I’ve ridden every horse I’ve seen. I can see in the dark. I can read every work of Proust in under an hour and can do so while pleasuring a woman. I leave nothing to be desired in the bedroom. I eat a raw steak once a month at Mastro’s and I never wait for a table. My therapist asks me for advice. I’ve fought in fourteen wars, shaken the hand of 42 presidents, I’ve dined with everyone from Godard to Tony Hawke. I’ve given gonorrhea to whole continents. I’ve seen rivers run red with the blood of my enemies. The Pope once compared me to Christ and I punched him in the face. I’m not like Christ, I’ll never die.

Michelangelo sculpted in my image. I am the Renaissance, a deity. My hair gets thicker with age. I don’t mourn the dead, I pity the living. I’ve cried only once in my life while watching a particularly beautiful sunset. I have one dream every night in which I am the last man on earth thus the richest and the most poor, the strongest and the most weak, both good and evil. I wake up at 7am. I make myself climax with my mind. I’m at work by 8. My company grossed more than Apple within its first year. I make all my assistants learn latin.

At the club I order an Old Fashioned, neat, and think about the human stain that is man. I wait for emotion to be bred out of humanity like body hair on women. When a woman says, “I love you” I say, “I am Lazarus, come from the dead.” When they ask what I find beautiful and I say paintings of falcons.

There is a harp player in the vestibule of my office. HR hired her after too many of my agents had heart attacks. They say that music is calming. Music is the sonic personification of emotion and that disgusts me. You know what I find calming? Order, fear, dominance, Russian Literature. The harp player is a distraction. I throw coins at her when I pass through the lobby.

Her incessant machine is turning the work place into a chapel. The noise like a battering ram beating its way into my office. I imagine bludgeoning the harp player with my awards from MIT. She holds the instrumenting gently but with pride. You know what should be held like that? Assault rifles, Rottweilers, Swiss prostitutes. Not harps. I hate her and I tell her so. Not with words. With my eyes.

The harp player is with me even when she’s not. In the silence of my penthouse I hear the insidious instrument. It’s invaded my head, the inside of my skull a cacophonous amphitheater, a tiny harpist inside. It’s spreading through me, a thawing feeling, like hints of spring. I have the strangest urge to donate to charities and call my mother. I pass a shelter and bring home a kitten. The music only gets louder. The strings laugh at me, wretched hyenas. “You don’t control me. I’m an island!” I punch the granite counter top. I free the kitten into the street.

I tell the harp player she must find a new office to torment. Her ceaseless playing is unraveling me. I haven’t eaten or slept. She quiets her strings and they obey her, the witch. “Would you like to try?” she asks. I don’t talk to women this long without the promise of sex so I leave. It starts up again.

I give the harp player a poisoned beverage and she’s out for 3 days. When she returns she is weak and her music reflects it. The notes are somber, sickly. I feel accomplished and buy a new suit.

I sit court-side at the Lakers game. The heaving athletes make me think of primordial man. Man is made for sport. He is given a grueling task, which he’ll either succeed or fail in. It is not obscured by ostentation or subterfuge. I think of the Coliseum. I think of trench warfare and sip my Old Fashioned. But the panting of men in front of me and roaring crowd go quiet. The game continues but in silence, like a television on mute. And then it begins. Harp music, soft at first but with growing tenacity. Each note lingers in the air, vibrates, it’s laughing again, the strings are being tickled. The celestial music is billowing out of the speakers. It drifts out of the mouths of screaming fans and through the coach’s whistle and from the rubber souled shoes that bounce off the court. The players aren’t playing anymore either, they’re dancing. Not even dancing like you do at the club, they’re dancing on point, ballerinas in jerseys. They’re doing Swan Lake. It’s disgusting. I open my mouth to scream, “prevail, men, we dance for no one!” but only more music comes out. There’s a string quartet in my lungs. The louder I scream, the more angelic it sounds. It’s clouding my vision. I’m no longer sure what thoughts are my own. I try to conjure images of nude women, whaling ships, animal pelts. But all I see when I close my eyes are waterfalls.

“Taco Tuesdays.”

The council made a unanimous sound of exasperation. Some threw their hands up in defeat while others merely shook their heads, muttering under their breath from behind coarse white beards. One councilman had not even bothered to pay attention and was snoozing on his arm at the end of the long polished table. Jacob shrugged.

“I thought it was a good idea.”

