SQUIRREL!!!!!!!!!!!



Picture of the squirrel

It use to be that we hardly ever had any birds or little animals in our yards due to all the cats and the one dog my family had. Recently though, misfortune has pretty much fallen on all our pets this year, and the only one left living is my Leopard Gecko, Lotus. There is a plus to this though, for it means that cute fuzzy little animals now flock our yards, especially since we leave seed and nuts out for them.

There is now a squirrel living somewhere near our house, and he frequents our yard, taking the yummy treats we leave for him. Never really having anything but the occasional robin, we are all quite enamored with it. Almost obsessively so. In fact I took a several videos of this squirrel taking the nuts we had left for him on the fence, and then burying them. Here is one of them.

I will not be upset if you stop watching it after only thirty seconds.

Anyway, there has been some...debate over what to name this new squirrel. (My family names everything. From inanimate objects, to spiders that spin webs on a flower boxes. The most memorable being Dave, the cat spider who lived in a window box on the back patio.) Most of the debate is between my sister, KatySue, and I. She says Stanly, but I say Charlie. It is not that I mind the name Stanly. In fact, if the squirrel was a red squirrel, Stanly would be a perfect name.  

I thought it would be fun to post the poll. I highly doubt this will change anything. If it ends up that the most popular name is not Charlie, I will still call the squirrel Charlie. Anyway, I have most of the household calling the squirrel Charlie, the poll is purely for entertainment purposes.

SQUIRREL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The NaNoWriMo Experience

The Great NaNoWriMo Experience

For Novel Info Click Here

Week Four and Beyond:

Week four had dawned and I felt the dizzy anticipation of almost being done. After the first week, I was very consistent in my writing, and always got about 2,000 words written a day. That means I was at about 42,000 words at the start of the fourth week, and only had 8,000 to go before reaching the 50,000 word count goal. If I continued on in that vein, I would finish on Thanksgiving day.

The fourth week was mostly wrapping it all up. Like how the first week had felt like an introduction, this last week felt like I was simply tying all the loose ends. The adventure was coming to a close, (literally and metaphorically speaking,) and the characters had been all but developed, and the plot was laid out for me to see.

The last week was a slightly bittersweet one. For it was true that all the work I had done during the first three weeks was coming together to make a cohesive manuscript, and it was a thrill to know I was the one who pieced the whole thing together. Then again, it was sad saying goodbye to my characters, knowing that soon I would leave them completely to their own demise. It was fun to create the characters and see them through the plot.

The climax was very climax-y, in the respect that all the little things throughout the book were brought together and made for an exciting and thrilling ending. I actually finished writing the book on the Saturday following Thanksgiving, ending up with 55,642 words all in all. It was a fun and exciting four weeks, (I just now noticed it took me exactly four weeks to write the novel. How even of me! Though I am not really all that surprised. I am organized even in my subconscious.) During the last week there was a little fear I did not have enough plot to see me to the 50,000 words. I was even apprehensive enough that I went back to the beginning of the book and added a 700 word scene. It is obvious now that even without that addition I had plenty enough plot, but I will not get rid of it, because I feel the all over book benefited from the addition.

So now the laborious process of editing and revision is going on. More specifically, my mum is correcting any spelling or grammatical mistakes as she reads it. As soon as she is done with editing it, (and perhaps KatySue if she wants to) I will take it and start revising it. This includes not the corrections the editor(s) put in the manuscript with a pencil, but character and plot points as well.

Supposedly, part of NaNoWriMo is to not edit at all while you are writing the novel, and to save it all for afterwards. I did not do this. True, I probably could have shaved off a half to hour forty-five minutes a day from my writing time if I had not, but now I am thankful for it. It was mostly spelling mistakes that I corrected, and and when something was written extremely awkwardly I would change it. If it was between editing some as I went or having enough time to finish, I would have chosen the latter. I could do both though, so there was really no reason not to.

Well it was a fun and exciting filled four weeks (bonus points to those of you who know how many times I have said that in this one post,) and I will definitely do it again next year if at all possible. I have been properly graduated, and have both impressed and offended people by sticking to it and writing all 50,000 words in one month. Huzzah!!!!!!!!!!!!

The NaNoWriMo Experience

The Great NaNoWriMo Experience

For Novel Info Click Here

Week Two & Three:



Why am I lumping weeks two and three together? Mostly because I suffer from short term memory lost. While I remember the things that happened during NaNoWriMo, I forget when they happened, which day and at what time. If I was a good girl and blogged about NaNoWriMo while it was going on, or kept some sort of record, I might even be able to give a daily update. But since I have waited nearly a month, I can only give a basic summery.

Unlike most people, it seems, week two was great. Week one felt like an introduction to me, but in week two it felt like I began to write the "real" story, and week three was a prolonging of this. I was becoming better acquainted with the characters and learning to love them, even the unsavory ones. The plot moved along at a crisp pace and always added detail to the world I was making. I no longer felt like the plot was simply a means to introduce my un-fleshed out characters, but rather an exciting adventure brought on by the personal and human like decisions of my characters.

While I am kind of on the subject, I would like to address the following. Would I view my novel as plot-driven, or character-driven? I honestly do not know. I would like to imagine both, in a way. I have tried to make the plot exciting and full of twist, but often times such a plot causes the characters to lose some tangibility. This is due to the fact that much of the time in the novel is dedicated to the plot, putting as much in the novel as possible. Instead of going deeper into the character, another twist is added to the plot. Then again, I also spent much time fleshing out my characters, making them seem real and personal. Not flat character so I can do whatever I want to do with the plot without fearing it makes my character act, well, out of character. I have tried to my best to make detailed characters and make the plot so that they only do the things they would do if real people. I am not sure if I succeeded in this, I feel I did, to a certain extant at least, but being the author, I am probably not the best judge in the world. Not only do I know things about the characters that might not be conveyed to the reader, but making up an uninteresting plot can still be interesting and fun.

Anyway, back to NaNoWriMo. Like I said earlier, my characters were becoming real people to me. Do not get me wrong, that are a couple inconsistencies in a few of my characters, mainly Clara and Fritz, but I already know where many of the inconsistencies lie, and what I can do to smooth them out.

Odd to think, but most of the inconsistencies are with the two main characters. At first I thought that strange. Why would the characters I spent the most time fleshing out and working with have the most inconsistencies? With some thought, I realized the fact I worked with them so often was the very reason why they were inconsistent sometimes. The more detailed a character becomes, the more personal they become, the easier it is to make them say or do something outside their character. Flat character can do pretty much anything and since the reader, (and author sometimes) does not really know the characters personality, they cannot really say if that was out of character or not.

