The Futility Of Insanity II

I am still alone in this Kingdom of Beauty. Do you know what happened when I was turned down? When you so hastily refused to join me in this paradise? When you crushed my heart?

I was sitting in the shade of a magnificent elm, and watching the clouds, lost in my own world. My beautiful world. My insanity.

As I was staring at the clouds, something changed. The wind picked up, and there's never more than a gentle breeze in my Kingdom. The wind picked up but I could not feel it. I could only see the affect it had on my beautiful world.

The tree I was leaning on was uprooted and it knocked me to the ground. The wind carried it I know not where. The wind was howling and still I could not feel it on me.

The clouds turned dark and ominous. I screamed at the sky to stop! I commanded it the wind to die, but to no avail! The wind screamed back, and the clouds released a torrent of rain, rain so strong it plastered the grass to the ground and stung upon hitting me.

Then the temperature dropped. The rain turned to ice, and the grass was frozen solid. Every step I took the icy grass would tear gashes in my feet until I could no longer move.

I lay there for some time unconscious, unaware of the damage being done. The wind picked up, the ice fell, and the mountains withered away.

Then it was night.

I woke up shivering. The grass was no longer frozen, in fact, it wasn't really there any more. The wind broke the frozen grass stems so that they lay scattered in the field.

It was no longer raining, and the wind had died down. It was abominably dark. The stars themselves seemed dead and muffled. The moon was still full, but it was a reddish color and the face seemed to scream in agony.

I walked for hours, stumbling over uprooted trees, and slipping in the grass. I shivered all night for the temperature had dropped far below normal. I walked until I came to the edge of a precipice. Though it was dark I could see over the water, and I could hear its roar, a horrible sound.

The water was frothy, smacking up high against the cliff. As far as I could see, gigantic whirlpools were forming in the deep parts of the ocean. They would spin off into nothingness and then reform with a scream. I could hear the roar, and I wept.

I wept for my Kingdom of Beauty.

My beautiful world.

My insanity.

The Futility Of Insanity

It's a beautiful world.

No, not the one we live in. The one we live in is full of death, disease, despair, and depression. It's rank with heartache. No, the world we live in is not beautiful, but I will create a world for you, dear, a world that we can live in happily.

I can see it now. In fact, I am there now.

There is no life, no civilization, nothing.There is only rolling fields of the purest green, trees in full bloom. Towering mountains dominate the land. The sea is gentle, never swelling, never rough. The sun is covered by clouds of all hues, and of all colors. The sky is red, no, now it's orange and yellow, now it's purple. At night thousands of stars lend their light to a dark land. The moon is always full and it's face reminds me of you. There are thousands and hundreds of animals. All types, but all gentle.

But I am alone.

I am left alone in my world, to run and dance through the fields and meadows, to leap off the huge cliffs, and embrace the warmth of the ocean. I am alone to enjoy the coolness of the crisp night. I am alone to spin under the sun until I collapse. I am left alone to rule this veritable paradise, but I AM alone.

Will you join me?

Will you accompany me through the fields and meadows? Will you join me in my blessed Kingdom of Beauty? It's so simple. All it takes is love and a little bit of insanity. Take my hand, please. Come with me, follow me. My heart beckons you, do not break it. For if you break my heart, you destroy my world.

My beautiful world.

My Kingdom of Beauty.

My insanity.

My Own Personal Gallows

He sits on the bench inside the town jailhouse, rotting away, hoping he'll die before he stands on the platform, and wait his turn in line for the gallows.

As he sits he hears the now familiar sound of a rope pulling taut and the strangled, attempted breathing of a man on death row. He sighs.

He wonders why he is here, what series of events, what circumstances led him to this spot, this exact spot. He would weep, but the time for weeping was long past. He had spent all his tears wetting the dirt floor of his too-small cell. He recalls the circumstances. Murder.

As he sits and ponders and thinks about his crime, he hears another rope, another life leaving behind a notorious legacy of wanton murder, and he knows that he's not so far back in line, not so far back that he can't make amends. But he's tried already. He is sorry.

He thinks back on his crime.

It was a warm day, unseasonably warm. A slight breeze rolled around and whipped up small dust devils. The General Store stands silent, no one coming in, no one leaving it. The buildings to the left and right, mostly boardinghouses, also stood silent. It was one of those days. It was one of the days where the only activity is across the street in the saloon.

Men, fresh from the mines or just off work, all gather around telling each other stories over beer. They tell of indians and attacks and murderers being strung up. They tell tales of justice and lawlessness, and their hearers take it in

Other men are in there swallowing down their pain. They drink to forget because remembering hurts and pain is the one thing they can't help. Except to drink. He was one of them.

He drank to forget the offences met out against him who knows how long ago. His only love had left him. Left him for a deacon (and son of the pastor) from the little churchhouse around the corner. They ran off only He knows where.

He orders another shot of whiskey and downs it, and the more he downs it, the more he remembers. He doesn't forget, but remembers. And the more he remembers the angrier he gets. And the angrier he gets, the more he wants to track down that low-life, scum of a deacon, and take back what was rightfully his.

He downs another one. He listens to the raucous laughter of the men behind him, now telling coarse jokes. For all he knows, they could be telling the story of ol' what's-his-name's wife who ran off with what's-his-name the deacon. More laughter. And the more he hears the laughter, and the more he downs the whiskey, the more he wants revenge. Yes, that's what he wants. He can feel it in his gut. It's a cold, hard feeling that screams for death. He drinks even more. Finally, when he can no longer drink another, he leaves.

The laughter follows him through the swinging doors and he stands in the middle of the street, remembering, remembering and hating. He walks and stumbles down the street. The street, barely lit now by the moon because he has been in there for hours and didn't quite realize it, stretches off before him. Beckoning to him to follow, to follow and to kill.

He walks back to his room at the boardinghouse. He walks and crawls his way up the stairs to his room and passes out on his bed. It's morning when he wakes. HE has a headache but he's still determined. He remembers last night, and that cold, hard feeling in his gut has not left. So he straps on his gun. He roots through the drawers of the little table by his bed until he finds what he's looking for.

A note. A note from her, from that no good hussy who ran off with what's-his-name the deacon. He almost laughs. It tells him right on the envelope where the note came from. A little town only about thirty miles from where he is now. He crumples it up and throws it on the floor. He leaves.

He grimaces as he walks down the stares. He has a killer headache from his evening at the saloon, and every step down he takes it sends a jolt of pain through his head. Finally, he reaches the ground floor and walks out in the street. He winces then too, for the light is bright and doesn't help.

He wastes no time saddling his horse and setting off. He didn't even buy provisions for the trip. Maybe he knew then that he wouldn't be coming back. Maybe he didn't care what happened to him as long as he killed that low life deacon.

He reaches the little town after dark. He ties his horse to the hitching post and enters this towns saloon. It's just like the last one. Raucous laughter, filthy language, and stench of cigarettes and alchohol permeate the room. He walks through a cloud of cigarette smoke and sits in a stool at the bar. He orders a shot and some information. He inquires after ol' what's-his-name the deacon. He asks about newcomers. Anyone who may have come in the past two weeks. He rewards the bartender well, and ponders the information he has been given. A place, a name, and a room number, more then he ever could have wished for.

The place wasn't hard to find. It was just down the street from the saloon. It was nestled between the general store and a church. Figures, he thinks. He walks into the boardinghouse and up the stairs. He enters the room quietly. It's dark, but he can see who occupies the bed. He recognizes both of them. He draws his gun, but he wants that deacon to see just what's gonna happen. He wants him to stare down his barrel and taste the fear in his mouth. He wants him to know how it feel when he loses everything.

So he wakes them up. He speaks, "Hello."

The figures bolt up in bed and turn the light on. The man in bed gasps because not two feet from his head is a barrel, a dark orb of death that seems to howl out the words "I'VE COME FOR YOU!"

Then an explosions shatters the night air. The peace has been broken. A scream, shrill and feminine, accompanies the following silence, which wasn't so silent.

The man leaves. He doesn't make it far before he's picked up. Three months later he sits on a bench in the jailhouse, listening to the sound of life after life being ended, and he is sorry. He's not sorry because he wants to live, he truly is sorry, remorseful, penitent, because he knows he did wrong.

Then, it is his turn. He stands up on the platform. It seems like a stage to him, and, in some ways, it is. There is a jeering crowd in front of him, screaming for his death. He closes his eyes. He ignores the voices of the crowd, the voices of the judge, and then he hears a new voice.

"Wait," it calls, "Don't hang him."

He opens his eyes and gasps. It's the pastor. The father of the deacon who ran off with his wife. He thinks the man has come to prolong his life, to make him live in agony over the decisions he made. But he hasn't.

The pastor walks over to the judge, the man who had the power to kill, the power to say a word and cut off his breath for eternity. The pastor whispers in his ear for sometime. The judge looks shocked. They argue for a few moments, and then stop.

The pastor walks up the steps to the gallows, and removes the rope from around the neck of his sons killer.

"You are free now," he says, "Go and sin no more."

The man stares at him in astonishment. What had he said to the judge to convince him to let him go? He was about to die, but now he was free. What had happened? He is silent though. He doesn't ask. He simply walks off the platform with tears in his eyes. And as he is walking away he hears the sound, the sound of a rope pulling taut, the sound of a life ending, and he stops. He turns around slowly.

The pastors body sways. His life has gone out of him. He no longer lives. The man wept. An innocent man had died in his place so that he could go free. The father of the man he killed had given his life, so that his son's killer could live.

He wept, and then he went and sinned no more.

