"Oh."

"What?"

"It's a casserole thing."

"Well, yeah, that's my chili cornbread casserole?"

"I thought you'd just made cornbread for dinner. I was really excited. Then I realized there was stuff underneath it."

---

"Why are all these pics of women on your computer screen?"

"I'm looking for better hair ties."

"Ah. That makes more sense."

---

"Hey honey, how's the sky look today?"

"Like a late 80's, post apocalyptic Highlander set?"

"Just remember to keep your head."

---

"I don't think that top is office appropriate."

"Meh. Go file a complaint with HR."

"I can't. She's outside with her chew toy."

---

"Didn't you use your stimulus check to buy yourself a coffee machine that foams milk?"

"No? I just bought a regular coffee machine."

"Then how did you get all that foam on your coffee?"

"...I shook the oatmilk carton really hard?"

---

"My grandmother wrote us."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She says when her grandmother lived through the Spanish Flu she got sick and they had to drain her blood and remove one of her ribs, but they didn't stop working and shut all the businesses down like they're doing now."

"There's too much to unpack in that paragraph."

"Yeah. At least they're still writing to us and their retirement home isn't infected yet."

"Why does the front of the card have beaches and the inside has a bird on a snowy branch? I thought your other grandmother had dementia?"

---

"So wanna play?"

"I'm crocheting, can I just watch?"

"I thought you finished your crochet project."

"That was the last project."

"How many projects are there?"

"...seriously?"

---

"The top headline on my Google news feed says Animal Crossing is nerfing the egg rates for Bunny Day."

"Oh thank god, that's the news I've been waiting for."

---

"I think we've become one of those happy, complacent couples."

"Is that a problem?"

"It just sets unrealistic expectations. I think we should fight more often."

"Okay then. I want a kitten."

---

"Holy headlines - cocaine hippos!"

"Wait, that's what you're clicking on?"

"Shit, I know these hippos, dude! They're still in Columbia and they're wrecking the local ecosystem!"

"Biden's president, the vaccine is rolling out, extremists are using ham radio..."

"FUCKING COCAINE HIPPOS!"

---

"Everytime I hear this radio commercial I wonder why my car needs tits."

"Okay you've ruined this ad for me now."

"Uh-huh. You know you'd put tits on your car."

"Where would I even put them??"

"Are you kidding? You realize the cover in the front is literally called a bra?"

"...how did we end up in this conversation?"

"I'm not even a motorhead and I know what guys mean when they refer to headlights. Come on, babe."

"Even my inner horny teenage boy can't grasp this right now. I'm getting more coffee."

---

*recording homework for online class* "I liked this commercial, but I would have prefered - and I'm showing my age here - that they had the actor call home to leave a voice message for his dog. On a landline, meaning when you leave your voicemail the machine plays it audibly so it can be heard - fuck, why am I explaining this..."

*struggling to remain quiet in background* pfft -BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

"Ok, redoing that one..."

"It's okay love, nobody believes how old you are anyway!"

---

"You get tea this morning. No choices. Not unless you buy more coffee filters."

"Ok, so I should buy more coffee filters at the store today?"

"Only if you want to see your friend coffee again."

"Why has this become a hostage situation?"

"We just want what's best for you. Your buddy tea over there, though, I don't know if his caffeine is up to the challenge."

"I'm putting coffee filters on the list, okay?"

"Number two, like the pencil. Capiche?"

---

"Honey? Help! I can't hold my wine glass and the game controller at the same time!"

Hello, welcome to my mind.

I hoard notebooks. Most of them have one or two pages filled, and then are abandoned in drawers.

Some may never get used at all.

But right now, we can leave these dozens of notebooks aside. I only want to focus on the three that actually got filled, and a fourth that I've started.

Ever since 2017, I've started writing all of my ideas down in notebooks. Since then, I've filled three notebooks and started a fourth with a total of 205 ideas. Most of them, I expect I'll never come back to. Some, I've started and may never finish. Some, I've actually written.

