musings of madness

LJI WK2

dmousey — Mon, 07 Oct 2019 22:32:08 GMT

The child's curious green eyes, were alight with the need to know. She hung back from the other rowdy children, following the man's hands with her luminous eyes, as he flipped shiny coins back and forth through his fingers. Once he had all of their attention -- he tossed a handful of coins into the air.

The urchins squealed, scrabbling in the dirt after them- but not her. She still kept herself apart.

The man tossed a coin deliberately toward her, away from the pack. She quickly darted in and out of the crowd, scooping it up. No sooner had she secreted it away, when a shove she wasn't ready for sent her sailing - and she tasted dirt. Someone else (or two someones) gave her some painful kicks.

Her pitiful pleas for help brought no one, except her nona, the chieftain's wife.

Her Nona wasn't here to offer solace, but to deliver her from her attackers. And to cuss at the children and calling her stupid for causing a spectacle.

Showing the child affection in public would only endanger her, her Nona had whispered once. It would make her spirit weak, and unable to deal with the insults to body and mind that the villagers cruelly heaped upon her.

The child was branded outcast.

*****

Her father- Palon had been an outlander. A green eyed stranger to their world. A stranger to their galaxy, and he talked about strange things. Of science, time traveling, and of fantastic beasts, even how to harvest the Sun's power to keep warm! The villagers thought him a prankster, a charlatan and a miracle worker.

When the village chieftain's daughter- Lena and Palon fell in love they told no one. Inevitably she found herself with child. The chief, cursed Lena and wailed of abomination- he threw her out of his home for how she had shamed him. He turned his back on her declaring her dead to him, and both Palon and she were denied their voices in council.

The villagers helped the couple build a sturdy home. Time passed and Lena, now grown heavy with child, did not roam far from the safety of her home's walls. Truthfully she didn't go far for fear of her father's reprisal; her father was breaking her heart.

She thought he would come and acknowledge his granddaughter. Yet day after day passed with nary a word. Lena, weak and recovering poorly from the birth, sank into a malaise. Death's embrace beckoned.

When news was brought to the chieftain that his daughter was dying, he hurried to his daughter's hut. He arrived seconds too late. The chief fell to his knees and howled with grief. The noise woke the babe, who mingled her cries with his.

The chieftain stared at the infant, thinking how easy it would be to crush her head beneath his heel, assuage some of the pain, but the infant was a part of Lena, and he couldn't bear to do it.

The babe lived with her father, Palon, until he was bit by a sliveryn. Their poison was fatal within seconds. The villagers found his body at the till.

With no one to care for her, arrangements were made and the babe now slept and ate in her Nona's kitchen, and given chores to earn her keep.

******

This will not be her life, the man with green eyes decided, flipping his coin. He has observed enough. He was going to bring his niece home to the lands of her father. He would give her a name...

LJI S11 Wk1

dmousey — Sun, 29 Sep 2019 15:56:09 GMT

She crammed her meager belongings of the past two years spent in this group home, into her satchel.

All of the home's residents had been given one, along with a nifty ankle bracelet on entry. Her satchel seemed pitifully light, the ankle bracelet did not.

Mouse, determined not to shed a tear, kept along with her task, until thoughts of her little brother intruded, and the floodgates slammed wide open. Mouse bit her forearm; muffling her sobs.

She didn't know if she would ever see her brother again. Their father had informed the court, that he was giving her up to the state. This brought forth a fresh stream of tears, as she marveled at her Pop's petty cruelty.

Memories of the last days she and her brother lived together with her father, how Charles's eyes had a feral cast, constantly darting to and fro as he waited for an imagined attack, which at any moment, could somehow turn real. One in particular stood out...

Mouse had taken her brother to the Springfield Diner. This way they could talk in peace, and not worry about their Pop, and his drunken paranoia.

"It'll get better Charles. Things will work out." Mouse reassured him around a mouthful of french fries. She knew he was hungry (he always was) and his eyes grew big when the waitress handed him a greasy burger and fries of his own.
Mouse had saved enough of her babysitting money, to splurge on an ice cream float for them to split.

"How? How Mouse? He hates me. Pop hates everything about me... " His voice trembled and trailed off. Mouse's heart bled another tear for him.

She grabbed his hand across the diner table and with gritted teeth told him,"No! No, he doesn't! It's because you look at him with our Ma's eyes. He sees her in your face. It reminds him of his failure to keep her happy. It eats at him, and it frustrates him.

So, he drinks to forget her, and takes his suffering and anger out on you. It's wrong, and it shames him to the core when he's sober, and realizes what he has done to you. Yet he can't control it." Mouse explained to her brother.

"Trust me Charles, he loves you. You did nothing wrong. You're his Son! Can you understand what I'm telling you?

She resisted the urge to promise him she would always keep him safe. How it was all she ever wanted, for him to be safe and happy. But Mouse knew through experience, the Universe is a prankster.
No one is ever safe.

*** All concrit is encouraged!
** Thanks to everyone who took the time to peruse! I appreciate it!

**This tale goes along with this piece here...
https://dmousey.livejournal.com/39342.html

An intro into the 'now' me...

dmousey — Wed, 18 Sep 2019 16:47:45 GMT

Introduction:

Hi everyone! I'm back and better for it, it'll help to engage my brain. A lot of you know my writes, my background, and some of my serial characters (BTW- the new Batgirl is the image I had in mind for Fox, especially her cocky swag and haircut).

Hubs and I are shut-ins. He with Multiple Sclerosis and me with Congestive Heart Failure and Parkinson's disease. He's sixty-four and was diagnosed at forty-five. He had a heart attack six years ago and has been on a slow decline since.

Me, I'm fifty-six and have been sickly for most of my life, but I usually try to plow through whatever had me dragging, or I did. Not so much now, I try to listen to my body when it says take a break, and if I don't, well, I only make myself suffer.

Our only outings are for our doctor's appointments, as neither of us are trustworthy on the road driving, and medical transportation is free, plus they to help us get in and get out safely at whatever doctor we need to see.

We have to get everything else brought in, like our food delivery, Amazon is good for most of the rest. It's an OK life, better than not having one at all. We have our TV, computers, and books (always books!). I love to cook when up to it, and hubs plays around with the guitar. We try to keep each other upbeat and moving, but it's starting to weigh us down.

I still play cards/puzzle games on my Kindle to keep my mind supple; Whereas my hubs won't/can't and finally admitted ~why~ he keeps withdrawing from playing any strategy games. His cognition has taken a downturn and he doesn't comprehend some things -scratch that, many things- he once knew well. He understands this and gets frustrated by it and angry with himself.

I get frustrated when he gets morose, which is a symptom of his disease. And I admit, I sometimes wish to yell at him 'Shut up! We all have our problems!' but I don't, I swallow it down. What good would it do? Who needs the drama. (So, usually I find this the opportune time to go to the bathroom.)

I miss my two children terribly. They are 31 years and 28 years respectively and I miss my Squishy grandson. I miss having a dog, and am currently active at breaking through my hubs defenses (so he at least ASKS) our landlord.

I would ask for myself (believe me I'm perfectly capable), but hubs and landlord worked together for about twenty years and hubs has lived here for another twenty years. I've been here for only ten and I'm not one to breach their trust.

Anyhoo, the Mouse stories in my past Idol pieces are really of my childhood. I have to warn you... some are violent, or deeply cutting to the heart and soul. Yet, not all of Mouse's childhood was horrifying.

Now I've a few serial stories going but I may let them stew since quite a few of you are new and would have to know or have read the others to understand them. However, rummage around and
feel free to read anything you want. As for now I'm saying...

Thank you, and I can't wait to read your word offerings!!

Dmousey out! ✌🐭

The mouse scurrys in and tests the air

dmousey — Thu, 05 Sep 2019 22:32:53 GMT

she wonders if her friends are there
whisker's twitching she looks and then
spies the loveable Miss M
Jumping to her pocket, she squeaks with glee...
it's Idol Time - come join and see!

I'm in. Dmousey~~~

lists (from BSGX)

dmousey — Mon, 20 May 2019 20:46:42 GMT

. Name:- Desiree
. Nicknames:- Desi, Des, Desilee, Mouse
. Nationality:- Well, I (currently unfortunately) live in America, and always have. My father was Filipino/American and my mother is a mixture of Welsh, and Jewish(Dutch), the rest I don't know.
. Do you have a crush?:- Women: Kate Beckinsale, St. Vincent (Annie Clark), Anne Mirren, Jennifer Lawrence
. Do you have a crush? - Men: Daniel Day Lewis, Keanu Reeves, And my original guy was Paul Newman.
. What is the age you act:- Silly
. Where Do You Live?:- Oceanville 3mi from Atlantic City Bay.
. Where you want to live?:- Honestly, with my hubby, kids and grandson in De.
. Birthplace:- Northern NJ.
. Favorite Salad Dressing: Peppercorn Parmesan, or Ceaser. Balsamic Vinaigrette
. Ever gone skinny dipping?: Nope.
. What are you watching?: Paul again, because Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, throw in Seth Rogan and Kirsten Wigg? I'm in!
. Last person you talked to verbally: My son Nicholas, when he came to visit. 💙
. Favorite new movie this year: Hubs and I are honest to goodness shut-ins due to His Multiple Sclerosis, and my Parkinson' and Congested Heart Failure. And I also have horrendous arthritis that, because of the heart condition they won't replace joints.
. Favorite Book: how about Authors -For Americana, John Irving. Will read anything he writes, but favorite is A Prayer For Owen Meany.
. Fantasy Author: Janny Wurts - Start with Hunters Oath and just immerse yourself from there...
. Favorite Type of music: Too much to pick a favorite genre from. It's all good. (unless it is too screamy and dissonant)
. Favorite types of Cars: When I could drive, My 1973 Monte Carlo, And every Mitsubishi I had afterward.
. Favorite Actor/Actress: For substance- Emma Thompson, Benedict Cumberbatch, For oddity- Helena Bonham Carter, Adrian Brody

Future:
Section 2: THE FUTURE:
. School: Went until 10th gr. when declared an emancipated juvenile, have a GED. and a bachelor's in Dental.
. Where You Want To Live: Wherever my family is.
. How Many Kids Do You Want: I wanted five, I got two gifts, one of each kind.
. What Kind Of Job Do You Want: A writer of children's books
. Tuxedo Preference: Black, no vest, tie and matching pocket square.
. Wedding place: Been married thrice and First place was a church with people I loved and knew, and was married for almost ten years (and kids) - he left me for a stripper, he's a musician so it's not really strange.. Second was small, not many people, just those from work and my ex's family. (I have their only grandchildren and missed very few Sunday dinners. My ex also had four sisters who were my closest friends. I forced my second husband to leave after my daughter moved out and married at nineteen because of him,(but I did get my Squishy), and my son whose confidence he was constantly picking at began to relax.
The third wedding was held here at the county judge's office. Just his mom and a few witnesses. I moved here to help with the MOL, who stressed my hubs mercilessly. And honestly, me too. (I had known and dated off and on hubby #3 before I dated ex# 1, they liked each other and would even talk music on the phone)
. Honeymoon: I'd give the money to my kids
. Baby girl's name(s): Alicia Rose
. Baby boy's name(s): Nicholas
. Future Pets: A dog, named Woofus...