The Art Of Unreality

My hand, grasping the pen loosely, traced figures lightly upon the notebook, a tribute to the nothingness in my mind. My hand ached with a purely mental ache, the ache to write something, to write some form of art; nothing normal though, anyone could write a poem or story. There is a capacity within each of us to do anything mediocre. But that was not my objective. My objective was to write something superior to the words of a poet, to write with an elegance and eloquence and fervor unknown to the sidewalk performer. My objective was to create words and worlds that drew her into it, something that grasped her with the reality of unreality.
I sighed. Was it within me to write beauty? I glanced at the notepad. There were a few hearts, some indefinable shapes that somehow seemed to contradict the laws of mathematics. But there were no words, nothing intelligible anyhow. I concentrated. I thought about her, how I felt for her, but still nothing came to mind. I longed to tell her of nothing, of everything. Why could I not do this? Ah, what was this? I had some spark of an idea and began jotting it down. I looked at it. I growled. It was some half-insensible, sentimental piece of garbage. I crumpled it up and threw it down.
I leaned back and let my mind wander. It wandered over unexplored planets, through the outer reaches of the galaxy, until it finally came to rest somewhere in the realm of impossibility. It landed in the world of Love, where everything goes right, and the ending is always happily ever after. That truly was the realm of impossibility. In my life I had never had the propensity for happily-ever-afters. They never worked for me, in my writing, or in my reality. The ending was always some butchered, horrifying truth.
How was love created, I wondered? What was love, and what was the purpose? I half imagined a figure dressed as an executioner. He was standing over his victim who looked about to die. A figure in the shadows sighed.
“Look. Tell us the truth of the matter or we will be forced to play our last card, our last act of torture for which you will want to die because the pain is so great.” (What it was the poor devil was to confess was beyond my writing capabilities, but whatever it was, it was obvious that he wouldn’t give it up.) He sat silently. His head bowed.
The interrogator in the shadows nodded to the executioner. The executioner left the room but returned momentarily carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows. Cupid (for Cupid it was, though he looked nothing like the little baby. Instead, he was a menacing almost demonic looking man) threw back his hood and smirked. He drew an arrow from his quiver and deftly set it to the bow. He grinned maniacally and stared down the shaft of the heart-tipped arrow. He let it fly and it thunked into the poor devil’s head. The victim groaned. Cupid and the mysterious man of the shadows left. The poor devil was left alone with his fate which truly was horrible. He left the place and fell in love, and forever ever after was in constant pain for that love, that ultimate act of torture.
I grinned. It was too close to reality and people don’t read books to immerse themselves in reality. They want to be set down in a world that has a happy ending. They want to live a lie for some short period of time, because that period in their life of that lie is far less painful than the reality.
I sighed. Yes, a lie was far less painful than the reality. So why did I always feel the need to write about truth, about pain, and about love? Was I some sort of emotional masochist? Would I be able to live a full life if I wasn’t in pain? I had done something wrong somewhere. Life was not supposed to be like this. Or maybe I only thought that because of my miserable failures.
I groaned and sighed almost at the same time. I couldn’t do this. There was no way I could write of something wonderful when I didn’t even believe myself that there was anything in anyway redeeming about love.
I unconsciously ran my hands through my hair to make sure there were no arrows sticking out. That would have been so much simpler. Drawing an arrow out of my skull was easier than giving up love. Well, giving up love wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was getting over the one I loved. I wanted to. I had no reason to love. If only there were an arrow to pull out, how much simpler it would be.
I was in a paradox. I wanted to give up love and write of it at the same time. Ah! Life would be so much easier of there were one gender, and everyone reproduced asexually. Why must there be love? Why must there be some sort of universal torture on all man kind? To love love would be sadistic, for love is pain and to love pain is sadism. Something was dreadfully wrong. Had I screwed up in any way? Of course I did. I fell in love. And now, now I was desperately trying to climb out. It seemed, though, that I was swimming further in. There was no answer. One thing I knew; I could not write this love story. I could not write anything of anything that had to do with happily-ever-afters. I needed Someone else. I needed an Author Who could write love in the most unlikely stories.
“Ok God. Here’s the pen. I tried to write romance, but it became horror. You write the story, I’ll enjoy it.”
I got up from the bench and walked away, already feeling a little lighter. Life was easier if you didn’t have to worry about the story.

No, Not Yesterday

To Do List


Call Mom.
CHECK

Breathe.
CHECK

XHave A Great DayX


Well, the couch was rather comfortable. To get up would mean to face the harsh reality that seemed to be the sole element of his life. He thought hard.

As I thought, he thought, I can’t think of a worse day than this. This year, anyhow.

He sighed. He rolled over.

He thought briefly about crying but knew it would take too much effort and that there was no one to care.

Beep.

Great, he thought.

The answering machine kicked on.

“Hey, this is Josh. Apparently I was not around to answer the phone. More than likely I just didn’t want to talk to you. Go away.” Beep.

A perky female voice came on.

“Uh, Hello, Mr….. Ah! Mr. Royston! Yes, this is, uh, Jamie with the First National Bank. We were just calling to let you know that you are bankrupt. Have a great day!” Beep.

He cried then.


Meanwhile in the Galactic Death Ship Zargon


“Are you sure they won’t mind?”

The voice belonged to Rae Squittlebottom, a short Thingian from the aptly named Planet Thingy, a large planet on the opposite side of the Solar System. His skin was a pale green color. And what hair he had was a light gray. His left nose was slightly bigger and runnier than his right one and his center eye protruded a little further than the other two. As Thingians go, he wasn’t half bad looking. Except for his height. The Thingian was no more than Q units tall. Rather embarrassing when the other Thingians were at least K units tall.

He disguised his height with his voice. It was rather deep for a Thingian. He lived by the old adage, “If you speak with enough authority they’ll die.”

Or was that, “If you kill them they’ll die”? He couldn’t remember.

The question in question was directed to his companion, another Thingian named Sqond Qundlenoodel. He was an average Thingian. A hair under above K units with a tuft of white hair protruding from his back.

Sqond, known as Sqindel to his friends, looked lazily at Rae. “What?”

“I said, ‘Are you sure they won’t mind?’” He repeated himself.

Sqond chortled. A strange sound for a Thingian. It was used as a laugh but sounded more like a Tringleezian death scream. Only not as loud.

“Of course they won’t mind. The general consensus seems be in agreement.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well,” Sqond began, “They seem to think that this is something of the worse day ever. A real gorth of a day.”

“Ah, I see.” Rae replied. Sqond doubted very much that he did.

“Anyway,” Sqond continued, “One of them, a man named Val Moore, says that it will happen anyway.”

“What?!” Rae exclaimed. “How does a complete ozone layer deplete itself naturally?” His voice was laced with incredulity.

“It doesn’t.” Sqond replied. Then he chortled again.


On Planet Earth


Josh woke up and that was quite possibly the biggest mistake of that afternoon.

He groaned when he remembered the call that came in earlier. He was afraid to ask himself just how much worse the day could get.

Honestly, he didn't think it could. Of course, that was what he thought before the phone call.

He sighed. He tried going back to sleep. If he was lucky he wouldn't wake up until...

If he was lucky he wouldn't wake up.

The phone rang.

He groaned. He reached across the bed to the phone on the nightstand. The caller ID read "Andrea Kolchek".

Well, he thought, unless she's calling to tell me she hates me this day just might get better.

He answered. "Hi. Please tell me you're not calling to say you hate me."

There was silence for a minute. And then her voice came on the line.

"Um, no. Actually I was wondering if we could meet somewhere."

"Always." he replied.


One Hour Later


"Hi." Andrea said.

Josh's smile was shy as he replied.

They started talking and didn't stop for some time. For Josh, this was heaven. He almost forgot to eat as he watched her talk. Oh, and if we hadn't mentioned it before; Josh was in love with this girl.

Time passed. The food slowly disappeared.

"I suppose you're wondering why I wanted to meet." she said.

"Well, I was a little curious and a bit leery too. This is honestly one of the worst days of my life."

"Well, um, I don't know how to say this." She looked not a little unsure of herself.

Josh quesitoned her with a glance.

"It's hard to explain," She said in defense of herself, "I can't just blurt out the fact that I'm in love with you." She blushed.

Josh was astounded. He couldn't say anything for a few minutes. When he finally found his voice he was able to tell her that he loved her too.

His day was finally looking up. No, check that, his life was finally looking up.

They embraced. It was ten minutes before they pulled apart. They looked into each other's eyes and laughed.

Josh leaned in to kiss her...and at that exact moment the Thingians decided to neutralize the ozone layer of the earth.


On The Zargon


It was Rae that spoke up first. "Whoa." There was silence."Look at it burn."

And indeed the planted was burning up. It started at the poles and worked its way up (or down depending upon which pole it was) until they met in the middle. First there were widespread floods. Until the water was evaporated. Then the planet just seemed to wither away until there was nothing left but a rock.

Sqond spoke up. "Let's do that again!"


On The Earth



A Few Moments Previously



To Do List


Hold Rally.
CHECK

Make Movie.
CHECK

XConsult ExpertsX


Hug Tree. [Pending]



Val Moore stood in the grove of elms in his backyard. If you stood close enough you might have heard baby noises as he talked to his trees.

"It's ok. Daddy gon' protect you. Yes he will. Would you like a hug?"

He embraced the tree. "There, there. Everything gon' be alright."

He was still hugging the tree when his Chief of Staff ran up to him. He was out of breath and could barely speak. "Mr...*pant*...Mr...*wheeze*...Mr. Moore...*inhale*..."