Mostly, I hope that these notebooks will become lost manuscripts. When I die, hoards of fans will show up at my doorstep and pay ludicrous amounts of money to peer into my mind.

But of course, that's just a fantasy. I may never be famous. I may never even be a published writer.

But it's nice to dream. It's nice to fall into that fantasy for a while.

But for now, those 3-and-counting notebooks will stay right where they are. In a drawer. To be thought of once and a while, but mostly, to be ignored.

Once long ago, there was a boy born to a rich Athenian family. He was named Castor and was foretold to be one of the wealthiest and most influential men in all the Mediterranean.

Many years passed and Castor had grown up to be handsome and strong. There was nothing more that he liked than sailing to the many different islands and isles that made up the greek empire.

One bright, early morning as the sun rose above the horizon, Castor caught sight of dazzlingly bright scales breaking the waves. Only lore had told of beautiful creatures like these, a horse with fins instead of legs and scales that shone brighter than any stone, a hippocampus. No matter how skilled and fast he sailed, Castor could not come close to the rare beauty. He chased it for what seemed like hours before it stopped at a reef that surrounded an island Castor has never seen before. Suddenly in front of his boat, the creature reared up and Castor caught it with a rope around its neck.

“Please,” the frightened animal pleaded, “ set me free and don’t kill me!”

“Kill you?” Castored echoed. “ Course not,” and with that, Castor cut the rope from the hippocampus’ neck.

“I thank you, and for your kindness, I shall give you this,” the creature

(Not Finished Yet)

... Three months ago...

If he runs, he will reach there before the sun rises. If he rather walks slowly, the subtle warmth of the sun will be over when he reaches there. In other words, if he runs as well as walks slowly, he’ll die. So he forbade his legs from running. When they tried to make him walk slowly pulling him backwards, he brought them forward, and hardening his for-head, gave them the only order he can give with a whisper.

Don’t run, but don’t walk slowly too. Just!... walk a little bit faster.

And his legs, accepting his order, began helping him to walk a little bit faster.

Walking a little bit faster, panting, the blur made by the trees as he pass, the dying cries of those lords stabbed and left under the trees by him, the steel-meeting-steel sound he hears from the far border of the forest, made by the swords of the border guards he made to fight each other by cutting through, the chill of the morning pacing up and down his face, leaves reddened years ago by his own blood... everything has its own beauty. Since there is beauty in pain as well as death, life has already started making sense again, red sense of blood... a sense he’s been awaiting to feel for years.

Yorosa, a province of mythical beasts... Yorosa, a land where the month of the creatures rules indefinitely... Yorosa, an island always under the attention of the mad gods... Yorosa... Yorosa... Yorosa... hamonv o’los Yorosa!

Sun rays that burn the grass;

An illuminating light from the sky that prevents the eyes from opening as wide as they desire to be;

Warmth that forces the flies rising in thick black swarms to bit their wings continuously in order to create the coldness they crave around them;

Hot days that make the sweat pour down the forhead;

Dusty ground that carries flames waiting to burst into life when a bare foot is laid on them;

Rocky forests filled with rotten trees;

Valleys crowded with uncivilized skirt-wearing tribes;

Mythical beasts cursed by the words of the gods;

A man of the northern Alitia kingdoms who unfortunately comes to the barren island province of Yorosa won’t be able to see other things than these. When he returns to the north he will speak about these to his family; rocky forests, mythical beasts, valleys, dusty ground, hot days, sun rays, warmth and an illuminating light from the sky. Yes!... That man will have a mind totally swarmed by these things when he remembers Yorosa. What then was expected to be remembered about a journey made to an island that is the most uncivilized of the eight kingdoms, found in three months’ worth of march from Ierodiel and bordered with the Nors and Zantayn sea to the North, the Zife and Siela islands to the North-East, the Adin island and the cold sea to the East, the Douma ocean to the South-East, South and South-West and Aliyad-the kingdom where the great Baytens, Titoneses and Adiyoses can be found-to the East?