Section 3: HAVE YOU EVER:

. Been In Jail: Nope
. Done Drugs: Yep. Tried everything except needles and heroin in any form. Still medically smoke marijuana, but gave up cigs. Sold joints when I was a... this leads into next question.
. Run Away From Home as a child: Yep, from the time I was 14 on. Ate from trash cans and all. Lived in state parks where I was rarely rousted. I 'd gotten caught once and brought home, and then grab my brother and go again, until I was emancipated at 16.
. Said I love you and meant it: Yes. To my kids, my Squishy, my hubs, and my ex-MOL Grandmother to my kids and the closest thing I had to a mother during my adult years.
. Lied: plenty
. Stolen Anything: Yep
. Broken A Bone: Yep, wrist, ankle, foot
. Cheated On A Test: Yes
. Cheated On A Significant Other: No
. Excluding your birth, been In The Hospital: Too many times for too much.
. Screamed at someone for no reason: Yes. Your welcome, all courtesy of being diagnosed as Depressive with Borderline Personality disorder at 23 (wrong) then finally Bi-polar/with manic psychosis. It took them until I was 45 to finally get diagnosis and meds correct, but only after I spent some time in psyche ward.
. Fell asleep in the shower/bath: No.
. Gone to Church: Yes.
. Never slept during a night: Yes, many times...
. Been on a hike: Oh gods yes! My true 'church' is an untouched forest with dappled sunlight dancing in the leaves, and if that hike ends where a body of water is, yeah. That's good stuff.
. Been to a camp: Like a summer camp? No. A campground for hikers with tents, yes.
. Sat in a restaurant w/o ordering: Only if a server didn't acknowledge in an appropriate time.
. Seen someone die: Yes.
. Gone a week w/out shaving: Haven't shaved for years and you wouldn't know.
. Didn't wash your hair for a week: Yes, I'll still take a shower, but not wash my hair.
. Broken something valuable: My values aren't monetary, and I've never had anything of real worth. So am not sure.
. Knew you were in love: Yep #1 & #3 But #2 I was in love with the thought of having an intact family again.
. Streaked the streets: Noooo I was a very fat child.

Section 4: PREFERENCES:

. Coke Or Pepsi: Birch Beer
. Cats Or Dogs: Pups & cats
Cotton or Wool: Cotton and cotton blends
Pools Or Hot Tubs: No Hot Tubs for me, and actually ocean, lake, river, or brooks.
. Television Or Radio: Radio,
. Cds or MP3's: CD's I don't have an mp3 player
. Apple or Cherry Pie: Pumpkin
. Gap or Old Navy: Neither

Section 5: WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU:

. Took A Shower: Uh...
. Cried: Everyday watching dog videos. It hurts my heart so much I can't have one.
. Watched a Disney movie: Yesterday
. Given/gotten a hug: This morning when we got up.

Section 6: WHAT IS:

. Your Fondest memory Of This year: Hearing Squishy take my hubs to task announcing his arrival with a "How dare you lock your door!"
. Your Most Prized Possession: My kindle. It gives me access to the world.
. The Thing That Makes You The Happiest: Cooking for and feeding my family.
. Your Favorite Food For Breakfast: Breakfast and I aren't usually on speaking terms.
. Your Favorite Food For Dinner: My homemade chicken Tenders, mashed'taters, and corn
. Your Favorite Slow Song:Dog And Butterfly- Heart
. Your favorite Operating System? Whatever is on my kindle!!

First NJ Forest Fire of the Year.

dmousey — Mon, 01 Apr 2019 19:25:14 GMT

There is always news of forest fires in the North West and California, but not much is mentioned about those on the East Coast.

My state, NJ, amongst all our faults is the fact that we have a propensity for forests fires in our over 100,000 acres of protected Pine Barrens.

The fires have started early this year...https://www.nj.com/burlington/2019/04/massive-nj-pinelands-forest-fire-declared-fully-contained-with-11000-acres-scorched.html?ath=aa76597cb2eba0394f804b221b9d09a6#cmpid=nsltr_strybutton

Corinna

dmousey — Thu, 28 Mar 2019 22:18:55 GMT

Corinna's thatched roof and white washed cottage sat in a glade of the woods close to the brook. She had planted an herb garden to use for the 'simples' she needed for various illnesses, amongst other roots and vegetables. Corinna was an excellent herb witch and mid-wife, whose remedies worked with magical reliability.

Inside her snug cottage, dried herbs hung from rafters and vied for space with her cooking utensils. The door to her one room home opened on an oak table set with a bowl of sweet herbs and wildflowers in the middle, with two matched chairs (the set a debt paid for healing a flock of sheep). There was a curtained off section, with her bed behind it, covered by a thick embroidered quilt (made for her in gratitude of a simple given for fever), a night stand and chamberpot.

Rough hewn chests lined much of the empty space along the walls and held most of her belongings. One kept her divining sphere safe, wrapped in silk and nestled on a satin pillow.

The cottage was quite cozy with her small forge sitting beside the fire pit. She crafted all types of tokens and talismans there, and infused them with the 'manner of power' her patrons requested. Corinna could give a talisman to spur their crops' growth, or to find hidden wells of water, as well as brew teas and tinctures for aches and pain.

All she asked in return was a favor to be granted either in their lifetime, or in their descendants'. Should the talisman be gifted to the hands of another, the power would shift to its new owner, but so did the obligation.

Break the compact however, and all branches of your lineage would end with you. This wasn't meant to be cruel, so much as to keep the villagers from taking magic's power lightly.

Most of the souls who found their way to her cottage wanted a token for love, or luck; some people longed to be beautiful, so that they may experience the adoration they felt they missed out on and deserved. These people didn't realize that beauty had to come from the heart of them, and no spell of hers could ever mimic that. The same was true for those who tried to force a love to bloom where its heart was not inclined --only dissatisfaction rose from that taking that course.

A few requested wisdom, and to these she also threw in a little taste of fortune. People thought to be wise didn't pay close attention to money (it's all those thoughts and theories to chase in their minds), so she made it a little easier for them to find work in households needing teachers.

Those who asked for a means of vengeance -- she gifted them with understanding, mercy, and compassion, but asked them for nothing in return.

Rarest of all were those who asked for truth. Truth seekers saw everything, all three dimensions to a tale, with rose colored glasses removed. You could not lie to them!! They were highly prized as judges in all communities. One might think they'd patronize or act with righteousness, but they were incapable of self aggrandizement as that simply wouldn't be truthful.

Today's customer wanted Corinna to fashion a thumb ring to be worn for safety. For this she needed three droplets of blood from the customer, to infuse the ring with the patron's 'signature' and tune it for her alone, but the girl was reticent, afraid of the prick of Corinna's needle.

"Now, may I see your left thumb please?" Corinna requested with a gentle smile toward the nervous young woman. The girl's foot tapped constantly beneath the table, and her eyes took on the panicked look of a deer ready to bolt.

"Will it hurt? I know it's going to hurt!?" The girl asked breathlessly.

"Not at all." Corinna reassured her, as the young woman presented the finger requested. Corinna captured the thumb and held tightly.

"Oh! Look at that spider!" Corinna gasped and pointed over the girl's shoulder -- and as the girl's reflexes took over and she turned to look, Corinna pricked her finger, squeezed the required three drops of blood for the spell, all before the young woman could protest.

The poor girl looked flummoxed when she turned back to face Corinna, caught between being grateful and indignant.

"It didn't hurt now child, did it?" Corinna quietly asked the girl.

"No, but you didn't have to trick me." The young woman sulkily replied.

Corinna patted the girl's hand gently, and told the child. "I had to break through the wall of fear you built in your mind. I'm sorry."

Corinna walked to a small chest, opened its small puzzle lock and removed the felt bag with this client's thumb ring in it. She closed the box, and pricked her own finger, and added three droplets of her blood to the girl's, and coated the ring with the mixture.

She uttered a quick incantation, placed the now slippery ring on a pair of tongs and thrust it into the fire. She gave it three turns to 'seal' the spell, removed the ring, and doused it in a cup of water. She removed it when cool and handed it to her client. They both marveled at the different colors imbued throughout.

With a last admonishment to keep the ring in a safe place, like a chain around her pretty neck, and indeed, wear it to ward off highway men, she waved and happily shut her door as the young woman's carriage lumbered from her courtyard.

*******

A few days later, there came a loud thud at her door. She opened it to discover an unconscious, wounded man, and quickly cleared her table to lay him upon it. The stranger was tall and dressed in chain mail, and his shoulder had an errant arrow still embedded there.

She snapped the offensive shaft free, cleaned it with a yarrow tincture to ward off infection, and stitched the wound closed. She applied a salve and tightly wrapped it with strips of clean linen. That should heal easily enough, she thought as she cleaned the rest of his wounds. All there is to do now is wait."

While she waited for her uninvited guest to stir from his stupor, Corinna decided to use her scrying sphere. As she pulled her mind to focus, she held the remains of the arrow in one hand, and a strip of the man's ruined shirt in the other. Corinna's mind opened and the cyrstal clouded, then swirled clear.

Corinna asked it her questions: What happened?

Her guest sported trappings of the courier to the King. He carried a declaration of war and was handful of days or so ahead of the invaders. He stopped only to assist some people waylaid by ruffians. He helped a young woman mount a horse (the same young woman Corinna made a talisman for), and sent her to safety just as the arrow struck him. The last image of him, was of him falling from his horse, to land at her door.

Her next question of what could be done to prevent the war, was answered by a vision of her at her forge hard at work. A clear image of copper, concealment sigils, and her feverish creation of them, was shown to her, and she knew what she must do.

She released the objects in her hands, and sat back. Where would she find the copper? A search through her chests and purse for copper pennies and farthings, along with a few hair ornaments did make a tidy pile she could start with.

Copper was malleable and wouldn't require as much manipulation to form. The metal was also a spell enhancer, and if they could spread and bury enough of the sigils around the countryside, the farms and townspeople could be hidden. There might be some copper left over to make individual concealment rings for king and his family.

With everything gathered together, she began the great project. She tended to her patient whose name she learned was Luca, as she took her infrequent breaks. Corinna and Luca drew up a plan to distribute the talismans throughout the kingdom.

It took Corinna three days to finish her task. Each day she bled herself a little more to soak the talismans in and make the spells stronger. On the last day she collapsed, and Luca carried her into bed with a pitcher of water and some waybread on her nightstand.

He'd grown very attached to Corinna the past few days, and if the circumstances weren't dire he would stay.

Morning came on the fourth day, Luca and Corinna shared a tender embrace, and Luca slipped out the door, As he readied his horse, he buried a copper sigil in her courtyard to keep her safe.

The war came, and Luca faithfully ferried messages back and forth for King, soldier, and the enemy's replies. He had given Corinna's talismans to the Monarch, who distributed them around the countryside. Hopefully, farms and grain stores wouldn't be laid waste,and the people would not starve come Winter.

When the war ended, and the kingdom took stock of their losses, they found them to be nominal compared to other kingdoms. They knew they had Corinna to thank for this.

In gratitude the King wrote her a note:

Mistress Corinna,

I owe you my kingdom. If not for you, there would be grief, and immeasurable sorrow. Nothing could repay the debt I owe you, but if you wouldn't mind, may I give the rest of this man's Lucas Marino, contract to you-- if you would accept this man from me. He should be at your side in time for Spring planting. I would be delighted to hold your wedding at the castle should you so decide. Goodbye for now,
Your Humble and Grateful Sovereign,
Edward Castillo

Luca indeed returned the next Spring to Corinna, whose heart smiled wide to see the truth of him.

All about Yarrow
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achillea_millefolium

It's always AFTER i write something that a video turns up that would've complimented the piece!

dmousey — Thu, 14 Mar 2019 01:13:05 GMT

This video would've paired nicely with Vigilance.Yet as with much in my life, it showed up a little too late!
Ah well.

But in case anyone was interested in some of the inner machinations of Foster Care, and aging out, this is a decent presentation.The

The only thing they really fail to convey is how terrified these kids are all the time, and how it becomes an underlying scent on their skin permanently.

Anyhoo, I digress! (imagine that) here's the video.https://www.facebook.com/StandTgthr/videos/394185791378616/

dmousey — Tue, 12 Mar 2019 21:44:51 GMT

https://dmousey.dreamwidth.org/16373.html

https://dmousey.dreamwidth.org/16106.html

https://dmousey.dreamwidth.org/14502.html

https://dmousey.dreamwidth.org/14197.html

https://dmousey.dreamwidth.org/15350.html

Took some time. (And a lot of profanity, but I figured how to link them together on one page! I feel so proud of me!)

