Category Archives: CHAPTER 02 – Emanate

Song of the Sea

songofthesea1280Melody lived in what the land people called the Agean Sea, and when sailors would encounter her, she would ask them only one question: “Is Alexander the king alive?” If they did not answer, “He lives and still rules.” She would be spurred her into a rage, where upon she transformed into a Gorgon and killed every sailor onboard. They cried for mercy from Thessalonike, but she knew not why.

As the sun set, Melody continued to swim around the empty Greek ship. The last of the sailors had jumped to their death well over an hour ago, but she was hesitant to leave. Sunset was her favorite time of day. It was the changing of the guard in some ways. The sea creatures of the day slowed to rest in places they hoped were safe as the creatures of the night rose in search of dinner. A few more circles and then she would follow the sun.

Melody felt no pity for the sailors who had just died, even though it was her song that enticed them to their doom. It was her nature. Does the sun feel guilty for rising, or the whale for the plankton it eats? Of course not. It is their nature to do these things. The legends were not true about her people eating the sailors they lured to the deep. The corpses simply fed the fish, as the fish fed the sailors who caught them. It was all in circle of life and death. The wheel of the ecosystem that the whole world revolves on.

Another circle was the one the planet made around the sun, and the pull the of it on the sea. Every creature of the sea understood time in a way that was totally foreign to land dwellers. The pull of the sun was so different at each point in the circle she could tell exactly where the planet was in the sky. Its tug was so subtle compared to the frantic pull of the moon. It was like comparing the low note of a bass cello to high note of a violin.

She had been told each of the big circles around the sun was called a year, and that the females of her kind lived for ten thousand circles. She had only heard legends of the mermen from her mother, for her father had died while she was an infant. She knew the names of all the other merfolk, but she did not seek their company. There was Aycayia in the Caribbean, Mami Wata in West Africa, Merrow of the Lochs, Rusulki of the Bearing Sea, Jengu of Cameroon, and the three sisters who carried the news among her kind. They were Nereid, Oceanid, and Naiad. She had heard rumors of Melusine in the waters of Japan, but no one had spoken to her in the past thousand or so years. Nine maybe ten of her kind in all the volume of the oceans on Earth.

Maybe that was why the land dwellers seemed so shocked when they saw her. It was obvious that they didn’t believe she even existed, though they seemed to know of her. That was even stranger, because all of them would die upon seeing her, or at least they would when they followed her song to the bellies of the fish in the sea. Some must have escaped, that could be the only explanation. She must be mindful that none of hers escape for it was their belief that to eat of her flesh would give them immortal life. The sweet melodies of her song would guide them overboard, leaving their meals half finished or stopping whatever they were up to mid-stream.

Little did she know that many sun circles in the future, the land dwellers would blame the effects of the songs of her kind on magnet anomalies of places like the Bermuda Triangle and the Dragon’s Triangle. They still would not believe that her kind exist, but they also thought the Coelancanth fish had been extinct for sixty five million years.


authorist1280(Conversation with self – counterpoint is answering self)

I’m dying.

Well so is everybody else from the moment they are born.

But I’m only fifty and all my close lifelong friends are dead.


I’m lonely.

Do something about it!

But I can barely walk, and because of my vision being blurred I shouldn’t drive. I’m in constant pain so much that I have to take codeine four times a day and morphine twice a day.

So what? Do you think you are the only person in the world dealing with challenges?

How am I supposed to make friends?

You know those computer’s you’ve been working with most of your life… Well, reach out and touch someone.

You can’t make real friends over the Internet.

Well your father met his last wife on the Internet, and you met your past three serious romantic interest over the Internet. What is so different about finding a friend?

Did you know that a 2.8 GHz Pentium 4 is 31 times faster than an 8 million dollar Cray supercomputer built in 1975?

You are changing the subject.

Okay, I do feel like I’m here for a purpose, but I don’t know what. I never had a child, so I’d like to leave something behind when I leave this mortal coil.