But Bieren, even if he doesn’t deny that Yorosa is a long forgotten island, remembers other things, many wonderful things. The old man and that day... two but many wonderful things. And that day on her own appears to be two... ‘two that days’.

Inside the ‘two that days’, there will be the old man, the cave exists, the tribe won’t be elsewhere, quotes he remember, the valley, the dusty ground will also be there, and at last, him. And inside him the ‘two that days’ reappear.

The first that day...

... He was crouched on the unsettling ground of the cave. In front of him, of course, the old man, inside the old man’s palm, he remembers, a candle rested, trying to lighten the whole cave. Perhaps, there had been other things, but he doesn’t remember more than that.

After advising him for a long time, the old man remained silent for a while and changed the course of their conversation. “What’s your name, son?”

He remembers that, by then, he was in his fifties. And by now...

Anyways, he wasn’t at an age he should be called a child. However, as he looked like a twenty-five years old youth, the old man called him ‘son’. Of course, he’s always like that, just a twenty-five years old youth.

“Anaknem!” he said his name loud enough for the old man to hear.

The old man, as if he hadn’t heard him say his name, glared at the ground and the candle now and then, looking very thoughtful, and nodded awkwardly.

“It’s not a good name”, said the old man.

“What does that mean?” he asked hardening his for head. Had he had his for head hardened?.. No! He just had his eyes narrowed. No! No! He surely had his for head hardened.

Despite his inability to remember which part of his body was changed, he’s pretty sure that was the statement he made, a statement used to ask for an explanation... ‘what’, ‘does’, 'that’ and ‘mean’.

“Here, son...” as always, the old man paused his speech for a second, and after thinking about the words that should come out of his mouth, continued to give him the explanation he asked for. “Being great starts from here. Since that name you got isn’t grand, you should change it. When you change it, however, be careful not to peak a name that makes you seem grander than you really are. A gentleman isn’t supposed to have plenty of appearances, but knowledge.”

Again, the old man remained silent for a moment and picked a new name for him.

“From now on, you shall be called ‘Bieren’.”

...

By then, he moved on, deciding the name to be fair, as if it was something to be judged by those who want to buy it. But now, he adores his own name. For others adoring his own name might seem something confusing. However, provided that he’s a reason to adore his own name, no one should judge him should he continue to exaggeratedly adore his own name as much as he wants.

Loving the words... adoring the letters is impossible for those who don’t understand the meaning lying behind the words. And those who don’t get the meaning of the words will mock on the ones who adore the words while understanding their meanings, mock on the ones with the knowledge to cover for their own illiteracy, try to pull them back towards their pack. Of course, they succeed on some. And these, who are pulled backwards from the literati to the pack of those out-the-know illiterates, it means, weren’t completely knowing in the first place, half-literate imposters.

But the remaining literati love the words... adore the letters, since they have a reason. So as far as he’s his own self-supporting reason, no one has a privilege to judge him should he adore his new name, even those who know that reason of his.

The second that day...

...A year after he got a new name and met the old man, he found himself next to a bed. And on that bed laid the old man, only at an arm’s length from death, murmuring against his tiredness.

That moment he witnessed the old man’s death with his own eyes remains as one of the very few moments of his life he remembers himself crying. How couldn’t he cry when he sees the father of his knowledge lying in front of him, about to leave him alone?

After teaching him about the beasts of Yorosa for about a year without telling him his name, the old man, while swarmed with pain on that cursed bed, told him that they were men of the same name.

Continuing his dying request, the old man also told him to protect the name and pass it to someone who deserves to have it when his turn to die comes. So that’s it. He adores his name granting that old Bieren’s dying request, given to him all those years back, and until that someone who deserves the name comes, he’ll take care of the name, apparently appreciating it.

But the things that confuse him till now are those last words of old Bieren, spoken with clearly visible pain.

“Touch it!”, old Bieren told him.

When he looked up at him with confusion, old Bieren’s eyes shut with a hint of satisfaction all over them, as if he’s already spoken of what he intended to. How happy he’d have been if old Bieren’s life had been lengthened just for a short period, just enough to hear what was meant by those words from the mouth that blurted them out! How happy he’d have been!

