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'...