"Did I not tell you to refer to me as the Lord of Whales?"

"*gasp*...Sir...Sorry...*pant*...Poles...melting..."

"Yes? What do the polls say?"

*No, sir...*inhale* ...poles..."

"Poland? Ah, how are they?"

"*wheeze*...Sir...Ice caps...melting..."

"You mean...?"

"Yes, sir..."

Val looked astounded. He couldn't believe it. Then he jumped up with excitement.

"You mean I was right?"

The man could only nod.

"I was right! This is an important campaign issue. If the people see I am right they will vote for me," he started pacing as his Chief of Staff stared at him, "Abortion! That's an important issue. Yes. I will support choosing. It's a woman's right after all." He patted the tree. "Poor whales..."

Then a thought seemed to occur to him.

"Wait...the ice caps are melting...the ozone layer is...gone?"

The Chief of Staff nodded grimly.

"So...this is it...no more saving the whales or...hugging the trees...just..."

There was silence as the two men looked at each other. Neither spoke.

"Would you like a hug?"

The Chief of Staff nodded grimly.

Then a wave of fire overtook them both and they were annihilated.


On The Zargon


"Wow. That was amazing. What do you want to do now" Sqond asked his companion, Rae.

"I dunno. That kinda made me hungry."

"Ok. Let's grab some food and see if we made it on the Night O'Clock News."

It was indeed on the news that night. The Galactic News Network (GNN) had quite a few things to say about the Thingians who invented the Gone! Ozone Reduction Emitter (GORE). It was quite a galactic hit.


Later That Day



To Do List


Test GORE.
CHECK


"Hey, Rae, can you believe that guy thought that could happen naturally?"

They chortled.

Oh, Dear! A Fairy Tale!

This is the story of two girls who were cousins and close friends, three boys who were of no relation to each other, a big bad wolf who's merely misunderstood, an old lady who goes by the name of Granny and who may or may not be a witch, a bookkeeper who may or may not know more than he does or doesn't say, a quantum physicist with too much time on his hands, and an innocent platter of cookies. And this is the way of it...

Once upon a time there were two fair girls by the name of Nevaeh and Melody. Nevaeh and Melody were two lovely young ladies much loved by the town that they lived in. The town in particular was very small and of no consequence. It had a seemingly hard to pronounce name and was much beloved by tourists. Each day Nevaeh and Melody were travel across town to visit Granny. Granny was the name of the little old lady that often baked cookies for the girls and any of their friends who happened to be visiting.

This day was a particularily sunny day and the girls decided to walk instead of riding the carriage. So they set out on their rather safe journey across the town to Granny. On the way, the girls met three boys that they didn't know very well but had met on occasion, their names were Jean Bob, Bob Bob, and Xander. Very soon they got to talking and lost track of time. But the girls didn't care for they had fallen in love with two of the boys. And the boys didn't mind because they were equally smitten. Except for Xander for there were two girls and three boys and if you know anything of mathematics then you would know that three boys and two girls are certainly incompatible if all are to be happy. Therefore, Xander was left out and become very unhappy for it was Jean Bob and Nevaeh who fell in love, and Bob Bob and Melody who fell in love. Xander simply ignored the others.

Meanwhile, in the Enchanted woods on the outskirts of the small town, there resided a quantum physicist working on his project. He worked feverishly ever since that morning for he felt that he was close to a breakthrough. As he worked he giggled to himself now and then and other times could be heard murmuring to his devices. He was a curious fellow with huge horn-rimmed glasses and long, strangly, white hair. The town people went out of their way to avoid him for they felt that he might be some Enchanter. After all, he DID live in the Enchanted forest.

Time passed and Nevaeh nudged Melody and murmured that they should probably go. So the girls shyly told the boys good bye and went on their merry way. The boys, whistling and happy (except for Xander who was by now corrupted by his jealousy and hatred of the other two), decided to go to the bookstore on mainstreet. While they were there Jean Bob and Bob Bob struck up a conversation with the mysterious owner of the bookstore. Xander, however, passed his time by reading a book called Spells, Potions, Poisons, and Other Nefarious Fairy Tale Devices.

Meanwhile across town the two lovely ladies were approaching Granny's house. Immediately they noticed something was wrong. And it wasn't the fact that the cookies were sitting there. Alone. Without milk. Melody spoke up, "Do you think Granny often lies under her porch wearing ropes and a gag?"

Nevaeh stared at her friend.

She didn't reply though as they ran to the aid of their dear friend Granny. But right as they neared the porch and Granny's trussed up body, a wolf leaped from behind the bushes, and roared, "I'll have my vengeance!". Of course, the two young ladies were confused, for they had never done anything to any wolves that they should want revenge. However, they knew that this wolf was indeed a bad character and no matter what he imagined they had done, he would certainly want to eat them.

They screamed. The wolf screamed. The cookies did not. However, the screams were loud enough to wake Granny who set to work trying to sever the ropes.

At about this time the three young men were leaving the bookstore and heading back home. That was when they heard the screams. Immediately they ran to see what was wrong and if they could render assistance. The scene that met them was horrible. The wolf was chasing the girls around the yard, growling and snapping.

Without hesitation Jean Bob and Bob Bob leapt onto the back of the wolf to keep him from eating the girls. Xander, who was now full of malice, did nothing.

Jean Bob and Bob Bob's ride was shortlived though, for the wolf threw them off of his back and in one horrid, fell swoop gobbled up the boys. The young ladies screamed and wept. The wolf then returned his attention on them. He spoke a few words and instantly the girls were transformed into little, cute bunny rabbits. The wolf then leaped upon them and gobbled them up.

The wolf looked at Xander. Xander looked at the wolf. The wolf smiled and turned away. That was when he noticed Granny who was by now free of her ropes. In one hand she held a broom and in the other she held a wand. The wolf gulped. Then Granny set to pounding him over the head so hard that the wolf passed out. While the wolf was on the ground unconconcious Granny went inside and retrieved a battle axe. She approached the wolf, hefted the axe, and chopped the wolfs head clean off. Then she reached into the wolf and pulled out two small, still-living bunny rabbits, and two, still-living, young men.

Xander, who had seen all that had transpired, was now practically livid with rage. So corrupted by his jealousy of those who had been his friends, he had been willing to see them die. Granny, who wasn't a witch but was a fairy godmother of sorts, noticed his behaviour. Without hesisation she waved her wand at him and transformed him into the animal that most fit his hate-filled, and malevolent personality. Instantly a ravenous wolf stood where Xander once was. As Granny heft her broom and prepared to do to Xander the Wolf what she had done to the other, Xander turned tail and ran away. "Oh well," he thought, "Live to fight another day."

As the wolf ran away, Granny turned the little bunnies back into the beautiful girls they once were. The boys, overjoyed and ecstatic to see the young ladies, hugged them tight and didn't let them go. Granny smiled.

Xander the Wolf, however, was running through the woods plotting his revenge. One way or the other those girls would pay. As would Granny. And Jean Bob and Bob Bob. The wolf growled and kept running. So blinding was his hate that he didn't pay any attention at all to where he was running.

Meanwhile, the quantum physicist had just perfected his machine. "Eureka," he cried, "I have found it!". As he turned the machine on, an evil, bloodthirsty wolf leapt into the clearing he started running towards the physicist, Unbeknownst to the wolf, the physicist had just invented a Worm Hole Stabilizer that would enable mankind to travel backwards into time. The wolf ran right into this worm hole and was immediately transported backwards in time to that morning. But the wolf didn't know. All he knew was that he was going to have revenge one way or the other. He was hungry, but now was no time for eating. Granny would be his first stop.

The End.

It Was But 'Love'

A pained embrace

to dull the senses.

A mercy kill

to lower defenses.



After all,

it was but love.



A brief nose kiss

to blind the eyes.

Slight brushed lips

to hide the lies.



After all,

it was but love.



A cold, lonesome room.

A guilty heart.

The word 'love' used

to play the part.



After all,

it was but love.



A cherished gift

opened too soon.

Precious life

now in the womb.



After all,

it was but love.



The shameful glances,

the growing belly,

Easily concealed.

"Someone help me!"



After all,

it was but love.



The white washed walls,

the doctor's faces,

the wailing child,

the mother's disgraces.



After all,

it was but love.



The sharp intrusion,

the painful stick,

the deadly power

of a mother, tight lipped.



After all,

it was but love.



The babe's last breath,

the doctor lies.

"There was no life,

in this child's eyes."



After all,

it was but love.



The years of grief,

the years of pain.

The years of huddling

beneath the rain.



After all,

it was but love.



A childs ghost cry,

the mother's guilt.

The tears leave stains

wherever spilt.



After all,

it was but love.



One bad decision,

the boy she knew.

The second came,

before the baby grew.



But after all,

it was all for love.



After all...

It was but 'love'...