Let’s run with that. What do you think makes you different than the people around you?

I’m not really sure, but at my age and the way I’ve worked with technology most of my life, I’ve noticed some patterns. Things like the direction that technology is heading and the way people interact with it. I’d also like to just express some of my opinions on things and show off my twisted sense of humor.

Do you think you are psychic?

NO! These are just observations and following them to their logical conclusion.

Well, why don’t you write them down.

Okay… but what should I call it.

How about, Tales from the Technowomb?

Hmmmm., that has a nice ring to it. I’ll think about it. I could do it like Shrek’s personality. In layers like an onion. Maybe I’ll hide a tidbit of obscure knowledge in each story that readers would have to look up. And I’ll do it with pictures for those with short attention spans, so that I cover the entire range of intellectual curiosity.


lashonda1280What I be doing here? I’m holdin’ up dis lamp post wif my ass, and suckin’ on a butt since it be so fucking much fun. What do it look like I’m doin’?

You’s don’t care for my attitude? So what! Who died and made you God?

Oh, you’re not a John? Then what do you want?

An article. About what?

Oh, how people like me end up walking the streets. What do you think “people like me” are?

For your information, I’ve got a Master’s degree in Business Administration. Unfortunately, my mother wasn’t quite as educated and gave me a name that is obviously for a person of color. Because of that choice on her part, I statistically only have a 29% chance of being called by a large corporation versus a 51% chance for a white person with a similar resume. Currently only those with Arab sounding names stand a lower chance than I of being called for a job interview.

Yes, I have a child, and no his father isn’t around. Did you know that the unintended pregnancy rate of Black women is three times as high as that of white women, the maternal mortality rate is four times higher, and the rate of death from HIV is nineteen times higher, because of substandard prenatal health care for Blacks in low income areas? In the courts of the United States, because of the disproportionate number of women of color targeted by the criminal justice system, they have also been overly represented in cases of forced contraception as a condition of probation and a means of state control over reproductive capacity. As for his father being gone, are you aware that 70% of African American children are born to unmarried mothers and 80% of African American children can expect to spend the significant part of their childhood in the absence of their fathers?

I am aware of my disadvantages, but are you aware that high school completion rates for blacks has gone from 68% to 76% in the last two decades, while the hispanic rates have only gone from 55% to 59% in that same time period. Also the overall college enrollment rate for Blacks has risen 56% in the last twenty years and African American women are completing college at a rate of 42% compared to Black men’s 37%.

I am doing everything in my power to better myself, but the odds are against me. I am likely to earn 14% less than my white female counterparts, and 26.9% less than a white male with the same skills, but I still keep trying. In the meantime, I have a child to feed and I will play the part of “people like me.” Only because you will not let me be anything else.

Holy War

holywar1280We are summoned here in anger. Not in the spirit of love that is the basis of all of our religions. How is it that mankind has advanced in so many ways, but returns to a blind hatred of other humans based on their religious beliefs? Stranger still is how many of the religions share the same figures in history, but interpet their teachings so differently.

The Christian: Are these not like the crusades of the medieval ages, where the Papacy called for a holy war on the muslims? Nay, the Roman Catholic church of these times does not sanction such hatred. In history the Protestants and Catholics fought amongst each other even to the point of war, even though both believed in Jesus Christ as the saviour. We now find the various sects of Muslims killing each other. We pray that in learning tolerance of various Muslim beliefs is the seed of tolerance of other religions.

The Jew: The hatred of our people by the Arabs goes back thousands of years. They believe that our ancestors tried to kill Muhammed as a child, and later broke treaty with him and joined sides with his enemies to fight him. They consider it a sacred duty to instill this hate in their children. How can we live in peace with such hatred harbored by our neighbors? Even though our ancestors killed Jesus, the Christians do not seek to destroy us. There is to some degree forgiveness, though they malign our character.

