ON A DAY JUST LIKE ANY other, a young man went walking to a well that was by a tree that he had always thought reminded him of a pretty woman. The tree’s branches all leaned toward the ground as if they were her hair.

And when a strong wind blew, the branches danced in the wind. The young man smiled and wondered why this tree looked sort of human.

As he carried on moving closer to the well, he heard a voice calling out to him: ‘O, kind and brave knight. Won’t you save me from my plight.’

The young man looked back at the tree and saw a pair of weeping eyes blinking at him. He screamed and dashed away in a manner as if his pants were on fire.

As he tried to escape, something grabbed him by his ankles & lifted his body off the ground. He was shocked to see his ankles were wrapped with a branch from the weeping willow tree.

The tree had a burrow right by it’s roots. His body was dragged into it. He screamed and screamed, but the tree was not in the same spot it had been-near the well.

#TheWeepin’Tree— (C) 24.07.2021

Sat’rday.

WHAT EYES HE had.

The children could not look away.

They were not the same colour.

One reminded them of the hue of blades of grass.

And the other— the other eye was more startling: dazzling with a glow as if- if one stared long enough in the golden eye~ they would be hypnotized.

His hair colour matched his mesmerizin’ golden eye.

#TheSageofSages (C) 23.07.2021

National Proofreading Day

International (Working) Women’s Day

National Peanut Cluster Day

Be Nasty Day

The first one should be a no-brainer for all of us. We all make typo’s. It’s a given because our hand moves faster than the brain can keep up with. We are so eager to write something to please people with, we tend to forget that we are not “mistake proof.”

And if you like your peanuts mixed with chocolate and somewhat salty, then hop, run, walk, or drive to the grocery store and get yourself some.

With that said, there are two here I want to focus on.

International (Working) Women’s Day

International Women's Day is sponsored worldwide by the United Nations. However, the UN did not originate this special celebration. The roots of this celebration goes back to the late 1800's and early 1900s. It grew from women's socialist movements and early women's trade union groups.

The first International Women's Day was held March 19, 1911. Women socialists and trade unions held an earlier Women's Day on the last Sunday in February 1908. The event grew from there, and has been celebrated annually since. The focus is upon women workers, and advancing women's rights in the workforce, politics, and society.

The seeds of this day were planted in 1908, when 15,000 women marched through New York City demanding shorter working hours, better pay and the right to vote. It was the Socialist Party of America who declared the first National Woman's Day, a year later.

The idea to make the day international came from a woman called Clara Zetkin. She suggested the idea in 1910 at an International Conference of Working Women in Copenhagen. There were 100 women there, from 17 countries, and they agreed on her suggestion unanimously.

It was first celebrated in 1911, in Austria, Denmark, Germany and Switzerland. The centenary was celebrated in 2011, so this year we're technically celebrating the 110th International Women's Day.

Things were made official in 1975 when the United Nations started celebrating the day. The first theme adopted by the UN (in 1996) was "Celebrating the past, Planning for the Future."

"Just believe in yourself. Even if you don't, pretend that you do,

and at some point, you will."—Venus Williams

Be Nasty Day

Who in their right mind would make this a holiday?

The word "nasty" has a few meanings, but in this context, it is referring to being rude, mean, spiteful, or difficult to be around. On this day everyone has an excuse to be nasty by displaying these attributes to others in both word and action. It is not known who created this day, but it is fairly obvious, who ever it was, was not having a good day.

If you choose to (and I hope you don’t), you can celebrate (and for this write, I use that word loosely) the day by being nasty to others. Call them names and insult them. Cut in front of them in line. If you have things you really feel about people but have been holding back, today is the day to say them. Hang up on people who call you. Ignore messages you receive online, and ignore your friends and family. There are tons of ways to be nasty today.

In recent weeks, we have seen and heard the nastiness of many Americans and it has hurt me to the core, that fellow Americans have to incite riots, hate groups and the like to express their views—if you can call them that. Though the man has been dead for a number of years, there were words he uttered that come back to me with times like this.

“Can’t we all just get along?”—Rodney King.

"God does not require you to succeed. He only requires you to try."—Mother Teresa

An evil man is ensnared by the transgression of his lips, but the righteous escapes from trouble. From the fruit of his mouth a man is satisfied with good, and the work of a man's hand comes back to him. The way of a fool is right in his own eyes, but a wise man listens to advice. The vexation of a fool is known at once, but the prudent ignores an insult. Whoever speaks the truth gives honest evidence, but a false witness utters deceit.—Proverbs 12: 13-23

Let him who is without sin cast the first stone—John 8: 7

More strange holidays are coming!

L’amour

Love—

Tell me about love-

Love is powerful

Love- it is Her

She is love

I call her: Mother.

From the moment she knew she was expecting a baby on the way

Even before laying her eyes on me

Her heart filled with love

Love for her little one

And when I arrived, she carried on showing love through her actions

Of total care, absolute guarding, sharing funny riddles and giving pearls of wisdom.

She makes me believe in love

Reminding me that love gives one strength to keep on going not only for ourselves, but also for those who love us, too.