Good luck everyone! May the odds be ever in our favor! Oh, and everything is open for concrit!

The Happy Place

dmousey — Tue, 12 Mar 2019 20:37:56 GMT

"Good day, Ms. Allan, might I enquire as to what you are doing?" A curious James Eckard asked, tipping his hat her way.

He'd been watching Ms. Allen, a sturdy, buxom woman, with a wealth of mahogany hair for a while now. She was threading ribbons through some sort of crystal, and tying them to the branches of the tree growing on the western side of the schoolhouse.

"Well Mr. Eckard, I'm trying to create an area where the children can sit, read a book, think, or just look at the rainbows dancing in the wind - hence the prisms! Children need a place to think and revel in their imaginations."
"Don't you agree, sir?"

"I must tell you Ms. Allan, I actually haven't given it much thought. But I certainly do understand the appeal of the application." James told her, thinking she was very interesting to look at as he stepped closer, plucking an already be-ribboned prism from her hand and hanging it.

"Thank you Mr. Eckard, but I ..."
"James, you must call me James."

"Thank you, Mr. Eckard, but pardon me, if I don't do so. People would say we were overly familiar, you see. A teacher must absolutely be above reproach, or her students would lose confidence in her." Ms. Allen matter of factly told Mr. Eckard.

She had heard many things about Mr. James Eckard. Most telling of how much of a cad he was - but those rumors came from women he rejected, and Diana paid them little mind.

She knew for a fact he was fair, and generous in his dealings with his customers at his lumber mill and , and in giving credit to families struggling. Diana believed this was his true measure.

"Hmm, I see. So, how do we get around such a quandary then - of your inability to use my Christian name- without becoming a scandalous woman of low morals?" James asked in mock seriousness.

"I don't know Mr. Eckard, but I'm sure you- being a man- would think of some grand gesture, leading the people to wonder why, yet again, the gesture had been made. Especially when it would have been simpler to meet me at church on Sunday, and for you to ask me to go walking with you." Diana told him, hanging another prism on the tree.

"Oh, I see. How foolish of me, completely forgetting my chivalry. I humbly beg your forgiveness Ms. Allan. I didn't mean to be forward... or rude." He said smiling awkwardly.

Removing his hat, and bowing with a flourish, he asked, "Ms. Allan, would you do me the honor of walking with me, after church on Sunday?"

"Why Mr. Eckard, I'd be delighted to go walking with you after church. I feel I must warn you, however, I usually have little escorts walking with me, my own little entourage if you will!" Ms. Allan's laughter pealed, brightening her demeanor, and James thought her the most extraordinary woman, indeed!

"Will providing us with a picnic lunch fall under the heading of too forward? Just a light repast for us, and the children?" James inquired.

"That would be lovely Mr. Eckard. Until Sunday, then?" Diana said, giving Mr. Ekard her hand to shake on the deal, and blushed as James unexpectedly turned her hand over to kiss the inside of her wrist; And though not immune to intimacy 's effect, nevertheless Diana felt the need to admonish Mr. Eckard.

Diana pulled her hand away, and taking a step back, shot Mr Eckard a withering look, telling him, "Sir did we not just have a conversation about taking liberties, and being too forward?"

"We did. I, was only leaving you with something to fondly remember me by. Once more I apologize for taking advantage." James told her, trying to look contrite, but not quite pulling it off.

"Hmph, I accept your apologies Mr. Eckard, as for walking after church this Sunday, I'll have to think carefully. I don't want to be out strolling with a 'rake' who has nothing but conquest on his mind." Diana, having little patience left, smartly told him.

"Now, I bid you sir, to be about your business, and I'll go about mine. I have homework to grade." Diana turning on her heel, serenely walked over to the steps, and into the schoolhouse.

Pushing the door closed, and sneaking a peek at Mr. Eckard, she had to stifle her giggles. The poor man looked pole-axed, and she was quite pleased with herself.

Some might say she was playing games when she wasn't, not truly. Growing up with four older brothers, she spent a lot of her younger days spying on them, while 'walking' with their chosen prey.

Ammunition for teasing her brothers with had been her ultimate goal, but she'd inadvertently come away with bits and pieces of knowledge about the behaviour of men. Such as, males - while finding it amusing when you bat your eyes, or do everything but throw yourselves at them, rarely married this type. Her brothers liked chasing the women they married. They went tripping all over themselves trying to get her sister-in-laws' attention.

The smart, sober ones, or the quiet, sassy, intelligent, women, who call their men out for playing games, these were the strong women men choose to marry. Thank goodness too, for she wasn't much of an actress, and portraying a simpering ninny, she simply could not pull off.

Laughing at the image of herself acting the ninny, another thought intruded, this one bringing a completely different train of thought... Will Mr. James Eckard be brave enough to still go walking this Sunday? Or will he conveniently forget? She smiled to herself, no, he wouldn't be able to resist the challenge.

*****

The Sunlight was blinding after the dimness of the church, and Diana struck her parasol, shaft her eyes. Looking around, her stomach sank with disappointment, and she was thinking she may have overplayed her hand, when Mr. Eckard's buckboard came rolling into view, braking at the Happy Tree.

Mr. Eckard jumped to the ground, and securing the reins, retrieved a large picnic basket and blanket from the back. Spotting Ms. Allan he waved, and rushed her way. Diana giving him a tepid smile in acknowledgment, gracefully stepped down the stairs toward him.

James, his mouth suddenly dry at the sight of her, swept off his hat, and mashing it against his chest, bowed asking, "Ms. Allan, will you do me the honor of walking with me?"

"Why yes, Mr. Eckard, I'd be happy to walk with you. Here, let me carry that blanket for you." Diana said, smiling, glad to use its weight to hide her trembling hands.

"Thank you Ms. Allan. May I prevail upon you once more, to call me James? And don't look now, but we are gaining that entourage you spoke of." James, informed her.

"That didn't take long at all, the cheeky little buggers ... !" Diana remarked dryly,
She glanced at James, laughing, until they were sharing a laugh together.

Reaching the perfect, mossy, clearing beneath a willow, they spread the picnic around the blanket. The clearing was not far from the swimming hole, and in mid-September it still was hot enough for swimming and cooling off. Some children were swinging on a tire, and doing tricks mid-air as they flew off into the river, providing the adults with entertainment.

The day's passing was quite pleasant, with Ms. Allen ( "Please call me Diana"), and Mr. Eckard ( "Then I must insist you call me, James"), filling each other in on the particulars of their respective families.

Diana told James of her four older brothers, and he feigns fear saying that he would endeavour to please her, lest he be met with four angry men set on protecting their sister. Diana nibbling on cucumber sandwich, smiled enigmatically,

She also told him of her decision to keep on teaching, even after starting a family. James jokingly told her she needed a husband as liberal as she is with her intentions. Diana said yes, she had been thinking the same.

James spoke of growing up with three younger sisters, so he had an inkling about the mysteries of women's ways, but still found the opposite sex baffling.

How his lumber mill had been in the family for three generations, and his fervent hope was to see it with the fourth sitting at its helm. Confidence and pride in his work shone through his face, Diana noticed, transforming its appeal.

And so, a dozen Sunday's passing with the day's activities being dictated by the weather, the young couple spent walking, riding, or even skating when there came a flash freeze.

Two weeks before Christmas, after a night of singing carols and wassailing around town, James and Diana were walking arm in arm; James making sure of her safe arrival at the boarding house. Glancing at her in the moonlight, James thought she was the loveliest woman he'd ever come across, and his mouth went dry from nerves.

Along the way they passed the schoolhouse, and James gently began steering them toward the 'Happy Place' she and the children made together, at the beginning of the school year. He was watching her face for her reaction as she first looked upon it!

James had fashioned a beautiful bench, over the fall, complete with carvings of character's from Aesop's Fables. James asked her to sit for a moment, he needed to remove a stone that had fallen into his shoe, irritating him.

Diana sat, smoothing her skirts, humming and astonished at the work the children had gotten away with her not noticing!! They had strung together chains of popcorn and berries now hanging around the tree for the animals and birds, and many more crystals and shiny bobbins were hanging now, than when she'd first started. It made her heart sing.

Diana, being preoccupied, forgot James for a moment until his clearing his throat brought her back to him. Looking into his eyes, for the first time, Diana actually saw a vulnerability there, and James, still on one knee took her hands in his.

"Ms. Diana Allan will you do me the immense honor of marrying me? Of taking my name and loving me ... nearly as much as I love you?" James asked earnestly.

"Oh" Diana cried. "My brothers have been threatening to thrash you if didn't propose by Christmas! Oh, Yes! Yes, I will." Diana told him, quickly swiping away a tear. "I love you James. Your heart has filled mine with joy, making this a truly Happy Place."

*****Phew!

Tossed Salad

dmousey — Sat, 09 Mar 2019 05:11:00 GMT

There are times when you come to realize your spirit is being broken down to its very essence. You don't know why, or understand what, you've done to anger the Gods, you only know that you must have, to feel so ...defeated.

Demons chase you, yet you still refuse to relinquish your last thread of hope for spiritual peace. Hope is the key for survival, giving man the ability to assimilate negatives, and find the positives.

Frustration and anger provokes your soul's unrest, especially when you can't immediately find the resources you need to combat those negatives. Is that what breaking of the spirit means?

A human's ability to bear suffering in tireless stoicism is valiant ; yet man's inability to learn from suffering IS tragic.

Many a religious text has it written, to view, and live, your life as a child; But this is for the child wanted and loved.

A child that's had a chance to grow through the years, surrounded by the safety of their parents arms; Secure in the knowing that someone stronger who loves them will take care of things that go bump in the night, or boo in the day.

But what if one never had the chance to be that happy child? What if you're innocence was spoiled and abused? What kind of perspective would that child have?

Regression? Or envy toward those that did have love?Would you even have innocent hope left?

If one can't get through a day and acknowledge the beauty of a bird's flight, the curve of a toddler's cheek, or the laughter in a dog's eyes or discover the simple joy of blowing bubbles?

Is it to try and help you find your way back to simple things? Are we to fill up on the rainbows and bubbles, and share that simple joy with others? Is that what it means.

To make others smile even while your heart is filled with anger and frustration, sorrow and madness?

To not denounce the deities, but to give thanks for the bubbles in the breeze? The very breeze itself?

To understand there still is love and hope out there. That someone will hear our cries, and dry our tears, kiss the boo-boos to make the hurt go away, or at least help to find a peaceful resolution for the frustration.

As for me, I will endeavour to somehow find the strength to abide, that things will simply be, what they are supposed to be.

Homework -

dmousey — Sat, 09 Mar 2019 03:28:08 GMT

For this prompt I wrote a poem everyday for a school week, just as I would need to for homework!

Wind Whispers:

Spirit walking,
Soul talking,
Wind whispers
It's comfort.
I hear it's voice
I am called,
To journey again
Through mind.

Fingers brushing,
Breath touching,
You shiver
Mind knowing
It's not only wind.

Gently calling,
Spirit falling,
To drown in
Unseeing eyes.

Peace awakens,
Past forsaken,
What are these threads
That bind?

The Wind whispers
Listen close,
For I am at your side.

*******

Mother's Mistake:

Hurtful words, hung between
Metallic,
Regretful
Broken hearts and tears
Seasoned with shame and failure

Truth is in the mirror
Reflecting
Projecting
Visage of guilt
Salty, bittersweet and stale

Must breathe in clean again
Inhaling
Releasing
Sins of the mother
Choking on gall and remorse

Swallowing the darkness
Illuminate
Strengthen
Rejuvinate hope for
Whole unconditional love.

*************

Prejudice's Casualties:

Wizened countenance
Adores sweet Innocence.

Marvels in artless pleasure,
Of child's hand given in trust.

Sweet Innocence adores
Wisdom's aged and lined face.

Without biased view or stricture,
Confident in Wisdom's love.