The Hindu: The British Raj who played the Muslims against the Hindus since the time of the 1500’s planted many seeds of hatred. This led to the division of India into a Muslim Pakistan and a Hindu India, but the killing continued. In modern times, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi spent his life teaching a toleration for all classes, creeds, and religions, trying to end the cycle of violence. But the paintings on the temples of our naked gods and voluptuous goddesses remain a source of constant provocation to Muslim eyes and minds.

The Buddhist: In our religion there is no concept for holy war. To kill is to break the key moral precept in Buddhism. We do not see Buddah as god or creator, but more teacher to student. We seek enlightenment and liberation from Samsara. Within that, the law of karma who’s concept deals with action and consequences, explains the problems of sufferings, and the apparent inequality of mankind. Your soul may learn through many lifetimes and through reincarnation.

The Arab: Know ye that we are the decendents of Ishmael. It is he not Isaac who Ibrahim was to sacrifice to Allah, but spared because Ibrahim was a god fearing man. We seek to carry out Allah’s will of conquest and subjugation of those in the “Dar al-Charab”, the world of infidels. You Jews and Christians are “Dhimmis,” officially bound in Islamic law as second-class citizens. The Europeans had to kneel at the feet of Muslim scholars to gain knowledge, but with the rise of the Ottomans our forefathers focused on the examination of religious beliefs and turned away from the study of science and medicine. Although our society does not seem “modern” by your standards, our deserts are the home of the oil you so desperately need. That wealth makes us mighty. There are forms of Muslim belief that are less than others, but all are greater than the Dhimmis.

The words of the jihadist are full of nothing but hate for all other religions and even Muslims who believe differently than them. The majority of Muslims are taught by the teachings of the Holy Quran to be tolerant towards and respectful with other peoples beliefs. Our only hope for peace is that the Islamic majority takes the initiative to reign in the radicals who have hijacked the true meaning of Islam. The name of this religion, Islam, is derived from the Arabic word “salam,” which is often interpreted as meaning “peace.” However “submission” would be a better translation. A Muslim is a follower of Islam. “Muslim” is an Arabic word that refers to a person who submits themselves to the will of God.

The best jihad [struggle] is (by) the one who strives against his own self for Allah, The Mighty and Majestic,” by the Prophet Muhammad.

Traded for Security

traded4security1280Naomi begged for the life of her husband and son. She didn’t care about herself. She was still young and offered herself as slave to the judge who held their lives in his hand. Naomi knew of others who had made deals with corrupt federal officials. Only the beautiful ones. The ugly or even normal looking women had no chance. Her husband had complained to her in a phone call during a lunch hour about the amount of taxes that came out of his check. The goverment listened and heard. Her eight year old son had taken a book from the shelf by Mark Twain, and started to read it, when library security took it and called his parents. It was considered to be subversive reading. A few hours earlier at one a.m., a homeland security detail broke down their door with no warrant and found Naomi’s contraband. She had one stick of real butter that she was saving for a special dinner. Real butter was only allowed for government employees above pay grade E4. Now she begged for their lives.

But let’s go back to the beginning.

Those were perilous times. You never knew where they were going to strike next. Not that the terrorist were hitting anything near you or anybody you knew, excluding September 11th of course. More people were killed in the attack on the World Trade Center than were killed in the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese. It was horrific beyond comprehension. It is one of those days in a lifetime that everybody can remember where they were at and what they were doing if they lived through it. I do not minimize or desecrate the loss and the lives of those who died there, and who died trying to help others. Even in pain, it was a shining moment that showed the true mettle of the American people.

I do have a problem with what those in power did afterwards.

Amercians became a people who lived in fear. The government psychologist knew that repeated exposure to threats and implied danger can affect people in ways similar to hypnosis, increasing their suggestibility. “Repeated trauma will move the bar to the lower 30 percent of the population, maybe even to half of all people, depending upon how close they are to the trauma, how many stimuli or reminders are surrounding them, and the amount of grief they’ve been exposed to.