Love, if personified, she’d be love

Pouring out her heart & soul to many who she loves

So blessed to have a Super Mom

Unconditional L’amour

#L’amour (c) 7th March, 2021.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=58lbbLQ5G0Y

I’m dreaming about a one-armed man when the call comes through. I suffer with night terrors now and then, so in my panicked and dreamlike state I lash out, punching my pillow with force. It’s a good job I sleep alone. The ringing, direct in my eardrum, finally coaxes me out of my REM cycle and wakes me from my much-needed sleep. I hate it when they override my ear implant like that. It’s only for emergencies they say but what exactly constitutes an emergency? The fine print in my employment contract doesn’t say. Being awake is jarring and takes me a while to adjust to the state of forced consciousness. Not for the first time, I regret having the biotech upgrades in my body.

I tap my inner ear and answer the call uttering a groaned “Sir?” by way of greeting, my voice still husky from slumber.

“Mike. We need you in. Now.”

“What’s happened?”

“Internal Affairs.”

It’s a struggle to leave the warm cocoon of my bed but I emerge victorious, aching and yawning, and get changed. My whole body screams go back to bed, not only because my sleep was rudely interrupted but also my recent case has been so physically taxing. I need a break, a nice long vacation to somewhere warm with beaches and alcohol. I’m 32 and I’m honestly getting too old for this.

But, thankfully I don’t have to commute; work meetings are usually conducted virtually from a secure server set up at home, so on sleep-deprived auto-pilot I log in to my work terminal , open up my work database and enter a video conference with my boss within 10 minutes, wielding a strong cup of coffee at my side like a firearm. It’s 4am and the sun is just starting to rise over the hilly landscape of Northern California, casting an eerie amber tinge to my apartment. The ominous golden glow sets the tone for the virtual meeting, where there are two other government officials waiting. Internal Affairs, I assume although I’ve never seen these guys before. They both don dull grey suits and serious authoritative expressions. The mood is sombre and I know my usual wisecracks about dragging me out of bed wouldn’t be well received right now.

“Morning Mr Knokes,” One of the government officials begins by introducing himself in a monotone voice and immediately takes charge of proceedings. My boss is nowhere to be seen; his camera is turned off, so it appears I’m left fending for myself. “We are the Internal Affairs Committee of Behaviours and Affairs to the Precrime Department. My name is Officer Carlo.”

It’s a mouthful of a job title which I didn’t really listen to, but I know it indicates that they mean business. Officer Carlo, is dark-haired, possibly of Italian descent but in our video meeting his features appear even darker, the screen emits a strange grey-coloured miasma and his shadowy eyes peer into the screen like inky pits. Intimidation tactics still working well in a virtual setting, I note.

“How can I help you Officer Carlo?” I offer. In my nervous state ,my tone is smug and slightly unctuous, so I take a deep breath and silently tell myself to act normal.

“We are opening an investigation into your current time-centric assignment in California.” Officer Carlo replies, reading from a script verbatim. “And it would be in your best interests to answer a few questions pertinent to our investigation. In accord with your departmental policies you can request a union representative to sit in with you during this discussion.”

He has the cold, rigid, emotionally detached manner of an interrogator down to a tee. The condescending, somewhat nasal tone of voice; the passive-aggressive nuances where he says one thing but means another, the pen poised to write notes just to unnerve me. It’s all part of the dance. I know full well I have the right for my union rep, but we both know he’d be making a black mark in my file somewhere if I use one.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” I say confidently which is a lie. I’m not fine and I’m not okay. This case has been the bane of my life for the last few months; an operational nightmare and sooner or later it was going to come back and bite me. Well today’s the day.

“Let the record reflect, union representation was declined. Can you confirm your name and job title, for the record?”

“My name is Mike Knokes ,Time Protection Officer of the 24th Precrime Division based in California.”

“And could you briefly summarize the nature of your work as Time Protection Officer?.”

“Of course.” I speak clearly and concisely.

“ As a Time Protection Officer , we use Precrime databases to look for and detect possible serious and major crimes . Using newly-developed Time Travel technologies we can eliminate these threats before they occur, by eliminating the potential suspect. Our division currently operate on a 99% efficiency rating.”

I know, through video capture tools I’m also being analyzed in real time for facial tics, speech patterns, anything that could give away liars and cheaters of the system. I am neither but is still disarming to be under the microscope like this; especially first thing in the morning and without breakfast.

Officer Carlo pauses to take notes. “Thank you. Now moving on to your current case. The Precrime suspect is a potential serial killer, is that correct?”

“That’s correct. Our Precrime database spotted a potential serial killer in serious 1 category, who could potentially go on to kill over 50 innocent people.”

“According to the file your first suspect for this serial killer was one: Michael Renard?”

“Yes. Our data analysis led us to this suspect with a 97% match.”

“And you jumped to his timeline -to the date July 4 2010 to perform the first assassination of the case, as authorized by your superior Jerry West correct?”

“Yes . We wanted to eliminate the suspect before he committed his first crime: a house robbery, from which his crimes would escalate.”

“And he was killed in a drive-by shooting?”

“Those were my parameters. We pinpointed a date and time he would be alone. I used a BTT dated weapon, a 9mm, to ensure the authorities in that timeline would conclude the crime was OTT.”