Their hearts may be colorblind,
But society sees them as prey

Aged Wisdom steps aside
To keep danger to Innocence away

*******

Silent Screams:

Keep the silence,
hold your peace.
You know if your
Mouth opens,
It will spew
Forth nothingness
You're screaming
Without creating a noise.

Truth withers away

Crying tears of sand
Each grain rubbing
Vacuous eyes
Absorb little light.
Blinded by lies
And grandiose dreams.

Truth withers away

No, you prefer blinders.
Not wanting to view what's
CLear and present.
Shame, is preferring fantasy
To the reality.
While others die for
Your comforts.

Who will listen?
Who will dare?
To speak of the atrocities?
To speak of the dangers
And abuse of all flavor?
You scream and there isn't sound

Truth, just withers away.

*******

Spilling Ink:

Spilling the ink,
for creating works
of heartfelt emotions

It's not for money
but love of word craft
do we bleed our devotions

It boils our blood
Until our very souls
Give life to a word ocean

We birth each line
With labored pen
To express such lofty notions

Road of life is training
For the Writer's lot
To which we do aspire

Critiques that cut,
Reject and bite.
Plunge the heart into mire.

Writers know they may
Never a fortune make
nor riches will acquire

Still, that quill,
Must paper etch,
With words meant to inspire.

**All concrit welcome...

Monster Magnate Brigade

dmousey — Wed, 06 Mar 2019 00:48:07 GMT

The friends raced single file along the bike trail. All of them carried backpacks outfitted with snacks (growing teens were always hungry, after all), canteens, comic books, and other doo-dads kids their age picked up.

Their services had been requested! But first they had plans and strategy to work out.

The trail widened, and curved to the left to follow along the river bank. A white slat fence marked the outside of the curve's belly. Someone had drawn a caricature of the consequences if a person barreled into the fence -- and went airborne-- to land in the river on the other side.

Set thirty feet back from the bank, on the inside of the bend and nestled between two swamp cedars, was their pride and joy: The Clubhouse.

Made of planks from discarded pallets, sawed to size and hammered together with nails and tools donated by their parents, the kids built themselves a sturdy place to plot.

Designed by Will, who wanted to be an architect, and with the pulley system engineered by Joey, the supplies and equipment were hoisted into the clubhouse, courtesy of George's muscles.

Two girls, Hannah and Lisa, joined the club and seemingly made it their mission to keep the boys from their natural state as slobs. The boys often muttered 'about gosh darned women and their hare brained ideas' but the girls lent a different perspective (and they smelled good) to the business Joey started -- The Monster Magnate Fighting Brigade.

Their families, former monster magnates themselves, pitched in and bought them matching hats, t-shirts, and fishing vests with a lot of cool pockets. Perfect for the Brigade. There were places for vials of holy water, salt, garlic, and of course Monster Spray.

They began a new spell book to pass down to any future Monster Magnets they may have. Joey's mom let him use hers, and it came in handy more than a few times. All of the kid's parents gave their children talismans infused with magic to ward off evil. Joey's, a silver chess pawn, came from the set his father gifted him with three years ago, after he had used it in his very first monster battle.

In fact, all of them became Monster Magnets within the same year, and were pulled together by their paranormal power. The same power tugged the monsters and spooks to them.

Joey skid to a halt at the base of their clubhouse, and easily shinnied up the rope ladder on one side, letting down the steps built on the other. Together they gathered their supplies, double checking they didn't miss anything.

"What do you think we need to bring, Joey? Besides the usual stuff?" Hannah quietly asked him. She clearly favored Joey, but no one had known about it until after her battle with Evilein the Black, and her psyche had sustained severe damage.

"What do you think we need, Jo-o-ey?" Someone teased.
Hannah turned bright red. Joey noticed.

"Leave off, you guys. Hannah's off limits you know that. Remember, her abilities were almost shredded by the strongest black monster we've faced so far, and we should be grateful she banished it. Every time you raz her, it sets her recovery back."

Hannah timidly flashed him a grin and mouthed 'thank you.' Joey nodded in response, and gave her a half smile back, and moved toward the front, closer to the ladder. He had a crush on Hannah forever, but didn't want to take advantage of her.

"Now, let's get basic kits, rope, flute, slingshots, and the largest balloons we have. Oh and Monster Spray, two bottles each." Joey finished and looked around.

"Alright everyone, listen up. We've been asked to take on the bug that's haunting Henry's Holstein Dairy Farm. Their cows are frightened and won't let down their milk, or use the Automatic Milking System, which has been funked, and is full of ectoplasm.

It's been a couple weeks now and they've been milking by hand, but it's too slow and the yield isn't good. Plus the milk's of poor quality. Our job is to find this thing, and to neutralize it!" Joey finished, turned to leave, then turned quickly back.

"Oh, one more thing-- all cattle prods must stay home! This is for your protection, as much as for the cows. No one needs to get kicked by a ticked off cow."

"Ready? Let's go ex-or-cise! So they can pasteurize!" Joey settled his backpack between his shoulders once more, grabbed the ladder, whooped, and was gone.

Hannah started right behind him, but Lisa's hand on her arm stopped her. "Hannah, Uhm, we all would like to apologize. We were wrong, and..." Lisa found herself hugged by Hannah, who signed for her to hush, and that she forgave them.

The two girls smiled and hugged again on reaching the ground, they climbed onto to their bikes, and pedaled as fast they could to catch up with Joey and the boys.

*******

They were exhausted. Hours had passed and still they hadn't found a solution, at least not one that worked. Will tried to build an airtight containment system, but it wasn't flexible enough, and gave out. Now he had another idea.

Meanwhile, the girls kept the cows calm. They sang to the small herd (cows are a big fan of music), and with help from the Henry's, they managed to milk all of the cows. Immediate relief and gratitude brightened the bovine faces, and their lows no longer sounded of pain.

Hannah's cheeks were red again, but the reasons were different this time; the cows, and the torrents of giggles she and Lisa, shared in their antics!

Lisa asked, "Who knew cows dance? Goodness, they're so silly!" She broke into an impromptu dance all the way up the hill; to her delight a heifer danced and bounded toward her in joy.

Joey asked George if he would ride back to the Clubhouse, and pick up more supplies. Salt, garlic (both oil and bulbs), and Holy water. The basic trio, but they also needed more balloons, and insta-ties for them.

The extra duty fell to George because of his size and enormous strength -- the added weight from the supplies wouldn't slow him down. People often associated George's deliberate caution with mental deficiency, and this group of friends never did. The Monster Magnates seemed to understand his placid nature, and what dwelled beneath it, and he loved them for it. Sure, they used his size, but not in a 'dumb pack animal' way.

While on the hunt for the items needed to help the fight at the dairy, George found some wide coils of re-enforced steel hose, and draped them pistolero style around his chest. On a whim he picked up the new extraction device, and extra strength thirty gallon trash bags. Lastly, George placed a few bottles of cold water in his pack, and headed back to the farm.

*******

Gathered in a loose circle around the malevolant AMS the boys Joey, George, and Will stood and surveyed the modifications they had made to the machine.

Fitted by hose, and clamped onto the back of the AMS, was the new Monster Extractor, two more hoses, and the now doubled, heavy duty trash bags were clamped tightly onto the extractor's side valves.

They planned to catch the critter using its own curiosity. Monsters, the Magnets knew, couldn't resist different and shiny toys, especially when it would come with some 'Caca de Cow' on the menu.

Joey, had gotten samples of cows' urine, and hormones from sweat glands [don't ask], which he mixed together with holy water, garlic and salt, these 'additives' would help fuel the spell a hundred fold.

Now all they had to do was attach dewey eyed Nell, the cow, to the AMS and wait. It didn't take long before Nell scratched her hooves, and rolled her eyes in alarm.

The team all felt the thing's heavy thud into the AMS, and signaled to each other to stay alert. The new monster spray concoction was ready in their holsters, and the nozzles were set to stream. Yet as prepared as they thought they were, the brigade almost missed the ghoul's transition from the AMS- into the monster extractor.

it was a close thing, but they did manage to trap it between the AMS hose, and extractor hoses. They decided to transfer from the trash bags, to waste management cans, and filled three, before the extraction slowed and stopped halfway through the fourth.

The extractor began to shake, and shimmied so hard, they were afraid it would overfill with ectoplasm, and explode. Its sides puffed out like a trumpeter's cheeks, and then sucked back in.

The team hurriedly filled the inside of the extractor with monster spray, and all of the AMS re-access points were sprayed to force the fiend to move toward the containment wastecans. They came prepared to 'ghost' these ghosts!

*******

Everyone linked arms, held onto their talismans, and began to firmly chant:

Gremlins who love to sour milk
Tell the creatures of your ilk
Those who scare poor bovine souls
You fallen under our control

Upon these words, we all agree.
By our will, so mote it be.

The air became charged with electricity, everyone moved a little closer and louder this time chanted:

Monster in the milk machine,
Who's filth and slime we must clean
This place is for the cow's alone
And you will leave their barn and home.

Upon these words, we all agree
By our will, so mote it be!

Roiling thunder followed their chant, and the air crackled with energy. The Monster Magnets tapped into the charge and tightened their circle, and raising their voices to drown out the thunder, chanted:

Fiends who dine on cows fears,
You are not welcome here
Know now, the bill's come due,
The end has come for all of you!

Upon these words, we all agree
By our will, so mote it be!

[CRACK!] A bolt of lightning struck the milking machine and bored far into the ground; fractured into hundreds of beams, and, followed and fried every fiend it found.

The Magnets, who had been tumbled to the ground when the bolt struck, stood and looked at each other, and burst into giggles and laughter.

Everyone's hair stuck straight up, or out, frizzed, and along with their clothes, steamed.

Joey managed to croak "Everyone okay?" at everyone's nod or answer of yes, "Let's go home."

The cows, clip-clopped their way back to the dairy barn, and as they came closer they could sense their milking stations were no longer haunted! The teen's watched as the cows happily lined up, sniffed at their milking station, lowed in approval, and danced into line.

Later that night, after everyone had gone to sleep, the herd had a happy cow celebration, and laughed as they jumped, high over the moon!

LJI Wk17? Vigilance

dmousey — Tue, 05 Mar 2019 13:14:41 GMT

"Hello there Desiree, do you remember me? I'm Doctor Mena, a psychiatrist here in Oakwood," the man, dressed in JC Penny's best combination of slacks, shirt, and tie topped off with white coat, asked in a bored tone. He rifled through a clipboard full of forms as if the answers could magically appear on the papers instead of from Mouse herself. Or require any exertion on his part.

"I apologize, it says here you prefer Mouse? -- yes? Is that the nickname your father gave you?" At her nod, Dr. Mena continued: "The children's court hired me to evaluate what happened, if you will, leading up to and through the events. Do you understand this, Mouse?"

"Yes," Mouse offered shyly. The teen might not know this doctor, but she understood this man was not her friend, and she needed to be careful if she didn't want to fall into any traps. It wasn't like she was a fan of straight-jackets -- or rubber rooms.

The room she's in was standard institutional issue. The walls were painted an over-stocked blue, with white vinyl baseboards (easier for cleaning bodily fluids), white tile floors and sickly yellow, overhead lighting. There were personal touches, photographs, plants (Mouse reached out and touched one - plastic, ugh. The paranoid kids would be checking plants for a microphone or camera, Mouse didn't care.), and neutral-art work meant to soothe the afflicted.

Mouse stayed in plenty of places like this in her fourteen years. Orphanages. Zoos for unwanted children, some even came equipped with bars. Whether to keep the kids from getting out, or to warn potential adopters away, no one knew.

The doctor's voice broke through her fugue. "Do you know why?"

Mouse focused, and asked Dr. Mena to repeat the question.

"Very well, Mouse. Why did you throw those ashtrays, darts, and almost boiling water at your father? Why did you suddenly use violence against him? From what your brother and cousin say, you were always meek around your father. Walked on eggshells so to speak." Here Dr. Mena paused, and looked her in the eyes for the first time since she entered the room. "Do you know why, Mouse? Why you threw those things? Can you help me understand?"