There is one other specific character I would like to address David, which is the name of the Nutcracker. (I mostly gave him a name so I would not have to call him the Nutcracker throughout the entire book. Unfortunately, I could not come up with a good name for the mouse king, so I called him King Mouse. I am still trying to find a name for him.) At first I had quite a bit of trouble with David. He was really the only character I went into the book without really knowing his personality. I feared that he was going to be one of the characters that I like to call, "abruptly-changing -flat-characters." It basically happens when a character is not all that detailed, but seems to hop from one extreme to the other, with no real rhyme or reason. Even for a character you give very little information about, extreme hopping makes the character seem unrealistic anyway.

As I went along in the novel, I would come up with an idea, a small event, or something David would say, or a way I could describe him, that would make him more 3D, and less like he was extreme hopping. Then I would give him something else. A motive for what he was doing, or a situation that would make his seemingly inconsistent behavior consistent. By the end of the book, my worst fear became my greatest triumph. Was David perfect? Probably not. Was he the most improved? Definitely. I might be able to change a thing here and there to make him more congruent, but really he is one of the few major characters I feel the freedom to leave as he is.

One of the funnest, (most fun ;) things about writing is the last minutes additions or changes. As well as David, I did this quite a bit with the plot. David and the plot are probably both on top of the list of last minutes addition and changes done to them. The general idea I had for the plot did not change that much, and I often did not stray too far from the plot out-line I had written before November, but many of the details in the scenes were radically different than I intended. There is even a minor character I suddenly made a major character. Mostly because I loved the personality which I had given him on the spot when he first came into the story. I was constantly adding and taking away scenes, causing them to be enacted differently, even though the ended with the same result. Sudden inspiration is what makes novel writing seem like an adventure. Honestly, if I knew every little detail before writing a novel, I would not have much fun with it. It would be a bit like reading a detailed out line to a book before reading it. It would still be fun, but half the fun, (for me at least) would be gone.

So with the characters and the plot well on their way to becoming nearly complete and well formed, week two and three closed with an excited wave goodbye that would bring me back during week four.

The NaNoWriMo Experience

I have been told by several people that I need to post more often, and I well mean to...but I forget. When I first started this blog I had many ideas for short stories, but unfortunately that was over two year's worth of ideas from when I was writing my last novel. I mean to make post more often just about my life and the things I do, but I either do not have to time, or I forget. So to all of you who have been biting their nails in anticipation for my next post, here it is.

The Great NaNoWriMo Experience

For Novel Info Click Here

Week One:

On the first day I sat down to the keyboard and computer screen, the line the letter follow as you typed them blinked impatiently, as classical Christmas song played from a Pandora station I had specially created for this book. I had been waiting a very long time for this moment. I had already made a plot line for my novel, but was still willing to change the plot and characters as was needed.  I took a deep breath, and spent half an hour designing the page lay out.

There were choices such as which font to use, whether to write out the chapter number or use numerals, or even to have the chapters numbered at all. There was also were to position it and how to make it look. I know these features seem trivial, but such things really add to the whole feel of the book, and I know there are least a few of you who agree when I say it is easier to write if the layout matches the feeling you are going for in the book.

Since it was Monday, I had piano lessons at 3:45. I managed to get nearly a thousand words after school, but before lessons. After lessons I rushed down stairs, (that is where the computer I use was,) and pounded out another 1,078 words, making of grand total 78 words over my daily goal of 2,000. I know it was only suppose to be 1,677, but I thought the extra 323 words a day would not take that long, and would help if there was a day I did not get much done, or completely skipped a day, more would it take to put in an extra 323 words.

Tuesday did not go so well. I baby sat in the morning, got my flue shots in the afternoon, and went to play practice in the evening. Remarkably though, I scrapped out 1,000 words in between everything else. I made up for the lose on Wednesday, by pretty much spending all evening writing. The typing went at I fast clip at that point, for I had reached a chapter that just seemed to flow. Funny how sometimes what I wrote seemed to flow and other times I would write a few words, not like them, erase them, and then spend ten minutes staring at the computer screen, to only repeat the process.

The rest of the week went fairly well. After the first three days I do not remember any real specifics.

It is always weird starting a new novel. I feel like you hardly know the characters, even though I made them up, and I always wonder how things will turn out. Will that one scene turn out like I intended? Will the characters start acting in unexpected ways? Will I even finish, or will I fail half way through?

The whole first week it almost felt like writing a really long introduction. It felt like all I did in the first week was explain the characters and set them up for the story a  head of them. This feeling was probably exaggerated by the fact that the first week I mainly worked on Part One, which is about a fourth of the whole book and 80% of it had been written in the first week. Part One does have a very introduction feeling to it anyway. So when I had finished writing the last few words on day seven, I still felt like I had barely meant my characters. That I had only been introduced to them and had yet to go into a deeper relationship. I had yet to actually tell a story instead tell about a future story.

Introducing...the iPurse



What exactly is the iPurse? Is it the newest and latest thing? Is it a purse that can call people, play music, use the Internet, and let you play games, while it holds all your junk?

Actually, no. Like most people, I have an ipod. The only catch is, I want to listen to music while I do my chores, or anything else that involves moving around a lot, but don't want to have the radio on. Carrying my ipod in my hand simply would not work, and I do not want to use one of those armband thingies. Yes they are convenient and great for working out, but I don't want to carry my ipod while I run. That really is what they are meant for anyway. Besides, I was hoping for something a bit-dare I say it and invoke the wrath of tech guys all around me?-prettier.

So my search commenced. I looked through my old discarded bags, trying to find one small enough where my ipod wouldn't jiggle around too much while I wore it, and with a long enough strap for it to go over my shoulder. I couldn't find anything even close. Then I thought, why not make one?

I kept the idea of making a purse for my ipod for a few weeks and just a few days ago I found the perfect strap. I had an hour or two of extra time today, since it is Thanksgiving week and I don't have any school, so I decided to start making it.

The supplies:

The Fabric



The Strap



The fabric is scrap fabric. I don't know from what, but ipods are so small it would almost be impractical to use anything but scrap fabric. Or a fat quarter would also work nicely.

As I said, I found the strap a couple days ago. It came from an old bag I had when I was a little kid. One side of the strap had already fallen off, so I helped it come completely off, figuring I could give it new life by using it for my iPurse.

Starting with designing it, to the finished product, it only took about an hour and a half to make. And now to see my beautiful creation:

And now I can listen to music when ever and where ever I want!

(I know there is going to be at least one of you that will complain about how impractical it is, and how if you want to change a song you have to take it out, etc. etc. You know who you are, so DON'T. I like iLea just the way she is so you better not diss her.)

One Mississippi, Two Mississippi.....