“Jacob, as new Ruler of the World you have duties, responsibilities. You have the power to change anything, to fix anything,” Head Councilwoman Wistern advised from her seat to Jacob’s right. “Don’t you think you should choose to do something more…important?” An older lady, she was slightly wilted but still had a zest about her which was probably what kept her at the head of the council for so long. Blue eyes wrinkled with age and wisdom looked keenly at the younger man.

Jacob gave another half-shrug, looking unconcerned.

“Lyonel already solved world hunger with his 3D printers back in 2033,” he began. “David abolished war not long after that, Sharon bridged the equality gap between genders, and Angela is saving more animals and ecosystems than ever with her Wild Earth program. Jim is still working on a non-glitchy version of iTunes but that’s his baby. I dunno, it just seems like all of our major problems are solved. Why not have one day where everyone can just enjoy a free taco?”

The council shared dubious looks.

“Every Tuesday?” Councilwoman Erin asked doubtfully, sipping at her glass of wine.

Jacob ran a hand through his dark curly hair.

“Well, yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Every Tuesday there would be free tacos. You don’t have to have any if you don’t want to; it’s just for people who like tacos.”

“Can they be fish tacos?” Councilman Bayer called out from down the table.

“Sure. I mean, I guess so. There can be all kinds of tacos. Whatever you want.”

The council leaned in to whisper together. Some shot him furtive glances that made him think they still weren’t overly convinced of his proposal. A withered councilman sitting close to Jacob even blocked his face with his hand so the younger man wouldn’t be able to tell what he was saying. A few moments passed in this manner before Councilwoman Wistern straightened in her seat and cleared her throat.

“After much deliberation,” she exclaimed after the group had joined her in facing Jacob, “we have deemed that Taco Tuesdays will come into effect immediately under the pretense that they will be free, be of every sort and variety, and occur every Tuesday from now on until the end of time or until the next Ruler of the World withdraws the decree. All in favor say aye.”

A resounding call of ‘aye’ sounded around the table.

Jacob smiled, content with the verdict. Ruling the world really wasn’t as bad as he thought.

I would plant flowers in the hearts of my enemies-

and hearts beneath the ground, so that wherever our feet wander,

our company will be the beating sound.

Music notes will grow from trees-

and loneliness our souls will never feel, for the earth will sing breathlessly.

And the breeze, soothing like Camomile.

Sometimes lies are necessary. White lies, like white magic.

Dinner was delicious.

Everything is going to be alright.

The worst is behind us.

They're in a better place now.

I love you.

The person we all lie to the most is ourselves. On a Thursday morning in the fall, a woman walked down the isle of a small church in Connecticut. Old women cried and children squirmed in the pews and the minister had to pause the wedding rites as a motorcycle drove rudely by. He asked the couple if they would like to read their vows, and the woman said yes, which was surprising to everyone because she was not the type to write something sentimental. She did not disappoint.

"I don't really want to marry you. I'm thirty-three years old, and I know you won't ever cheat on me because I'm probably the best you can do, so I'm settling, but I know it's wrong, so nevermind."

"So nevermind?" It wasn't exactly the most eloquent way to put it, but she didn't wait around for a critique. After she walked out, the best man leaned over to the groom. "Well, thank God for that."

This was to be expected, ever since two months ago, when the hallucinations started. Psychiatrists everywhere began hearing the same claims.

"My mirror talked to me."

"You're talking to yourself? That's normal."

"No, just my mirror."

"What did the mirror say?"

"The truth."

Bloodshed was an inconveniant side-effect of self-awareness. Some people are much more angry then they let on. Once the news spread, some fought against it. Unhappy couples everywhere banished mirrors from their houses, didn't want to hear the truth of their own affairs and petty arguments and years of carefully cultivated passive-aggressive power dynamics. Before long, people used their mirrors more often than Google. Moms recommended it more than the Bible. 'Ask yourself' took on a whole new meaning. Unable to hide behind flimsy excuses and half-assed rhetoric, middle-aged men admitted long-surpressed sexuality, young women confronted cheating lovers, teenagers told their parents how utterly frustrating the slim prospects of their lives were, and politicians found and shed religion like summer coats. Old marriages fell apart, new ones sprung like leaks. Small chat became pointless. The most commonly heard mirror-talk was you don't really give a damn how your neighbor feels today. It didn't feel so bad knowing everyone else felt the same way. Like a wild-fire, the chaos raged for years, then settled into a slow calm.

Lovers lie intwined in sheets, whispering to eachother.

"Are you sure?" One would say, and they could feel their hearts beat against heaving chests.

"Yes." And it was so.