Mouse started quietly at first. " I was coming home from babysitting and I could hear Pop going after my little brother from halfway down the block. I just couldn't handle it anymore, and I, uh, I sorta didn't think about it. When I just picked it up and threw it at him. It connected too." Mouse's voice quavered with anger.

"I could tell it shocked him. I mean, he hesitated long enough for me to get my hands on one of his precious Bavarian beer steins and let it fly. It didn't break. I remember that." Mouse whispered to herself, caught in the memory. "I remember screaming at him, but I don't recall exactly I said," Mouse lifted her head, and sheepishly confided, "but I do know it had a lot of profanity."

"Do you use profanity often Mouse?" Dr. Mena asked. "And what happened after you threw the ashtray, and the -- beer stein, was it?

"Profanity, no -- not usually. Only when it's warranted, I guess." Mouse shrugged her shoulders. Her eyes ached and she wanted him to be done with this, and just sleep. "I grabbed the pot of water tossed it toward him, pushed my little bother out of the house, and we took off running.

"Winded by the time we reached the diner on Saxon avenue, I had some babysitting money, so we went inside to rest and think. I bought my brother a soda and fries, and me some mozzarella sticks. We had just gotten our food when the police showed up." Mouse said as she sat back in her chair. "The rest you have from the reports, I'm sure."

"You mean about the encounter your father had with the police? Yes, I do. The fact that your father was extremely drunk and disorderly, and wanted to box one of the officers, is why you're not being charged with assault. It's clearly a case of self-defense."

Mouse slumped back into her chair after hearing Dr. Mena's words. The knot in her stomach unraveled, and she drew in another breath, this one tasting of relief. She closed her eyes briefly in thanks before she asked where her brother was, how he was, and what came next.

She knew how life 'on the inside' of the institutional foster food chain worked, and she wanted assurances that she and her brother would not be placed in separate homes, and her Pop wouldn't be able to get him, without her. Once Mouse had those, she'd believe the rest of the promises they gave her.

Yeah, sure, maybe she'd even believe things would get better. Maybe now she could finally relax. She doubted it, but at least for tonight, her brother was safe, and she could sleep without fear.

Tangled Lies

dmousey — Thu, 21 Feb 2019 00:55:14 GMT

See the disillusioned weep with despair.
Deeply caught by the bite of steel teeth,
In a trap of tangled lies. Wrapped within,
The warp and weft of intangible truths.

They'd bought into the Grand
Game, this diabolical farce. Wanted change
And instead, were conned.

They were deceived! They cried.
By one who boldly lied, and preyed
Upon their ignorance, divided them to misdirect
Its malevolent intents, from casual view.

Streams of forgiveness, couldn't cleanse,
The thought that they invited the chaos in
When their need deafened them, to reason

So the anguished dried their tears,
But a streak of jealousy slowly appeared,
Hearts turned to stone, and became viscious
Toward those who were more cautious.

Once again they snarl, and once again they scheme,
And once again they plot, as they begin to weave.

LJI Wk 16

dmousey — Sat, 16 Feb 2019 21:21:50 GMT

My daughter found out she was pregnant while living in North Carolina. I was ecstatic for her, but nervous as well (any mother would be). The distance (540mi), and my recovering from a bad psychotic break, prevented me from seeing her during her time there.

Keeping in touch mostly through IM (since we both detest the phone), I'd do my motherly prying and ask too many questions. The few visits I did have with my kids and grandson, my grandmotherly intuition went into overdrive, and my questions became more pointed, much to my daughter's annoyance.

She knew the answer to the unspoken truth, and it wasn't easy to pretend for her husband's sake. However, by the length of the spaces in her quiet responses (the same type she had as a child), I understood she was worried herself, but not yet in need of a diagnosis -- nor was she ready to deal with her husband's derision.

The "Super-Dude" still wasn't talking at little over two, but just his speech being delayed seemed to be everyone's consensus. However the back of my neck tingled once more with grandmotherly intuition.

Autism - by the time of my grandson's birth - had a recognized genetic link, and I did not wish its roller coaster ride upon my daughter. It also didn't sit well that the trait was carried mostly by the mother, and it made me ill to think how my marine son-in-law could have a field day needling my beautiful brat-girl with this fun fact.

Yet, when I did see them I still made sure to point them in the direction of Autistm Spectrum Disorder -- not to unjustly antagonize my son-in-law's authority, but from genuine concern.

Usually, whatever I suggested was not received well by the 'Fatigued' ogre, but frankly, by now I didn't care what he thought. What mattered was my super-little dude's safety, and my son-in law's RESPONSIBILITY as A PARENT, was to acquire it. He preferred to wait and see.

Meanwhile, my grandson was running out of that magical space of time between one to six years, where Autistic children have the greatest ability to form new neural pathways, and rewire some of their brain. Grandma was not about to let the doors to those pathways close! Not if there was a possible way to communicate with him.

So I challenged my SON-in-LAW:

Have him tested by an independent scholastic psychiatrist for autism. If it turned out he wasn't on the spectrum- great! I'd never say another word about it. If he was, we would find out where to go from there.

Sure enough, when the super-dude was tested, Autistic he was. To my credit not once did I dig at my Marine Son in Law about it.

How did I know all these things? My son is Autistic, and I had to learn to advocate, and push, for his services. I learned how to deal with those who stared, shunned, or derided me because of my child's behaviour. Every bit of everyone's hard work was worth it.

Nicholas is an amazing young man. He tries to help his sister with the Super-Dude, and works two jobs to help his sister out.

I wanted a different outcome for my sweet daughter and my happy and oblivious grandbaby, because of the amount of labor, time and patience Autistic children require. Yet I believe the sweet moments are made all the more sweeter, for having labored with love for the outcome.

Such as hearing them call you mom for the first time... at five.

Since he has been diagnosed, my super dude has had speech, behavioral, occupational therapy and more, for five years now. He is verbal, affectionate, and a great kid to be around, though still obviously Autistic. I do wonder how much further we could have gotten if we had caught it earlier, but nothing good ever comes from thinking that way.

Please do not miss your child's eighteen month pediatric visit. This is when most cases of Autism are identified, and early intervention for Autistic children is crucial.

My daughter missed my Super-dude's eighteen month and two year appointments, because of relocating from North Carolina to Delaware and life taking over.

Don't let this happen to you, especially if you suspect any developmental issues. Schools are equipped with the skilled staff needed to help them -and you- break down their walls. You never know who is hiding inside them!

Two examples of this, are these poems, one by 10 year old Benjamin Girioux, and then a spoken word piece by my soon-to-be 28 year old son, Nicholas Martello.

If you choose to read them, they speak for themselves.

Ten year old Benjamin Giroux - I Am Odd

"I hear voices in the air
I see you don’t, and that’s not fair
I want to not feel blue
I am odd, I am new
I pretend that you are too
I feel like a boy in outer space
I touch the stars and feel out of place
I worry what others might think
I cry when people laugh, it makes me shrink
I am odd, I am new
I understand now that so are you
I say I, “feel like a castaway”
I dream of a day that that’s okay
I try to fit in
I hope that someday I do
I am odd, I am new."

*****And my 28 year old son, Nicholas Martello

Asperger's Why did you choose me?

ASD, why did you choose me;
Can you find the pieces that I cannot see;
Please just be patient with me;
'Cause I would never wish this to be your reality;

I know I haven’t written in a bit; I admit; please take a seat; please sit;
I didn’t quit the rap game; just sometimes I’m trapped in my own brain;
suffering from a disorder tied to disdain; so used to having to hide and tame;
cause why would a kid who rode the short bus even have a shot at fame.
Autism Spectrum Disorder; ASD, is a division of who you are cognitively,
and it grinds and quarters; your 5 senses into lines and borders;
Certain smells will be so sickening I can’t even chime in to order.
certain foods cause their aromas are like war crimes and mortars; 9p
going off in my nostrils, sending chills down my spine and shoulders
twisting my stomach and binding my mind like hostages in Columbine.
My sense of taste can make glue and paste taste like a shit filled pastry,
simply because taste buds enhance bitter and sweets;
sweetly bitter; bitterly sweet sweetly sweeps me away senselessly,
and touching certain textures fill me with manxiety;
pain is intensified and can bring me to knees; but please don’t baby me,
'cause I suck it up and enjoy the pain; just like I enjoy the feeling of falling rain;
physical stimulation positive or negative makes me positive I still exist;
even when I feel negative consequences it brings me back to my senses;
Grounds me; and I get a moment to ponder deeply -

ASD why did you choose me;
Can you find the pieces that I cannot see;
Please just be patient with me;
'Cause I would never wish this to be your reality;

And Christ vision and sight are the two senses that tend to bite the hardest at my neurological might; bright lights
easily irritate me, makes me want to box and fight
my fucking brain 'til it gets in right;
and sound, comes in mounds, of broken compounds of information;
constantly losing signals like a deserted desert radio station;
if I ask you to repeat yourself just know I was trying to pay attention;
it's hard to focus when your mind is blind, yet sees all at the same time.
It's why I hate chaos, but love rhythm and repetition;
but that doesn’t make me a simpleton, because I like simple sins;
Are you listening to these rhythmically and verbally converted bars, G?
Did you know when I spit these, this the only time I feel like society accepts me?
And yet ironically the only time I accept my disability; and accept me for me.
because commonly you treat me like I am basically a handicapped mentality, so kids with disabilities become failed members of society.
Because society decided to fail them and me;
so socially I forced myself to be you, so I could be publicly acceptable because I am tired of your not accepting me for me; we live in a constant nightmare; that you get to be awake to see;

I am not malfunctioning machinery made maliciously
just to be sensory overloaded, and efficiently always reaching max capacity.
I am maximizing my ability to hyper-focus verbally, with vicious ferocity;
'cause I am sick of this stigma limiting me, from confidently; accepting me for me; accepting this will always be my reality.

ASD just had to choose me;
Maybe we can find the pieces I cannot see,
Please just be patient with me;
Be patient with me and my Reality."

Lji wk 15 Periphery

dmousey — Sat, 09 Feb 2019 23:49:30 GMT

The desert winds were calling to him once more, she could tell. His eyes glazed over and lost their luster as the air spoke, enticing him with its seductive voice.

She was not privy to these conversations. Indeed, her chief employment lay in beseeching him to stay; To not trek across the hot desert sands in search of the Diablos Saguaros beckoning to him.

Failing to keep him here with her, would be his certain death. Hers also, from grief. He was her world.

Glancing up at the sky, she gauged the time. Nightfall would be here in a few hours and she, along with the other women, had much to do.

So far he was holding strong, yet this was only the beginning of his fight. The pull of the illusion would grow, she knew, until he must slake his need to be in its evil embrace.

Adriana crushed Valerian leaves, dropping them into the teapot to steep. She would give Javier a good dose of the tea tonight, and wait for the winds carrying the evil, to be gone by morning. She thought about tying him to the bed, but it felt too much like betrayal; Which was quickly followed by another thought of, better betrayal, than a horrible death.

The tribes had been fighting the Diablo Saguaros for centuries. It was as if the desert demanded sacrifice for the villages use of it for survival. They thought of leaving these rugged lands many times, but their ancestors bones and spirits were here.

Disturbing those bones and disrespecting the burial sites, would be inviting more chaos and malevolence into the villagers lives.

So the people endured the Diablos Saguaros' claiming one or two men to feed themselves with, during the years where the desert was particularly parched by drought.

The years the rains fell, the Sonoran Desert bloomed, and men were not seduced away from the village.

Over many years the villagers, hoping the Diablos would be satisfied with livestock in place of humans, experimented by leaving lambs, sheep, cows, and burros out for it. All to no avail.

They next day they would awaken to the devastating cries o someone's husband, brother, father, or son, being gone.