Once again the sky lit up with a brilliant flash of blue light, causing the falling droplets of water for a moment to be sharply lit, seeming to pause a moment in their descent. The flash was quickly followed by a resounding rumble of sound that tore through mortar and stone.

There were several people that night that sat out on their porches to watch. They gasped when the sky lit up, and were awed when the rumble followed.

But there is, as with every thunder storm, one person who hid under a blanket in her bedroom, clutching her favorite stuffed bunny close to her chest.

The sky flashed again.

The world rumbled.

The girl whimpered and buried herself further in her bed.

From underneath the blanket, the girl heard her door slowly creak open, and the gentle yet heavy footsteps her father's feet made when he tried to step lightly.

"Sweetheart," the voice the girl's father called softly, "what's the matter, Baby?"

"I don't like thunder storms," came the miserable reply.

The father sat down on the girl's bed, next to a large lump that was the girl under her blanket. "Why don't you come out from under there, I would like to see you."

The top of the lump shook back and forth.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," the father continued, in a slow soothing voice.

"The lightning," the girl said. "There's the lightning to be afraid of."

"Nonsense," the father said, "there is no reason to be afraid of the lightning."

Despite any amount of assurance, and badgering, from her father, the girl stayed loyal to her bed and blanket, refusing to get off the first, and out from under the latter.

Eventually the father stood up and stretched, arching his back with several satisfying pops.

"Guess I'll have to drink all that hot chocolate by myself," the father said remorsefully. "Don't know how I'm going to do it, but guess I'll have to try." He started to go.

"Hot chocolate," the girl said, peeking out from under her blanket.

The father nodded. "Yep, and not the instant cocoa, the real stuff, made from real chocolate."

The girl cast a quick and wary glance around the room. She pulled the blanket off her head and around her shoulders. "I can drink some of that hot chocolate."

"No, that's okay. I don't want to pressure you. I understand that you have more important things to do."

"No, that's okay. Go get me some hot chocolate and bring it in here."

The father smiled. "Sorry no, this hot chocolate is only for the stout of heart, only those who are willing to drink it on the front porch can taste of it."

The girl pouted. "Why?"

"Because the chocolate that makes this hot chocolate is a specials kind of chocolate. It is super tasty, and it is super tasty because it is magic. The magic is this, if eaten outside, it has the most wonderful taste, if eaten inside, it taste like toe jam."

"Daddy!" the girl giggled. "I know you're trying to trick me. Can't I please have some hot chocolate."

"Only if you come outside," the father insisted. "There is something I want to show you."

The father left, leaving the little girl all by herself. She sat on her bed, wondering how long the hot chocolate was going to stay hot, and if she could somehow sneak some, when lightning crashed down, seeming to jump through the girl's window. She quickly hid under her blanket. After several moments, the girl slipped the blanket off her head again. One of the worst parts about a thunder storm was the thunder, but this flash of lightning seemed to not have any thunder. When suddenly it boomed. The girl nearly jumped out of her skin. Holding her blanket with one arm, and her bunny in the crook of her other, she ran through the house.

She jumped into her father's lap, shivering close to his chest.

"So you decided to come," her father said. He put down his book and took off his reading glasses, putting them in a black plastic case. He stood up, swinging his daughter around so she rode him piggy back style.

"So how about some of that magic hot chocolate?" the father asked. He felt the girl's head rub up and down his back in a nod.

The father made some of the afore mentioned hot chocolate, letting his girl add the magical chocolate, and stir it in with the warm milk. Soon it was ready, and the father poured it from the sauce pan into two mugs. One that was plane blue for himself, and a white one with pink and red hearts on it for his daughter.

With the girl riding on her father's back again, they made their way outside. As the father opened the door, the girl buried her face between her father's shoulder blades.

The father set the girl down on the first step, wrapping her tightly in her blanket. He sat down next to her and they sipped their hot chocolate.

The sky lit up with a brilliant flash of blue light, causing the falling droplets of water for a moment to be sharply lit, seeming to pause a moment in their descent. The flash was quickly followed by a resounding rumble of sound that tore through mortar and stone.

The girl shivered and hid under her blanket again. She hugged her bunny so tightly her knuckles turned white. It was even scarier being outside.

Once her heart had settled, the girl noticed her father was saying something, not to her. He was counting.....

".....five Mississippi, six Mississippi, seven Mississippi....." all the way to twelve, until the thunder pounded.

"Twelve Mississippi," the father announced.

The girl peeked from under her blanket. "Why were you counting Missippies, Daddy?"

"Darling," the father said, hugging his daughter close, "did you know that with each Mississippi that I counted meant the lighting was another mile away."

"So," the girl said thinking, "that lightning was twelve miles away?"

The father nodded. "About twelve, yes."

The girl looked up at her father. "It can't hurt me from that far away, can it?"

"Nope," the father said, shaking his head. "That's what I wanted to show you. You count the next one."

The girl did. There were eleven Mississippies between the lightning and the thunder. Then the father counted. He counted ten. The continued this little game. The girl got nine, the father eight, the girl seven, the father six.....

"It's getting closer," the girl said, a quiver in her voice.

The father kissed her on her head. "It's okay. Six miles away is still a long ways away. We'll be all right. Now, let's get back to the game. Let's see who can count the lightning with the fewest Mississippies."

So they continued. The girl got five her next turn, the father four, the girl three, the father two, all the girl managed to get out her next turn was the word "one....." before the thunder rolled onto them.

The girl felt sick. Her last one had been so close. And the way it was an exact count down. It was like the lightning was following them somehow

"Whoa," the father said, clearly impressed. "Looks like you won, I don't see how I can beat that. Guess I can try though."

The girl grew suddenly afraid. "No Daddy, let's stop playing, I don't like this game. The lightning is mad at us."

The father laughed. "Don't be silly. The lightning can't be mad at us. Why would it be mad at us anyway?"

The girl shivered. "It doesn't like that we are trying to show it, it can't hurt us. It thinks everything should be afraid of it."

The father hugged his daughter close. "The lightning doesn't think, Baby," the father said with warmth. "Don't ever let yourself be afraid of things that can't really hurt you. You're going to be okay." The father let his girl go. "Now, let's wait for the next lightning strike. It is my turn next and I want to see if I can beat your impossible record."

The girl didn't blame her father. He was an adult after all, he had forgotten what it was like to listen to the world around him. All adults did. They said everything was science and explained it away with math and experiments. It made the world a less scary place. A place where you could walk around safe. Even most kids had forgotten what it was like to listen to the world.

But the girl hadn't.