“For the record. BTT means Before Time Travel and OTT means Of That Timeline.” Officer Carlo turns slightly to the side at this point, speaking to someone off-camera . It’s apparent that other members of the committee are listening in on this call. I’m being interrogated, analyzed and broadcast in one fell swoop as if they’ve already got their guy and I wonder if it’s too late for my union rep, or perhaps even a lawyer. “And if I can ask you Mr Knokes to refrain from using acronyms here on out and be as clear as possible with your terminology.”

“No problem.” I reply taking a sip of coffee that turns into a gulp. I’m starting to perspire and I come to the sobering realization that my job and future career is on the line at this moment. Where the hell was my boss Jerry? Did he just feed me to the proverbial wolves and run?

“Now after that first authorized assassination- that should have been the end to your assignment, isn’t that right?”

“Yes once a potential suspect is eliminated, it’s usually case closed and we then focus on watching potential victims as a precaution.”

“But in this case, could you please explain to the committee what occurred next?”

My throat is dry and my hands are damp. I take another sip of coffee, clear my throat and try to keep my response clear and concise. “Approximately 30 days later we discovered an anomaly with the data sets. Another suspect for the same future crimes was named , a Mr Brian Hart, again with a 90% match. It’s never happened before I believe, so my team and I convened an emergency meeting and formulated a risk assessment.”

“What did that risk assessment show?”

“That if we performed a second assassination we would still be in the positive for the danger -to -life ratio and would still be performing a service to the public. In other words, the collateral damage of the mistaken identity was deemed acceptable against the protection of lives metric. A second assassination would be within our parameters.”

“So the second assassination was authorized. How was this performed Mr Knokes?”

“The assassination occurred on 27 September 2010. My team and I decided we didn’t want any link to the first assassination to be made, so we altered our weapon of choice and used a knife OTT: Of That Timeline.”

“Okay moving on.” Officer Carlo continues taking copious notes. It’s all part of the choreography, the intentionally slow turning of the page, the wielding of the pen- God only knows what he’s writing: the whole conversation is being monitored and recorded and an automatic transcript would be available and printed out on thick-reamed paper two seconds after this call. “ It is also our understanding another anomaly occurred soon after which prompted you to log these issues with the investigative complaints team of Department of Precrime Technology.”

“Yes that’s correct. Another suspect was named, a Mr Peter Steadman, again with a high match percentage of 97%. These anomalies were very unusual and we had to raise the question with the complaints team.”

“ So what did you and your team decide?”

“We performed another risk assessment. As this serial killer was predicted to be highly dangerous and according to psychological profiles and precrime projections, would go on to kill over 50 innocent people, the assassination of another suspect still fell within our positive parameters as the benefits outweighed the risks.”

“Did you store and save these risk assessments?”

“Yes Officer Carlo. I can give you access if required.”

“What happened next?”

“We didn’t have much planning behind this one as it was again time-critical, so we performed another assassination. It wasn’t our best work I admit, but my team and I were under considerable stress at this point and we were showing symptoms of TCS: Time Crossing Syndrome. ”

“What sort of symptoms?”

“Memory loss, disorientation. It caused some mistakes to be made at the scene; someone else got hurt. But my guys are good, they are the best at what they do.” I say this adamantly cos I’d be damned if any of this blowback goes back on them. It’s a typical field officer reaction, where all our geese are swans but this isn’t my first rodeo, I’ve seen how Internal Affairs operate; I’ve seen their investigations turn savage, or devolve into government-sanctioned witch hunts , where regardless of the mistake someone is to blame and lessons will be learned. Yes, there are moral ambiguities to our work, we work in the ethical grey but that’s why we have processes and calculated assessments- we act on the data and I won’t have them scapegoated for doing their job. Not today.

“And did you make any attempt to jump back and fix these mistakes?” Officer Carlo asks gravely. “or undo the assassinations?”

“The data didn’t allow for that sir. According to the analysis, they were all a match. If we undid the assassinations we’d run the risk of saving the real serial killer- people would have died. It also creates complex ripples in the timelines, I understand.”

There is a pause in proceedings now as Officer Carlo confers with his colleagues. I hear whispers and a low rumble of voices. My eyes narrow and my ears prick up, I raise my head, alert to my surroundings. This meeting is strange but something in the minutiae of their communication signals something more serious is going on; it’s the furrowing of brows, the deepening of tones, even through a screen, seeing nothing but disembodied heads, I can read the room and sense the urgency and stress behind their chatter. It makes me nervous and my eyes flitter subconsciously to my uniform and holster on the other side of the room.

Abruptly and unceremoniously, they leave the meeting. The chat room is empty and I’m left, baffled, facing a blank monitor.

Out of nowhere, my boss Jerry flashes onto screen. His camera is now on and he’s visibly stressed; he’s eyes are shadowed with dark crescents and there’s uncharacteristic stubble smattered on his chin.

“What the hell Jerry!” I bark.

“Don’t worry too much Mike. We played it by the book.” He says in an unconvincing attempt to reassure me. His eyes are darting everywhere and he’s fidgeting with his hair, tell-tale signs of a liar. A bad one at that.

“Cut the bull Jerry, what’s going on?” I ask. “Is there a problem with the tech?”

“Can of worms. No one is admitting anything.” More fidgeting, no eye contact. “But the problem is the assassinations.”

“What do you mean? We followed the risk-assessments- they were authorized.”

Jerry pauses, he takes a deep breath and lowers his head -looking directly into his camera- and adopts a conspiratorial tone. “These IA guys are not from our time line Mike.”