On a small island in the Indian Ocean, two sisters lie on a beach staring at the sky. The waves inched closer but even they didn't dare touch the girls' delicate feet. They only paid homage then bowed away slowly.

"Are you sure this is the best use of your time?" Said one sister to the other. "They are probably all going to start a massacre any moment."

"They already do that that." It was a fair point, a rare moment of wisdom from the youngest child of the family. "He said he wanted me to try something new. A fresh set of eyes and all that." She was playing with the stars, here a nova, there a nova, billions of miles away and all set to confuse the future. "Besides, if I mess up this one, we can just go to the next one." She picked a star at random, and raised her sister's wrist to point it out. "Like that one. It could do with a little life and color."

The elder stretched out her long limbs and turned on her side.

"It was an accident, you know. The lie seemed like a good idea. I didn't know they'd use it on themselves."

Her younger sister nodded. "Yeah, I know. They can keep the lie. But no more self-medication."

"Fair enough."

The very first thing is to have all weapons destroyed worldwide, and create better solutions for a world of peace.

Second, insure free healthcare for everyone in the world. All nations would pull their resources into a world-free base.

Third, make it so that all people of all nations have adequate supplies to build homes, fresh water, grow and produce crops and that hunger no longer touches anyone, young or old.

Fourth, have education for everyone at no cost. No mind should ever be wasted, and each mind should be filled with knowledge they can use.

Fifth, create one large prison for anyone who feels they can usurp law and order, and do great harm to another living being, and that they be housed there for the rest of their life.

To further explain this, the prison would only be for those who continue to persist in a manner that needs to be eradicated which is criminal behavior, the type that is repetitive ... if a man kills eleven times do we think he will let the twelfth one live? Outside of execution which I'm not in favor of, there are no other alternatives to insure another person's safety. And there are/would be times when choices have to be made to insure that safety.

Sixth, [This place is reserved for the people to bring me their ideas to improve conditions they feel are important, for no thought, no idea, is too small or unimportant that I cannot help but listen to.]

In this way, what comes after I am gone; someone will find an even better way to treat each other and the world.

In one of my past lives, I was born in a small kingdom in Central Asia. Since then, the map has changed so much that it is not even realistic to try to connect that old kingdom to the current nation.

I was the only child. Following our family roots, I became a shepherd. As a young boy, I used to go around helping my father take care of the herd. When I was ten, he suddenly fell seriously ill. I assumed control of the herd and in an awkward way my family, too. My mother was very hard-working; she used to help me with my herd as much as she could. I was not very good at taking care of the newborns, so they were my mother’s responsibility. My mother took care of them as if they were human babies. She never short-changed them from their mothers’ milk.

While growing up, I really did not have any sense of rich and poor. The other families in our village were in a similar economic condition. We lived by trading our products. We got our food and clothing by trading our goat and sheep milk. The winter season was rough. The herd could not graze, so I had to go to a nearby village to get their special winter feed. We had a stream going through our village. Since we all drank the water from the stream, we were not allowed to bathe the herd there. During the grazing season, I took my herd to a small lake down the hill.

Our village was surrounded by beautiful rolling hills. Because of the low-rise soft green vegetation, we called them the Velvet Mountains. In late spring, they looked as if they were laden with real hand-crafted exotic velvets. We celebrated the advent of the spring with a gala festival. People from far and wide would come to the festival with colorful new commodities to trade. I used to wait all year long for the festival. It was a joyous moment for all of us.

I would take the herd up the hills in the morning, spend the day there and get back at dusk. That was my daily routine. Of course, I was aided by my two sheep dogs. They used to save me a lot of aggravation by running around and keeping the herd together. They were such a great help! They ate what I ate, so my mother packed enough food for all three of us. After lunch, they would run down to the stream for a drink of water and then immediately run back up the hills as if they were the flat lands. They knew they had their work cut out for them. They had no time to fool around with other neighborly dogs.

After my father got sick, he would stay home. He could not walk up the hills. He needed some special herbs and oils to treat his illness. Every now and then I would go to the village quack to trade milk for my father’s herbs and oils. The quack was mean and ugly, but we all needed him. My parents were very soft and kind people. I never saw them argue. In fact, my father accepted whatever my mother suggested. Our neighbors used to say that my parents’ match was made in heaven. Other villagers often came to my father to settle disputes. In return, they would later drop off some fresh produce. That came in handy during the winter. My mother would feed the excess produce to the herd. That saved me many trips around the village. I disliked unnecessarily running around in cold weather. Some winters were literally brutal. The trimmer would come in summer to trim the herd and bring back the wool in fall. My mother then made all kinds of colorful woolen outfits for us. She would also put something together for the little ones in the herd.

