music, dancing, talking and laughing. When the sound of their noisy celebration was far from us, one member of the group commented on their lack of respect, but the leader of the group also had something to say:

"I told that there is no wrong way of experiencing this place. We use silence to show respect- they show respect in their own way. What you saw was a group that refuses to be silenced. To them, simply leaving this place with their lives, is itself an act of rebellion."

inches 

inched up like a spider 

crawled up the skin 

trickled up the spine 

shivered the quiet 

awoken the blinds 

loud screams 

a flicker of a lamp 

a strangers footprint meshed into the carpet 

a heated demon breathed into the air 

became thick 

her hands reached to her neck and he whisper 

hollowed and empty 

the way he breathed 

into her ear 

as he curled his words 

around her name 

made it sound like silk and wine 

the walls got smaller 

the pushed closer 

she suffocated 

in the need 

to go 12 inches 

deep in her soul 

she begged for mercy

she shuttered 

at the crack 

of the door 

she wavered 

at the light 

walking 

in through 

the 

crack 

of 

the 

door 

she 

had 

locked 

she 

was 

only 

inches 

away 

from ..........

12 inches deep in desire 

To put it simply, I was lost.

Pretty hopelessly, I might add.

I don't take orders well. Or heed warnings.

So when I heard of these woods, whose leaves were said to come alive at night, I couldn't resist. What can I say? My curiosity knows no bounds.

Of course, I didn't stick around to hear him finish saying every soul to go exploring here never came back. So here I was, probably not coming back.

Honestly, I had to stop doing this.

If there ever was a trail, there wasn't one now. How odd, I thought. I couldn't remember coming in. I couldn't even remember the treeline.

It was when that realization struck me that the trees began rustling with a certain restlessness, bushes started shaking excitedly, and vines seemed to move of their own accord.

Everything seemed...enlivened, in the worst way.

My surroundings darkened, and I looked up to find limbs closing over me, blocking out the sky.

That's when I realized the enormity of my mistake.

When the first leaf separated from the rest, I panicked.

I wasn't getting out of this one.

Alive, at least.

***

I woke up shaking.

Er, being shaken, rather.

"Damn it, Shay! What the fuck were you thinking?" I blinked open my eyes to find above me a blurry, familiar face, etched with concern.

"A...Aidan? Where am I? What are you doing here?"

Before he could answer, I passed out.

***

My memories came flooding back, and I bolted upright.

The swarm...

"NO! Aidan, hurry! We have to run!"

He held me down. "What? Shay, run from what? We're inside. You're safe."

I stopped, and stared around me in disbelief.

Sure enough, I was at the inn. The crackling of a fire blazing in the hearth, the comfort of my room. I was in bed, a chair pulled up next to me. I shook my head. This wasn't right. None of this was right.

"You fell down the stairs, remember? I found you, early in the morning while everyone was asleep. Scared the daylights out of me. What were you doing, anyway?"

I blinked.

I fell? It...it was all a dream?

"Aidan, I was..." I started, then stopped.

The longer I thought about it, the less I remembered.

"It must have been quite a knock for you to wake up like that. Are you sure you're alright?"

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, paused, and looked at him. "I'm...okay. Um, are you sure you didn't find me...anywhere strange? In the forest, by chance?"

He gave me an odd look, then stood to leave. "Shay, your mind sure does throw me for a loop sometimes. Besides, you know not to go exploring. I told you, those woods are dangerous."

Right before he closed the door, he winked. "Especially for a pretty girl like you."

I blushed, glad he couldn't see, then winced at the sudden throb at the back of my head.

Glancing out the window towards the trees, I decided it was a dream.

A really, really vivid dream.

***

That night, he stood at the heart of it all, at the end of the disappearing trail.

Where he'd found Shay splayed across the stump in front of him - an altar of sorts - right in the nick of time.

"She's mine."

Vines slithered about his feet.

There are not many who venture here.

"I don't care. You can't have her."

Limbs swung menacingly above his head.

You do not control us.

"Ah, but I know the one who does. Did you forget, so soon?"

The harsh whispering of shrubs quieted.

Who will feed us?

"I will. Do it now, before I lose patience."

As the host of tiny, winged fae detached from their plants and bit into every visible inch of his skin, he gritted his teeth. And waited the required time. He had to pay the price for her life, after all.

When it was done, he spoke.

"The tithe is paid. Leave me."

As their fangs left his flesh and they flew back to their places, a collective chuckle sounded.

You are a fool.

"Once every three moons, I will send a traveler here from the inn. In return, you will disclose what you know to no one. Is that clear?"

What you seek is forbidden.

"Or do you wish me to tell your master that you're close to growing beyond his control? Surely, you know what will happen then."

Silence greeted him.

"I will ask again. Is that clear?"

Yessssssssssssssssss.

As he left the wood, he sighed.

Damn her. She'd caused a lot of trouble for him.