Touch it! Touch it!..., that sound of the old man, carrying those words he’s not managed to grab their meaning yet, rang repeatedly inside his head.

...

He’s just come back to Yorosa since then. Perhaps, if his today’s work proves to be successful, he will return to Ierodiel. Of course, he doesn’t want to leave Yorosa without visiting the tribe.

...What is he talking about? The old man’s story can have no connection with his today’s task.

What he talks about is a story that happened fifty-four years after the start of Alitia’s war, twenty-five years after the war was completed in the favor of Zermak, five years after he become a Dikt, three years after he killed his own brother with his own hand, two years after he was caught by Kamien, on the first of the eighteen months, Tiekosnin, on the sixth day, Wolos, while the sun was, unusually, rising in the East, the air made wet by the morning’s fog, at a place found to the East of the Hielenef valley, a little back to the West of the peninsula preferred for its use as a bay of refreshment for those ships sailing towards the island of Adin... that is the story he talks about.

How can he forget that Wolos’s morning? Never! A cursed day... A story in which he lost those he truly loved... A day... Something to remember him that he wasn’t able to do a thing as he saw a sword put deep inside the necks he loved. Never!... He will never forget that day!

Another additional five years have passed since that sorrowful day. This means, by definition, that is a story of the past, a story to be hanged high for the crows to feed on it. But since time doesn’t stop forging history, as one passes to be a history, another story will fill the gap only to become the future history. Now is the time for a new story to begin. The time for writing a story of pure revenge has come.

But revenge always looks back towards the history that existed before him, towards the history that created him. If the past doesn’t exist, the present can’t hold. And if the history that remembers us about the past doesn’t exist, revenge himself or the spirit of revenge that unsettles the inside of those who suffered, won’t be able to hold. All in all, it was by then that everything started, ten years ago, when Bieren became a Dikt.

Woe falls heavy onto the earth here in the last days.

Terrible deeds are done upon the unsuspecting and most innocent

Evil is on the lips and in the hearts of those who call themselves leaders

A plague upon the land brings fear, uncertainty and death

Humanity suffers and we are silenced

Take a shot, you soon have no choice

There are no answers and we are asked to trust

Trust the words coming from the mouths of the wicked

The world is gray and sad

No hope

In the midst of my grieving over all we have lost I look out through the glass

Beyond my window stands a tall tree

shimmering like diamonds in a veil of sparkling ice

The sky this evening is blue with crisp white clouds as the sun begins it’s climactic end of another dreary day

It is beautiful and a smile escapes my lips

I wonder how many beautiful moments remain as the world is sucked deeper into depravity

The birds sing blissfully unaware of the misery below

They will survive the insult on humanity

There are many days I wish I was a bird

As we brace against the collapse

The birds will still sing

As we all die

29.02.21

Musings of a post menopausal insomniac mind

A young couple makes a stop along the freeway. Their son has just learned to walk as the couple eats their lunch, the joy of their son walking through the warm grass in the shade of a pine tree which gave air to the occasion.

Parking in the handicapped parking spot, adjoined to the young couple's car. The old man makes his way out of the car. Combating the pain and aging signs he earned over the years of life. He stands and reaches for his cane. As he stands up and begins a journey of working out the pain of his age.

The old man makes his way to the pine tree, a short distance from the young couple. The old man closes his eyes and thanks God for his guarding angel, who just a short mile earlier had saved him from a terrible accident. A driver who had fallen asleep at the wheel was racing to catastrophe the target was the old man in his car. In that moment, the old man calls out to God, help us!

The car only a fraction of an inch away from colliding, the head of the young lady driving had bounce off the steering wheel, and then she awoke. The car glided to a stop to safety at the side of the road.

The old man now safe and from any harm turns opens his eyes and leans upon his cane. He noticed the child making his way toward him. The young couple watches the child and offers him a treat. But his gaze, which is transfix to lead him on a journey through the warm grass toward the old man.