My best friend was Maher, the shepherd of another herd. In fact, she was my only friend. She was a fairy tale girl. She would go around and dance with her herd all day long. The dogs would follow her around as if they were also participating in her dance. She was very fond of the little ones in her herd. Sometimes she would round up all the little ones from both herds and teach them to dance along with her. The little ones would fall on each other, get up and again follow her around. It was a spectacular sight. She was never tired, never unhappy. I learned to compose songs and sing – perhaps that was the only talent God had given me. We gradually became very fond of each other. She loved to hear me sing. And I loved to see her dance. In the midst of our song and dance, the day would simply fly. We were the two happiest beings on earth.

I thought the mountains also loved having her. At dusk, while dancing down the narrow roads, she would zigzag from one edge to the other. Her hands would go up and down, hair bouncing and flora flapping all over her face. From the top of the mountains, she looked like an angel leading the way. After reaching the bottom of the mountains, she would look back at the mountains and throw her hands up to say ‘good night.’ At that very moment, even the mountains looked melancholic; as if they did not want their princess to leave.

One spring, we were getting ready to celebrate the annual festival. We all had to chip in to make it a success. My job was to get water from the stream. To keep the morning crowd happy, I had to fetch water at night too. Maher used to give me a hand in carrying the buckets up. It was a full-moon night. Maher and I were walking down the hills towards the stream. She looked as beautiful as ever. I asked her if I could hold her hand. She reacted, “You are not supposed to hold my hand. My mom said I am a grown up girl now.” I refrained.

One year our village went through a terrible ordeal. A severe stomach disease broke out and in matter of weeks it wiped out many people, of all ages. Our family was unaffected, but Maher got very sick. Her condition steadily deteriorated to a point when even the quack asked her mother to be ready for the inevitable. During that time I used to take care of her herd and visited her every evening. She looked increasingly pale. I tried to cheer her up, but she was way too weak to respond. I was frightened inside, but did not let her know. One morning I went to get her herd. Her mother came out and said to me, “She asked for some milk today.” After that, she gradually recovered. The quack called it a miracle.

Once she started to feel better, she came back with her herd. I could see the joy not only in the eyes of the herd, but it was as if the mountains, the trees, the birds and the beasts also rejoiced. Their princess was back. Perhaps I was the happiest of all. I was delighted to get back to our fairy tale life. When she was ill, I composed a couple of new songs for her. I was getting better at it too. She loved my new songs. She danced along. I could see, she had regained her glow, her spontaneity. I could not thank the Lord enough for sparing her life.

One morning, as I was getting ready to take the herd out my mother came out and asked me to sit down by her. I was a bit surprised. She started, “Son, Maher is not going to be out with her herd anymore. Please do not try to meet her.” I asked why. She continued, “The Prince from the Kingdom has decided to marry her.” I was stunned. “Did she agree to marry him too?” I asked. My mother stood up and said, “No. But that does not matter. Nobody disobeys the royal family. Again, please do not try to reach her. We will all be burnt alive. I understand your emotions, but you will get over. Time heals.” For a while, I felt numb. I was in a state of disbelief. Then I picked myself up and walked off with the herd.

As I was walking up the mountain roads, I could see her dancing, her hands going up and down, hair bouncing, and flora flapping all over her face. Upon reaching the top of the mountain, I sat down. I started to feel very lonely. I wondered if I would ever see her again. Suddenly, tears started to come out of my eyes like a fountain. My dogs were also very quiet. They knew something was terribly wrong with me. They started licking my face and neck to make me feel good. I hugged them and then broke down in tears. I felt as if the sky was coming down on me. The little ones were running all around. I knew they were looking for her. They kept coming back and staring at me. I tried to tell them that their princess was gone. Forever!

That evening when I returned home, my father called me in his room. He hugged me and said, “I know what you are going through. I deeply sympathize with you. But our hands are tied. I wish there was a way. None. Just none. Don’t do anything silly. They will hunt you down and they will kill us, too.” I accepted.

Soon they were married. She was not allowed to visit her parents. No one was ready to talk about her. I went on with my daily routine. I tried not to think about her.