She jumped up, dropping her bunny and letting her blanket fall off her shoulders. She ran out into the street, her bare feet slapping against the wet ground and her night gown becoming heavy with the rain. She thought she heard her father calling her name, but she ignored him. In defiance she looked up at the sky, screaming the word "ONE!!!", even before she saw the lightning. She knew if she didn't, her father would insist in breaking her record, and she feared for him if he was to count next. What the lightning would do to him.

The girl felt it coming. Her arms and neck prickled, her breath came in short, it felt like her heart had stopped, the world became a blur.

Once again the sky lit up with a brilliant flash of blue light, and the thunder rolled without even a pause.

Conspiracy Starters

   Jarred hastily dropped the small stack of paper onto the passenger's seat as he slipped in the car. He glanced nervously at the papers before starting the ignition.

   Was he just being hyper paranoid? The majority of conspiracy theories were just that. Theories. One person concludes something different than what is published based on talk and blog post. Jarred should know. Especially with today's world wide internet connection where anyone could rant. One man's mussing could tun into a full blown conspiracy theory.

   Jarred had been so caught up in his mussing that he nearly drove through a red light. His foot slammed on the breaks, jerking him to a stop half way through the intersection.

   Fortunate the car behind Jarred was far enough behind to gave Jarred room to back up.

   Unfortunate it was a cop's car.

   No soon had Jarred finished backing up, than the cop's sirens went off. jarred waited for the light to turn green before pulling over. His back was rigidly pressed into the car seat and his fingers thrummed on the wheel as the cop's face leered in the window.

   Jarred ended up being less than nice to the cop, so his ticket was about a hundred dollars more than it would have been other wise.

   As the cop walked away, Jarred slammed his forehead into the steering wheel. Today was not going very well for him. He roughly pushed his glasses back up his nose and started the car again.

   Finally,Jarred pulled up at John Smith's house. The unspoken leader of the conspiracy starters.

   Jarred stiffly walked up the steps and knocked.

   "Come in," John yelled.

   Jarred let himself inn and found John on the computer.

   "John," Jarred said.

   "Yes," John said, still looking at the computer screen.

   Jarred placed his papers on Jon's desk. "Look at those. Now. It's important."

   John finally turned away from the computer screen, casting a glance at Jarred through the corner of his eye. He picked up the papers and started to read from a thread from a forum about conspiracies.

                        JudgeAwsome: Hey, junoe, did you know mos of those theories
                        where stared by the same source?

                        junoe: I didn't believe you at first, but looking it up, you are right.
                        Funny though, almost was like they were trying to hide it.
  
                        JuneCat: Don't know. Some of those theories were bog ones.
                        Made up by a certain person.
      
                        JudgeAwsome: Yea, but if you look a little deeper you'll find links
                        to blogs and threads that helped them start them.

                        JuneCat: Freaky. mmmmmmm...yet another conspiracy.....

At first John's face was confused, one eyebrow cocked above the other. Then his face was amused, fallowed by a burst of laughter.

   "Are you honestly worried about this?" John asked.

   Jarred pressed his lips into a hard line, not liking his concerns being laughed at. "It's clear these people have found out about us."

   "So?"

   "Well, one would think we are breaking some law somewhere."

   "There is absolutely nothing wrong with a group of collage buddies planting seeds to start conspiracies. We don't even really do anything. Just leave a hint here and there. The general population is the one who blows it hugely out of proportion. It's kind of a weird pass time I know, but so is spending all day locked up in a dark room playing a board game about dragons and elves."

   Jarred rolled his eyes and leaned against the desk. "For your information, I played Dungeons and Dragons seriously for only about five months."

   John snorted. "Oh only. Do you have to be so paranoid?"

   "Yes," Jarred snapped back. "That what makes me so good at making up conspiracies. It's a talent really. you have a certain situation, where everything fits but one little fact. And because I'm paranoid, I can take that one little fact, and make it a whole augment based on it."   He sighed picking up the papers. "Do you think we should even try to squash it out? Or should we leave well enough alone?"

   John shook his head, a smile on his lips. "What would be the fun in letting will enough alone? But I don't think you should squash it . I though you should us your paranoia."

   Jarred blinked. "Blow it ridiculously out of proportion?" He thought about it a moment. "Yes, that would be sick. The conspiracy starters are actually a circle of rich powerful politicians who control America by carefully selecting wide spread conspiracies. Or it could be an underground gang thing."

   "Or," John said arching his eyebrows, "a bunch of regular Joe's, some thinking it's just for kicks, while the others use it to control society."

   Jarred winced. "That is a little too close to the truth."

   John shrugged. "Just thought I'd throw it out there. What would be cool is if you could circulate all three at once."

   Jarred nodded. "Actually, that would be cool. Think I'll do that." He shook his head and laughed as he left. "Funny to think people actually buy this stuff. Honestly? A group of people who control the system by starting conspiracies? What a laugh," he said over his should to John.

   John let a sly smile creep over his face as Jarred shut the door. 'If only you knew.'

Reflections of the Moment

Why must every blessing,

Also bring a curse?

Why when things get better,

Must they also become wores?

No good did tears ever do.

Not for me, nor for you.

They never did any good at all.

All they ever did was fall.

Falling, falling, like the rain.

Falling, falling, without gain.

Now the ran is falling, falling.

So the pain is falling, falling.

For when tears do come,

Heavy like sleet,

The burning tears help melt the pain,

And help you to your feet.

For everything that ends with pain,

Further off it finds a gain.

Keep on holding oh, so, tight.