The old man could see the child would continue on his journey toward him. So he walks away from the tree along the sidewalk to discourage the child. The old man now sees what the child is racing toward. The old man smiles when he sees too, a tall figure dress in white in a mist of sunlight hiding from the unbelieving eyes of humanity. It was the Angel who had kept the old man safe.

The young child stands now at the Angel's feet, looking up with a smile of delight. The couple gathers up the picnic remnant. The young lady takes hold of the child, placing him in his car seat. At they drove off, the Angel now seated next to the child.

The old man prays for their safety and praise God. Shalom to the child who sees. May the face of God shine on him and keep him safe from the dangers of this world. Bless the couple who has such a child that sees.

There are always many ideas floating around. Some I forget and others tend to stay long enough that I write them down. Here's a list of some of those things

- A vulture follows the trail of a dying cowboy until it finds his final resting place. Yes, this is all from the vulture's point of view. Things will get bloody. Though they may already be so.

-A man is stalking a small instagram that posts pictures of a cat. The owner of the instagram and the cat is intriqued by this mysterious person who seems to worship her cat unironically. The cat owner will eventually come face to face with this strange individual in the end.

-An imaginary friend of a little girl comes to life in the basement of her home. It's a fossil of a prehistoric giant salamander and his name is Finnie. Did I mention that he climbs walls.

-A serial killer meets another serial killer will hitchhiking on Flinders highway Australia. More blood.

No, I don't know how I came up with these either.

Ok so this is probably a really complexed idea but it's been an ambition to write a series that the main characters don't seem to connect. It would be a 5 book series. In order of how they would play out:

SEEN

If Metal Was Human

Dimensional Dream

The Revenge of the River

Relearning Love

The ideas I have for each book are as follows (I will have detailed ideas and a summary for those who don't want to read):

SEEN: -A girl gets kidnapped to another planet and she must learn to trust the people around her or The Leader will kill her and destroy earth

_The culture will be inspired in part by Native American culture. Everyone on the other planet will have naturally odd colors of hair. They also will be more of a matriarchry except for the big leader he is a man. This is supposed to be odd. They also have a belief that if a women doesn't braid her hair then all the secrets she has will fall out of her head. So women without braids are not to be trusted. And women with short hair are believed to be women that hold no secrets. Men and women clothing will be a cloak like outfit that doesn't get in the way when you need to fight. This story will focus about on Senkina and her learning to find comfort in people.

If Metal Was Human: -A boy notices that something is wrong with him. His only soultion is in a time only he can access. He must figure out what it holds and find out if he can stop it.

_This one will focus more on Nicholas Charles's vourney that the future is as complexed as the past. He'll have a friendship with a girl and that friendship will be super wholesome. The plot will introduce us to is world and the future.

Dimensional Dream: -If you could stay in your dreams would you? What if you stayed? Well Andrew Lee is about to find out. He must decide before he has no choice.

_This one is more about the human expericence and how life can be worth living but if something drives someone away. They could stay away forever.

The Revenge of the River: -Elegance is given the chance to live out her dream but the river has other plans. Will the river destroy Elegance or will she uncover it's secrets?

_Basically this one is more horror like. This one is more on reflection on the past and how that can destroy you if you don't care for it.

Relearning to Love: -Samual James lost all his memories. Now he's tossed into this world where his memories hold the key. Though the whole world doesn't hang in the balance. His world does.

_ This one is all about family and how it isn't always the people you are related to. It also talks a lot about abusive relationships with parents.

Those are all my ideas. Should I keep trying?

I started this quite some time ago, and I love what I have so far, but I have no idea what to do with it! Any suggestions would be welcome!

Lynnea watched in solemn silence as Lady Kessa was brought before the Oracle. Ever since the day the prophesy had been made, Lynnea had served Kessa as her handmaiden. They had both been so young, neither of them yet begun their seventh year.

She remembered the day of the prophesy well, despite her youth. The stone walls of the palace had seemed so dark and cold after spending the first few years of her life in the warm sun on her family’s farm. Her mother had brought her to the palace along with every other young girl in the kingdom old enough to walk, yet too young to bleed.