A few years later, one morning there was loud knock on our front door. I saw two dressed up men. My father said they were the royal guards and they wanted to talk to me. I was scared to death. They asked me to come with them. I could not ask why. My parents stood still. I followed them into a carriage and the horses set out. After two days we reached the palace where the king and the queen lived. I felt completely out of place there. I had not seen anything like that before. All men were dressed up in funny clothes. The guards took me to a room inside the palace. Before leaving, they asked me to wear the new clothes kept on the bed. Someone brought some food for me. I was in no mood for food. I was thinking of my parents. I knew they would be worried to death, yet I had nobody to talk to.

The guards came back and asked me to follow them. We walked through a long hall and then crossed a vast courtyard. We finally arrived at the dome where the King spent the day. We all walked up to the King and saluted him. The King greeted us and then said to me, “I heard you are a great singer. Queen Maher wants to learn music from you.” In a trembling voice, I replied, “Your Majesty, I do not know anything about music. I just learned to sing some street songs. You must be thinking of some other person. I am totally unqualified.” The King remarked, “But Queen Maher has a very high opinion of your talent. You will be working with her every evening. She will tell you what she needs. You will be gainfully provided for. And your parents and the herd will also be taken care of.” The King left. I wanted to run back to my regular life, but there were guards all around.

The next evening the guards took me to an exquisite room in the garden. The room had a gorgeous dome of colorful glasses. I was asked to sit on a large cushion on the floor. It was so clean and beautiful that I was very uncomfortable to step in. Suddenly I heard a loud holler from outside, “Her Highness Queen Maher is here. All rise.” I stood up. Queen Maher walked in and sat in front of me. The guards closed the doors and stayed in by the doors. As I saluted her, she saluted me back saying, “Teacher, thank you for accepting my request. However, I apologize for the circumstances.” I was scared to look at her. I kept staring at the dome. She remarked, “I want to refine my dexterity in dancing. I will dance to your songs.” She asked the guards to leave the room. They left the room, but kept the doors wide open. She then asked me to sing one of the songs I composed for her during her illness. I had not sung in years. I was quite rusty. I knew I had no choice, so I started. In a little while, I regained my old momentum. She also looked stunningly beautiful in her regal outfit and striking ornaments. She danced around the room. She had not lost her old touch. It was a magnificent scene. We went on for a while when a young lady walked in and reminded the Queen that it was getting late and the King was waiting.

Our music endeavor proceeded in normal pace. While I enjoyed our music sessions, I kept reminding myself that she was the Queen and I was a stray man from the street. Our past was of no consequence. I never stared at her face, nor did I ever indulge in any passionate thoughts. My parents also taught me not to ever cross the line with the royal folks. The punishment was inevitably death. I recognized the underlying peril and managed to maintain my distance. On the contrary, whenever the guards were a bit heedless, she would stare at me. I rejected any avid hints from her.

One day I was sitting in the garden and wondering about my parents and the herd. The guards walked in and informed me, “His Majesty is going to attend tonight’s music session to evaluate the queen’s progress.” The idea scared me to death. In the evening, I was taken to the palace courtyard where the performance was going to take place. Shortly, the King and the Queen walked in. I stood up and greeted them. The King looked at me and remarked, “Teacher, my beloved Queen is all praise for you. Tonight, I want to see that my Love is achieving her desired flair and competence.” Instead of looking at me, the Queen looked up at the dome and asked me to start. I knew I had to do my best, or else I would be facing death. From time to time I was glancing at the King’s face to gauge if he was happy. At the end of the session, the King looked at me and said, “You truly are a great singer. From tomorrow, you will also be my courtyard singer during the day time.” I was not particularly thrilled about my added responsibility, but I was relieved.

As days went by, I was becoming more comfortable with the King. I knew, as long as I maintained my distance and performed according to his wishes, I would be fine. Meanwhile, I also started composing new songs. He loved whatever I sang. I also sang some of the newer ones to the Queen. She was adamantly unreceptive. She wanted only the old songs. I tried to please them the way they sought. I could see that the King was developing a passion for my music. He would often show up in our evening sessions, unannounced. I knew it was because of his natural love for music. Also, I used to observe how the King dealt with his subjects. I found him fair and kind. I began to like him.

One night, in the middle of a song, the Queen suddenly stopped and sat down. She looked very tired. I wanted to call it a night and leave the room. She looked at me and said, “Can you please call me Maher? Just once. I will never ask you again.” I was terrified. She insisted. I kept ignoring. She lost control and raised her voice, “For old time’s sake, why can’t you please me once?” The guards rushed in. Someone hit me brutally on my head.