Bob (A Fictitous Bob Story)

His heart was pounding as he mentally reviewed what he was about to do. Jump the fence, pick the flower. Jump the fence, pick the flower. His name was Bob and he was about to jump the fence and pick the flower. He swung his arms back and forth as if that motion would somehow carry him and his girth over the fence. With a helpful growl he ran forward and jumped. His belly landed on the fence post and he stopped. He grunted. He swung. He didn't move. He started sweating. He grunted some more. His feet started kicking around on the fence trying to get a hold, but he never found one. Instead, he leaned too far forward and flipped over the fence. Thud. His body smacked the ground and the breath left his body. He lay there wheezing for a few minutes before he had the strength to move. He stood up and cautiously approached the old woman's garden. He tip toed and silently (or as silently as you can be at his weight) crept up to the unwary, unsuspecting flower. He grabbed it and yanked. It didn't budge. He started muttering at the flower. He pulled it again. It still didn't budge. He spat on his hands, gripped the flower with both hands, and pulled with all his power. Veins starting poking out, but to no avail, the flower wouldn't move. He let go and started gasping and wheezing. Slam! Oh no! Someone just came out of the house! He quickly (or as quickly as he could at his weight, which was actually surprisingly quick) ran for cover behind a bush. He spotted the perpetrator. It was the old woman's grand son, a little boy of eight. He sauntered into the garden and spotted a beautiful flower in full bloom. He giggled and ran up to it. He stooped and plucked the flower from the earth. Bob was screaming on the inside. Then he was screaming vocally. He ran back into the garden and tackled the little boy. He stole the flower and then ran through the gate in the fence and headed back to his house. It was in the headlines the next day, Sasquatch Steals Smelly Flower (the kid obviously didn't see Bob before he tackled him, but only saw a large, fleeing thing. He naturally assumed it was Bigfoot). Bob didn't see it though, he was too busy planning what he would say to the woman the flower was intended for. Finally, he felt he had the right words. He walked down the street going over the words in his mind. He approached the door and knocked. She opened the door. Bob's jaw dropped. She was even more gorgeous than he remembered. She smiled. She even had more teeth than he remembered. OH! And she even shaved her moustache! He stammered through what he wanted to say. "Please...t-take t-this...flower...cuz I...l-love...yew." There. He had said it. He hadn't even forgotten any words. She looked at the newspaper she was holding. She looked at the flower. She look at Bob. "Bobby Bob Bobito! Did yew steal this flo'er?!" she yelled. He gulped. She had never used his full name before. He stammered, "Uh..Uh. No! I...borrowed it!" "Bobby Bob, I don't want to see yew ag'in!" "B-But...Georgina," he replied "I love yew!" She slammed the door. All that hard work, gone. She didn't even like the flower. Oh, well, that's Valentine's day for you.

I Hope I Leave A Legacy And Not An Unmarked Grave

They felt my pulse, They felt convinced
They laid me in a shallow grave
They said some words, They said some lies
They hoped that I would stay

They buried me, They buried life
They put it from their mind
They tried to grieve, They tried to mourn
They never gave me time

They planted trees, They planted grass
They never brought me flowers
They laid a stone, They laid a thought
They never gave me hours

They left me there, They left me quick
They thought I’d never know
They lived their life, They lived it long
They thought they’d never go

They wasted time, They wasted lives
They left me in a casket.
They worked till dawn, They worked till dusk
They filled their money basket

They bought some food, They bought some drink
They left me starving still
They spent their lives, They spent their thoughts
They sought to spend more still

They left their home, They left to work
They neglected their own family
They wanted more, They wanted less
They never would still stand with me

I don’t want much, No, not a lot
Just one more chance to love
Don’t waste your time, Don’t waste your mind
Increasing all your stuff

One day you’ll die, One day you’ll leave
That stuff will hardly matter
They’ll feel your pulse, They’ll feel convinced
And then leave YOU all the sadder

Because You Want To Read Me! (A Bob Story)

Once upon a time there was a wicked English Major who thought it would be funny to copyright the term ‘once upon a time’. At the time of this writing he has made $27538291823 just because people generally start out their stories with once upon a time…

This is the story of the wicked English Major versus Bob. Bob is a rather unintelligent man who happens to like cliché’s solely because he can’t understand anything but cliché. The English Major has made $2712345754 off of Bob alone. But Bob has vowed revenge.

Enlisting the help of the wicked stepsisters (who actually only exists in fairy tales) he set about to ruin the English Major’s life. First, it was a midnight raid into the house of the English Major.

The wicked stepsisters with their magical powers (they inherited them from their long deceased mother. The wicked Witch of Svendor) changed the word ‘isn’t’ into ‘ain’t’ in every single one of the English Major’s finals papers. Bob laughed gleefully. And they escaped into the night. The English Major was furious, but what could he do? All he could do was rake in more money every time the phrase ‘once upon a time’ was used.

The English Major was plotting his revenge.

He hacked into Bob’s computer files and accessed his blog. He then corrected all the misspelled words and added the correct punctuation as he saw fit. The English Major laughed maniacally. Bob, on the other hand, appreciated it greatly. Thus, another attempt by the English Major to ruin Bob’s life, was thwarted.

That night, Bob and the stepsisters decided it was time for another midnight raid into the English Major’s house. So they set off through the woods and over the river. Eventually they got to his house whereupon they noticed for the first time that the English Major’s house was made of candy and gingerbread. Bob, being the simpleton he was, did not find this in the least bit suspicious. After all, it was slightly clichéd, and cliché’s were his forte.

Bob and his friends were in for a shock: unlike before, the English Major was actually home this time! They could still cause mayhem but they would have to be quiet and sneak past his bedroom. So they did. Or, at least, they tried.

But the English Major was a light sleeper. At the first sound they made he was awake. He started mumbling and then boldly spoke up, “Who’s there?”

Bob made no sound.

“Bob, is that you?”

Bob thought quickly. What was he to do? What was he to do?? He decided to speak up and fool the English Major.

“Um, uh, no, this isn’t Bob. I, uh, actually don’t know a Bob. I’m not even a person. I’m sort of a disembodied, ghoulish voice that happens to haunt, um, all English Majors. Don’t speak, for I could correct your grammar. I’d do it too. You can’t stop me! Now, uh, go to sleep!”

So he went to sleep.

Bob and company then set out to further ruin the life of the English Major by erasing the dot’s of the ‘i’s and erasing the crossing’s of the ‘t’s. Bob left out, and the house fell silent. The next morning the English Major was furious! He started hitting walls and overthrowing tables and cursing the name of Bob. He was generally throwing a bit of a tantrum. But he wasn’t exactly sure how to get back at Bob. Bob didn’t care if the English Major corrected his Blog. He couldn’t affect him in any way when it came to grammar.

So he consulted a witch. The evil, the terrifyingly, horribly, revolting, disfigured witch by the name of Priscilla. He explained about Bob and his love of cliché’s and asked how he could get back at him. The witch had an idea. She explained it to the English Major. He liked it.

Her idea was to bring to life the big, bad wolf of fairytale fame and let him eat Bob. She brought the wolf to life and explained to the wolf what he was to do. Well, the wolf was only that: a wolf. He didn’t understand commands, nor did he understand the differences between certain people. So he ate the witch and the English Major. And then he ate Bob when Bob brought the stepsisters home. And he also ate the stepsisters.

So the wolf had a happy ending and everyone else died. And the moral of this story is that one’s happy ending may be someone else’s tragic life’s end. For every boy who gets the girl, there is still the other boy or girl who wishes they were that boy or girl.

But at least the wolf is happy.

The Lighthouse

The ship was windtossed and battered by waves,
But manned by the sailors, weathered and brave.
They knew their ropes, they knew what to do
They knew that, if not careful, death could ensue

But they saw the Light, from the lighthouse away
They knew there was harbor, a place they could stay
The knew there was harbor if that light shone bright
A place that was safe from the storm and the night.

Said the Cap'n to one, "Sail to the right!
There are rocks ahead and many have died!"
So the sailors turned right hopeful of land,
hopeful that they'd seen God's protective hand.

Yes, they saw the Light, from the lighthouse away
Where there must be harbor, a place they could stay
There would be harbor if that light would still shine
A place that was safe, where they would be fine.

And as ship made for land, terror seized hold
The lighthouse went out! They were all on their own!
There was no hope where there was no light!
They would crash in the rocks and there they would die!

The light had gone out, from the lighthouse away
The place that had harbor, they no longer could stay
There would have been harbor, if only for Light
This harbor, this safety they no longer could find...

"Men be brave! We must wait for the lamp,
Someone will light it, they'll light it by hand!"
But they waited and waited and waited more still
"This light will not come!" "Men! Yes it will!"

They waited and waited for the lighthouse away
Losing all hope of that place they could stay
There was no harbor, no safety, no light
They would all hit the rocks and there they would die.

The wind pushed them towards the rocks, they were blind.
They couldn't see a thing, there was never a sign.
And then suddenly, a flash from the shore!
They were closer now, closer than ever before!

But that light that shone from the lighthouse away
Guided them towards harbor, a place they could stay
There was now harbor, There was hope for the future
They were now safe, of this they were sure...

There was now harbor, There was hope for the future
They were now safe, of this they were sure...