The weather each year was now becoming more arid, and the winds hotter. The people, feeling desperate, needed to create a plan for keeping their men alive.

This will be the first time the village stands against the calling of the Diablo Saguaros' and everyone felt anxious. If they succeeded, would it bring some form of retaliation upon their home? No one knew.

Adriana, passing Javier his tea smiled at him softly, saying, "Drink this Javi' it will make you feel better. I also put out the mescal if you need it. How are you doing? Is it bearable?" She asked, concern lacing her voice, as she attempted to gauge how much resistance he had left.

"I won't lie to you, Adriana. It's a struggle." Javier's speaks quietly, "but I place a memory of you in my head and heart, and i tell the Diablo, it will never have me." Javier says, voice stronger, and punching the table for emphasis, "that I belong only to you, and only with you." Javier stopping to sip his tea and pouring a shot of mescal into his cup, took another sip and with all his love for her in his voice, he continued.

"Did I ever tell you Adriana of my first memory of loving you, and understanding I loved, you came when I was 16? I remember you were 14 and feeling so proud of having your hair in braids. And I made the great mistake of tugging on them! You were so angry with me, but I couldn't stop laughing. How could I resist such a fireball in pigtails."

Gasping with indignance, Adriana snapped her wash rag at him. Javier chuckled, and grabbing her about the waist, pulled her onto his lap.

"That was the day I decided you and I were going to be married, and I would not accept anything otherwise." Leaning down he kissed his wife, letting her go when she began kicking at his ankles.

Javier could not stop laughing, so he hugged her tighter, and soon Adriana chimed in.

*******

Everyone agreed, during drought years, every man was to stay home, or within the village's innermost boundaries.

Having dug a trench around the settlement, and filled it with oil, the womenfolk set it alight, trying to spot any movement on their outskirts. Every home was burning sage and pine to dispel evil, with their men inside comfortably sleeping, drugged by the women.

Blowdarts heavily laced with poppy oil, along with blowtubes, were tucked inside the women's vests, and no one was without their lasso.

Simple snares were set in front of everyone's home for catching the men. Step out of their homes and they would find themselves upside down and swinging.

Hopefully all of this would keep them safe from walking into the desert, and following the haunting melody written only for their ears... by a Diablo Saguaro who only craved their blood.

Closing the gates to their settlement, and with every fiber of their beings alert, the women waited through the night.

*******

Stories, passed down through centuries, tell of an evil Shaman, who in visiting our unsuspecting village, lusted after the chief's daughter, Morena. Using his magic to kill her husband so she would be without protection. Sneaking his way into Morena's hut, the Shaman fell upon her.

His hand covering her mouth to prevent her screams, Morena, tried pushing his weight away. She struggled mightily, pounding her fists on his back, and biting the hand covering her mouth, but still he managed to lift her skirts. Suddenly she quit fighting, and at the Shaman's lifting his head in confusion, she struck. Her curved blade sliding between his ribs to slice liver,spleen and intestine, making sure he would die!

Spitting up blood, and using it to fashion a powerful spell, the shaman cursed her with his last breaths. If the Shaman could not possess her, than no man could. The shaman, unleashing his curse, turned her into ... Diablo Saguaro.

Any man daring to answer her enchanting song, would find himself wrapped in spiny arms, and pierced through in hundreds of places. Pore-like openings would appear where the spines began, sucking on the victim's innards, as well as his lifes blood. Within a few mornings passing, they'd find the husk of the body lying on Table rock. How it found its way there no one knew, and some things shouldn't be poked at.

Their tribe's medicine woman, finding it impossible to lift the curse- said it's strength, being rooted in hatred, made it too strong.

********

Coming together together for their men, the women linked arms and began to sing to the Diablos. Songs of love and joy, and speaking stories of their men's courage. They sang of love's strength, and how love was the strongest of all magics, and all blood magic should tremble when it was near.

The women's voices did not falter, staying strong throughout the night.

Awakening in their beds, with the dawn breaking across the sky, they began stoking fires, and filling kettles. They made tea, warming some flat bread on a stone, just as their wives and mothers would. Attempting to show their wives how much they were loved and appreciated, knowing they could never repay them for the gift of their lives.

The wives, returning to their homes utterly exhausted, found themselves being carried and tucked into their beds by their husbands and sons. Love and joy were overflowing, at the celebration of the village being safe.

But in the back of everyone's mind came the haunting thought...

Until the next drought year...

LJI WK 14

dmousey — Sat, 02 Feb 2019 23:20:53 GMT

With a bear close on his heels, Otter burst through the trees, and into the clearing. A rush of air sent warning chills down Otter's neck, and he launched himself sideways into the scrub grass, waiting for the roars and blood curdling screeches to rip the air around him. The apex predators, engaging in battle, would give Otter his best chance for escape.

It was his fault. Today, in his joy gathering some rare herbs, his attention slipped. Not realizing the bear was near, Otter allowed it to get to close. Chanting a death prayer for the bear, thanking it for the noble sacrifice of its life, seemed only fitting.

Having remembered this scarred firebreak's fierce residents from other foraging trips, Otter led the bear here, to its certain destruction, and its dying a grisly death from the Pterogracks' and their two foot, razor sharp, beaks.

Pterograck's, with a wingspan of around twenty feet, were the fastest flying creatures on Earth. Their ability to strike at high speeds, enabled them to punch their pointed beaks through the thickest of hides, or skin, making them extremely lethal.

Usually, the only warning of being in their sights was a downdraft of air, and a fleeting shadow, before they pierced you through.

Living in the world's mountainous caverns with enough room to fly in, or amongst the high towers in the breaks, where they built their nests, they thrived.

However, in the density of the black forest, the gracks' didn't have enough room to unfurl their wings, or maneuver. And on land, they were slow and ungainly, making them easier to evade.

Pterogracks lived in family groupings, and with the bear now occupying this colony's attention, Otter should be able to make it across the break.

Notching an arrow in his bow, and ready to kiss the dirt again at any stirrings of air, or shadow, Otter, raced full tilt across the break, until disappearing into the safety of the trees.

Otter thought of the time long past, the time story tellers call Moreau. Speakers tell of strange vibrations, and pulsating lights coming from the metal towers rising in the breaks. How these vibrations went about changing many creatures, but especially the birds.

Their constant flying through tower resonances, easily mutated their hollow bones and beaks; Both, becoming elongated and more dense, and their feet, turning into talons.

Humans, living along the breaks at the time, weren't immune to the tower pulses either. Some of them evolved, with parts of their brains changing to give them extraordinary abilities. (Otter's foresight and hearing, standing in testament.)

Then there were the others, born twisted of body, or of mind. Nature claimed these other-born, and acted in judgement as it saw fit. "Those others are best not to be thought about." Otter told himself.

Legend also told of a day all the towers in the thousands, upon thousands, of breaks began humming. Their vibrations growing stronger and stronger, and more intense, until every every single tower was arcing blue flame to join its neighbor.

The Elders say the very stars came together to strike at the towers, driving the burning blue flames down into the ground. The resulting explosions of noise and fire left the Earth quaking, and with gaping wounds.

Many living things died of disease and deprivation in the aftermath. The world of men had stopped knowing their place, the elders said, and now once more, humans were questioning their purpose.

Otter could tell them what it wasn't. It was not playing at creation.

***All concrit is welcome!
Please read the wonderful entries and hopefully vote for me and any others in the LJI poll, Thank You! 🐭🐁
https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/1039537.html

LJI Wk. 13

dmousey — Fri, 25 Jan 2019 05:19:50 GMT

Flipping through the pages of a photo album, I stop at a rare picture of the kids and I, sitting on the steps of the L shaped porch of our first house, a three story Victorian twin with white siding and blue shutters. That house holds so many memories beneath its pointed roof -- and this photo is unleashing a torrent of many.

Pulling the photo from its cover, I turn it toward the light, taking a better look at it, and suddenly I'm back there. The kids and I are laughing, carving pumpkins on a gorgeous fall day, saving as much of the guts as we could for making pies, and the seeds for toasting. We were more or less making messes instead of masterpieces, but the laughter and giggles told of creating something more valuable.

Finishing up, we used the garden hose to flush the pumpkin debris from the porch into the grass of my front yard. Deciding to place our Jack-o-Lantern's on both sides of the stoop, and lighting the candles inside, my munchkins and I, taking a step back, felt satisfied. They looked appropriately scary.

The following August, thick vines began growing in our front lawn, eventually sprouting yellow flowers as big as dinner plates! The brats and I, curious as to what they could be, kept watch every day as the vines kept growing until -- pumpkins!!!! I certainly did NOT need to buy any that year!

Memories of the Sharon Hill house are bittersweet. Somehow I lost my first husband there. The warmth of our home's atmosphere, the very air, froze with the sudden chill of his indifference towards the very essence of family. Testing him, I once offered to give him the house, and pay him child support; the look of terror creeping over his face when he thought I was being serious ... utterly heartbreaking.

However, not being all bad, he readily agreed to watch the kids in the evenings while I worked. We were doubtful about our children's ability to communicate any potential abuse -- especially with our son being newly diagnosed as Autistic. At the age of three, he was practically non-verbal. and our daughter, going on six, often acted as his translator.

My ex's love for our kids was never in doubt, but his having to shoulder half the parenting responsibilities, all day, everyday, with a special needs child, proved to be too much for him to handle.

Hell, the one 'normal' child broke her neck while we were living there. Jumping from the curved edge of the neighbor's sloped stone structure, she landed wrong with her head snapping back and sideways. The force of the blow literally sheared her Odontoid process off- the small piece of bone that holds your first three vertebrae together. She should be dead, or a ventilated quadriplegic -- I don't question the miracle, but I do give thanks for it.

There were so many sweet moments in our Sharon Hill house, and I keep them close. My son at four and a half first calling me Mom, and at five speaking in full sentences, happened in that house. Despite his words being horribly mispronounced, and their literal meaning usually what he meant, it was enough. Improving his ability to communicate meant fewer meltdowns.

For example, his father calling me at work, desperate to know what 'pantate eggs' are. Hearing my son's full blown screaming in the background, and feeling pity for my ex, I divulge my secret recipe. Eggs, scrambled, but left untouched until time to flip like a pancake!! Ta Da! Easy peasy.

Winter mornings and their smells can sometimes bring on flashes of our Sharon Hill home too. Once we were heading out to drop my daughter off at school, and we opened our door to discover a shimmering wonderland outside from an unexpected ice storm. Everything, cars, streets, trees and bushes glistening in their cocoon of ice.

Pushing past us before we could stop them, our three dogs flew by, eager to empty their bladders. The munchkins and I could not stop laughing at our dogs' antics trying to do their business. Only our smallest, a terrier mix named Puppet, had success by walking on his front legs -- his hind legs in the air, balancing while peeing behind him!

A few weeks later, three feet of snow fell and my son, impatient and not listening as usual, couldn't wait to play in it. Pulling on his favorite red shorts (he had, and still has, an issue with pants!) and cowboy boots, he shot out the door and ... found himself stuck, armpit high, in snow. I'm sorry to admit I couldn't stop laughing as I lifted him out, but his cowboy boots stayed in!

Holy Spirit Elementary School in Sharon Hill, was where my daughter's first grade ceiling came crashing down on her and the rest of her classmates. Feelings of terror, relief, love, gratitude, and so many others flowed through me that day. Somewhere channel six news has archived coverage, and if they can't find it, i'm sure her grandmother can!

Memories keep flooding through me; The joy of hearing my children's giggles on their blanket rides down the house's steps, or my exercising by roller blading through its hallways. (Hey, it worked!) The time my spawn, whom, after securing my permission, sent their bowling balls crashing down the steps to see whose would finish first. My daughter won. (Girls Rule!)

Countless trips to the Sharon Hill Library for books, and movies (VHS). Half of the library's Sci-fi/Fantasy section are my donations! Full series too. None of this waiting seven-ten years for the next book, or having the author possibly die before full resolution of the story!