So as they went about the world spreading “democracy”, they demanded that we give up some of ours. It was not that they were giving these other countries the tenents of democracy that we gave up, they told us that if we wanted to be safe we had to give them up. One of America’s founding fathers begs to differ. We will not, as Benjamin Franklin once warned, trade our civil liberties to purchase temporary safety.” But his wisdom forgotten, we did.

It started with a homeland security advisory system. A simple color coded chart that went from green, when there was low risk of a terrorist attack to red for a severe risk of a terrorist attack. In the six years after September 11th, it never went below yellow. That was for elevated, which reads a significant risk of terrorist attack.

The federal government started announcing terrorist plots it had foiled with this extra bit of freedom we as American citizens gave up. It started with seven unemployed men with no explosives in Miami. The government supplied them with money and guns, made them swear allegance to al-Qaida and then arrested them. There were four around Detroit, a lone fanatic here and there. They were doing their job, so they told us. See, you are safe.

We allowed them to search and sieze cars around airports without probable cause. We allowed them to tap our phone calls with other countries without a judges order, but they took the liberty of tapping phone calls within the country without a judges approval. We gave them the right to see what books we checked out at the library, but they took all the records of what words we searched for on the Internet and all of our phone records. To dare say NO, would get you branded as unpatriotic or even a traitor.

Charlton Heston an actor and director of the National Rifle Association pointed out some apparent but forgotten facts.

“Our right to privacy, one of our most fundamental rights as free people, is being eroded as we are followed and photographed, scanned and screened, patterned and profiled, cataloged and cross-referenced, compiled in databases, and combed for clues to future behavior in more ways, in more places, for more reasons and more often than ever before. This represents a polar shift in the traditional American relationship between the individual and the state-a shift that, if allowed to continue to its natural end, cannot be easily undone. Because once we’ve handed over the immense power that these surveillance regimes demand-once we’ve untethered the corrupting influence that such power invariably exerts on its bearers-how, exactly, do we get our freedoms back? ?The technology may be new, but its misuses are as old as hatred or greed. We all know from the Hitlers, Stalins and Maos of history exactly where this can lead. But where does it all end? When we’re all strip-searched, DNA-scanned, followed, filmed, tracked and profiled from the cradle to the grave? What are the consequences for freedom when the state can concentrate such power, and such power can be so easily misused?”

In God we trust. All other prepare to be scanned.

Deep Sleep

deepsleep1280The blue tint from the daylight fluorescent light overhead, painted the brushed steel walls and cryochamber with its soft glow. The crinkle of her plasticene lab coat and hum of the machinery clashed in their difference. Melissa had not gotten used to the stiffness of the plasticene lab coat yet. It was more flexible than plastic but didn’t carry germs. Thus, all medical personnel were required to wear them.

As she pressed the button to visibly check the man’s vital signs, she looked at his muscular and well toned body. The same questions kept haunting her about this client. He was the oldest client in the system. Not in physical age, but in how long he’d been cryogenically preserved. There was no name on his chart, just an inception date, 12/15/1966. She knew that date was before the first “registered” instance of putting a human in cryogenic suspension, in 1967. That person was a 73 year old psychologist by the name of James Bedford.

It had been eight years of working here, before they would let her check this client. Although she had already signed a confidentiality statement, she had to sign a second and longer one. There had been many whispers among the staff who had been here for a long time. Though none of the current staff, including administration had been here as long as this gentleman. The date of inception was also the date of a well known person’s death. His name was Walt, but he supposedly is in stasis below one of the attractions in his theme park. But this couldn’t be him. She’d seen pictures of the famous man, and he died in his late sixties. This fine specimen looked to be in his mid thirties at the very most.