I begin to speak but no words come out.

“I can’t say anymore.” Jerry whispers, he looked stressed before but now he looks fearful. His eyes won’t meet mine and his frown deepens from conflict. He shakes his head.

“Jerry come on, you owe me.” I plead.

“I can’t say on this open line.” He snaps and his camera switches off again.

I stare in disbelief once more at an empty meeting room. I’m trying to work it out, I’m doing the math but I just can’t solve the sums. Internal Affairs from a different time line? In all my years working in Precrime, after jumping to 16 different timelines, working at the apex of modern technology - yet this has never happened before.

I reach for my coffee, but wish for something stronger and not for the first time, my eyes gravitate over to my uniform and firearm.

A faint buzz in my head breaks the hiatus. I tap my inner ear to accept the call coming through my implant and Jerry’s gravelly voice hisses straight into my cochlear. “Mike. Can you hear me? They are Internal Affairs from ten years ahead. Your name has come up on their database as a suspect.”

The sound crackles a little as the interference corrects itself, but Jerry’s voice still transmits in an undertone.

“The people you eliminated were innocent and now they want to clean up the whole thing. This investigative meeting is your risk assessment Mike. Do you hear me? They’re checking the parameters and comparing metrics as we speak.”

The line crackles again and I tap my inner ear furiously trying to keep the fading voice online.

“Mike?”

“Jerry?” I’m talking to the air, as the connection cuts off and all of a sudden the silence of my apartment is deafening.

Until I hear a knock at my door and the unmistakable click of a weapon- Of This Timeline.

Card Reading Day

National Grain-Free Day

National Sticky Bun Day

Another short list, then again, February is a short month, and I’m a short person, well sort of. Okay, enough meandering, time to rock and roll with this.

Card Reading Day

This day is a chance to get sentimental with any cards you have saved to break them and rereading them. A greeting card is an illustrated, folded card featuring an expression of friendship or other sentiment.

Although greeting cards are usually given on special occasions such as birthdays, Christmas, or other holidays, they are also sent to convey thanks or express other feeling. Postcards, which are single-sided without the fold, can function in a manner somewhat similar to greeting cards.

Whoever said, "It is far better to give, than to receive?" As for me, I enjoy getting cards and reading them. That's because you can't read a card until you receive one.

It's a day to read cards; no more, no less. It also gives you a chance to ponder for a moment when you first received the card and why.

Honestly though, I had hoped there might have been a connection to suggest it is a day for Tarot card readings. I couldn’t find a connection.

What I can tell you, is that it’s very popular to send and receive cards today. In order to read a card, someone has to send one. So, get the ball rolling and send out some cards today. Chances are, you will get a few back.

"A bird does not sing because it has an answer.

It sings because it has a song."—Chinese Proverb

National Grain-Free Day

Today is set aside to inspire families and friends to gather and enjoy each other’s company over grain-free meals. It is an interesting way to devote an entire day to loved ones who cope with dietary limitations. Not only does the day create a way to recognize the difficulties of a restricted diet, but it celebrates the family and brings everyone back into the kitchen for a meal designed just for them.

(My initial thought was grain-free alcohol.)

Often someone who cannot have wheat, corn, or rice due to an allergy or another autoimmune disease finds themselves eating celery sticks at the latest family gathering or office party. But what we truly miss are the traditional family meals and feeling included. The celebration sets out to create an entire day full of meals entirely grain-free.

This day was created in 2019 by Siete Family Foods to support those whose dietary restrictions require them to eat grain-free. By raising awareness, they hope to bring them back around the table again, enjoying family meals.

National Sticky Bun Day

What goes better with coffee or a glass of milk than something a little sweet, nutty, and possibly oozing with caramel. It’s National Sticky Bun Day. This delightful confection, a Philadelphia specialty originally known as “Schnecken” (German for sticky bun) are thought to have been brought to the United States by German settlers in the 18th century. Often served for breakfast, Sticky buns are also sometimes known as cinnamon rolls, caramel rolls, or monkey bread.

Personally, I love the cinnamon but with raisins added and the gooier the better.

So, I have to ask—have you ever been to a state fair and catch the aroma of freshly made sticky buns and you find yourself practically levitated to where the sweet smell emanates from? I won’t lie to you, I have. Well, I wasn’t levitated.

“If your butt sticks to the chair,

you’ve been eating that sticky bun wrong—again.”—Me

More strange holidays are coming!

i'm not okay right now.

i try to be.

i pretend to be.

i'm only okay when i'm with her.

when i'm alone i feel like dying.

i should have tried harder to be normal

to not be gay.

i hate myself for being this way.

i hate myself for giving in to something i should change.

i might never be okay

again.

We all at times

shed the tears of true pain

yes they’re bitter,

they’re potent

and they’re real

but we do not give in

for there’s always a hope

to transform

to redeem,

and to heal.

So take hold of the reins

do not succumb!

for true pain never dies

it sleepeth ...

I’m fumbling the words

Necessary

To quantify

The feeling of this loss

So I sit

Silent

Staring at the screen

Tears leak

Stream

Streak

Eventually scream

Why haven’t you stopped crying yet??

