Tales of the Other Earth: Halloween Story 2 M/F Story

August 21, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Wendel Carter stepped out in the early morning light, his briefcase and laptop securely in one hand and a travel mug of blessed coffee in the other. Not a week ago it was still dark in the morning when he left the house, but the spring was on, and another school year would be over before he knew it. He made for the car, but some motion down by the brook caught his eye. At first he thought the Wallabys let their dogs loose again. Browning was a small town, but there were leash laws in the town limits, even if the Wallabys did not like it. Then he heard the arguing. A man and woman were into it. He did not understand a word of what they were saying. It did not sound like English or Spanish, but he knew an argument when he heard one. “Sounds like the school board.” He mumbled to himself. He paused when he got a good look, and the man and woman paused as well when they saw him. Then Wendel nearly dropped his coffee.

The woman was dressed in a long gown of green, which set off her brilliant green eyes and rich earth colored hair that fell from the hood of her open, scarlet cloak. The hood surrounded a very young and pretty face and her hair fell almost to her waist, which was much longer than he was used to seeing. She hardly looked twenty to judge by her face and hands, but she seemed much older since she was not dressed in the kind of skanky clothes so typical of most twenty-year-old girls. She also looked older, he decided, because she had a firm grasp on the hand of what looked like a three or four-year-old; a girl who was also dressed in a gown of sorts. Indeed, they looked like they were on their way to church, and Wendel settled on some such though before he took a closer look at the man.

The man was about Wendel’s age, but like the girl, he also looked much older in certain ways. His face was ugly, to put it mildly, with a big wart on his nose and beady little eyes under very bushy, almost Neanderthal brows. He was not terribly tall, not nearly as tall as the woman, and, in Wendel’s estimation, this made him look more like a dwarf or troll, rather than a man. The man pulled a long blade, something like a Roman style short sword. Wendel took a step back while the man waved it at him and let loose some equally sharp words from his thick lips and near toothless mouth.

The young woman frowned and with her free hand she forced the blade down. She placed the little girl in the ogre’s hands to keep him occupied, which was a very brave thing to do in Wendel’s estimation, given the man’s appearance, and she stepped forward, speaking soothing words in some unknown tongue. She held out her hand, and Wendel automatically set down his briefcase and laptop and raised his own hand to shake; but she grabbed the hand, and there was a white flash of light, and Wendel got very, very dizzy. He needed to sit down to avoid falling down. The woman also needed to sit down, and she did so, facing him.

“Master of Library Science.” The woman said. “Most wonderful, Superintendent of Schools.” It was like she was testing the words to see how they fit in her mouth and on her tongue and lips.

“What hit me?” Wendel asked, sipping his coffee, which he had miraculously kept upright in his hand. The miracle liquid helped a little.

“I am sorry.” The woman said. “But I have encountered many strange things in your world. Ordinarily, I would have only exchanged my language and yours, but in this place I felt I needed some real knowledge of life – in America.” She sounded so apologetic; Wendel was speechless. Then he understood something incredible.

“You mean you picked up English just by touching my hand? Good God!” He was speechless again.

“I am sorry.” The woman repeated her apology. “I should not have invaded the privacy of your mind, but Library Science was there, seemingly unused, and I believe it may be enough to help me adjust in short order.”

Wendel checked quickly. Library Science was still in his mind as well, so she duplicated the knowledge and did not simply take it. He had a Masters in Library Science, and it was where he was headed to get out of the classroom before he had an opportunity for School Administration. He had been Principal of the Middle School while he worked on his Doctorate in Administration. Then the opportunity came up for the Superintendent’s position, and he jumped at it, fool that he was. “Quite all right.” He said at last and he held out his hand a second time. “Wendel Carter.”

The young woman nodded as if she already knew this; but she shook his hand properly this time. “Arosa. Princess of Nova and Queen of Truscas.”

Wendel paused in mid shake. He knew who she was as well, and he also knew something of her story. Apparently she had willingly shared some of herself with him. So she isn’t a thief or a whack-o, he assured himself. But then, he knew that, and he knew one more thing which maybe Arosa did not yet realize. “We need to get you inside.” He said firmly, looking at the three strangers with new eyes. “You must be exhausted.”