There was the other fact that this John Doe was put into suspension while he was alive. The old clients who had been frozen after death had a distinctly different color to their skin. What made it even stranger, was that Congress didn’t approve the freezing of live humans until the summer of 2031. It was rather apparent that doctors may learn how to cure certain diseases in the future, but they were unlikely to conquer death.

Little did Melissa know, that all her questions were moot. The well preserved body that lay there, stared mindlessly up at the ceiling. In those early days, the method of putting someone into a cryogenic suspension was flawed. The first error was that the client could still think. Laying there frozen, unable to move, he went mad as a hatter within the first year. The other problem was that the human brain is more susceptible to damage by the crystalization of the water in the human body than the other organs. So as this poor fellow went mad, the shards of water turned to ice, sliced his brain to ribbons.

White Slavery

whiteslavery1280My name is Jennifer. Would you PLEASE get a message to my parents that I’m alive and here? I doubt they have enough money to buy my freedom, but maybe they can…..

Why aren’t you leaving to tell them? Oh. Well, I’ll tell you a bit more then. I’m just fifteen years old. I live in Cleveland. At least I used to. A couple of my friends and I went up to the mall. You know the one by the University. I can’t remember its name. We had been window shopping and lost track of the time. Before you know it, we were being kicked out of The Gap because they were closing. We all ran as fast as we could out to the bus stop, just to see the tail lights as it pulled away. While we were arguing over who was going to call their parents to come pick us up, a white stretch limo pulled up.

My peeps and I stood in shocked silence when the chauffer opened the door and a boy not much older than us got out. He said his name was Jarel, and he saw the bus pull away and us arguing. He was like, megacute and had buns that wouldn’t quit. He also spoke perfect English, with no accent. He asked if we needed a lift, and I replied, “No, we really shouldn’t.”

Millie pinched my butt so hard I spun around to slap her. She anticipated me, and caught my hand mid-air. Amongst the giggles and squeals, Heather and Millie were trying to convince me and themselves it would be okay to get a ride home from the cutie in a limo. The young man just stood there with his arms crossed, smiling as we argued amongst ourselves. Finally the decision was made that we would, because no one was willing to call their parents.

Jarel held the door as we all piled into the limo, putting on airs as if we always rode around in stretch limousines. He had a killer sound system with the Hansen Brothers casting their spell with sweet harmonies. He offered us all a Diet Coke, and opened a refridgerator with those cute mini-cans of soda. He took one himself, and passed one to each of us. We opened them simultaneously and toasted as if we were drinking champagne. That was the last thing I remember.

I came to bound and gagged in a warehouse. I could smell the ocean and hear the sound of ships. The blast of the horns was way to low a tone to be normal boats. Millie and Heather were no where to be seen. If I could have gotten the duct tape off of my mouth I would have screamed, and tried to find them. But those heroics where just movie plots that played out in my head as I lay there helplessly. A man slapping some sort of leather thing in his hand walked up to me smiling and everything went black again.

I don’t know how long it went on, but every time I started to come to, a foreign woman in a lab coat would inject me with something and I would black out again. One time they let me stay awake long enough to drink some water and eat what looked like oatmeal, but I couldn’t keep it down. The next thing I know, I’m being injected again. I have no idea of how long I was out between the times they woke me up to water and feed me like a cow. I had soiled myself countless times, but I couldn’t seem to get it across that I needed to use a bathroom. I did manage to figure out from the motion and smell, that I was on a ship.

One time when I came to, I heard a girl screaming. I could not tell if it was Millie or Heather, but realized that I should be screaming too. I just never seemed to come out of the drugged sleep with enough clarity to remember to scream.

Then I came to here. I can tell that I’m in some arabic country. The language, the air, the food, everything is different. I know now that I’m being sold into slavery. Last year, I did a report on white slavery in modern times. What shocked me and everyone else is that the government knows about at least three American women trapped in Saudi Arabia, and are doing nothing about it. My proof was two articles in the Wall Street Journal. One was from June 13th, 2002 and another one on June 26th of 2002.