Even now, Lynnea struggled to understand how the Oracle could have known that the Heroine would be among these. The Prophesy of the Heroine had been made decades ago by another Oracle, and before that moment, no one knew who the Heroine would be.

Yet this Oracle had insisted upon, demanded, the girls of the kingdom be brought before her. So, she stood among them. Some of the girls were less than two years old, some trying desperately to pull away from the group to get close to their mothers, many crying. The oldest among them were nearly women, some fifteen or sixteen – looking solemn as they appeared before the Oracle.

Lynnea had met Kessa in the crowd of girls. Apart from their age, the two had very little in common. Lynnea had been a pale, fair-haired, chubby little girl, shy and uncertain. Kessa was dark-haired, tan, and slender, and she held her head high with confidence, despite their situation.

But Kessa had been kind to Lynnea, taking her hand and assuring her that, no matter the outcome, the Oracle knew what was best.

Together, they had followed the girls before them. Lynnea struggled to see over the heads of the younger girls in front of her, but as far as she could tell, the Oracle had yet to discern who among them was to be the Heroine.

The wait was distressing, but Lynnea had depended on Kessa’s steadfast confidence as she impatiently waited to approach the Oracle. She hadn’t even been certain whether to hope that the Oracle would choose her or not. She certainly didn’t feel special. Would she even want to be chosen?

When finally they had reached the front of the group, Lynnea had not yet released Kessa’s hand, so the two girls approached together. The sight of the Oracle was such that she had never seen before. The Oracle was a woman, not much older than her mother. She was slender, and Lynnea thought she was very beautiful. Her hair was white, and her eyes so dark they were almost black. She wore robes the color of rubies so voluminous they covered the chair she sat in and puddled around her feet on the floor.

Lynnea and Kessa bowed low as they approached. Lynnea expected the Oracle to wave her hand in dismissal as she had to the girls before them, but the Oracle did not. Instead, she stood and stepped down from the dais to stand before them. “Your names?” she asked.

“Kessa, daughter of Shedri and Mayani,” the girl beside her answered confidently.

Lynnea tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. Finally, she managed to croak out her name. She hoped the Oracle didn’t require her parentage as well. She wasn’t sure she could make herself speak so many words.

For a few very long moments, the Oracle stared at them, her black eyes shining. Then, she knelt in front of them so her eyes were level with theirs. Quietly, she spoke a few words in a language Lynnea didn’t recognize. Finally, she reached out her hands, one to each girl. Kessa immediately placed the hand that wasn’t holding Lynnea’s into the Oracle’s hand. After a brief hesitation, Lynnea did the same with her free hand. They stood like that, the Oracle’s gaze moving from Kessa to Lynnea and back again.

Then, without warning, the Oracle dropped Lynnea’s hand and stood, still holding Kessa’s hand. Kessa followed the Oracle up to the dais. Lynnea still held Kessa’s hand. Unsure of what to do, she followed Kessa. The Oracle turned to the crowd that had come to watch the Prophesy unfold and finally spoke.

“The Heroine – Kessa, daughter of Shedri and Mayani! May she save us all!”

“May she save us all!” the crowd repeated as they cheered.

That fateful day, the Oracle had seen more than Kessa’s destiny. She revealed that Lynnea’s destiny was linked to Kessa’s. Not even the Oracle knew how, but it was agreed that the girls would not be parted.

That very day, Kessa and Lynnea were given quarters in the palace. Due to her new status as the Heroine, Kessa was treated like a princess; she was given the finest clothing, the first helping at mealtimes. She received gifts of dolls, jewelry, horses, and weapons. Wherever they went, people bowed before her.

Lynnea, as Kessa’s handmaiden, was given chores that would ease Kessa’s burden. Yet, despite her seemingly low position, those in the palace knew of her connection to the Heroine, so she still held the respect even of those in high stations.