All dark things end up in light.

~~~~~~~Earthly Gods~~~~~~

Part two of two

God: Rescue the rights of the needy
         deliver them from the hands of the
                   wicked.

Queen: Why would I want to do a thing like that for? It is far too much work.

God: I appreciate your honesty.

Queen: Why thank you.

God: But that doesn't make you any better than the others.

Queen. Well I don't really care. My own opinion is the only one that matters, and as long as everyone caters to my every whim, I stay happy and I don't punish them. As fro their "rights" and junk like that, I couldn't care less.

God: Aren't you worried about your subjects not liking you?

Queen: Heavens no! They all fear me, they don't dare do a thing against me. Besides, they're use to it.

God: Use to it?

Queen: Yes, in the same way I am so use to such a find life. If I suddenly had to live in poverty, I wouldn't last a day. Likewise if the "needy" suddenly lived my life, they wouldn't be able to cope with it.

God: The needy don't need to live your life for you to help them.

Queen: The "needy" and I are two completely different species. We shouldn't mix. Besides, living in poverty is good for peasants. Gives them a better mentality. If I gave them even a bit more than they already had, they would become discontent and unmanageable.

God: Aren't you discontent then?

Queen: Of course not dreary, as long as I have everything I want.

God: And do you usually have everything you want?

Queen: Well no, but I would if my subjects would stop whining and get me what I want

God: Stop whining? Your subjects are whining because they are oppressed by tax collectors, abusive masters, and unjust judges.

Queen: I know. They should simply realize that that's how life is for them. I do wish they would shut up.

God: You are literally sending your subjects into the hand of the wicked. That is the opposite of what you're supposed to do.

Queen: So?

God: You are just as wicked as those people.

Queen: Not at all. I am simply delicate and have weak nerves.

God: Your delicacy and nerves don't seem to bother you while you behead anyone who mildly annoys you.

Queen: yes, fortunate that.

God: Mmm. I wonder how well they will hold up at your own beheading.

Queen: Now wait a moment. What is that suppose to mean?

God:.....

Queen: Don't be rude. Answer me.

God:.....

Queen: Please?

God: The know nothing, they understand
nothing.
       They walk about in darkness;
          all the foundation of the earth
                    are shaken.

Queen: How is that for an answer?

God: It was directed at you!

Judge: It was for me. And no wonder. Your nonsensical prattle would cause anyone to want to get away from you.

God: I'm glad you recognized your ill judgment so quickly.

Judge: What? I thought that you meant how in the dark everybody here was about your ways, and confining in me because I am not.

God: No.

Judge: Then I cannot possibly see how that applies to me.

God: You keep the truth to yourself. You keep the truth about life and the law, but most impotent me, from the people you judge.

Judge: I always have my reasons. I would never keep something from anyone unless I thought it for the best.

God: What if I don't think it is for the best?

Judge: Good thing that will never happen.

God: My, aren't we confident.

Judge: Yes we are. I knew you would trust my discernment.

God: I was being sarcastic.

Judge: Sarcasm is extremely vulgar.

God: Thank you. I was aware of that.

Judge: You're welcome.

God: So saying, what if we disagreed?

Judge: You placed me where I am, by your discernment. There is obviously no one else you'd have there before me.

God: What if those you judge don't agree with you.

Judge: They are all fools and idiots. Otherwise they wouldn't need a judge.

God: Are you calling my chosen children fools and idiots?

Judge? Well, er, certainly not all of them. Only the ones who need my help. Besides, them being that way helps with my job. They listen to what I have to tell them better.

God: I would have thought that fools would listen to your discernment even worse than others.

Judge: Oh, no. The fools are the least likely to listen to my discernment, but they are more easily convinced what I discern is in their favor.

God: You lie to them.

Judge. No, I simply keep certain truths from them.

God: About the situation...and about my law.

Judge: Such is the cost of keeping them all in line.

God: Did it ever occur to you that if you tell them all there was to know that they might be able to judge themselves better?

Judges: They would misuse the information.

God: Anymore than they misuse it by not knowing it?

Judge: They couldn't understand it anyway. They are not wise enough.

God: One must be taught wisdom, in order to be wise. you honestly cannot expect them all to understand my law if it has never been told the them.

Judge: I...that is not how it is.

God: Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge,
          but he who hates correction is stupid.

Judge: What could you possibly mean by that?

God: Oh, nothing. I was simply quoting one of my scriptures.
           I said, "You are 'gods';
              you are all sons of the most high."
           But you will die like mere men;
           You will fall like every other ruler.

Pastor: I agree. Every earthly god is distend to fail sooner or later.

God: You...agree with me? That's new.

Pastor: I know. Everyone has fallen. The only way to be redeemed is by accepting Christ. Even "gods."

God: Exactly! Being someone greater in human terms, such as a judge or ruler, doesn't mean they are greater in my teams. They are still fallen, and I long to rise them all back up.

Pastor: I know, so sad, but true. They have been so glorified in human offices, they honestly thing they are better than the average person. ne must not look at their physical greatness, but at their heart.

God: Which is how I judge man.....

Pastor: Which is why I'm the only righteous one here!

God: Um, excuse me.

Pastor: I have accepted Christ, and now the Holy Spirit lives in me.

God: True.....

Pastor: Every day I see the dozens of people's lives' I have changed.

God: That I have changed working through you.....

Pastor: Of course. I am just a humble vessel. I know that fact my church having over a thousand regular attendants is your work, not mine.

God: Your church is just a building. I always thing of church in the old fashioned way. Every believer is a part of one collective church. Also, when it comes to people's souls, quality is often preferred over quantity.

Pastor: My church has both.

God: Yes I.....

Pastor: Obviously I am doing something right. You don't attract so many people on false dreams.

God: I understand, I agree, (to a point,) but a "god" can be anyone who has much persuasion over the general population. That includes pastors.

Pastor: Which is why I am here. Though i am probably the only one here who is truly hole.

God: See, this is where we are running into our misunderstanding. You keep acting like it was something you did for you to become holey.

Pastor: I accepted Jesus.

God: Yes, but that still really wasn't something you did. It was more like you allowed me to do something to you. You, at the moment, are no better than those who surround you.

Pastor: But my sins have been forgiven! My soul has been washed clean!

God: You've been forgiven by me, and cleansed by the blood of my son. The destiny of every man is to fall. It is I who has raised you up once again.

Pastor: I have been saved since I was a child. I have never truly "fallen."

God: You fall every time you sin, even the smallest bit. Even though you are a godly man, you are still just a man.

Rise up, Oh God, judge the earth,

for all the nation are your

inheritance

~~~~~~~Earthly Gods~~~~~~

Part one of two; Based on Psalms eighty-two

They have assembled, the gods of the earth. There are many of them, and how proudly they bare their symbols of power. Although there are many, five in the Assembly strike an interest. A senator, a cop, a queen, a judge, and a pastor.

The senator is a sharply dressed woman. Her hair is dyed, her makeup is done. Her face is hard and cynical, her lips heavy with ready lies.

The police man is heavy set. He is balding, and a thick mustache quivers above his lips. Nobody gets in his way, and if they do, he runs them over. A thick cigar hangs unlit from his lips.

The queen lounges on pillows she complains are too hard. Her dress is made from the finest materials, and precious stones glitter all over. She always is saying she has a horrible crick in her neck do to the tremendous weight of her crown.

The judge is proud, and his lip is in a constant sneer. His head is held high. He is judge to the tribe of Gadites, and he felt there was no man better for the job.

The pastor never stops talking. He talks about forgiveness, and sins, repentance, and salvation. he is charismatic. The others listen to him. He is energetic and young. His face is pleasing and so is his voice. He makes the others feel welcomed and they feel the man is kind.

God presides in the great assembly;

He gives judgment among the

gods.

God: How long will you defend the

                   unjust

        and show partiality to the

              wicked?