I think the other two women in here are from Russia or some other Slavic country. The one with the cigarette just sits there and wails day and night. I don’t know if I hate the sound of her wailing or smell of those nasty cigarettes worse. The woman in the middle with her back arched, got whipped. Like with one of those Indiana Jones type whips. She said something to the guard over there in the jeans and Nike sneakers. Next thing you know, they were dragging her out of here and tying her up to that post. The one right over there. They made me watch. Whenever I tried to look away, a guard would force my face back that way. If I closed my eyes, he would slap me until I opened them.

Yesterday a man in the long white robe and turban came in and kept walking around this cage looking at the other two women and me. Eventually he gave my captors a lot of money. He had a woman with him, but all you could see was her eyes though a mesh in the black robes that covered her from head to toe. She came to me, and in broken English asked “What name, you?” I told her and she nodded. If eyes can smile, they did. She managed to get across to me that her husband had bought me. She made it clear that I would do the cleaning for her and to service her husband whenever he wanted. But they could not take me yet. She kept saying something that sounded like “Istibra” and “one mense”. Eventually, I understood that they would be back for me in 28 days.

I beg you please! Get in contact with my parents!…..

Why are you just sitting there silently?

The Spy

thespy1280She slowly rose through the top of the marble coffee table. Just enough to bring her eyes to where she could see the room. She could take the form and texture of any rock, crystal or mineral, but she couldn’t match the glossy shine on top of the table. She barely missed a glass sitting on the coffee table. She saw the noise and picture box, and that the man was so engrossed in watching it, that he didn’t see her rise out of the table.

For her, travelling through rock was like swimming in syrup would be to a human. After doing this for thousands of years, she was so strong that she could traverse great distances this way. The name of her race could not be pronounced by humans, and doing so would take far too long. But even if we could know her name, we would have to be killed, because she was a spy. The native American people had met distant cousins of her race. The Cherokee Indians called them the little people. There were three kinds of little people. The Laurel People, The Dogwood People, and the Rock People. The Onondaga Tribe knew a form of her race that were giants and ate the uncautious Onondaga warriors. Her race had once been allies to the dwarves of human legend, but that was long before her time. For the dwarves and elves no longer walk the earth.

But what had brought her to this place was the human who sat watching the noise and picture box. During the day he led other humans in stripping away the layers of earth and stone. They dug deep terraced holes far into the bedrock. Even they called it bedrock. Did they not know that when you rouse a creature from its bed, you must deal with its anger? She was sent by the elders to learn of this human’s plans for the next day. For tomorrow he would be killed by what his co-workers thought was an accident, but the stone of the earth protects its own.


veteran1280Here I sit. King of nothing. A beautiful woman begging for the life of her mate and two Guardians to protect me. Right! The two Guardians are as much jailers as they are body guards. My great reward for 263 years of military service to the Empire. Almost all of my human form has been replaced with flexisteel, from all the wounds I have received. I who rose from grunt to Master General. I who won against all odds in the Battle of Evermore. I who rose from one of the conquered races of the planet Earth. I who Lord over a planet of humans barely out of the caves. I who rust in this damnable tropical humidity and heat. I who will never leave this planet or talk to those I love. Not to talk to even those who I fought with, and managed to live through all the battles. Not to have an intellectual conversation with another person for the rest of my life. Not to truly feel the touch of a woman or know love, while I still take breath into these metal lungs.

I think that the Council feared me more than it wanted to reward me. In old times on Earth it was common to give war heroes land as a reward at the end of the war. But this was not the end of the war. For many battles still raged on, and with an ever expanding empire there will always be wars to subjegate planets and civilizations. My soldiers had become to loyal to me, rather than the Empire. I had become more popular with the people for the fairness I used in dealing with them, than the edicts of the Council. I was to receive a whole planet as a reward, rather than a patch of land on some civilized planet, or so the public was told.