“But you will be late for work.” Arosa protested a little as if ready to apologize for a third time.

“Nonsense.” Wendel countered. “I’m the boss. I’ll yell at myself later.” They stood and Arosa turned to Barten-Cur and Lila.

“Come.” She said. “Now is the time to trust in good fortune.” It was spoken in a language Wendel Carter never learned, but he understood every word.

“Remarkable.” He said in the same language as he helped the young woman up the porch steps. The old retainer and the little girl followed.

Reflections: The Four Rules of Great Writing

August 20, 2009August 20, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

1. Write

2. Start at the beginning of the Story and End at the End.

Don’t start with prologues, introductions or background details. That isn’t the beginning of the story.

At the end, characters may have more to say and more to do, but leave that to the reader. Readers like that. If there is a lot more to be said and done, perhaps there is a second story; but for the first story: Start at the beginning of the Story and End at the End.

3. Great writing is not determined by what you put into it, but by knowing what to leave out.

4. Write your own rules. What works for you?

— Michael

Tales of the Other Earth: Halloween Story 1 M/F Story

August 17, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Wendel Carter loved puttering around the garden in the spring, setting down the mulch, planting flowers out front and vegetables in the back, fertilizing and trimming and setting out stones to keep the grass at bay; not that he grew much grass in the middle of nowhere, Georgia. Still, it was therapy. It kept him from thinking. He knew school politics were bad from his years of teaching, but he never imagined how bad they could get until he accepted the position of Superintendent of Schools for the Browning School System, sadly referred to locally as the BS Schools. That thought made him dig a little deeper.

Gardening was therapy for another reason as well. He paused long enough to wipe the sweat from his graying brow and take a long look at the empty house beside the brook. He tried not to think about it, either. He noticed that the white picket fence out front needed painting, as did the porch on the side of the house. He turned his eyes to consider the little apartment above the garage where his mother used to live before she passed. It needed work as well, but then none of that mattered. It was the emptiness of the house and the emptiness he felt inside that claimed him and drove him to seek solace among the shrubs and flowers. Sandra had been a good wife. He could not have complained on that score, and Missy, his sixteen-year-old daughter had been the beat of his heart. It still choked his throat and made tears well up into his eyes to think that the drunk, driving on the wrong side of the interstate, not only survived the wreck, but only got slapped on the wrist for killing a family – for destroying Wendel’s life and surely shredding his heart. Wendel Carter shook his head and drove his spade into the hard red clay that pretended to be soil. “That was four years ago.” He told himself. “Let it go, man.” He tried to let it go, but he still had a few tears left.

*****

Arosa stepped through the little shimmering hole in the air, holding tight to the sleeping three-year-old whose head snuggled into her shoulder The little scamp was mumbling, but not squirming too badly which was good because Arosa had to hold on to her baby with one hand while her other hand grasped the hand of her faithful retainer, Barten-Cur. The old man’s eyes were wide; fascinated with the prospect of the completely new and unknown world they were entering. He noticed it was three hours before dawn in both places and Arosa knew there was not much to be seen in the dark, but she could not help smiling for the child-like innocence and wonder shown on the face of her retainer; because Barten-Cur’s fascination was truly that of a child, and in that respect he was much like Lila, her sleeping baby. Her father used to say that the man was as loyal as a hunting dog, and almost as smart. Still, he was a powerful man of magic. It had taken both of them and some considerable sweat to open the hole between the worlds.

“My Lady.” Barten-Cur spoke softly as if afraid to disturb the child, or perhaps afraid to make their presence known in this new world of wonder. “You must let me look around first. There is no telling what may be lurking in the shadows. There may be dragons or wolves or mandibar, or even dragons!”

Arosa smiled again. “Look here,” she said, letting go of his hand to place hers on Lila’s back, to comfort the sleeping, dreaming child. They watched the hole they had made slowly close. Soon, it was hardly bigger than a child’s ball, and then a woman’s ring and at last it completely disappeared. “We go together.” Arosa told her manservant. “But you may keep your blade ready just in case.”