When I regained conscious, I found myself lying down on a pool of blood in a dark cell. The cell was full of insects and they were all over me too. The pain in my head and neck was so severe that I could not even push the insects off of my body. A loud noise woke me up again. A guard was at the door throwing some food on the floor. I was in no mood to eat any food, but I was happy to see it. The insects chased the food, leaving me alone momentarily.

Days went by. I had no contact with the outside world. I did not see any sunlight. It felt like ages. My body was getting eaten up by the insects. I knew my days were numbered. One day two guards suddenly opened the cell door and ordered me out. I was too weak to act. They carried me out. I was not used to the sunlight, so my eyes were blinded. They put me on a horse cart and drove me to a playground. I was made to sit in front some wise-looking people. Behind them, the King and the Queen were sitting in a decorated podium. One of the wise-looking men pointed at me and yelled, “You prisoner, we are here to decide your fate. You have committed a crime against the King and the Kingdom. Above all, you have violated our beloved Queen. Do you understand?” I had nothing to say. I did not care to answer. Another man shouted, “Do you understand, prisoner?” I nodded my head. Then they went on whispering with one another. This farce continued for quite a while. I was exhausted, so I wanted them to decide fast.

As I was getting restless in pain, one of them again pointed at me and asked me to stand up. Then he said, “We have reached our verdict. Do you understand?” I nodded again. Then he read the verdict, “You will be stoned by the people until death.” I had no reaction. I sat there like a stone. In fact, I was happy to get the death sentence. I wanted to go. I was tired of rotting in that cell and getting eaten away by the insects. I just wished it was a little less violent and painful. “Do you have anything to say about our verdict?” asked one of them. In my weak voice I said, “Yes.” I then continued, “What is the crime?” I was immediately thrown back on the horse cart. A loud laughter followed.

I was waiting for my execution. Nobody was ready to talk to me. One day, after throwing the food on the floor, the guard told me that my death sentence was reduced to a life in the prison. I was very unhappy. I could not bear the suffering anymore. Time passed and I was getting weaker by the day. I slept most of the time. Even the guard’s presence hardly woke me up. I started vomiting blood frequently. I realized I was very close to death.

“His Majesty wants to see you,” the guard said. He then picked me up on his shoulder and took me inside the palace. He placed me by a bed. The King was lying down on the bed. The King then slowly held my hand and said, “My dear singer, please sing a song for me.” I realized he was in his death bed, too. So I did not want to deprive him of his last pleasure. I struggled for a while to get some air in my lungs. Then I started singing one of his very favorite songs. I saw a smile in his face. Half-way through the song, his hand separated. I also could not carry on any longer. My head dropped. My hands were laid still, circling his feet. I heard a whisper, “The King was slowly poisoned.” I could smell some fresh flowers. I tried to open my eyes bigger to see the Queen one last time. I could not.

Someone softly closed my eye-lids. Someone who perhaps cared…

Suddenly it was bright. Very bright. I could see everything clearly. I was sitting under a tree and singing on the Velvet Mountains. Maher was dancing to my songs. I kept staring at her. She was blushing. I could see some tears in her eyes. The little ones from our herds were chasing her. Her hands were going up and down, hair bouncing, and flora flapping all over her face. She started dancing down the mountain, leading the way like an angel.

Again, it turned dark. Very dark.

The other divine beings who’d already taken part of this ancient challenge were all on their feet. Watching their young ones getting ready to take ov’r & hopefully, also end up winning for their family realm’s.

This was the big day. I had been training for so long for it. But~ was I ready? From my station, I could see my Mother rooting for me, well, she had power of controlling trees. I had to hold it together. I couldn’t stop thinking about how that’d look—the roots clapping for me. What a spectacle to behold, even imagine!

The gong was struck and that brought my mind back to the Ultimate Challenge. I took in a deep breath. The portal master raised her hands to shush the crowd. All who were in the arena became silent. With all her three eyes, the portal master focused and opened a series of portals for us, the challengers, to go through. The second I was close to the portal, I heard a shrill. Hmm, just a way that my Papa was getting my attention. I turned around & waved at him. Then jumped through the time gate.

I spun around & felt as if my body was being stretched. My super breakfast of freshly baked grouselz seemed to be swaying to & fro in my tummy. That made me feel so sick.

When I landed at the end of the portal, I came to an enormous greyish dark place. Was this the realm of the Dead? I quickly scanned the area. Huh. I guess this was the challenge- what could I create in this empty space? I looked around and then shut my eyes. The moment I opened them I clapped my hands. A beam of light charged around and changed into a ball of fire, which later burst & changed into a silver dragon. I got on my first creation’s back and went around creating a new world.