Lynnea went everywhere with Kessa. They played together, ate together, slept together, studied, and trained together. Lynnea wondered at all she had never considered before – arithmetic and literature, history and philosophy. Lynnea especially excelled in the sciences. She learned quickly the names of plants and trees and was fascinated by the way they could be combined to make poisons or cures.

Kessa, on the other hand, had a preference for weapons training. She could handle swords and spears that were made for people far bigger than she, and her accuracy with a bow and throwing daggers rivaled the most skilled weapons masters.

Together, they trained and together they grew. They became closer than sisters with a loyalty to one another that none could sever.

Now, Lynnea stepped aside to allow Kessa to take her place in front of the dais. They were both dressed in the clothing that had been made for them in preparation for this day. Their outfits were nearly identical – loose fitting black trousers to allow easy movement, sturdy leather boots, and black belted tunics. They had even braided their hair to match. The only difference was Kessa’s rich red cape that flowed behind her as she walked. Lynnea’s outfit was completed with a much more humble earth-green cape.

Kessa’s cape formed a semi-circle behind her as she knelt before the Oracle. The large room was silent as the Oracle stood and approached her. “Kessa, daughter of Shedri and Mayani, rise and claim your destiny as the true-”

The Oracle’s voice faltered. Lynnea didn’t dare breathe as she awaited the prophet’s next words. Why did she hesitate? Certainly, there could be no doubt. This was the moment Kessa had lived for, trained for. Why did the Oracle not send her off as was planned?

The Oracle did not speak. Instead, she held out her hands to Kessa. Kessa lifted her head. From her place, Lynnea could not see her dear friend’s face, but she knew from the tension in her body that Kessa was just as confused and anxious as she.

But, with her never-failing confidence, Kessa reached out and took the Oracle’s hands, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She stared into the face of the Oracle as the wise woman’s eyes stared back at her.

The Oracle’s next words were so quiet they were hardly more than a whisper, but from her position next to Kessa, Lynnea heard them. “You are not the Heroine.” Lynnea couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her, nor the hand that covered her mouth. The Oracle looked as shocked at the revelation as Lynnea felt. “This is not the Heroine!” she said aloud.

The room was suddenly abuzz with sound as the crowd turned to each other. Lynnea closed the distance between her and Kessa and took her hand. Kessa looked back at her, her brown eyes wide with fear and confusion. Lynnea felt the same, but she refused to allow Kessa to see. Instead, she squeezed her friend’s hand, hoping the action would reassure her. No matter what happened in the moments to follow, they would get through this as they had every other moment since they were six years old – together.

“You!” Lynnea’s head snapped up at the Oracle’s shouted word. The Oracle, who had stepped away from the dais now approached them once more, but her attention was no longer on Kessa, but on Lynnea. Lynnea was too stunned to do anything but stare, yet she eventually remembered her manners and bowed before the Oracle.

“Look at me, girl!” the Oracle snapped. Lynnea did as she was bid, despite the discomfort of the dozens of eyes now watching her. “You were there that day, were you not? The day I named this girl the Heroine?”

“I was,” Lynnea answered shakily. “I was one of the girls brought before you.”

“But you were with this one, yes?”

Lynnea glanced back at Kessa. “Yes, Lady. We came before you together.”

The Oracle looked from her to Kessa and back again. “Your destinies are closely intertwined. This I saw, even then. But your linked fates confused me. Even now, I am uncertain of what I see.

“This, I know. Kessa is not the Heroine. You are.”

2am

If only I could smite

mine earthly cares

as easily as I do

villains of my nightmares.

4:30am

Random bits

cling to the interior of my mind

i scrape and pull

no relief do I find.

7am

Kaleidoscope of broken shards

tumble and reassemble

create a symphony of color

in the ancient symbol.

Wake up

Quantify,

what a magnificent word.

*Throughout the night I wake up and have to record my thoughts or they won't go away. I've compiled them here for your challenge, these fragments of my mind. I think of them as crumpled little dreams floating along the tide of my subconcious. Sometimes they get caught in a net and I'm obligated to set them free...