I rejoice

Each day’s end

As the struggle to function

Is through

I pray

To the night

Not to beseige me

With thoughts of you

If tears were a blanket

I wouldn’t be drowning

If your love had been real

I wouldn’t be frowning

I’d just be warm

And loved

Why can’t

THAT be

My reality?

the shortest distance between two points

is often unbearable

― Charles Bukowski

The door opens slowly, and I stare at her heavy expression, green sparks like small flames crackling somewhere on the edges, concern mixed with agitation. She gazes at me, noticing the tired face and the strain of my muscles, the vibrations that seem to almost sweat out through my skin and pores. You can pretty much taste the saltiness of the calm fierceness sticking to my veins.

“Ah, I see that Ramsey delivered my message. There was no reason to rush, though. I still have some left.”

She shakes her head slowly, eyes narrowing, making it quite clear that my surface answers don’t faze her much as she swiftly moves right past them, throwing away all the unwanted layers I cover myself with so well. Usually, that is. With her, it’s a bit harder. But maybe it’s another reason, why I gravitate towards her so much. It was a relief at times for someone to see past your elegantly sculptured deceit, covering all the filth and mayhem that you choose not to show for the public view. I valued and respected the way how her penetrating eyes challenged me. And on a few rare occasions, causing me to actually care about something other than reaching my goals and satisfying the delightful selfish needs.

“You didn’t take it again. Did you?”

I gaze at her, something in me crackling low like burning wood in the dead of winter. Flames licking the logs and consuming them slowly, for now just tasting and showing their playful tongues.

“No.”

I both sign and mouth it to her in a thick, almost syrupy whisper, my energy all over the place. Mind a bit confused as to why my body seems to be on fire, and not from the harm inflicted on my hands but something deep within me that wants to get out. My hands - a dark smile covers my face as a tiny flicker of madness colors my blood in such a pleasing way - those I hardly felt, if anything, they were a motivation to keep going, to break whatever was damaged in my wiring. I watch her staring at me, eyebrows furrowed as her irritation seems to blend with my unstable energy. It’s a risk for her to even be here, and she knows it, yet it doesn’t stop her or make her back away. She steps closer to me, and I try not to move everything in me so heightened.

“You think I don’t know, but I feel you.”

Her energy both sinks into me and bounces off invisible walls as I answer with a calm that could make buildings collapse.

“This time, I was almost sure that I could beat it on my own. I was getting close.”

She sends me an intense stare that says I have glided over her words. Something breaks through my blazing mind and brings unexpected softness to my voice. Her presence alone seeming to soothe the things lingering under my skin. As if bursts of dark holes on the surface of the sun. Exploding every second, yet invisible to the mortal eye. Too far away to touch.

“Yes, I know that you feel me, as I sense you, deeply.”

“And still, you would risk my anger.”

She signs slowly, an intense, heavy stern feel to it. And still, her words almost painting themselves like a little masterpiece as her fingers dance before my eyes. Such elegant motions, even when her soul blazes with fierceness. My state softens some more as I smile and gaze at her delicate features. The long blond hair that resembles silk and lays like a curtain against her back, this time not twisted into a braid but instead hanging loosely and pinned at the sides so they won’t fall to her face. She’s wearing a pair of pale green pants that end above her ankles, and a creamy shirt without any sleeves, a strip of soft skin showing between the bottom of it and the line of her trousers, a pair of white simple ballerinas, hugging her feet softly. The entire outfit kept in the 1950s, girl next door kind of style, though I know that she doesn’t plan it that way, just everything about her seeming to belong to a different era. Everything on her seems old-fashioned, even the worn-out brown leather bag that hangs across the slender shoulder.

“Your anger, my dear?”

“Don’t be so amused, I had more than once stoked your fires.”

My eyes follow hers, feeling the intensity of her energy. Like a baby tiger roaring, its claws sharper than you could ever expect. Never underestimate the stripes on a beast, no matter how innocent they might seem. I think and my hand automatically reaches out and lays on the side of her waist as I pull her into me, breath tickling her skin as I lean in, whispering, my eyes on her.

That was a different kind of thrill.

My hands are busy, but I know that she can read the words from my lips, a smile spreading as I see her reaction. She blushes from the sudden closeness, yet is determined to make me listen first, a nearing lecture already written all over her face - a stubborn creature not fooled by my gentle distractions. Well, maybe not so gentle - I think as she frees herself from my hold, putting my hands sternly by my sides. She was the only one that I let do such a thing. If it had been anyone else, I would have pounced at her, finding many more pleasing ways to spend time with her than a conversation.

“Sit.”

She points to the sofa, and I obey very slowly, as it wasn’t in my nature to do so. Yet, I made just a few rare exceptions. She was one of them. I sit down, observing as she busies herself in the kitchen, preparing everything needed for the brew. The smell of rich herbs soon filling the air as she brings me a tall glass that I usually use for coffee. She catches my stare as I take it from her and shrugs, lifting her hands impatiently.

“It doesn’t matter what it is in or how I serve it to you, just as long as you drink it.”

I nod gently, sipping the warm liquid.

She frees herself slowly from her leather bag and lets it slip to the ground while her eyes never leave mine, and then sits on the sofa, making herself comfortable. Lifting her legs and sitting crosslegged towards me, all the while watching me thoughtfully as our eyes fight some unspoken battle. Her stare is calm yet intense in a way, with beautiful orbs filled with a mixture of blue waters and emerald fields, as if some of her energy was always drifting out. I know that she has a lot of thoughts roaming around in her mind, but I’m also aware that she will only speak of some.