The Futility Of Impossibility (A Love Letter Devoid Of Love)

The Futility of Impossibility
(A Love Letter Devoid of Love)
A ridiculously short story by Joshua Boyce

To Whom It May Concern,

Darling, I doubt that I may express it any more clearly than this: I can't, nor will I, reciprocate any feelings and emotions that you may have for me. I don't apologize. Though, I am sorry that you're quite heartbroken and feel you will never get over it. Shall I list the reasons why? Is there any way you will accept my decision without a profound explanation as to why I should refuse you my heart? Very well.
First, and maybe most importantly, is your personal presentation. It's absolutely horrid. Now, I don't mean to say that you are ugly, or that you stink. On the contrary, you are rather handsome, well, in a way, and you don't stink much. But it's just something about you that I feel will never coexist with myself for the rest of our lives. It may be that revoltingly goofy grin you feel you must grace
the rest of the world with. It may be your arrogant attitude. It may be the fact that you feel yourself worthy to be graced by the likes of me. In any case, this is definitely the main reason I shall separate myself from you.
Secondly is the fact that, well, I am too good for you. Surely you see that yourself. I mean to say, look at yourself. A fine fellow sure, for some people, but for me? Since I am the epitome of perfection personified, I shouldn't stoop to a fellow of your, well, you know what I mean, right?
Well, darling, that's two reasons. Shall I list more? Do you really wish for me to degrade you further just to satisfy your curiosity. No, I will save you from that. After all, we are friends, and what are friends for? Oh, yes. That brings me to the next reason for writing, and that is this: let's do be friends. I feel that you may realize by now that we can't be anymore than friends, but I do hope that we can be the absolute best of friends. Of course, though, you realize that I can't call you, and you can't call me. When we see each other we are to do our best to keep the conversation to a minimum. A little, "Hello. How are you? Good-bye." Nothing too deep nor intellectually stimulating. We can't get together for, say, dinner, or a movie. When we are in a group of mutual friends you must do your best to ignore me as I shall do my best to ignore you. We must also keep all personal contact in public to a minimum. After all, what friends do these things? It would be absolutely awkward. But I do believe this will be the beginning of a beautiful acquaintanceship.

Love (but please don't),
Your Closest Friend

Legacy of Love: The Unhappy Tale Of Crystal Rose And Her Beloved

Once upon a time---what? No, you haven’t heard this story before. Yes, I’m quite sure, now quit bugging me!

Now, where was I? Ah, yes!

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess---I don’t care how familiar it sounds! It is original!

Anyway, back to the story, MY story! There was a beautiful princess named Crystal. Now, as most fairy tales go, Crystal was placed under a dreadful spell. She was to fall in love.

To fully understand the reasoning and intent you must go back to when the spell was first cast. The spell was placed upon her by the dreadful Witch of Svendor, her name too dreadful to speak; she is known simply by the Witch of Svendor. Svendor, of course, being the town she resides in. Quite possibly no one knew her name and simply made up the dreadfulness of the seemingly non-existent name. Either way, she was a dreadfully evil character as it seems witches are.

Well, as you know, Crystal is a princess. She is commonly called Princess Crystal. Most likely because she is, indeed, a princess, and her name is, in fact, Crystal. Well, Princess Crystal, being the only daughter of King Lupatin and Queen Meladhrama, was expected to marry and have children so that the lineage of the Rose family (for that was their name) could continue and that the Roses would always have the crown (even though it was a rather uncomfortable crown, as was the throne). As her eighteenth birthday approached, letters and their couriers were sent out throughout the land to other kingdoms. The letters were sent to all the eligible suitors.

On the week of Crystal’s eighteenth birthday there was to be a ball. A festive week of eating, dancing, and hopefully meeting someone she was willing to spend the rest of her life with. The first day of the ball came and excitement was rampant in the castle. It is a ball! There shall be food and men! And, of course the men were thinking, it is a ball. I shall have to wear tights. And they were instantly depressed, until they remembered the food anyway.

The evening started out wonderfully, Crystal was enjoying the merriment, and there was no lack of handsome princess or delicious food. When, all of a sudden, it got quite dark, and the doors were thrust open. In rushed the terrible Witch of Svendor. Lightning flashed and she cackled quite maliciously! The guests were in a panic. It was the Witch! At the ball! She could only want one thing; revenge. After all, it was Crystal’s parents that exiled the Witch to Svendor. She was plotting to overthrow them and take the crown (obviously she did not know how uncomfortable it was), and they were positively unhappy about this. So they exiled her. Ever since then, she had dedicated herself to ending the line of Roses.

After she had finished her maniacal cackling, she pointed at Crystal and spoke.
“The lineage ends with you!” She roared, and then she cackled. “For the one person you shall fall in love with shall never love you back!” More maniacal laughter.

One of the princes, Prince Ninkem of the family Poopp, looked puzzled. He was not quite bright. You know your intelligence is really lacking when your name becomes an insult. In his father’s kingdom, his name was synonymous with idiocy. So, if you’re ever traveling in the land ruled by the Poopp families, it is not a compliment when you are compared with the prince. Take, for example, one unfortunate man who once visited a tavern in that land. He accidentally upset the bartender with his obtuse attitude. They’re very sensitive when it comes to a lack of intelligence. You can imagine how they must feel about their prince. Anyway the bartender looked at him and said, “Well, you’re just a regular Ninkem Poopp aren’t you?” Of course the idiot in question thought it was a compliment and said something to the effect of, “Oh, I could only wish and aspire to be as half as great as he.” He was promptly run out of the town.

Anyway, when the Witch cackled and said, “The lineage ends with you! For the one person you shall fall in love with shall never love you back!” he looked quite puzzled and then said, “How do you know that?”

“Because I placed a spell on him, you fool” she shouted.

“Ah, I see.” Though it was obvious he didn’t.

And as suddenly as she had come, she left. Crystal’s parents crowded around her, consoling her, and reassuring her, telling her that it would be okay and the Witch couldn’t possibly cast a spell remotely like that. Even though she could and did and they knew it. Then they wasted no time placing her in the tower for her own good so that she would never fall in love. They loved her far too much for that. For, as you well know, to fall in love with someone who will never love you back is the worst curse in the world. Death seemed more preferable to that.

That’s where she waited now, in the tower, alone. But she quite understood that it was for her own good. If she were to fall in love with someone who would never love her back, she would go insane from the sheer frustration and pain.

The parents wasted no time in buying a dragon to guard her. For there would be no prince, no knight able to break in and steal her affections, and then mortally break her heart. Until one day, a knight tried just that, or something like it.

He sat on his white steed tall and proud, daring the world to look at him with anything less than worship and adoration. His white armor gleamed in the light of the sun, and everywhere he went men looked away or fell to the ground. All this worship had gone to his head until he was nothing but an ego in armor. Of course, he didn’t realize that the reason everyone would look away or fall to the ground was because the light of the sun was reflecting off of his armor and searing their eyes.

He rode quickly, but not too fast paced. After all, he wanted to give the impression that he was too important to be hurrying anywhere. Though, in reality, he wasn’t important enough to be needed anywhere.

He had heard of a princess in a tower, guarded by a ferocious beast, and that she was forbidden to love. Or something like that. He reached the land that the Rose family ruled, and found an inn to rest in. The next day he rode on to the city that the Rose family lived in, and the castle that Crystal was kept in.

At last, he was standing before the courtyard, mere yards away from the stairs that would lead to the tower that housed the beautiful princess. There was only one thing in his way: a dragon. The dragon was actually very old. It couldn’t even fly anymore. The only time he had fiery breath was when he ate something he shouldn’t have, and nowadays he wasn’t eating much of anything, so by the time the knight had arrived, the dragon was well and truly ready to keel over dead.

The knight leaped to the ground from his steed. He pulled his sword and approached the dragon. He shouted some sort of challenge at the beast which it couldn’t understand being half-deaf as well as half-dead. The dragon took this moment to conveniently drop dead. Of course the dragon’s death only served to strengthen the knight’s ego and arrogance. He sheathed his sword and made his way up the stairs.

He knocked on the door that was at the top of the stairs. Crystal, expecting it to be one or both of her parents or maybe her maid bringing her her food, opened the door. The knight looked at Crystal. Crystal looked at the knight. They fell in love. It truly was love at first sight, and oh, was it wonderful! The knight forgot all about himself and was enraptured by the beauty that was Crystal. They were both well and truly in love with one another. Crystal, quickly becoming horrified that she might fall in love and have her heart broken, wasted no time in telling him to leave. But he wouldn’t! He had rescued her and he loved her! Upon seeing he would not leave, she gave him a tremendous push. He toppled off of the balcony and plunged to his death.

But now it was too late. Crystal had fallen in love with the knight. The knight in question was dead and, fulfilling the prophecy, could no longer love Crystal. So she lived unhappily ever after. Really.

The End.

A Captured Love

You lay within his arms again, you lay within his bed.
His chilling smile, his alluring style, fills me still with dread.
You sport the bruises of his 'love' and bleed it out the more.
You call him 'love', you call him 'dove', he only calls you whore

"He beats you and mistreats you in the name of love alone,
But my love is sure, my love is pure and forever will atone.
He hates you, yes! berates you 'cause he has no love at all!
But my love refines, my love's divine and saves you from the fall."

You say the tears are poetic and they represent your joy
But he hits you still, until you feel nothing to enjoy
You sing to him to cover all the rights and all the wrongs
But listen please, I beg, I plead do listen to my song

"He beats you and mistreats you in the name of love alone,
But my love is sure, my love is pure and forever will atone.
He hates you, yes! berates you 'cause he has no love at all!
But my love refines, my love's divine and saves you from the fall."

So heed my call and listen to my alluring, loving song
Don't be swayed, he will betray with every single wrong.
He longs for you, he longs to be the beautiful one I am
In his pride, he can't but die and forever be but damned.

"He beats you and mistreats you in the name of love alone,
But my love is sure, my love is pure and forever will atone.
He hates you, yes! berates you 'cause he has no love at all!
But my love refines, my love's divine and saves you from the fall."

So I give myself to ransom you from his deathly hold
I'll give myself to take your hell and make your chains to gold.
He'll take my life and with it he'll believe that he was won
But with my death, I know it best, I'll have you as my love

"He beats you and mistreats you in the name of love alone,
But my love is sure, my love is pure and forever will atone.
He hates you, yes! berates you 'cause he has no love at all!
But my love refines, my love's divine and saves you from the fall."

So come to me and let me whisper words of love and life.
How with my blood, and with my love I captured you from strife.
I defeated him who only wanted you for death itself.
I pulled you out and without a doubt I took away your Hell.