Closing my eyes I can go right back there, visiting the time when they were bratlets. To the many nights of reading, To Think I Heard It On Mulberry Street, and acting out Where The Wild Things Are. And when the hugs, kisses, and nigh'-nigh' songs had been sung, I'd make my weary way downstairs. Firing the kettle and picking up my book, I'd begin the wait.

I never had long. Hearing the thud of my son's jump across the upstairs landing, and the patter of his footsteps into his sister's room, I'd count to three. Sure enough, her voice, full of sisterly exasperation at his intrusion, would be heard telling him,"Go sleep in your own bed!"

And a few moments later her strident wail of "Mom!" when he doesn't listen. my sternly shouting his name was generally enough to send him scurrying back to his room. But once again I count, as this ritual repeats itself several times - until finally he wears himself out.

At last the house quiets and I can devote some time to reading, our pets, and a decent cup of tea, recovering for the next day's adventures.

Hard for me to believe this was almost twenty five years ago. We left the Sharon Hill house under duress, and how we wound up in Delaware is another, very long story...
maybe I'll tell it one day.

***the Odontoid process serves as a pivot point for the skull and first cervical vertebrae, which allows the head and neck to rotate. The Odontoid process is a projection that grows off the front portion of the second cervical vertebrae, which is also called the axis.

** All concrit is welcomed!And thanks for popping in! ✌ 🐭

The Wait

dmousey — Tue, 15 Jan 2019 16:24:10 GMT

The soul traveled pneumatically through the aether, alerting the woman manning the registry. Involuntarily grunting at its weight, she pulled the sign-in book from her desk drawer. Heaving it into position, she readied it for the newly departed's signature. Settling back into her seat, she waited for the confused hello, heralding the arrival of the deceased.

"Uhh, Hello? Is there anyone here who can help me??" called a feminine voice out of the void.

The Registrar, parting the mists with a gesture, replied with a reassuring, "Come right this way, dearie, follow the path straight ahead, that's it. Walk right on up, it'll be alright."

"What, what is this place?" A blonde middle aged woman, trying to look twenty-five, asked guardedly. She gave a disdainful look around the austere way station, as she said, "Last thing I remember I was fixing supper, going over bills in my head -- gave me one doozy of a headache too -- and I closed my eyes a moment... and now I'm here. How?"

"Well dearie -If you'd be so kind as to allow me to interrupt for a moment, can I get your signature right here?" The Registrar requested, tapping an empty line. "After I pull up your file, I can get to answering some of those questions of yours before your -ehr- moving on." The Registrar, smiling, pushed the hefty tome toward the other woman.

"Just use your finger, dearie. There you go, that's it. Very nice penmanship. Nuns?"

Flushing with pride, the woman told the Registrar. "Yes, and I need to have excellent handwriting skills to teach to my students!"

"Oh yes, most understandable," replied the Registrar, turning the book so she could read it. Savoring the moment, she took a deep sniff of the ink drying on the page, before the revealing of the woman's name. "Now let's see who you are, shall we? Ah, Susan Anna Miller -- is this correct?" she asked, pulling a file.

At Susan's nod, the Registrar thrust her hand toward Susan in introduction, but the other woman, still a bit stupefied by it all, didn't notice.

"Everyone forgets the niceties when they first arrive," the Registrar sighed, hastily withdrawing her hand. "Even teachers, taught by nuns."

"What was that? I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you said," Susan apologized.

"Nothing important dearie, it doesn't matter." said the Registrar, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. "Susan, If I may call you that? Thank you. Susan, I sincerely regret telling you that you are deceased, having died from a stroke brought on by high blood pressure, and stress. You were thirty- nine years old, and a schoolteacher specializing in third grade."

The Registrar paused and looked at her in sympathy, "Easy to understand the stress."

"Yes it is. Wait...Dead? I can't be? I don't smoke, I exercise, I took spin class for goodness sake!!"

"Well Susan, you aren't the first to protest the predicament. Speaking of spinning, currently, as we speak, you're being given a number while waiting for your chance to spin the Wheels of Re-incarnation: The three sisters Karma, Kismet, and Fate. They will decide your next destiny.

"Meanwhile, if you prefer, you can take your number, and hang out over at Dante's Bar and Grill. Best greasy burgers in town. Flame broiled, too!

Rather read and hang out? Borrow one of our computers from the library. You could keep track of your family, follow what's happening on Earth, or you can - get this- take out actual books.

There's also Gabriel's Coffee Shop, serving scones and muffins, and chai tea for those who don't drink coffee."

Finishing with the basics, the Registrar snapping the sign-in book closed, passed Susan an ID card with her number embedded in it.
"The keycard you're holding works for anywhere, and anything you'd like at The Wait, but remember everything you choose, same as your in your past, has consequences. Everything, so choose wisely.

"There is much to see and do here in The Wait, take advantage of your time here. You may find it surprisingly hard to leave." The Registrar, laughing a little wildly and now finished with her assignment, faded into the mist.

It was time to set the odds on where Susan would choose to first visit. Dante's or Gabriel's... or would she haunt the library, waiting until her number is called to spin for re-incarnation.

Susan was contemplating the very same thing, deciding a greasy cheeseburger and a glass of wine from Dante's would be the very thing to revive her.

Stepping through its doors, expecting to see a dingy saloon with tables, Susan's voice soon joined the multitude, screaming from the depths of the pit.

The Registrar, hearing her anguish, smiled wolfishly. Susan's chart had many entries of her shaming and bullying students. Damning her most of all - her singling out of the special education children. These, of all the innocents, are the most beloved.

Spinning the Wheels of re-incarnation wouldn't change her fate or luck, either. The three sisters had long come to the agreement that Susan's next life would be as a cockroach, with death by squashing under one of her bullied student's heel.

Every choice has consequences...

Inspiration for the piece comes from two different places. One was nearly twenty years ago when my son who is high functioning Autistic, was shamed by his second grade teacher. I only knew about it because my daughter told me. She was upset by it.

And because I worry about my 'Squishy' grandson. Who is coming along conversationally, but I'm not sure he would be able to tell us if he was being bullied.

So, in my opinion, teacher's who pick on children, deserve to be cockroaches in their next life!!

Thanks for popping in and reading! I appreciate it! All concrit is welcome!

Second Chance Wk 2

dmousey — Tue, 08 Jan 2019 16:19:08 GMT

"Whooo- eeeee!" hollered Duncan, running to swing from the rope suspended over a tree branch, at the local swimming hole. Timing perfect, he did a somersault and splashed into the stream, grinning as he surfaced. "Ah, the water's fine boys! C'mon in!! Or would you rather stand there, sweating and having your bollocks itch?" Duncan laughed, taunting his friends at the water's edge.

Brothers Andrew and George quickly shed their clothing, and, letting loose some whoops of their own, dropped like barrels into the water, aiming for their friend. The siblings were often in Duncan's entourage, following his harebrained ideas.

Andrew, being the levelheaded, more sensitive brother, did try playing at being their conscience, but his twin, George, naturally more adventurous and a much more willing second, had a bad habit of agreeing with Duncan. Andrew would then go along, trying to keep his brother out of trouble. Needless to say, his efforts were not appreciated.

Duncan had a talent for finding himself in the middle of whatever mischief a twelve year old could. Oh, he had a good and loving heart, but Duncan didn't spend much time thinking before doing. Things had a way of backfiring around Duncan, and consequences at times were dear; for instance, his mother taking and breaking his best slingshot for pinging her in the arse, not once, but several times while she was hanging the wash. Whittling a new one, however, came easy with the memory of his mam's indignant face.

The three boys, reclaiming their clothing from the stream banks, were skipping stones across the water, trying to out-scare each other with the latest gossip from town.

"Did you hear about the undertaker's men dropping Mrs. Annabelle Sharp's coffin? How when hitting the ground the coffin broke open, sending the body rolling across the ground!" George asked, his voice involuntarily quivering.

Duncan, picking up where George left off, continued. "I keep hearing talk of her hands being all crusty with blood from her fingernails having been half torn off? Or of how her eye's were bulging out, with her mouth frozen open, looking like she died still screaming, trying to get out." Duncan teasing his friends, winked. "Yeah, I did hear a little."

George, sounding a bit stronger, piped in once more. "Our Pap said whatever sickness struck her was so frightening, they went rushing her into the ground, and she weren't really dead the first time. She was in cat- cata- catalepsy? Or some sorta thing like that.

He told mam our family's going to be buried in those new-fangled coffins- the ones with bells on them? And that he'd suffer perdition before burying one of his, and leaving them to die cold and alone."

Andrew, shivering slightly and clearly upset by the tale, turned to his companions: "Can you imagine her horror, though?

"How sensing the darkness, she opened her eyes, to find it truly did blanket her. Her terror rising at smelling the fresh cut pine, and the feeling of roughness beneath her palms. All the while, overpowering everything, is the scent of the fresh turned earth."

Andrew, having caught their attention, went on: "Imagine beating, tearing, at that box, desperately trying to reach the surface, to breathe fresh air. Screaming until your lungs burst, and dying in agony and fear as you suffocate.

"If you listen closely, at night you can still hear her screaming and,..." Andrew, stepping back and curling his fingers into claws, ran them hard down his brother's and Duncan's backs, simultaneously growling, "...scratching, scratching, scratching!!"

Duncan's jumping a foot, and his brother's squawking, set the normally restrained Andrew howling with laughter!

Feeling quite proud of his accomplishment, Andrew knew he was going to have to endure some brotherly punches...
but every hit would be well worth it.

*** One of people's worst fears is of being buried alive, and this was ǹot an uncommon occurrence in the late Victorian era. Cholera was rampant from unsanitary conditions, and often patients fell into a coma. The authorities, or families would hurry burial to prevent germs from spreading and their loved ones upon waking discovered themselves trapped.

To prevent a gruesome and cruel death, safety coffins were built and made affordable to the middle classes in the second half of the eighteenth century, and were still in use in 1995. The popular version of safety coffins contained cords attached to bells, so that a person who woke up in one, would be able to pull the cord and the bell's ringing would alert the outside world.

Thanks for reading! All concrit is welcome! And please pop in again!

Our hearts are still broken...

dmousey — Mon, 31 Dec 2018 02:21:42 GMT

***Trigger warning Death

Writing this piece is emotionally difficult, but strangely cathartic. Six years ago, a genuinely magnificent person was ripped from this plane of existence, by a drunk, and under the influence driver.

I loved this young woman as wholeheartedly as I love my own children, our dearest Uncle Mel.

Attempting to recreate, what Melissa meant to my family, and why we loved her so, in this, a paltry handful or two of paragraphs will be a herculean task.

Experiencing her warmth and gentle acceptance of humanity's pitfalls, can't be done with words. How can people comprehend the phenomenal being, who went quietly spreading her gifts to brighten someone's world, without knowing Melissa.

Gratitude for this young woman is impossible to convey. She spent a lot of time patiently steering my high functioning, Autistic son, through the social graces. Oh, she could and rightfully would, become exasperated with his forgetfulness, but turn right around after taking a few deep breaths, and help him navigate through whatever mishap or drama his irresponsibility caused.

Mel did have her own troubles and concerns, yet she always found time for my son. She was his shoulder to lean on when life issues were rendering both his sister and I unable to be his strength. Melissa, without asking, quietly stepped in to fill the void.

Melissa knew his secrets, keeping them close, and understood his dreams. Nick was her little brother and she loved him; and she was his big brother and he loved her. It was as simple as that.

*******

Besides watching Melissa grow from awkward, nerdy, young teen to young adult, I was given the pleasure of working with her for a year, covering third shift for WaWa. Many interesting moments were shared, from harmonizing together singing along with the Indigo Girls, to coming up with comical posters for why the WaWa toaster was being cleaned; In hopes of fending off the irate customers wanting a toasted sandwich.