“Do you feel better now?”

“I thought you sensed me just fine on your own.”

She grabs my elbow firmly until a sigh leaves my lips. I finish drinking and put the glass down. We stare at each other for a moment until I release her hold from me and put that hand to my cheek. This does not faze her as she is familiar with this gesture. I have known her for years, and we have been through a lot together. My eyes follow her as I sign with assurance.

“Yes, I feel better. Thanks to you.”

She smiles gently but then lets out an unstable rustle of air, the expression on her face changing to sternness as she removes her hand from my cheek, a strange kind of longing appearing in me from the lack of that touch. I hurriedly shake it off just before she communicates.

“You have to take those herbs so you can be safe. I need you to be safe.”

“I am safe.”

She takes my slightly burned hand and lifts it, sending me a look.

You call that safe?

She mouths, and I shake my head, suddenly annoyed again.

“I can handle myself and have been doing it for years without any help, a few scratches and bruises won’t stop me or make any difference.”

Instantly, I can see that I have said the wrong thing as her stare becomes concerned, almost hearing her heart flutter in a pained way as she signs gently.

“What bruises?”

Very slowly, I inhale, trying to keep myself calm.

“It’s nothing. Just some of my energy bounced off the wall and decided to make me as

its...”

My hands freeze in midair, uncertain for a moment, but then I continue, too tired to beat around the bush.

“Well, prey.”

“W h e r e ?”

Her stare becomes even more concerned as she tries to inspect my body, all the bare surface she can see. I’m wearing a pair of white, skinny jeans and a dark blue top that holds itself only on two thin double straps, a delicate cotton bra peeking out from under it, the color of it matching my jeans. She touches my forearms, shoulders, then checks my elbows, her stare slightly frantic. I wait until she looks up at me and shake my head, trying not to concentrate on how her fingers feel on my blazing skin, and lift my shirt slowly, exposing my right side. Her quiet, almost silent gasp seems to fill the entire room as she reaches out her hand, gently touching the dark, nearly black bruises mixed with a deep blue shade that matches my shirt - an inside joke that I amused myself with today after examining myself in the mirror this morning. I hiss through my teeth as her touch both causes me pain and unexplainable soft pleasure. She looks up at me carefully.

“I can help you heal.”

Once again she touches the skin against my ribs and side, eyes glowing delicately as green flashes around the center of her pupils. I stop her just before the energy begins to move out of her, putting my hand over hers firmly.

No. Don’t. It motivates me. I need that if I want to fight.

She nods slowly, knowing how my nature worked and that there was no point in fighting against it. Instead, she puts my hand down on her thigh and strokes the bruised skin with her thumb and fingertips. God, the feeling of that - my eyes close, senses both calmer and swimming in irregular flames, restrains gradually snapping one by one. My eyes flash with light that reflects in her surprised stare. No hesitation, just the dark matter I breathe you in with. My body shifts, taking the most desirable position to what I want to do with her. Grabbing her hips by the sides, I pull her into me, spreading her legs and wrapping them around my back, hearing her silent gasp.

This is not a good idea.

She mouths slowly, putting her hands, palms down on the sofa, leaning backward, and trying to find some balance in the sudden chaos that I was causing.

Why?

The question leaves my lips, and she trembles slightly, feeling the vibrations from my voice.

Because we put our past behind us.

No. We just silently moved on as my life and destination, were chosen for me.

And nothing has changed since then.

She puts her legs down without any sound and shifts back. I stay in place, even though every part of me is burning alive, raging for her. But I am strong in many ways and can be still even as the world stands in flames. My chest expands and moves inwards as I watch her. Even in my darkest hour, I would never do anything that she wouldn’t want to be done to her, even if I constantly yearn.

Some things have. Something in me, it calls for you again.

She gazes at me, not scared or put off by my actions or words, just carefully processing everything that’s going on, including my touch on her, a blend of energies moving inside of her. I can feel it. It’s this deep rich flavor, so pleasing in its base. She shifts even further to speak with me with her hands and gestures. To be louder, more in control as she wants to be understood with clarity, leaving a mark in other people’s minds. She wants to mark her voice in my thoughts.

“And I heard you, that’s why I’m here.”

I lean forward against her, inhaling the smell of her skin, my hair tickling her arms. And then gaze at her as her hands once again rest on the sofa.

To help me with the situation.

Yes.

Her lungs start to move a bit faster just before she mouths to me.

But that’s not all.

Of course, it isn’t.

My hand glides past her thigh slowly, moving from her knee, blue light sipping through my fingertips, leaving soft electric currents playing with her skin, with a craving body. Her back arches slightly as my hand slides up, teasing her, sending new waves to penetrate her fibers, the other hand sinking into the sofa by her side, head leaning against her chest as I listen, waiting for a familiar sound. New sparks leave the fingers that slide excruciatingly slow to the inside lines of her curves. Hunger growing with each small fraction that I move forward, deeper into her structure. Just one more tender touch and suddenly, I hear it, a subtle noise erupting from the lungs, moving up and escaping her mouth... an eco of a moan. I feel the bottom of my spine start to tingle, shooting static to my aching core. Like multicolored fireworks. Mmm, she could not hear her own wails of pleasure, but she could definitely feel them as they stirred the air around us. My hand drifts from the inside of her thigh to the waist, sinking my thumb by her stomach. Slowly, moving my energy in circles around the skin. She starts to purr without even knowing it, the sounds coming from her throat and seeming to swell in her cells as I feel those low vibrations surrounding me. Jumping from my fingertips, catching every nerve in my system, and very lazily devouring my soul.