"He beats you and mistreats you in the name of love alone,
But my love is sure, my love is pure and forever will atone.
He hates you, yes! berates you 'cause he has no love at all!
But my love refines, my love's divine and saves you from the fall."

I Walk This Road Alone

I walk this road alone,
Hand in my Father's Hand.
I feel the fear and strangness
of a harsh, unfeeling land.

I sought to find my peace,
I sought to find my bliss.
But everything I ever sought
is all that I now miss.

I wanted you beside me
yet I pushed you further still.
Now I walk an empty valley,
dreading the mountain's hill.

But I walk this road alone,
Hand in my Father's Hand
Despite the fear and strangness
of this harsh, unfeeling land.

I know not the end of time,
or where this road will lead.
I know not how long I tarry,
with feet that start to bleed.

The One who leads me onward
Will lead me where He must.
Perhaps it's on to happiness,
Or perhaps I must be crushed.

So I walk this road alone,
Hand in my Father's Hand
Bearing the fear and strangness
of this harsh, unfeeling land

I've made so many wrongs,
these mistakes that I must bear.
Time will heal the brokeness,
but scars remain so bare

Because I fall and trip
When I seek my own way.
So I must choose the path
That I will walk today.

Will I walk this road alone,
Hand in my Father's Hand?
Through the fear and strangness
of a harsh, unfeeling land?

Will I wander to the left
to find that I can only kill
The things my Father gives me
to make me happy still?

Or will I stray to the right
and gather my demise,
by thinking that my happiness
lies in pain-filled eyes?

I will walk this road alone,
Hand in my Father's Hand.
And Hope, despite the fear,
despite this strange, unfeeling land.

I hope our paths converge again
and I would make you happy still.
But all I ever do is crush you
until you can no more feel.

I don't know what to say to you
I don't know what to do.
If I could have the world,
my friend, I'd ask for you.

God, help me as I walk this road,
hand nestled within your own.
Speak words of comfort to your son,
as we walk this path alone.

The Prince And The Prostitute

Ishi

My name is Prince Ishi. I live in a kingdom far removed from your own. Yet I came to yours to find a bride. The kingdom that I live in has many beautiful women, has many royal women, has many women with many admirable qualities. And I should know. I’ve met every single one of them. At the age of thirty, a member of the royal family (especially one next in line for the throne) is expected to have been married by now and to even have had children.

But I had neither a wife nor children.

My father, King Eli, never worried, didn’t let it bother him that I hadn’t married and fathered him grandchildren. He seemed to know where my life was leading and that all would resolve itself in a while.

I told him of my plans to venture to other kingdoms to find my bride. This also didn’t worry my father. My father has high expectations for me, yet he trusts my judgment and doesn’t worry that I’ll fail him. As things go, he should have been shocked (or in the least, skeptical) that I was venturing away to find a bride.

Marrying outside of the kingdom was a practice that was frowned upon and generally didn’t win confidence with the people. But my father just smiled and said, “Go with God.”

I had journeyed into other kingdoms before, so a quest into the outside world wasn’t a new experience, but there was an underlying excitement about the whole trip because I felt that I would meet the woman that I wanted to marry, a woman that would make my father proud.

The day came, and I was off after a prayer of help to God above.

Lilei

I was weeping again. He hates it when I weep, but I couldn’t help it. I was hurting so much today, and I could barely walk. And to keep up with the master I had to nearly run.

I felt so dirty. I needed to bathe, but the only time I would be getting a bathe was right before…right before the sale. My hair was in tangles, spilling across my face, smearing the last bit of make up that I had on.

I wasn’t a pretty sight. And, after years of verbal and emotional (not to mention physical) abuse that I received from the master, I knew I wasn’t beautiful. No one like me can be beautiful. Oh, I couldn’t move another step, not for the ache! But the chain around my ankle….the slack was drawing thin and I knew that if I didn’t speed up then I would trip up.

But it hurt so much that I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, take another step! And I fell. I was dragged for several yards before the master took notice. And when he did he was furious.

“Get up, whore!”

The painful words were accompanied by the more painful smack of boots on my sore thighs and chest. I was wailing, but as usual the master didn’t care.

And the people in the streets…they must have been used to seeing an unkempt, teenage girl, with long tangled hair, a tan face lathered in makeup, wearing revealing robes, with bruises in places no stranger should see-much less any man in the street,-, being dragged through the streets on a chain, wailing at the top of her lungs, and being abused by the man who was dragging her. Was that a normal sight to these people? Didn’t they care that I was hurting!
No…they just passed by and-if I was lucky-didn’t even look at me. If I wasn’t lucky they might give me a dirty look and even dirtier words.

Finally, the master stopped dragging me, but he was seething.

“You lazy slut!” He screamed, “You’re as useless as the pig-mother of yours was! I‘m only glad she‘s not here with you for then there would be two wenches wasting air! But she can‘t breathe! And if you don‘t start moving you‘ll soon join her in the afterlife, you pitiful excuse for a dog!”

And on his barrage of words went. I tried to tune him out, but if he knew I wasn’t listening he would smack me across the face. I was so ashamed, for I knew the words that he spoke were true. How could they not be?

I should have been getting up to move but I was still so sore from the nights before that I couldn’t had I even tried.

It seemed like days later, but was really only hours, when we arrived at our next stop: the city called Kr’Yan.

I knew that I would be able to bathe, to wash the stench of the filthy vermin from me…but the joy from that was to be short lived, because right after that I would attend the auction…again.

Ishi

The neighboring kingdom to the east of us was called Opelia. The capital city of Opelia was Kr’Yan.

Kr’Yan was a city with a fierce reputation. It was known as the City of Pain and Pleasure.

To look at the inhabitants of the city you couldn’t always tell that there was something wrong about the place in general. The men were strong and tall and cheery; the woman were pretty and knew that their place was with their family at home.

Yet, the city also had a reputation for purple. Purple was a plant that would be ground up and the remnants burned in a glass bowl. What was left would then smoke for a few hours filling the room-or, if lucky, the entire house-indwelling the occupants with the noxious fumes, and making them unaware of all that went on around them. They were prone to all sorts of behavior afterwards, anything from uninhibited sexual notions and acts, to murder, to self-mutilation…the list goes on.

When purple wasn’t being used by the majority of the population, prostitution helped pass the time. Slaves, harlots, and adolescents just starting to grow up were available somewhere if one wanted them badly enough. There was an underlying sense of disease to the whole city. The men and women were lucky to have grandchildren before they were dead, and if they did they could almost be assured that it would live a life of pain. So much pain.

The ones who lived the life of pleasure didn’t live very long, and only ached when they realized that their life was a waste…

The ones who lived the life of pain lived even less and lead the more miserable existence. But everyone lived a life of misery. It just took some longer to realize then others.

And that was the first city on my quest to find a bride. I had no doubt that she wouldn’t be found here. I just wanted to move through that place and then wash my hands of it. But unfortunately we had some business or another to attend to and would be stuck there for a few days. I sighed.

Lilei

The bath was refreshing. I could have spent hours soaking, just washing the cares of the day away…but only if I lead a normal life, only if I lead a pretty life. I hate knowing there’s only one reason I’m allowed to bathe. I hate knowing that the only reason I’m allowed the luxury of cleanliness is so that some strange man won’t be more disgusted when he places his hands on me, when he….I started crying.

I couldn’t take this existence anymore. I just wanted my life to end! But as much as I would have liked to, I was too much of a coward to end my own life. But perhaps I could get someone to do it for me?

No. Customers wouldn’t kill me, they would only make it hurt more and last longer. I was in hell. If the stories I had heard of the gods and punishment were true, then I was a living hell. I had never known a day of happiness in my life, never a day of joy, never a day where I didn’t have to worry about scars, and scabs, and bruises, and bleeding., and tears, tears, and torture.

I was still crying, and I was supposed to be finishing up. I was supposed to be putting on my special clothes now, but I would take my time. The master could only hurt me but so much, maybe kill me…but then, wouldn’t that be grand? Oh…will this hurt ever end?

The master opened the door. He didn’t say a word to me, just motioned to the clothes, laid down some cheap perfumes, and then left.

I bit my lip, and reluctantly, and tearfully dressed.

Ishi

“So, Ish, what do you think she’ll be like? That is, if you don’t mind my asking?”, my friend and advisor, Captain Kendal, asked.

I sighed. I wasn’t sure how to answer this question without inspiring more. The truth was, I really didn’t know. I knew what qualities she should have, the standards, attitudes, and beliefs should be that of someone who was to help me rule a kingdom one day, yet…I had met many women with everything a woman should have and I didn’t love any one of them.

“I don’t really know, friend.”, I eventually replied, and prepared myself for the questions to come.

“Well, I suppose if you knew that, then you probably would have found her by now.”, he simply replied.

I smiled. That was a grand response. And it made me think, if I did know what I wanted wouldn’t I have found her by now?

I sighed and took a swig of my drink.

“Well, sir, whoever she is, I’m sure you’ll know her somehow.”, Kendal said as he stood, “but for now, we need to be about our business.” His tone seemed to imply that he knew she wouldn’t be found in this city.

We were in for several surprises before our business was through, that being one of them.

Lilei

I had dressed, perfumed, and put my make up back on. I hated the garish colors that it produced around my eyes and cheeks. I hated the bright color that my lips became. I hated the lack of covering the clothes produced. I hated the person that I was.

The master was probably still angry at me but he knew that it wouldn’t matter in a few hours because he would start making his money again.