Barten-Cur grinned with what teeth he had. He was not usually permitted to carry sharp weapons. Arosa, meanwhile, was straining her other senses as well as she could. To be sure, she was very tired from the ordeal of opening the hole between the worlds, but she was fairly sure she could smell manure, and it smelled like ordinary enough cows. There was a stream nearby, and she imagined they might do worse than following it.

“This is farm country, my Lady.” Barten-Cur confirmed; but Arosa was not sure if that was a good thing. On the one hand, the closeness of people spoke against the nearness of wolves or other predators, but then men could be the worst predators of all when they wanted to be. She imagined they would find out soon enough if these people were friendly to strangers, or not.

Ghosts part 17-END M/F Story

August 14, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Series: Strange Tales Story: Ghosts by M Kizzia part 17 END

Mya was the first to arrive back at the scene of the accident. She ran the whole way and was not tired in the least. She never ran in her life before, her foot being the way it was. Now, maybe she was making up for lost time, or at least she never before had such a reason to run, and she grinned at her own thoughts.

She stopped just before she got to the gate and noticed something she had not expected. The young man and the suicide bomber were sitting side by side on the curb, talking quietly. She could not hear what they were saying, and she did not intrude, knowing that would be rude, so she did what she could. She said a little prayer that somehow they might find a way out of the pit they had thrown themselves into – that they might find a solution to the mess they had made of their lives. Her heart went out to them, but she could do no more.

Mya looked down and saw that her high heels had become flats, and she was grateful, knowing that she was going to have to climb up the grassy knoll that held the park bench. She stepped up to the gate and smiled. It was not that long ago she would have had to stand on tip-toes, and even then it would have been hard to open that big, heavy iron gate. Now, she simply reached out, and it was an easy thing to do. As she stepped on to the grass, she was filled with joy and gently closed the gate tight behind her.

She noticed right away that the park bench was taken. The minister was there with his newspaper neatly folded beside him, and she almost clapped to see the burly man beside him. The man’s arm looked fully restored, and most of his face was whole as well. “Thank you, thank you.” She lifted that prayer as well. Clearly, the minister still had some work to do, and just maybe he could add another name to that book of his in heaven. She thought it was good that everyone had someone, and she had Nathan, except right at the moment, she did not have him. She nearly doubled up for want of him, and she cried out.

“Nathan!” When she heard no response she almost collapsed. She screamed, “Nathan!” It was as loud as she could, and then she heard an answering call.

“Mya! Mya!” He had come in the other gate and he was running to her. He was running! Mya jumped and started to run as well, but she did not get far before they were wrapped up in each other’s arms and he was kissing her everywhere on her face, on her forehead, eyelids, cheeks, ears, on the tip of her little nose, and he did not neglect her lips, and she kissed him right back before she finally pressed her head into his chest and shoulder. They were crying, but there were no more sad tears left in them. These were tears of pure joy. They had found each other and they held each other so tight it was almost as if they were trying to absorb each other into the depths of their souls.

“I am so happy. I am so happy.” Mya kept repeating her words into his chest, and he also kept repeating the same phrase.

“I love you. I love you.” He said.

After a while, Nathan took a step back in order to look into Mya’s eyes where there was no hiding that special smile than showed everywhere on her face. Nathan returned her smile as they wrapped up in each other’s arms and kissed for a very, very long time. When the earth began to tremble beneath their feet, they thought it was only a result of what they were feeling. When that trembling increased, though, they thought they had better look. There was a hole opening up on the green between this world and someplace else, and they separated to stand side by side and watch in wonder, though they never quit holding hands.

Neither knew where that other place might be, though they both knew very well. All they could see was a brilliant light, pure and holy so it made them tremble, but warm and inviting so they knew they were welcome. As usual, Mya was the first to speak.

“Perpetual light.” She named it, but it sounded like a question so Nathan responded.

“It is.”

“Do you know how much I love you?” Mya asked.

“I do. And how much I love you?”