Oh well, he thought, and smiled.

Such was the nature of falling in love with a human.

Disclaimer: The following story is based on a true event after a boy had escaped from a concentration camp, however not many details are known about it, very specific details in the text may not be factual.

Guards, barbed wire, electrical fences and an open camp with no hidden secrets- against all odds the little boy escaped. After running with his bare feet through the cold mud, hidden within the gloom of night and ushered by the white moonlight, next to a big brick house, he encounters an old wooden shed with no windows and a door of decaying wood and rusty metal. The boy inspects the door and finds a lock hanging from it- they forgot to lock it- he assumes. Old, abandoned objects are the hosts of the small room: broken clocks, dusty books, and a clean Nazi flag, its prominent bright red colour is still easily spotted through the darkness of the room. Even with the closed door, the boy can still find his way around the room with the guidance of the frail gleams of the moonlight entering through the wooden gaps. Passing clouds at times faded the light completely, leaving the room under a blanket of darknesses, but the boy keeps on blindly exploring the room- looking for a resting place. Eventually, he settled for a spot on the floor full of dirt under the corner table, where he could hide behind the flag if anyone were to come in.

The quietness of the room vanishes with the frequent clamorous growls of the boy's stomach, but even with the absence of silence, the boy finds peace in his mind to quickly fall into a deep rest.

*

The boy slowly starts to wake up from his long rest and softly pulls his hand from under the blanket covering him to rub his eyes. He then looks at what was over him and sees his body completely buried under the red, white and black of the flag which he pulled from the pole during the cold night. Suddenly, the boy's face goes as pale as the outside snow and his body becomes completely paralysed in fear as he sees the open door and from it a strong, tall Man comes in with an axe on his hands. The Man approaches the boy with slow sharp steps with his heavy boots- the boy holds his breath- the Man stops half way and puts his axe on a table before leaving without ever looking at the boy. The boy sees the open door but instead of taking a risk, he covers his head with the blanket- and waits.

The heavy sound of the Man's boots pounding on the hard floor comes back into the room, a strong sound echoed by the sound of the shivering boy’s own heartbeat. Silence. For the first time the boy hears the Man's deep voice, "Here you go, boy!" said the Man with an odd playful tone, followed by the sound of the door being locked. When uncovering his head, he's smacked with a dry smell that makes his stomach growl like a dog. He explores the room and finds a metal bowl in the middle of the tiny room, which seemed to contain the source of the smell familiar to the scent of spices, but his attention turns to the open cans of pesticide, which he fails to recall if they were there last night. His eyes stare at the suspicious bowl and his stomach growls with despair, he bites his lip and eventually, he makes his decision and takes his first step towards the bowl.

Before he's able to move any closer, the boy hears small steps being taken from under a table where the Man left the axe and the poison cans. A furry head comes out of the dark and starts feeding on the bowl. The boy crouches as he watches the dog devour his meal, pieces of its food jump out of the bowl like stones spit from a volcano. The boy grabs his loud belly in an attempt to censor it, but the ever increasing growls grab the attention of the dog, showing little interest in the starving little boy. With a torturous, craving need to satisfy his hunger, the boy's hand fetches a tiny piece of food that fell on the floor. With his weak breath he blows on to it and rubs it with his fingers, trying to expel the dirt from it, but his coal black, dirty hands fail him on this task. The more his fingers rub, the more wet and sticky they become from the moisture left from the dog's mouth.

His hand slowly carries the little wet piece covered in dirt into his open mouth when he notices the dog attentively staring at the boy. Their eyes stay fixed on each other until the dog comes further out from the shadows and taps the bowl with his snout. Neither one moved for a long minute. The dog, again, pushed the bowl even further and the boy slowly comes closer to the dog and reaches for the bowl, leaving the tiny piece behind. It is still half full. The meal tastes better than anything ever served to him in the Camp. When the bowl is empty, the boy falls asleep while petting his friend, and during the night- he's warmed by its fur.

*

With the passing of days, the young boy and the old dog split every meal, no matter how small the amount- the dog ate half and left half. But eventually, the share of food comes to an end...

The peaceful music of laughter and giggles from the little boy is played in the little shed as he and his friend happily play together. But suddenly, the dog stops and stays completely still. The boy follows the dog's sight and turns around, he's face grows red, he sees the black figure of the Man blocking strong sunlight barging in through the open door. The Man immediately closes the door with all his strength as the boy runs to it. The boy uses all of his strength: pushing and pulling the door, kicking and punching- but even with his strength the door won't move. The boy falls onto the floor with his back to the door and tears in his eyes, he screams and hugs his legs for comfort. His friend comes closer, licks his tears and rests his head on the boy's legs. And they wait, together...

The boy wakes up with the sound of the lock being open and instinctively looks at the axe, but does not reach for it; waiting to see one of the Camp's Guards, he instead sees the man- holding a bowl in each hand.