Senator: Defend the unjust? Partiality to the wicked? I never do such things. As you should well know, since you are God after all, that I am all for equal rights. I am a woman after all.

God: Could you please explain how being a woman makes it so you don't defend the unjust, show partiality to the wicked?

Senator: Well, since I am a woman I know what it feels like to be discriminated against.

God: I still don't see the point.

Senator: Being a man, I wouldn't expect you to.

God: First of all, I am an entity of three separate consciences with neither physical body, or gender. Second, being discriminated against doesn't prevent you from discrimination. Someone who is often hurt by others typically lashes out more because of being hurt, not becoming unable to hurt others.

Senator: Very well put God, but I have to disagree. After all, it was I who wan this year's election for senate, not you. So obviously the people think my way is better than yours.

God: Maybe because you lie to them?

Senator: I do not!

God: you promise them everything and give them nothing.

Senator: I give them exactly what I tell them. It certainly isn't my fault if they don't notice certain truths I made hard to find.

God: That in order to get what you promised them, they need to pay a ridiculous amount of taxes? And that only an extremely small percentage of people are able to qualify for your relief plans?

Senator: It is much more complex than that, but basically yes.

God: Come again?

Senator: Listen, I am voted in by the people. It is impossible to please all the people. All I can do is appeal to the largest crowed, and say I will help with he largest problems the largest crowd believes in. It doesn't matter if this crowd is right, or even know what they really want, or if giving them what they want will hurt hundreds, thousands more people, or if I can even provide what they want.  What matters is that they think I will help with what they want help with, and that I am the type of person they like

God: Do you mind if I ask you a series of some what leading question?

Senator: I'm not a lawyer, go ahead.

God: What is your definition of unjust?

Senator: Not giving punishment to those who deserve it, and giving punishment to people who don't.

God: What is your definition of wicked?

Senator: Without scruples. Cruel and uncaring to anyone but yourself.

God: Could you deny that many of the people you try to appeal to by fighting for their cause are cruel and uncaring?

Senator: Of course I could deny it.....

God: And be completely honest?

Senator: Well, um, that might be a bit harder.

God: Do you defend them?

Senator: Yes.

God: Do you show partiality to them?

Senator: Yes.

God: Wouldn't you consider that defending the unjust and showing partially to the wicked?

Senator:.....

God: Well?

Senator: I'm trying to think of a convincing lie. Don't rush me.

God: If I had eyes...I would be rolling them
  
Will you defend the cause of the weak and
                                  fatherless?
           Maintain the rights of the poor
                         and oppressed?

Cop: Depends.

God. On what exactly?

Cop: On how I feel towards them. Mind if a smoke? I know some Christians who feel smoking is the eighth detestable sin.

God: It is more the atmosphere, company, and addiction I don't like about smoking. As for the actually action? Go ahead.

Cop: Thanks.

God: Earlier you said weather or not you defended someone was based on how you feel at the time. Explain please.

Cop: Let's say, hypo-thetic-cally speaking, I had, had a really bad day. I spilled my coffee, got every red light, ran out of gas before I got toe the gas station, they didn't have my favorite type of doughnut when I got to work. By that time I'd be ticked. I might pull over any old sucker who looked at me funny, and find something wrong with his driving just to give him a ticket.

God: So hypothetically speaking, you defend the weak and the fatherless if you're in a good mood?

Cop: Depends.

God: Depends! On what?

Cop: Forgive me if I sound cynical here, but on what from it. I know a lot of my co-workers go out of their way to be gentle and help nervous women, pansy males and kids, but I do what'll get me an adrenaline rush and recognition. I like the feel of a gun heavy in my hands, and the way it sounds when I fire it, and the room began to quit as everyone realizes I'm the one with real power. Not that joke of a Senator.....

Senator: Well I never.....

Cop:.....but me. All the senator's power comes by them threatening people with people like me. Most are persuaded easily when the barrel of my gun is in their face. Don't you love guns?

God: Not really, I view them as a necessary evil. Like any weapon. Now let me get this straight, who you defend depends on two things. your mood, and the feeling of power it gives you.

Cop: Depends.

God: Do tell, what now?

Cop: How much I like the person. I'd sooner give a ticket to someone who ticks me off when I pull him over even though he didn't do anything, than some babe who did do something, but sweet talks me. I tend not to help guys out who I don't like very much.

God: Next time you're being attacked by some sort of vicious animal, remind me I don't like you.

Cop: Why.

God: So I won't fell obliged to help you.

Desires of my Heart

Lord I'm on my knees,

To cast up all my cares.

Through the burning pain,

I always know you're there.

So hear my one and desperate plea.

Answer my pray my wish,

End all of my anguish,

As long as You don't set me free.

For I'm not ready yet to part,

With all my earth things.

Please give my everything,

But the desires of my heart.

What I pray for now,

Are the desires of my mind.

With Your will or Lord,

They don't always coincide.

What my heart longs for,

Is to be only in Your light,

And offer myself,

As a living sacrifice.

For I'm not ready yet to part,

With all my earth things.

Please give me everything,

But the desires of my heart.

The Seer~Part Four

When I walked into the living room that evening, Daddy was sitting on the couch, hugging a sobbing Cindy. His eyes were glazed over and dead.

"Daddy," I said gently, coming slowly into the room.

Daddy blinked and he slowly dragged his eyes to look at me. "She's dead," he croaked.

I knew with a sudden and terrible dread he meant Laura.

"I-I'm sorry Daddy," I said chewing my lip.

My dad stiffened. "You're sorry," his voice was clipped. "Sorry doesn't bring her back." His voice was accusing and bitter.

I should have kept my temper. Daddy was understandably upset. He was upset and angry and wanted a target for his anger. But when he chose me as his target, I felt a swell of self justification rise up in me.

"Nothing is going to get her back," I said, my voice just as bitter, "even if I had told you she was going to die. How would that have made things any better?"

My father glared daggers at me. "I could have prepared myself. I thought for sure she was going to live. When the hospital called to tell us Laura had......I didn't believe them at first."

"Well, I'm sorry I was too selfish to be able to break your heart before," I said crossly. "I shouldn't have thought of myself or Laura but only of you."

My father rose from the couch. "You promised me something, and you broke that promise. Don't take that tone with me young lady."

"Did you ever think about how hard it is for me!" I cried. "I had to see Lara die, and a part of myself, and I was suppose to willingly do that to you? You may think I am indifferent to the death of others, but I'm not."

"It's hard to tell sometimes."

My face turned bright hot and my eyes fogged with tears and read anger. "Do you think I like being the way I am? I hate it! I would do anything to change myself. But do I ever get any support from you? No! You just want to use my ability for your own advantage!"