“I do.” Mya and Nathan squeezed each other’s hands. “But I was thinking, now that I know what love is, do you know how much I love the one who first loved us?”

“Exactly.” Nathan affirmed her feelings and confirmed his own. “With all your mind and all your heart and all your soul and all your strength.”

“That is the first commandment.” Mya said, looking up at Nathan once more, seeking his assurance, just in case.

He nodded for her and that brought out her most radiant smile, and they turned and walked into that perpetual light, side by side and hand in hand, forever.

Reflection: Tyranny by any other name still smells…

August 11, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Tyranny deletes freedom by definition. It limits or eliminates choices. Others make decisions on your behalf: what you must do, where you can go, and at times even what you must wear. German Jews in the thirties wore the Star of David. There was no debate. The face of democracy in Myanmar is currently under house arrest — at least through the next election.

The military is a tyrannical system (perhaps by necessity) where people with rank tell those without rank where to go and what to do and even what to wear. The fact that the military is often successful in its missions is to be considered. Tyranny is not necessarily cumbersome or inefficient – not like democracies. Mussolini made the trains run on time, and the people of Italy rejoiced.

But to succeed, there are two things tyranny must do: it must dehumanize people, and it must insulate (isolate) those at the top so their decisions are not touched by people (common humanity).

First: Sometimes, tyranny may demonize people, like the Jews in Nazi Germany or like the Nobility in the early days of the French Revolution; and it is not uncommon to so characterize the perceived enemies of the prevailing tyrannical order. And to be sure, enemy lists are common: keep that in mind all of you wacko-liberals and conservative, right-wing extreemists!. Yet for most people – those not actively engaged in some form of dissent – at the least, tyranny must dehumanize. This is the only way to insure that “a few people” can make those hard decisions that may mean life or death for “most of the people” living under the tyranny. It might be hard to deny Bob or Mary their daily bread. It is not so hard to deny 276-B and 617-M.

The military is well known for name, rank and serial number. That the men and women have names is nice, but what really matters is the rank and serial number. In the military, people are not people, they are numbers; and if you doubt the dehumanization that the military does in order to function effectively, try some basic training.

Second: It is imperative that those at the top be isolated in order to make the hard decisions without being swayed by genuine human considerations. This follows like night and day from the need to dehumanize. Those at the top and also those on the job need to live in a psychological bubble, if not in a real one. This is the way bureaucrats have worked successfully since the beginning of time. The chief defense for death camp prison guards at Nuremburg was “I was just doing my job.” It did not matter to them that people were being gassed and thrown into ovens. “I was just paid (required) to do my job, and that is all I did.” The bubble is imperative for any tyrannical system to operate effectively.

Why is this important? Because too many people are suffering and I cannot see any relief on the horizon.

Tyranny through the last century and into this one has come in many forms. One primary form has been in the board room and the upper reaches of the corporate world, and it is particularly apparent when a company becomes “Too big to fail.” Hundreds of thousands of jobs have been lost over the past several months at an alarming rate. Do you think anyone has lost any sleep over that fact? Corporate Executives generally cannot even name a person on the “front lines” in their own business. It’s just numbers. We had 50 in that department. Now we have 30. (And to be clear, those 30 now have to work like slaves for fear of their own job). Meanwhile, 20 more have joined the ranks of people who through no particular fault of their own have been discarded. Yet the company goes on, telling people what to do, where to go (if they want to keep their job) and even what to wear (dress code).

And, of course, there is the government. Now, you knew this was coming so don’t get your partisan knickers in a twist. Instead, let’s go back a bit in time. One (if not the) primary purpose of the United States Constitution was to guard against tyranny. The Great Experiment, so-called, was to have a severely limited and deliberately restricted central government which would be responsible for the minimum duties deemed necessary for unity. The central government was to keep its hands off and fingers out of everything else…everything. Life was to be in the hands of the states, the local communities and with certain individual liberties guaranteed. I don’t believe anyone would argue with the fact that we are a long way from the American ideal. These days, it is nearly impossible to find any aspect of life where the federal government does not have some stake – a finger if not a whole hand. So what happened?