In the early days of the Empire, there was an effort not to interfere or be seen by civilizations far less advanced than our own. As time progressed and the mineral and conscript needs of the Empire increased, that line of thought fell by the wayside. It was easier to enslave less advanced civilizations. On truly unadvanced civilizations, it might take only a high ranking officer and one battalion to conquer a planet. Almost all ancient civilizations had some sort of belief in a higher being. The Empire just capitalized on that belief, and the commander of the battalion became their god. Of course they would rise up at some to overthrow the human that had filled the place of their god, but by that time all it took was a call for reinforcements to quell any rebellion.

So why was this planet ‘hands off’? Why was it punishable by death to land on this planet or to have radio contact with it? Merely to keep me prisoner here? There is something strange about the humans on this planet. They don’t even draft conscripts from these people. They remind me of the tales of prehistoric people on Earth. Oh yes, these people he thought. Looking down at the woman pleading in some unknown form of pre-language. He told one of the Guardians to kill her mate; then take her to his room and chain her to the foot of his bed. He paused for a moment thinking of his fairness in dealing with conquored civilizations, and his lack of concern for these people. He said out loud to no one in particular, “If they ever record their history, I will be judged a harsh and cruel ruler. But what do I care. I paid my debt to the Empire.”

* Authorist’s Note: Little did this isolated King know that he was actually bait. On many different planets they had found legends of the Lemurians. A people who decended into the third dimension to alter evolving creatures into thinking ones. The changed people often built pyramids to worship them. The secret desire of the Council was to capture one of these Lemurians and follow them back to their world, to continue the expansion of the Empire. Only the highest level agents of the Council were allowed to watch this planet..

The Dream

thedream1280Franklin awoke with the components of his dream still clear in his head. He had had this dream three nights in a row. What did it mean? He could never remember having the same dream night after night. For that matter, he usually couldn’t remember his dreams at all.

The first thing that stood out was that it had the feel of M.C. Escher’s Ascending and Descending lithograph. Where all of the stairs seemed to start and end in impossible angles to each other. The next was the four women wearing the same dress and shoes, but with different jewelry, stockings, and obviously different women. The last thing was the mountain outside the windows that was at the wrong angle to everything else in the dream. He thought for a moment it might be the Matterhorn, but he wasn’t sure.

He wondered again what the dreams meant. He knew that people have been wondering about dreams for thousands of years. In 5000 B.C. the Babylonians had a goddess of dreams and a book to help with dream interpetation. Then there was Joseph in the old testament of the Bible who was abandoned to die in the desert, but later rose in power because of his interpretation of Pharoh’s dreams. Also, Joseph in the new testament that was told in dreams that Mary’s child was from the Holy Spirit and that he should flee from Herod and stay in Egypt to protect his family. But there were many in his field of work that believed dreams were just random electrical impulses that the cortex of the brain was trying to make sense of, and that was why most dreams didn’t make sense. He admitted to himself that psychologist today don’t know much more about dreams than the Babylonians seven thousand years ago.

Was I coming down with an illness? People with Tourette’s Syndrome often have serial dreams. What about the colors of the different dresses? Each color has a different dream interpretation, or the fact that there were four women. In old times to dream of a group of women portended deceit and treachery, but now the politically correct intepetation means an increase in prosperity. The different jewelry but the same shoes. The stairs themselves. Franklin’s head was hurting with all the possibilities, when a shrill and piercing sound made him grab his ears to stop it.

When he opened his eyes, he turned over to shut off the alarm. The components of the dream were still fresh in his mind. He was sure he’d had this dream before. What did it mean? He could never remember having the same dream night after night. For that matter, he usually couldn’t remember his dreams at all.

Devil Woman

devilwoman1280Reporter: “Excuse me Miss Forphneria. I hope I pronounced that right. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions for our readers, while the photographer reloads his cameras?”

Miss F: “Not if you don’t mind me holding my pose for the photographer.”