"That isn't true," my father yelled at me. "How many countless hours did I hold you while you cried. How many different things we've done, and that I've paid for to fix you."

"I'm not broken!" I screamed. "And if you really cared that much, you wouldn't have married that woman." I pointed a finger at Cindy.

"Don't you talk about my wife that way." he shook with rage. Despite this, I continued. "If you really cared about me you wouldn't have married someone who thinks I'm an abomination. Someone who fears me like the devil. Someone who crosses herself when I walk in the room. Someone who thinks I kill the people I see die....."

"Maybe you do," my father cut in, his face a dark mask.

His words froze me, stabbing a fresh wound in my heart.

My father turned away from me and went back to Cindy.

'Fine,' I though as I turned away myself. He had chosen Cindy over me. And I could not help but hope that one day he would wake up and wish he had chosen me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I ignored Cindy's calling my name and stared at the screen of my laptop. I hadn't realized what a good deal my parents had been giving me. Renting was expensive. I was planning on moving out. I was doing nothing but causing myself and my parents unneeded angst.

I had given up. I no longer tired anymore. I sill went through life, but with an air of routine. I had completely stopped feeling, simply because I couldn't stand the pain anymore. I didn't wear gloves and I didn't care how many people I touched.

"Sarah, you come here right this minute!"

"Fine!" I yelled back. I hastily got out of my jeans and blouse, replacing them with a shapeless black dress. I ran a brush through my hair before meeting Cindy in the living room.

Our drive to the church was silent. Cindy attempted once or twice to start conversation, but I stared sulkily out the window.

"Where's Dad?" I asked as I got out of the car.

"He went to the church early," Cindy answered as we made our way to the sidewalk.

"Why?"

"To talk with Pastor Dan."

I froze. It occurred to me only then that Pastor Dan would be the one praying over Laura. With my recent episode with him, knowing he thought my sin had killed Laura, it made me sick to know he would even be there.

"Sarah," Cindy said shortly. "Come on, let's go."

"Don't make me," I pleaded. "Please don't make me."

"Sarah stop it. You're acting like a two year old."

"I don't want to go!" I yelled. "Everyone there will be looking at me as if I killed her."

Cindy sighed and shook her head. "I wish I could tell you they weren't but I would be lying. I'm sorry this is so hard for you but you need to come." She took me softly be the hand and gently pulled me across the street to the church.

I was in too much mental turmoil to do anything but let Cindy lead me. At first my mind couldn't comprehend the information. My mother, my brother, my sister, this was too much.

In a snap decision, I grabbed tightly to Cindy's arm. "Tell Daddy I'm sorry," I said.

Before Cindy had the chance to ask my why, I flung her away. She fell heavily to her knees, cursing violently. She craned her neck at me to scold me but then her face became a mask of horror. Romanticizing the moment, I imagined she knew that the speeding car headed right for me had been originally meant for her.

It was the first time any of my visions had ever been wrong. I do not believe my ability had changed, or that the rules were any different. I simply had finally found what it took to change them.

The Seer~Part Three

I positively stormed through the church. Who did that pastor think he is?

I had just gotten done with a meeting with the Pastor Dan to talk about my life. He did it routinely with members of the church who had been struggling. I was sure I had never heard so crazy a theory for my ability than what I had heard from the pastor. According to him, when I was good and sinless no one around me died, but when I was wicked, people around me died as "punishment."

"God has given you an advantage though," Pastor Rick had said. "You can see when the people in your life are going to die. You can literally see when you have upset God! Considering the many deaths you have foreseen then witnessed, you must be doing something particularly bad. I would recommend you search yourself and ask forgiveness for whatever it is you have done."

'The only things I need to ask forgiveness for is what I called that man in my head while he was talking!' I was in a rage. A stranger fell off a bus, and my little sister got cancer, and that supposed "man of God" says it is my fault. God! I wanted to scream.

Surrendering to the tantrum throwing two year old inside of me I kicked the wall. It was in a hardly used hallway and no one was looking. I kicked again, feeling pleasure at the crumbling dry wall give under my foot.

"Any particular reason you're destroying church property?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard him. I whirled around and saw it was a man, probably late fifties, wearing a pair of old jeans, a tee shirt tucked into them, and a blue baseball cap.

"Hope you realize you will be paying for that," the man said walking closer.

I was numb with shock. It took me several moments to comprehend what he had said, and several more to articulate an answer.

"Oh yea," I responded sluggishly, "sorry."

"Name's Jim by the way," the man said, toeing the white stuff on the floor which had once been part of the wall.

"Sarah," I said, accepting Jim's hand.

Jim looked me up and down. "Now where I come from, young women didn't go around kicking walls for no reason. What's wrong honey?"

I couldn't hold it in any longer. "My pastor is a jackass."

Jim nodded. "That's why I left his church, so I could join a church," he said this while he walked down the hall, motioning for me to follow.

"I'm going to inform you I am in idiot," I said walking besides the man. "I don't follow."

"I'm this church's janitor," Jim said, "but I don't come here anymore. What the majority of this church believes and what I believe are too.....different. So, I quit being a janitor and left the church. The staff tried to find someone to replace me, but couldn't find anyone who did my job half as well as I did. So here I am. I clean this building but I don't come Sundays."

"Isn't that a bit...unorthodox?" I asked, struggling to find the right word.

Jim cast me a wily glance. "Do you share your boss's beliefs?"

"No, what..."

"Does your world view match your co-workers'."

"No."

"This is no worse."

Jim and I continued on our way to the janitor's closet/Jim's office. There, there was supplies to fix the wall. Jim grabbed a dry wall patch, spackling, and one of those scrapey metal things I can't remember the name of. During the walk back to the hole I had kicked in the wall I was asked by Jim why I had done so.

In a few words as possible I explained. I typically wouldn't have shared about my ability to someone I had met ten minutes previous, but it was clear Jim wasn't simply making small talk. He was one of those people who when they asked, "How are you doing?" he meant how are you doing. If you told him life sucks right now, he would nod his head and ask why. Funny, but I could tell he was like this within the ten minutes I had known him.

Jim fixed the hole as I told my story. Silent and meditative on the words I was saying. He finished patching the wall around the same time I finished my story. Jim leaned back on his hunches.

"So," he said.

"So what?"

"You tell me?"

I flopped onto the floor. "Why would God do this to me?"

"Make you see how people are going to die?"

"Well, that too, but why make everyone around me die on top of that. You can't deny that I have been surrounded by an uncommon amount of deaths."

Jim had taken his cap off and was fiddling with it. "Honey, that's like asking why God kills all those children in Africa. That's like asking why He gave your sister cancer, why he caused your mama to give birth to a child that killed her, and why He caused that baby to die three months later."