My next creation was somekind of spherical thing, which I called an orb. The orb blinked at me and it began to transform into something new. I stared in shock. I should have been practicing more with magic and transformations in my studies. Not only combat. The orb stretched it’s newly formed hands and smiled at me. Ah, it had no place to go. So, I created for it an island—which started to spin. After a short while, there was a great mass of land..and I filled that with even more orb like things.

A clock appeared before me. It was the challenge timer, I had to speed things up. I cracked my fingers, neck and even my back...then snapped my fingers. My new creations were in a good place. I announced to them all to take care of the place I created for them. And if they had any questions, they should feel free to ask. Soon, I heard a piercing ringing sound. No! The gong had been struck. I panicked....had I completed the challenge? I wondered how the rest of the challengers had done.

I rushed to the portal that had opened the minute the gong’s chime was no longer heard. What would happen to my creations? Would they remember to make pleas to me for help? I guess only time would tell. I hoped that they’ll all learn to work together and not have to have me intervene, almost at all times. The only thing that I didn’t want to leave was my silver dragon. Now that I had to go show my parents. Then the next time they need help with creating something, I’d be there to help.

Since I discovered a new pow’r, I didn’t really mind if I had won the Ultimate Challenge, or not. And whenever I end up paying a visit to my first creations, I would make sure to take the ones who have no more time left. Take them away from their suffering & bring them to this one area where all divine beings dwell.

#UltimateChallenge

If I ruled the world and everyone had no choice but to do my bidding, I would order my father to stop drinking. Maybe then, he'd listen to me and the red of his eyes would finally begin to fade. My father drinks whenever he can, so long as there is a bottle of gin in the store; so I would ban every alcoholic drink and tax their manufacturers to bankcruptcy. Under my reign, no one would be allowed to drink. They could try but once I'd find out, I'd have them swig down every drum of alcohol to the last drop.

If I ruled the world and the money-system was in my hand, I would burn money-lending companies to the ground and fine them for taking advantage of my mother. If there was no law for that already, I would have my legislators draft one right now. Every undue interest they demanded from my mother, I would take away from them, no interests added because I am not like them. And I'd tell my mother to quit her worrying about money. I would be the ruler of an entire planet, surely there'd be a fine salary in that.

If I ruled the world and people would strain to listen to me speak, I would tell the dean that I wasn't unworthy of being a scholar, unlike she said. I'd clarify that I did participate in school activities but I was just lazy to mention them in my forms. If only she had the mind to take a look at my grades, she would have realized earlier; and she would not need to be shamed for shaming a world ruler in her small office.

If I ruled the world and my words bore the power of my army, I'd decree for my neighbor to stop hurting his children. I hear them crying everyday because they dropped a glass or tripped clumsily and so got belted on the arm for that. He has a pretty huge build and an intimidating aura but if I ruled, who would be scared of whom now?

If I ruled the world and my power reached far, I'd command my subordinates to go find that little girl I saw on TV. She had progeria, they weren't rich, and she did not have long to live. I'd order them to bring her to the best clinic and have her checked up regularly. I'd finance the research for her cure, and if there were still none, I'd like to make the rest of her days the best she'd ever known. The boy with hydrocephalus, the girl with heart disease, the twins whose bones are frail, and all those people I saw suffering in the news, I might not be able to save them but I'd like to try.

If I ruled the world and my every breath counted, maybe I'd start to realize then how important I am. Maybe then I'd stop doing these stupid things to myself. Maybe then I'd stop punishing myself for all the times I have erred. Maybe then, I'd be able to recognize my own worth and at last forgive myself.

"Do you remember my son?"

"No, ma'am. I don't remember him."

He wasn’t familiar to me at all, but I could see his father in him. John was tall and thin, with a working man's suntanned skin and gray stubble. His age was impossible to determine; my best guess put him somewhere between 50 and 70. The crow's feet around his eyes had flown many a mile, and his glance was friendly, but distant. He shook my hand and spoke a warm southern greeting in my direction, but I could tell he didn't really know me. Or care.

"Oh, I'm sure you met him. This is John, and Will is over there," Eloise pointed to a far table at the yard sale. I was there for the treasures as much as I was for the memories.

"And my other son, well. You know we ... lost him."

It was a heavy moment.

His name was Michael, and they didn't "lose" him.

He was murdered.

By her grandson.

His sister, Christine, stared off at the busy highway, pretending not to hear the last.

Eloise stared off into years gone by.

Smiling, moving forward, Eloise hugged me. "Thank you for coming. It's so nice to see you!"