I walked out of the tent towards the master, making sure that I was looking towards his feet and not making eye contact like he commanded.

“Oh! There you are, pup! Ready already? Well, come along.”

He situated the chain on my ankle and started pulling me towards the square where the business was to go down.

Along the way I saw dozen of men and women dressed similarly as myself. There were all there for the same reason, yet some of them looked excited, some were smiling, some were willing, and some were defeated to the point where they knew they had nothing to lose. Not all had masters such as myself. Some of them were there of their own choosing, trying to make a living.

I bit my lip to keep from crying, but even then tears welled up anyways.

We walked for what seemed like an eternity. I endured the leers of would be customers, the angry, dirty looks of other men and women being sold, I heard filthy words hurled at me, and even rocks and food. I had to take care that the food didn’t spoil my outfit or my hair. The master would be furious. I let the tears fall as I walked behind the master. I was hated by everyone and myself. What was love?! Not this repulsive idea of physical intimacy that everyone seemed to thrive on! It had to be more because I knew I wasn’t loved!

I felt the sting on my arms from the rocks that found their target. I felt the sting in my ears as the words found their mark. I felt the spit on my face when I walked too closely to those why were vying against me for the affections of man…man or woman, you never really know from one till the next.

But already my heart was becoming numb. I could only take so much before I broke. And breaking didn’t seem like such a bad idea right then.

And then the auction started.

I watched as one by one, man, woman, boy, and girl was lead up before me and auctioned off for a price to the man (or woman) who could pay the most the longest. I heard the scream from the young ones who still weren’t sure what was going on, and didn’t seem to know that this was their future, their hell. I also heard those who didn’t mind their life of lewdness, those who didn’t seem to realize there was something wrong with selling their body and mind on the street to the highest bidder.

How many of these would not survive this night?

How many would have a baby killed because they realized they were with child?

How many were too young to be with child and were forced into this anyway?

And then, so much time had passed that it was once again my turn to climb the steps that led to the stage, that led to more pain and ache.

My knees buckled as I walked up the stairs, and then I was up and looking at a vast crowd jeering, leering, yelling, and cursing. I felt it in my stomach. I was going to vomit. But no, that was just my heart sinking out of sight, never to be felt again.

My master stood up on the stage beside me, yelling things out at the crowd, incentives for them to buy my soul and desecrate it in as many ways as they liked. I tried making my belly protrude, hoping to look maybe fat, or if I was lucky, with child. But it was hopeless. I hadn’t eaten so much that I had a belly. And my womb was barren so there was no hope of ever having a child. And even if I did…even if I did, the master would make sure the child didn’t last for very long, so as to get my mind back onto my work…his work.

And then the moment that I had been fearing came; a winner. Someone was willing to pay a high enough amount that they had me for as long as they wanted me.

My stomach started churning. I felt as though I were about to pass out, and I had to sit.

I saw the man who had ’won’. He was a fat man, bald, in his forties, missing several of his front teeth, his eyes were just vaguely crossed, and his nose was turned upwards resulting in a vaguely swine-like face.

And this was to be the one who gave me his ’loves’? This man knew nothing of love. But he was only one of a long line that had used me, and abused me in their self-centered search for satisfaction and pleasure.

I tried to hide my disgust but failed miserably. The man only seemed to enjoy the fact that I found him so disturbing as to turn away. I lead him over to an empty tent and entered without him. It was dark, which was only a small consolation, for if he couldn’t see my tears he would soon feel them, among other things.

I didn’t look at the entrance as he entered. But I heard the dull clank as his belt hit the floor. I still didn’t look up.

The man growled and spoke, “Look at me, whore! This is what I want.” And as he set about telling me exactly what he wanted, I retched. I needed help! I couldn’t do this! Not one more time! Was there no one to save me?!

When the man realized that I was not going to give him what he wanted he got angry. He left the tent in search of my master. I thought briefly about escaping, but my legs were still in no condition to run. And anyways, he was just outside the tent. I could hear a few words reach me.

“…slut won’t do a thing!” A laugh. More, louder laughter.

He came back in and said with a twisted smile, “Your master said that I didn’t pay so that you would do anything, but that I paid so I could do everything!”

I could see the darkness shining in his eyes as he approached me. I could smell his stench as he neared. And once I again I bit my lip, and willed myself to go numb, to feel no more.

Ishi

We walked in silence for some time. Both Kendal, and myself had other things on our minds. I was thinking once again of my quest and the inevitable conclusion; that I would find a bride. I was thrilled, of course, but it seemed so difficult. How was I to know her? And if I had met many wonderful women, what would set this one apart?

“Sir, why don’t we step into the tavern that way for a spell?” Kendal asked.

“Of course, Kendal, that will be fine,” we neared the tavern but as we did, our gaze was taken further down the road to the square.

There was a stage with people on it, details were indiscernible. I could see the crowd around the stage, I could hear cheering, the occasional scream, and I had a feeling that something was amiss. I saw tents with men and women running to and from them. But for all that, I didn’t want to check it out. I didn’t want to be sucked into the politics of the City of Pain and Pleasure. I had no desire to find out what was happening.

We entered the tavern and got a table in the corner. An inconspicuous seat with a view of the door so that we could watch all that was coming and going.

A maid approached the table and asked us what we’d like. We told her. I was anxious by this point to be through with this town, to be gone. I felt dirty just walking through the streets.

And then we found out what the crowd in the square was all about.

“Oh, the auction! Oh, that’s something that’s been going on for a long time. Sad, really.”

“What do they auction and why is it sad?” but even as Kendal asked, I knew I didn’t want the answer.

“You mean, you don’t know?”

We shook our heads.

She sighed. “They auction off people.”

Our faces must have told her that we still weren’t fully understanding. I was, I just couldn’t say anything.

She looked uncomfortable as she spoke, “They auction off all sorts of people for all sorts of reasons, but it’s usually so that a man can have his way with a woman…” She got silent, “…or a man…or….” She couldn’t finish, and she walked away.

It was some time before Kendal or I spoke. Of course we had heard of such things, we had heard stories, but nothing like that ever happened in our kingdom.

We finished our drinks, and still we couldn’t speak.

When we did, it was only to ask the maid where we could stay for a few nights.

“Well, if you have money enough, there’s a cottage you can stay in, just down the road. It should be empty now, what with the…Anyway, check there.”

We voiced our gratitude and left.

We returned to our two menservants, Stephan and Michal, who had stayed behind with our carriage as our carriage had all our belongings on it. We told them of the cottage and we set out.

We had no trouble paying for a couple of nights and set about settling down for the evening.

We were in for another surprise that very night.

Lilei

When I came to, my head was groggy, I was incapable of coherent thoughts, and I almost couldn’t remember what happened during the hours that I was awake. I felt strange, disoriented.

Then I remembered that the man had brought in a small dose of purple, and I was still suffering from the after effects.

Immediately after remembering, I realized just how much I hurt. Emotionally, I was incapable of crying. There was nothing but a dull ache inside of me. I knew that in a few hours the pain of what had happened would drive itself into my heart and wedge itself in deeply beside the other hurts that I had. I was hurt physically as well. My lip was bleeding, nearly ripped off from biting down on it, and…

There was blood running down my legs.

I was torn. I was battered. I was bruised. Again. I could barely stand on my legs for the pain, and I was still dizzy from the purple. I felt like I had been hit on the breasts repeatedly, which was probably close to what happened.

I was so tired, tired of living (if living was an applicable word) this way. I was tired of living in hell and wanted so desperately to leave. I was still bleeding, and would have to clean up before I was able to leave the tent. I could barely move though.

I sat back down, and fell on my back.

And then…I wept, and wept.

I heard the man outside the tent making a comment about it not having been worth what he paid, but knew that he had a sickly, twisted smile on his face saying differently.

The master came in and saw me weeping, but I didn’t care.

“Oh, shut up, you miserable whore. You got me two silver pieces. Not a bad price for an ugly dog like yourself.”

He threw a towel and my clothing at me and then left. Probably going to the tavern to have a drop of ale as a pat on the back, to let himself know that he did well.

I hated him. I wanted nothing more than to the take the chain from my ankle and wrap it so tightly around his throat that his tongue would turn purple, his eyes would bulge out, and then maybe, maybe he could get a sense of the pain that I endured day after day after day in this hell! I had imagined killing him in so many ways, but I wouldn’t. He fed me, after all.

No one would take care of a miserable creature like me. No one cared, and no one loved me. I may as well die just to spite the wretched…

I cleaned up as well as I could, but I couldn’t stop the bleeding.

I pulled my dress on and kept the towel underneath in hopes of catching some of the blood. I tried to walk, but fell to the ground. I didn’t want to cry. I had cried enough. I didn’t. Want. To cry.
So I vented my heart by taking one searing step after the other, embracing the pain…enjoying the pain. And I cried. With each step I took, fresh tears sprung to my eyes.

But I walked.

I stopped. Where was I walking to? And while I didn’t have my chain on, would it not be best to try to run away? But where to? And for how long could I survive? I needed money, but I would never again touch a man. Never.

I saw a carriage coming down the street. I saw some men on it. I watched them. I don’t know why I watched them, because I knew that they would be like all the other men in this city, except…except they looked like foreigners. And maybe I was foolish (so foolish) but they looked kind. But I knew it was wishful thinking. I would not find help there, I would only find hurt as they would use me and abuse me and then throw me out with a laugh.

But still I watched them. They looked sombre. Yet, I could tell that their lives had plenty of laughter. They pulled up to a cottage sitting right beside the tavern down the road from the town square. It was on my way. Couldn’t I just peak through the window to see what kind of men these were? No! I couldn’t do that, they were probably dangerous.