Tears formed in my eyes. "Well, He did to those things, didn't He? If He really is in control, yea, He did."

Jim sighed. "Now, I'm not saying I don't believe in a personal God, I do. My strongest relationship is with God, but did it ever occur to you He doesn't move us all around like pieces on a chess board. He lets us make the choices, and there's another player Sarah. And he's got just as much right as God does to make up rules, and to order his half of the pieces around."

I shook my head. "I thought God was in control."

"Oh, He is, make no mistake. As in control of your soul as you let Him. God could overturn the board any time He wanted to and Satan couldn't do a thing about it. Even if he could he wouldn't."

He paused, and when I looked at him curiously he continued.

"Satan would win then. Oh yes, if God made us robots so we would love God no matter what, Satan would win. The whole point is that in order for us to truly love God and by good, there needs to be a choice. Now in the beginning God stacked the odds in our favor. Yep, hundreds of good things to do, and only one bad. By doing that one bad thing, man opened God's creation up to the destruction of Satan. All the bad stuff in the world is the result of Adam giving Satan permission to play. The fall isn't as much a punishment as a natural consequences from making a stupid decision."

"So God really isn't watching over us," I said cynically. "Now that we've let Satan in God really doesn't care?"

"It's not like that," Jim said with more force than I had heard him use yet. "Casting your cares on God doesn't mean He will take care of those problem so you don't have to do those things. It means He will give you the strength to face those thing. He will give you comfort in the way only He can. He's fighting all the time in the most important battle field of all. You."

I blinked. "Me?"

Jim nodded. "Every day God and Satan are both throwing all they can at you to try to make you choose them. But as much as either one of them try to win you, in the end it is your choice. You can either choose to let your ability make you bitter and a servant of Satan, or you could let God use it. It's your choice."

Jim put his cap on and got up, collecting the spackling and the scrapy thingy. He left without another word. I let all that he had said sink in. A few minutes later I realized I was late for work. So getting up I left as well.

The Seer~Part Two

When I got home the house was dark and the door locked. From my purse I took out my keys, found the right one, and inserted it into the lock.

Before you ask, I lived with my parents still. I know, odd for a twenty-one year old, but I was doing community and online college . Plus I pay my parents rent so it wasn't like I was free loading or anything. If you think about it, the only odd thing about it was that I loved home so much I wasn't hot to leave it as soon as I had graduated.

I paused in front of the recently taken picture of my family before going to my room. It featured Daddy and my stepmother, Cindy, standing in the back. My half sister Laura and I were seated in the front.

I sighed, both my parents were probably with Laura right now. She was supposed to have chemo today. I would have gone too but I had needed to go to work as a bank teller, excuse me, customer service representative.

In my room I peeled my wet clothes off. I considered taking a shower but decided against it. Slowly warming up snuggled in a blanket with some cocoa and a trashy book sounded more pleasant than a shower.

First I put on underwear and a sports bra. I couldn't decide on comfy loose sweats, or a slightly more attractive pair of jeans. I put on a kaki skirt which I felt gave me the best of both worlds. Next came a light blue tee. I paused when my hand grabbed the knob of the top drawer. Earlier that day flashed into mind. Ironically, if my hands had been covered, I wouldn't have tried to talk the man out of dying. Which means, because how and when he got on the bus could have changed, he might have lived.

With a painful sigh, I opened the drawer. Dozens of gloves neatly folded up in pairs greeted me. I picked a pair that matched my outfit and slipped them on. They were beige with blue embroidery and went halfway up my forearm.

With a cup of instant hot cocoa in one hand and a Nora Roberts book in the other I curled up on the couch and zoned out. I didn't come out of that position until I heard someone call my name. I looked up from my book, dog earring the page.

"Yes," I answered back.

Daddy appeared in the hall that led from the front door to the living room.

"Just wanted to know if you where home sweetie." He came and sat down beside me. He seemed tired. When he moved, it was like watching a man struggle to move through a thick swamp. His voice had the strained quality all voices have that are forced to sound perky when the person talking is headed towards a mental breakdown.

"I take it, it didn't go so well," I inched close to Daddy and leaned against him.

He rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Laura had to stay in the hospital. They're not sure if she's going to make it." Daddy looked at me, his eyes haggard. From the way they were blood shot, I could guess he had been crying. "I don't know if I could stand if she died too."

I sighed. I knew the feeling.

"The worst part is the uncertainty." Daddy continued. "A part of me feels I should mentally prepare myself for Laura's death, but the other part tells me I should keep hope....." he reached out and grabbed my hands, rubbing them thoughtfully. His brow creased. "Why are you wearing gloves again?"

"I had an accident this afternoon," I said sharply while pulling my hands away. "I won't touch her. She is probably the only person I'm close to who I don't know how she is going to die."

"What about your mother?" my father insisted.

"She's dead."

"I meant you stepmother."

"I said close to."

"Sarah please," Daddy begged. "Even if you see she is to die the next minute, it would be a blessing to know."

I tried to swallow a rising lump in my throat. "No."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I lied.

The next day I found myself in the hospital, talking to Laura. Dear God! how frail a thing she looked. I felt like taking the bandanna off her head, telling her, her lack of hair was a badge of honor. I would compare it with my ability while flexing my bare hands at her. It was something we both had to overcome that was hard for us, but we overcame it any way.

Only I knew that would crush her, and my hands were safely encased in a pair of gloves.

I talked with Laura a good long while, trying the whole time to take one of my gloves off and touch her. I would always make up an excuse, or simply not have the guts to do it.

I jerked with surprise when the alarm from my cell phone went off. Laura smiled while I dug for it frantically.

"One would think they would design a special cell phone space in a purse," I grumbled.

"That's way the pocket on the outside is for," Laura oh-so-kindly informed me.

"This pocket? Well yes, but it is put there so thieves have an easier time stealing you cell phone." I finally found the blasted thing and turned it off.

Laura sighed, her face fallen. "Now you have to go?"

"Yes," I said with a sigh of my own. "I don't want to though." I stayed a moment in my chair, realizing I hadn't touched her. I knew that if I peeled my glove off now and touched Laura she would suspect what I was doing.

On a sudden impulse, I leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Just a simple peck. Done quickly and nonchalantly enough Laura probably wouldn't even think about it.

I broke something sacred.

When I got home, I had planned to go straight to work on an essay I had to write but Daddy stopped me.

"Did you touch Laura?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"So..."

"She lives," my voice choked up and tears formed in my eyes.

Daddy hugged me fiercely. "Praise God!" he cried. He left, looking as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

I crawled into my bed and sobbed.

I had lied again.