I hadn't seen Eloise or her former husband George in years. They lived on the corner of a major intersection in town, and I'd pass right by that mid-century brick ranch any time I went into the city. Sometimes, I'd spot George tinkering in the yard, if the weather was good enough.

But I never stopped.

I never spoke.

And now he's gone.

Here in front of me was one of his sons, standing two feet away, and it was like I was looking thirty years into the past.

Eloise had her arm around me, holding me close.

"I'm glad you stopped by. I was just talking about you the other day, wondering where you were, what you were doing."

"It's true." Her granddaughter Christine had moved closer, participating in our conversation since talk had shifted away from nearly discussing her brother. "I told Gran that you and I were Facebook friends, but then you were just gone." I explained that I shut down and deleted my account years ago.

Christine is close to my age, and had been one of the River girlfriends.

That River is a magical place where all of our grandparents lived; instead of a condo in Boca, our people bought cabins and trailers along the banks of a lazy, mystical river that flows through south Georgia, down past Savannah and into the arms of the Atlantic. On weekends and on summer breaks, I spent a lot of time along the banks of that river.

During some of the happiest weekends, Christine would also be visiting at the same time as me. If we were both extremely lucky, she would be without her brother. The two of us, uninterrupted, conquered castles and slayed dragons, explored oceans and dived the deeps. Everything was innocent and kind and simple, and time spent together was one of childhood's pure joys. She was a beautiful girl in our youth, and she is a pretty woman in our prime, made prettier still by the adventures we shared as children.

She went from playing house along the banks of that river to keeping one of her own with the husband she warmly introduced.

When he walked away, we exchanged a look that wished for Gorbachev and Pepsi Free and only three channels on the television.

All the while, Eloise had me in a powerful hug. Finally, she shuffled back inside, explaining that she needed to fetch a gift for my mother. I continued to make small talk with Christine and Mr. Christine, who had returned to us with their son. I made a few jokes with the little boy as the matriarch finally returned.

"I've had these for so long. I think you and your mother will appreciate them more," she explained, handing me a few standard sized photographs.

For a moment, no one else in the world existed.

For a moment, I was surrounded by a world filled with Gorbachev and Pepsi Free and only three channels on the television.

I was moved back in time.

My grandparents.

At That River.

They were happy.

The man's man who made such a mark on me with all his stoicism and spare tenderness was smiling for the camera.

On the back of one of the photos, "1986" was scrawled in blue ball-point.

Cancer was a stranger in that photograph, and friends gathered at a Christmas party.

Eloise continued. "This was at our place on the river. You can see we're all there. Willie, making plans for the next New Year's oyster roast. Gail, happy as ever. Of course, your grandmother," her voice actually hitched. After thirty years, this eighty-five year old woman still mourned the loss of a dear friend. "She was our heart. When she died," another sigh, "things were never the same. We stopped going down to the river so much. Willie and Gail sold their place. Dean never went as often, either. And Anita...I think she took it harder than any of us." She did; Anita sold her house six months after my grandmother died.

This was a eulogy, a confession, from a woman widowed less than a year. She delivered her declaration with a depth of sadness not even reserved for her late husband. She spoke of him with love and tenderness, but no longer with mourning.

Three decades later, she still mourned the loss of my family. Thirty years of time and healing had still not filled the holes left behind by the absence of her dear friend.

I continued to look through the photos she'd given me, struggling to make sense of images that had suddenly become hidden behind refracting light and shadow of silent tears.

Smiling, I wiped my eyes and thanked her for such a precious gift.

Her arm returned to hug me as best as her five-one stooped frame would allow.

"She was the best of us." I just nodded, because that's all I could manage.

I couldn't help thinking, though, that if I were God for a day, if I ruled this world and the next, the best of us would never have gone.

if the world

rested upon my shaking hands,

i would set it upon a steady table.

i would snatch up all the

pedophiles,

rapists,

supremacists,

terrorists,

and such.

i would implant a

happy little seed

into their narrow minds

about the idea of acceptance.

and then they can start their life over.

if seen, because they will be watched carefully,

guilty of the same disgusting crimes,

i’ll kill them.

poof.

gone.

just like that

“she just disappeared,” they’ll remark.

“where did he go?” they’ll question.

and i’ll smile.

they would have had their not one,

but two,

chances, after all.

and as the generations go on,

people will forget that those terrible creatures

ever graced this land.

they'll live

in the rainbows and sunshine that

everyone deserves.

if i could,

that would be my creation of a world.