Yet.

Something told me to, and I heeded the voice. I knew just a little look wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Ishi

I was relaxing in the chair by the fire, conversing with Kendal about the day when I first heard it. I shrugged it off as imagination, or perhaps a small animal rustling around on the tree by the window. But then Kendal heard it too.

And that was when I saw the face staring in at me.

“Kendal!”

I was quick to call his attention but the face had gone. I told him what I had seen as threw my cloak on and ran outside, preparing perhaps for a pursuit.

But I didn’t have far to go.

For the person had turned to run but had fallen on his face and was writhing in pain on the ground.

And then I realized it was a girl. I say girl but I didn’t know how old she was. She looked like she may have been twenty. A woman then.

I quickly bent down to lend a hand but she just crawled away. I stood in front of her, and said with as soothing a voice as I could muster, “We’re not going to hurt you. Let us help if you are hurt.”

She stopped moving. I held out my hand, but she fought her way up despite the obvious pain that it brought her. She looked cold. The night air had made the temperature drop, and the wind only made it colder.

So we took her in and set her by the fire.

Kendal was the first to bring my attention to the blood. “Sir,” he said, pointing.

The blood was running down her legs. In fact, it had been running for a while for they was quite a bit of it dried already. And then I noticed two things almost simultaneously; one, she had a callused ankle, and two, she had a lot of make up, a lot of gaudy make up that had since run and smeared for all the tears that she had cried.

And I knew what had happened.

Kendal looked away. I saw his eyes shining and knew what he was thinking and knew he was trying to keep from crying. He had two daughters.

My blood ran warm and started to boil. She was a slave, a slave so that one man could make money from selling her.

I wanted him dead, and I wanted him dead in so many painful ways.

“Who did this to you?”

The girl wouldn’t make eye contact. She would look away, fearful. “The master,” her reply eventually came.

“Is he out there? Where is he? I’ll kill him!” I became frantic.

“Ish!”, Kendal said, but I didn’t want to hear any of it. “Ish, just sit and calm down.”

“NO! Someone put her through this for money! Look at her!! She’s hurt, she’s bleeding!! Because of one man! ONE! Think of your daughters, think if it was one of them!!” I was practically screaming then, getting into his face spittle flying everywhere. “She…she was someone’s daughter, she was someone’s baby girl.” I said quietly, tears making their silent course down my cheek.

I left without another word. What more could I say? I would find him.

I didn’t get very far when I was stopped by a man running around the streets.

“You!”, he started “, have you seen a girl running around.”

He described how she was dressed, what she looked like, and I knew…I knew this was him. This was the contemptible, rotten…

I hid my anger just below the surface, letting it simmer and boil, biding my time…

“Oh, yes! I was looking for, maybe, a friend of hers. I think she’s hurt.”

“Well, good. I’ve been worried sick for her.” But he didn’t sound very worried. And I wanted to hit him, wanted to gouge his eyes out for what he had done to the poor woman.

I led him back to the cottage. I opened the door, and I made sure to watch her eyes as he entered. I saw what I needed; fear flickered briefly through them, until she squelched it and let it go.

“Lilei! I’ve been so worried! We must go, girl. Com’mon.” He beckoned for her.

“Wait,” I said, “she’s not going anywhere. Not with you.” I was emotionless, calm, yet seething just under the surface….waiting.

“What do you mean! Of course she is, she’s my daughter and she‘s only fifteen!” he said with some degree of righteous indignation. He was lying, wasn’t he?

“Is this true?” I asked the girl. She nodded, slowly.

And then I blew.

I grabbed him by his coat and swung him into the nearest wall. The cottage shook with the impact. And then I beat him in the face.

“She is your daughter?! She is fifteen, and you havve done this to her?!” I hit him again. He tried to protest, but I continued screaming at him, “a father is supposed to love his daughter.” I hit him again, breaking his nose. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kendal, he wasn’t sure which of us to help, so he didn’t. “A father is supposed to care for her, and nurture her, and protect her!” I hit him again and again and again, he started going limp, he murmured a few incoherent words. I threw him to the ground.

“Look at her!” I screamed. “Look!!!”

I grabbed his hair and forced him to look at her, forced him to see the blood running down her legs, the scars on her ankle, the bruises, the many paths of many tears that had flowed during her life time. I forced him to see a girl that he had hurt so much. And I wanted to hurt him as much, but knew I could never do it.

I let him go. He tried to stand up, but couldn’t, so he lay there wheezing, bleeding, blubbering like the coward he was, a coward who deserved nothing less than death.

I wept. I wept bitterly and did not stop.

He was silent, and unmoved. He simply didn’t care. He was pathetic, because he almost didn’t understand why I did what I had. Kendal hadn’t moved. He was still standing there, weeping as I was.

Lilei watched, shocked and torn between pleasure and terror. She simply watched and made no noise.

“How much,” I asked him.

He looked at me, hate written across his face, silent. Fearful.

I wanted to scream, but lacked the strength, emotionally and physically.

So I asked again, “how much did you make?”

He stared at me still, and then finally answered, “Two silver bits.”

I wanted to hit him again and again. Two. Silver. Bits. That was one weeks pay of honest work! One week! He had sold his little girl over and over, so he wouldn’t have to work for a week at a time!

I was drained. I wanted to scream, to hit, to cry, to kill, but I was empty.

“Kendal. Please get the chest from under the bed.” I asked.

Kendal wordlessly retrieved the chest and set it down in front me.

I gestured to it, and spoke to the man, “This is one thousand gold pieces. I will buy her from you.”

Instantly his eyes lit up with greed. He took no thought for her. With one thousand gold pieces he wouldn’t have to work a day of his life. He looked at her, and then he looked at the chest. I opened it to show him I was serious.

“And,” I continued, “I will give you a mule to carry it. Kendal, help me out please.”

So Kendal and I took the chest of gold and went outside. The man wordlessly followed, and he watched us as we hefted the chest onto our own mule, and strapped it down. Then without another word we went back into the cottage.

“Sir,” Kendal started, “shouldn’t we have-”

I interrupted him, a steely edge to my voice, “He knows the danger as well as any man, if not more. If he wants to travel at night, I will not stop him.”

We wordlessly watched him make his way down the road to the town square. But he was hurrying too fast, trying to escape the town, and the mule wouldn’t have any of it, so it stopped. The chest fell from the back of the mule, hit something hard, and popped open. Gold pieces were instantly illumined by the light of the full moon.

And then…

Two shadows separated themselves from the shadows of night. They ran towards the man as he was hurriedly cleaning up his treasure. I watched the glint of steel as they raised their hands to the heavens and then came down, again and again and again.

At last, sickened by the sight, I turned away.

I looked at Lilei. She was still so scared, unsure, unable to make eye contact.

I knelt by her bed and began to speak

“Lilei, is that your name?” She nodded.

“Do you like that name?” A tear streaked down her face, she shook her head-no.

“I am going to give you a new name. May I?” A shy nod.

“Ok, how about Lady Rose?” A nod accompanied by the briefest of shy smiles. She still would not look me in the eye.

“Rose,” I said, “Would you look at me? Please?” She slowly lifted her eyes to meet mine. They were a dazzling sky-blue.

“You have beautiful eyes.” I said. She started to look away, but caught herself and stopped.

“Lady Rose, I bought you from your father for a thousand pieces of gold. He will never, never bother you again. In his greed and haste, he set out from this place, this city, never to return to you again. In that haste, he uncovered his secret and was killed by thieves. He cannot harm you any more. Rose, I am going to take you far from here. My name is Prince Ishi and my father rules a kingdom in the west. I set out in hopes of finding a woman to be my bride and help me rule in the stead of my father one day. I promise, Lady Rose, that I will never harm you all the days of our lives. I will never hurt you. I will only love you, and cherish you. I will treat you with kindness, with compassion. I will care for you for as long as you live so long as you marry me. I understand that the road will be hard. You are incapable of touching anyone even being assured of their love. But if I can only stare at you for as long as I live, and tell you that I love you, and tell you that you’re beautiful everyday, then I will. Will you join me?”

Lady Rose

I was weeping sorely at that point. How could he love me? He knew who I was, what I was…and yet, I could see it in his eyes, and hear it in his voice. I knew by the tears that he had shed that he cared for me as a person, and would do everything he said he would do. I didn’t understand why, but knew that I was precious in the sight of this man. And I also knew that I would follow him to the end of the world if his love was anything like he said.

Through my tears I was able to reply to his tear soaked question. “Yes, yes I will!”

And then I embraced him, and even though it hurt, and even though it made my skin crawl with memories, and even though it made me want to retch, I embraced him.

Epilogue

Prince Ishi and Lady Rose returned to his kingdom. And the road was rough. It was several months before she could hug him without hurting, without being sick. It was many more months after that, that they discovered her womb was opened and she would bear them a child. It was to be a boy. And they named it Kendal. Ishi’s father was extremely pleased with his son, and instantly loved Lady Rose as his own. Lady Rose had never known the love of a father, a real father, until she met the King. And though it took time, so much time, Lady Rose was healed. And then the crown was passed to Ishi so that together, he and Lady Rose, would rule. And they lived a long time, doing good for the kingdom. Together, they sought out auctioneers, slave owners, and the like and eradicated that evil from the dark places on the border of their kingdom. They formed alliances with neighboring kingdoms. They fought wars, but they lived in peace. Their life was not easy. There were many hard times after that, but they lived in joy, knowing love, true love, and happiness.

The End