I lean down by her neck, tasting the pulse under my starving lips, hips itching forward as I take my time, fingertips touching her stomach again. Writing on its surface in cursive, one letter after another, separating each word with a small caress. “Tell me to stop.” Very slowly, I move back and gaze into those dazed eyes; her pupils dilated, green lights flickering like tiny pieces of glass put against the sun. This time I mouth the words, both challenging her and wanting to hear permission. And if she won’t let me... then I will just move away as if nothing ever happened, even if my whole body ached for her. In the sweetest, most torturous kind of way.

Tell me to stop.

I whisper the words so low and in with a strange kind of heavy softness, that even I’m not fully sure if they left my mouth. Carefully, she lifts trembling fingers up my wrists, elbows, and then with surprising strength that I would never accuse her of, she grabs my arms and pulls me on top of her, letting out an almost primal sound. It vibrates as if a growl but is much lower, powered not that much by her voice, but by all of her body. Her lips part slightly and form just one word.

No.

She mouths as her eyes whisper to me; don’t ever stop. My skin erupts both in waves of flames, and burning cold matter as if the entire ice on the planet started to crack. To the sound of our bodies. Our raging souls. The last bit of my restrain fades away from me and I grab her by the thighs, nails digging into the material of her pants and then deeper into her flesh, my hands pulling her hips even closer to me, the need to feel her throbbing core against me, clouding everything else.

You’re mine now. And no one else’s.

I whisper into her mouth slowly, knowing that she feels every word, her body shaking with a need that I want to satisfy, no matter how many times she asks. Even if eternity catches us unannounced. For now, there was just this moment and no black feathers in my lungs, just her breath giving me life.

_____

Back at the cafe. The same day.

Ray!

Mel’s urgent whisper brings me back to reality, as I look to the side just in time to notice a teacup swirling gently in the air just above the table, a small metal spoon gliding in the air next to it as if swimming on the surface of the water. As if swimming in endless space. I think just as the whole meaning of the situation hits me, anxiety levels kicking in. Sudden panic suffocates me and sucks the air out of my lungs, eyes widening with horror as the cup drops down to the table with a loud, attention-grabbing sound, while the spoon bounces off the wooden surface and falls right next to a customer’s feet. An older lady with white, short, and perfectly made curls looks down surprised, her expression quickly turning to displeased as she notices me. She carefully dusts away some crumbs from the corners of her lips while at the same time boring a hole into my forehead with her narrowed eyes. I mouth out “sorry” and quickly pick up the little loss and wipe the table from the spilled tea, a scarlet color with the speed of light covering my cheeks, neck, and cleavage. It’s always been that way whenever I got nervous, and nothing has changed in the last 22 years since I’ve been here. Unfortunately.

I sigh and quickly take everything back to the kitchen, glad that at least the beautiful china didn’t break, somehow I had a sentiment to that particular set and the little forget-me-nots that painted the fragile porcelain, their soft blue, purple, and pink colors always lifting my mood. Plus, my wallet already hurt at the thought of having to repay Mel for the damages. I owed her tons of cash - even if she didn’t want to hear about it. Either way, she’s going to find incoming money in her cookie jar soon. If she likes it or not. I smile and fill the washing machine with a new load methodically and then straighten my back, feeling it pop in protest.

What was that little show by the table? And with Miss Grant as an eye witness, may I add.

I jump and then sigh again.

I didn’t mean that to happen, you know that.

My arms cross as if I was a scorned child, and Mel rolls her eyes to the ceiling.

Don’t give me that attitude, we are not playing house here.

I groan a bit but then my mood deflates just as fast as it appeared.

Sorry.

Ray, I know perfectly well that you don’t have much control over your new... abilities. But my question was actually about something else.

Mmm, okay?

My stare turns half curious, half cautious.

Why then? What caused it?

I don’t know.

Think about it.

Her voice is soft, yet still, my hands start to tremble just before I throw them in the air, frustrated.

I don’t know. I just don’t know. Why won’t everybody just leave me alone?! I did not sign up for this.

I grab the sides of the counter, bending over it and trying to breathe in a way that wouldn’t make me look like I’m going through an asthma attack of some sort. After a moment I feel a warm hand on my back and turn around slowly, staring at Mel’s gentle eyes. And suddenly I calm down, peace filling my body as if someone just turned off the stress button. Just like that.

I’m sorry, again. I’m acting like some spoiled brat. I know, I overreacted big time, but you know I didn’t mean it. It’s just that...

A very stressful time for all of us, it’s alright, hon. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, okay?

I nod with assurance and relax some more.

So?

My eyes follow hers and I shake my head.

I’m not sure... everything was normal, nothing out of the ordinary, I was just clearing the tables like I always do.