Reporter: “You claim that you are the original ‘devil woman’, of whom so many songs and stories have been written. Is that true?”

Miss F: “Absolutely. When Lucifer was cast out of Heaven, I was the first angel to join him by choice. You do remember that we once were angels, don’t you?”

Reporter: “How long ago was that?”

Miss F: “Foolish mortal. Never ask a woman her age!”

Reporter: “Sorry. Are there any other names that you are known by?”

Miss F: “Well, the most common one is ‘she-devil’. I think every mortal man who was married claimed to be married to me at one time or another. But to answer your question, I’ve been known as Ishtar, Lilith, Mara, Koza, Naamah and second among the Seraphim, just to name a few of the most popular.”

Reporter: “You seem so comfortable here getting your picture taken. After thousands of years of hiding yourself from the site of mankind, how do you adjust to this so easily?”

Miss F: ” I warned you about that age thing! I’ve never been ashamed to be seen. Many have thought me to be beautiful. I just had to hide the fact I’ve got no belly button from men that I seduced. Now I’m showing off that fact.”

Reporter: “Now that you mention it, why don’t you have a belly button?”

Miss F: “Silly human, angels aren’t born. They are each created by the hand of God.”

Pillow Talk

pillowtalk1280June 30th, 1940 in a small unnamed bar in Paris in the basement of a building that once housed many French businesses, sat Charise LeBouredeu. Paris had fallen to the Germans the week before. She had been inspired by Charles de Gaulle’s radio speach on the 16th of June, but the death of her brother on the 23rd of June cemented her will to the resistance.

The man sitting across the table from her wore the uniform of a tank commander. His wrinkled face and bald head, gave away his age and the fact that he must be a man of importance. They don’t put men his age in tanks. At least none of the men she saw in the tanks that overran Paris, were anything but young and strong. Charise was twenty-four but looked younger. She knew it, and when it suited her, she would dress and wear make-up to emphasize her youth. The single light bulb in the ceiling of this dark corner was covered with the brown nicotene of thousands of cigarettes. It gave everything below it a dirty cast of brown light. The smoke filling the bar only enhanced that effect. She was sure that he would think she was only eighteen or nineteen at the most.

The night after her brother was killed by an approaching tank, right before her eyes, she dyed her already blonde hair an even brighter shade of blonde. Her brother was only fourteen and curious. When he got too close to a tank and it pulled his leg under the tread, his screaming was enough to stop the tank. An officer seeing what had happened ordered the tank forward, rather than allow her to get him out. All it had to do was back up, and her brother would have lived. He probably would have lost his foot, but he would still be alive. Her screaming and pounding on the officer who ordered the tank forward was to no avail either. The officer slapped her down to the ground, leaving her crumpled there with blood streaming from her mouth and tears from her eyes.

This german soldier chose the small dingy unnamed bar over the cabarets that were popular with the younger soldiers. The fact that he sent a drink to the youngest looking girl in the bar, told of his obsession. He was old enough to be her grandfather. At least she thought so. She knew what he wanted. France has its own homegrown perverts as well. The other French patrons looked at her with disgust. At the end of the war she would be stripped, have her head shaven, be daubed with a swastika and marched through the streets as a collaborator, but she knew nothing of that fate. Even if she did know, she would have done the same. She knew what she was about to do was right.

As they would lie together tonight, she would feed his ego. She would get him to brag about his accomplishments. She would get him to tell her of his plans. Not in any obvious way, but as a time table to continue their secret couplings. Where he would be, so she could sneak off to meet him. All of this information she would pass along to those in the resistance. Hopefully to be passed along to the allies that continued to fight the Germans, as she did.

The nasty old German soldier commented on her bright blonde hair. She replied, “My father was German.” She did not tell him that her mother had gotten pregnant by a German soldier in World War I, twenty three years ago, who she slept with to get military secrets. She wondered if her daughter would meet the same fate in some future unnamed war?pillowtalk1280