Regular's learning it was Mel drawing these cartoons, made it a point to come in and see them. I actually sold one for the exorbitant price of a dollar(!) with the customer asking Mel to sign it. Teasing that she was now a 'professional artist' I watched the joyful disbelief, dawning across her face as the realization hit her - A stranger thought her artwork was good enough to want for themselves!

Did I mention her voice yet? Clear and sweet. I'd needle her, telling her I was going to make her try out for American Idol. She'd pooh-pooh me, saying how crazy I was, but she'd sing a little louder secretly pleased.

She endured my pestering her with probing questions (You know mothers!) about my son and daughter; and working together gave us plenty of opportunities to have philosophical discussions of life and love in all its bewildering randomness. (Sigh) I miss those talks.

*******

Melissa's kinship (friendship isn't strong enough) with my family survived her falling in love with my daughter- while knowing Alicia loved another. But their bond was precious to them, so much so, it also survived my daughter's marriage. In fact Melissa loved Alicia enough to be the 'man of honor' and wear a dress in the wedding! Everyone still smiles at the image!

Melissa loved my children without restriction, and when my daughter's Marine husband was being deployed to Iraq, she up and moved to North Carolina, ostensibly to keep my daughter from becoming lonely. (We all knew she was missing my daughter.)

During my son-in-law's next deployment to Afghanistan, again Melissa stayed. This time to assist my daughter throughout her pregnancy. And assist she did! Melissa was with Alicia when she began labor, driving her to hospital, and was the third person in the family to hold my grandson.

She was my grandson's Uncle Mel, but her gentle spirit, and the love she had for him, is gone. True, Melissa hasn't been here, shaping, molding, or helping him grow into the silly nine year old he is, but we remember her for him... and we remember her for us.

Mostly, however we remember the love, which along with our treasured memories, can never truly be lost, when
we remember, Melissa.

Dedicated to Melissa Foraker - 4/19/1988- 1/3/2013

**Please don't drink and drive. Always have a designated driver. Melissa's car was struck head on- she died on impact.

The other driver lived.

Time to let my imagination go

dmousey — Fri, 21 Dec 2018 05:39:55 GMT

Please sir, may I play second chance?🐭🐁✌😊

dmousey — Sun, 16 Dec 2018 21:08:33 GMT

Sunlight glinting through the lone window of her basement hideaway woke Fox from a dreamless sleep. Slowly stretching, then running her fingers through her clipped, auburn hair, her stomach growled, and she went searching for food. She was always hungry. Slapping together some cheese and dried meat from her meager stores, she busied herself brewing coffee while she absently chewed.

She could cadge a tastier breakfast at Sister Sarah's, but Fox didn't like to be seen there too often. High ballers wanted her head, and the children's mission could become a target to get her attention, though it was neutral territory. Someone, however, for enough coin and protection, might decide to take the risk.

Finishing with her simple meal she began dressing. She left her vest with its master thief's picks and other tools of her trade, hanging on its hook. She wasn't scouting a job, or rescuing anyone, planning only to spend the day gathering the latest information about the doings of Delphi settlement. Besides, her pantry desperately needed filling.

She'd visit the dump, trade, and fill her empty pockets, catching the local gossip while doing so. And, since the dump was one of the settlement's high points, she'd scope the city gates and streets from there.

It always paid off knowing what or who, the high ballers were bringing in. Which 'king' was beefing up security, or cheating another, and which slags had risen to enforcing for them.

Once her pockets were full, she'd replenish her supplies at the aptly named, Market Square. Always bustling and intriguing with goods coming from every community and city that had anything to trade after the wars, came through Delphi's gates and piers, making their way to the Square. You could purchase anything you fancied, if you were willing to pay its price.

Scooping up binoculars and her trusty MUT (Military Utility Tool), she grabbed her father's worn enforcer jacket and opened her door, automatically scanning for anything out of place.
Her street's buildings had been pulverized by the war's mortar and aerial assaults, but somehow half of her once four story apartment house had remained standing.

Fox, having claimed a sublevel set of rooms for herself, had a way of discouraging any other two legged residents from moving in. Still, she took precautions, and secured her home, climbing the broken steps to the street. Freeing her metal cart of its hiding place, she filled it with several cases of bottles cached for recycling, and proceeded on her journey.

Halfway there, the scents of nutmeg and cinnamon wafting from a hawker's wagon, brought memories from a day long ago. The day of bombs and fires. The beginning of destruction and death. The last day her family was all together.

She was in the kitchen and excited about Christmas. Her mother spent the day baking, and allowed seven year old Fox (Francine then, though her father called her Fox to her mother's dismay) to help and carefully stack cookies in tins to give as gifts for friends.

She remembered her mother's easy smile, and eyes the same green as hers, shining with laughter. How her hair, riotously framing her face wouldn't stay tamed, always managing to come free of it's bindings. Fox loved playing with her curls.

The kitchen's atmosphere abruptly changed with her father's return from work. Tension oozing through his voice while he whispered furiously with her mother; and her mother, quickly and methodically began filling their backpacks with changes of clothes, traveling food, and other necessities.

The weight of her backpack tugged at her shoulders, as her father carrying her, ran from the staccato of gunfire. Fires lit up the night, and then, the explosion that threw them all.

Her father shielded her with his body, as they went flying and then nothing. When she awoke, her mother was missing, lost somewhere in the smoke, and her father and she running without her when the soldiers came.

Fox, heart hurting from the painful memory, cleared her head, while quickening her pace to the dump, The closer she came to her destination, the thicker the foot traffic. Scroungers and the downtrodden mostly in this area. Hoping to cash in enough glass, metal, and other 'trinkets' for sufficient coin to survive another day or two.

Some were resourceful and independent, but be too resourceful and you'd catch a baller's attention. Attention meant finding yourself pressed into slagging, or worse. Fox made it a point to befriend the clever ones, and if possible teach them how to defend themselves. Grateful for the assist, they became loyal friends, and her eyes and ears.

She made her trades while listening to the loose talk around the dump. Apparently a new caravan was coming in from Rodrigo's interests outside of Delphi. He was bringing in 'entertainment' to replace the ones he lost in the destruction of his new club. Destruction caused by Fox, in avenging her father's death at Rodrigo's hands three years ago.

Wanting to observe the caravan as it was in line for entry, Fox made her way to the top of the dump's hill overlooking the city. She fished her binoculars out of her pocket, and squinting through lenses, brought the incoming wagons into focus.

A group of five wagons, clearly marked with Rodrigo's brand was wending its way to the gates. Provocatively dressed women, carrying a colorful array of parasols, were strolling along with the wagons. Two, more soberly dressed, older women were accompanying them, and working to keep their charges in order. One of the women, wearing a blue scarf to keep her curly hair at bay, turned, facing the dump,

Only instinct saved the binoculars from falling as Fox forgot to breathe. Heart hammering, not daring to believe, she looked again. There wasn't any mistaking those eyes, and the easy smile she dreamed of for ten years,

Fox was staring at her mother.

*All concrit suggestions are welcome.
**Links to other tales of Fox and her world.
http://dmousey.livejournal.com/26517.html
http://dmousey.livejournal.com/29682.html
http://dmousey.livejournal.com/35870.html

First Encounter...

dmousey — Sun, 16 Dec 2018 20:00:47 GMT

Roll with it...

Shocked, and stunned into sudden paralysis, Fox couldn't stop thinking, "Is that woman truly my mother?" Senses
finaly flaring, she instinctively began moving. She had to get closer.

Hells! She'd have marched straight down to the caravan, and ask the question herself, but her better senses intervened, prevailing over the years of pent up need.

Instructing her 'eyes and ears' to keep watching the caravan and inform her of any changes, she tossed a few coins into the air and sprinted down the hill, leaving the dump behind. Fox wanted to try getting close enough to follow the wagons, unnoticed, as they crossed through streets. Finding where Rodrigo dropped off the women and girls, would be a bonus.

Fox hadn't thought he could replenish his -stock? - this quickly, but these chickens dancing into the settlement belied that thinking. The women seemed plucked from varied continents. Amador, and maybe some from Darliynia. The first were small and slender, and the second, dusky skinned and dark haired, with a very fluid way of stepping. Fox had seen this type of walk before, but she couldn't quite place where.

Deftly weaving her way in and out of the carts and other small caravans without drawing attention to herself, Fox edged closer and closer to Rodrigo's. Feeling a slight tug at her sleeve and thinking it an inept pick-pocket, Fox grabbed and twisted the offensive hand with authority. The child yowled, and thrusting a slip of paper toward Fox, piped a pitiful, "Puh-uh-lease, let go, si-sirr. You're hur-ur-ting me!"

Instantly contrite, Fox apologized while fishing for a coin to give the grubby child for their trouble. Placing it in the child's hand and thanking the urchin once more, Fox moved away from the crowd, reading the cipher.

[Tonight. Highballers Lane at the 12th chime. Ask the Jester for Maggie. Don't be late.]

Well, that's damn cryptic thought Fox, looking around for anyone watching or acting strangely. Nothing untoward caught Fox's eye, or set her teeth on edge, and she was slightly disappointed that whomever sent the missive didn't stay to see the deed accomplished.

Quickly finishing her errands, Fox headed for a visit to Angel's children's Mission and Good Eats. Seeking counsel from Sister Sara and gathering her friend Newt to guard her back was an imperative. This could be one of Rodrigo's traps set specifically for her and wouldn't be the first.

After all, Rodrigo still had to feel butt-hurt over her blowing up one of his gambling establishments, but Fox didn't take kindly to the Highballer's forays into the sex trade, or to the part he played in her father's death.

What motive hid behind his bringing her mother to Delphi, now? Did he have her all this time? Almost ten years have passed since Fox saw her mother being thrown by a bomb blast, and carried away in the smoke and fire afterward. Fox's father had scooped Fox up from where she lay, and ran in the other direction.

Her father changed that day, becoming morose and reckless. Fox, although only seven, understood her father's heart was crying. He didn't count on losing his wife, partner, and mother of his child, and he didn't count on his inability to keep his family safe. It almost broke him, until Fox threw a rare tantrum, reminding her father she needed him for her survival.

********

Shrugging the memory away, Fox turned up a side alley and ducked through the backdoor of the Mission. Hectore, busy at the fry station, with his back to the door, didn't notice her. She moved lightly out the kitchen door and did a quick search for Sarah.

She found sister Sarah deep in a conversation with a pair of Highballer customers. Halfway there, recognizing the Baller- every fiber in her being turned to ice. Sarah's voice hitched at catching sight of Fox, but quickly went on. However, Fox's luck had run out.,

Rodrigo raised his head, looking every bit the cat who drank all the cream.

"Ahhh Fox, please join us. I'd like you to become...reacquainted... with someone." Rodrigo's voice dripping with venom, invited.

"Why are you here?" Fox, replied with equal rancor, refusing to look at the Baller's plus one. It was Sister Sarah who answered the question.

"Because the Mission is neutral ground. He knew once your little birds told you about who his caravan brought in, you would be paying him an unsolicited visit, and he's still recovering from the last time you, uh, dropped in. He's trying to avoid that."

Sarah, looking pointedly at Fox, finished with, "I've agreed to allow the Mission to be a go-between. I'm trusting the Mission will not become another place of war?"

"Fox, please. Listen to what he and his, ... companion... have to say." Sarah's voice trembling now with tension.

Sniffling, and feeling a bit betrayed, Fox wiped her face of emotion, and casually slid into the booth next to Rodrigo's "companion". Cozying up, she spat her next words with all the longing and pent up anger of ten years.

"Alright, I'll go first. So, Mother, you've got to tell me, where have you been all these years, and why are you
turning up, now??"

Other Stories in the Fox Saga:

https://dmousey.dreamwidth.org/5988.html Fox in Henhouse 1)

https://dmousey.dreamwidth.org/5837.html Chickens Flew The Coop 2)

https://dmousey.dreamwidth.org/6248.html Newt 3)

https://dmousey.dreamwidth.org/7843.html DNA 4)