Her stare encouraging me to continue and I smile a little, so happy that I have such a good person in my life, I don’t know what I would have done without her. Okay, actually I do know. Most likely, I would end up an even bigger mess than I already am. Isn’t life just great? I gaze up at Mel, feeling deflated again.

Well, like I said, normal stuff.

And yet.

I see something sparkle in her eyes, like an unexpected flash of white light, and quickly shake my head, annoyed that on top of everything, my mind is playing tricks on me.

And yet...

I struggle to answer but then close my eyes, trying to find whatever it was that made something in me shift at that moment, focusing on what I was doing then step by step, concentrating on each little detail. Which honestly, surprises me a lot, since I have always been a very distracted and clumsy creature, unless I was cooking, only then did I manage to find the tiniest spack of grace in my messed up system. The rest of the time I was just a risk to society, annoying people with my clumsy sorry ass. I smile at the thought but then focus again, trying to touch something that constantly slips from my hands like something wet, sticky, and very alive.

What do you see?

Her soft voice reaches me, even if it seems somehow so far away. My mind drifts to all the things I normally do without even thinking; cleaning the tables, refilling coffee for the customers, making sure everyone has napkins, sweeping the floor, gathering the dirty dishes... my brain freezes for a second. That was the time when something changed. Mmm, I felt warmth. I swallow and shift uncomfortably. Not just warmth; fires. Slow flames consuming the room. Excitement, joy, tension. I felt... I look up at her and of course, feel my skin heat up, the deep pink color covering my skin without any mercy - I felt turned on. I think and stare awkwardly at my hands.

It’s as if the room was on fire.

Her eyebrows furrow together and her gaze turns concerned.

Did you feel any pain or discomfort?

No, uhm... definitely not. Mmm, the opposite, actually.

The opposite?

She looks a bit confused at me.

Uhm, pleasure. A LOT of it.

Her eyebrows lift almost to the ceiling.

Well then. I did not expect that, that’s for sure.

She sits down and looks to the side, lost in thought for a while. I pick a dishcloth and hold onto it tight, moving it in different directions, trying not to get lost in that energy.

I didn’t realize what I was feeling back then, it just... took over me, completely.

How did it feel?

She asks, this time sounding curious, and I roll my eyes at that.

Oh, where do I start?? Mel, I was practically swimming in it. It crushed me to the point that I couldn’t even move. It was crazy, out of this world, mind exploding, a ball over the park kind of moment! I never felt anything like that! Ever!

Yes, I can tell.

Her eyes follow mine as her stare becomes more intense.

You couldn’t move at that moment, Ray. But your energy sure could. If you would have stayed in it...

Then a lot more stuff would be flowing around.

Yes, including Miss Grant.

And her heavy attitude.

We look at each other for a tense moment but then burst out laughing without any warming, bending, and holding our stomachs.

That’s not funny, Ray. These are serious matters of...

She doesn’t even finish, as she starts to laugh again.

There you go, Mel. We gotta chill sometimes or this or we might go insane one day. I mean you, I’m already one foot in crazy land.

She nods and tries to steady her breath.

You’re right, but still, we have to work on your focus when something like that happens. We are going to start slow and concentrate on some...

Meditation tactics?

I try to hold back a smile, knowing that meditation, yoga, and the spiritual side of things was her thing.

Don’t mock, you know it works. Knowing how to handle your energy and chakras can make all the difference.

Does Ben know what a fruitloop you are, or do you just only show yourself to him in red lingerie so he doesn’t notice?

Raven!

She throws a dry dishcloth at me and I grab it without effort, grinning at her.

Well, do you?

No.

She smiles.

I just tell him only the “need to know” option, and then I put a lot of lace and silk on.

She winks at me mischievously and steps out of the kitchen with a much lighter walk than before, as I smile at the door that closes behind her. Yet, despite the joking mood, I grow serious. What was that back then? And how can I possibly feel it again? I bite my lower lip and inhale deeper, my breath catching a few times. The energy on that, god, that was some powerful stuff. I will take a dose of that any day, just tell me where to sign up. My hands twitch a bit, as if yearning to touch something, to grab it, something calling me with an intensity that I have a hard time grasping. What’s calling me in such an amazing way? I need to find out, no matter how long it’s going to take. I need to consume it. The thought hits me like an earthquake, eyelids blinking like crazy. It was as if it wasn’t even me saying that. But it was me. What the hell? Why did I...? I breath faster but then throw the feeling away, afraid to sink in it, like everything else I seem to drown in since I met her. The realization hits me over the head and I slip to the floor, sitting down with a low thud, feeling the world spin. Finally, after some time I look up and notice Mel’s concerned eyes on me as she stands over me. I quickly shake my head and give her a tired stare.

What’s wrong?

Nothing. Sometimes, I’m it’s all just a bit too much, you know? That’s all.

I stand up and dust off the back of my skirt and grab a tray, getting back to myself again.

Are you sure?

Yes, now let’s get back to the real world.

I square my shoulders and give her a proper smile.

Weird shit or not, bills won’t pay themselves, right?

Right.

She smiles back and lets me leave without any further questions, and I couldn’t be more grateful for her at that moment.

______

Previous chapter

chapter 14. https://theprose.com/post/408550/those-blazing-threads

The entire story:

https://theprose.com/book/1661/worlds-colliding