It is debatable, but just as fast as I can put it: I believe the tipping point came when the Union (central government) forces beat the States (we called it the Civil War). And Lincoln was a Republican. By the time of Herbert Hover (another Republican) things had slid so far (and the central governors had become so isolated) the answer perceived for the stock market crash was MORE regulation and HIGHER taxes. (Can you say, “Let them eat cake?”). Of course, this led to the election of FDR, (a Democrat) who, far from pulling the government back from intervention in life, actually accelerated the process. (Crisis you know: Depression and then the war). The agricultural business in this country was socialized so long ago by price supports and subsidies, we don’t even question it. Likewise steel, railroads, well… etc. Then, LBJ (another Democrat) further accelerated the process by designing federal programs that actually encouraged dependency which, to speak plainly, encouraged the tyranny of the central government to tell people what to do, where to go, where to live and how much they were worth!

I believe both Kennedy and Reagan (in their own ways) did try to slow down the growth of tyranny, but more recently, Clinton sped it back up again, and so did Bush.

So now we have Obama and we find we are going to be told what kind of cars we can drive, what our salary will be, how much money we can make with the warning that if we make too much, it will be taken from us. We are to be told what doctor we can see, what treatment we can get if we get ill, how we can heat or cool our homes, what energy we are allowed to use, and how much it will cost us… and what can you do with your own property without getting nine million permits and plan approvals first, not the least from the EPA.

With all of this, do I blame Barak Obama? Absolutely not. He is the conclusion, not the premise. So what then, is the Great experiment over? Despite all of the safeguards built into the system by the founders, have we slid into tyranny anyway? Perhaps we have. What I really want to know, though, is what our uniform is going to be. It can’t be brown shirts. That’s been done. Personally, I vote for green shirts. That would seem to fit the current culture and climate.

Ghosts part 16 M/F Story

August 10, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Series: Strange Tales Story: Ghosts by M Kizzia part 16

Nathan found himself in a funeral home. He did not have to guess what was going on nor for whom the festivities were. Since Nathan was cremated, there was no need for a graveside ceremony. He listened from the door as the minister up front droned on in the funeral service. The man talked about the love of God, but he hardly understood what he was talking about. Still, he did get one thing right: that God loves us and he is merciful and giving, and right then and there Nathan changed his tune from accusing God of setting him up to thanking God for Mya. He felt he could hardly thank God enough.

This man also talked of perpetual light. Nathan could vouch for the light. He saw the angel and the old woman who knew all about loving God. Nathan knew that love was the key. He remembered the phrase about faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love, he thought to himself. And again, he knew that was true.

After the formal service there was a receiving line where everyone who attended, most of whom were church members or childhood friends of Stephen or Susan, could pay their condolences. Nathan got in the back of the line and he thought of everything he wanted to say.

He never knew what love really was until he met Mya. His mother was bitter from her childhood days in the war. His wife found him convenient for a time, and he thought he loved her, but now he realized he really did not. He was just grabbing at what he saw as a kind face that would feed back to him what he needed to hear. When she realized he was never going to be president of the company, she dumped him. But for a minister? Well. He shrugged it off.

He thought he should apologize to Lisa. He never told his daughter about love. He never taught her because it was something he did not understand himself. That was a terribly sad thing both for him and his daughter, but he supposed it could not be helped. Even sadder was watching her perpetuate the cycle of the lack of love. She drove her husband away, scum that he was. Nathan had no doubts about that. And then she proceeded to pass the same dysfunction on to her two children.

Susan was just like her mother, getting harder and crustier every day. Her two perfect children were perfect because they did not dare step out of line. Yet Nathan had learned something about human nature in the last day or two. Human nature was very resilient. God made it so. Nathan imagined in the years to come one or both of those children would become true rebels. He only hoped and sent up a little prayer that it would not be the self-destructive kind of rebellion that lead to everyone’s heartbreak and an early grave. He hoped something good might come out of it, like a new view of life and a real chance at love.

Stephen, on the other hand, had married a wonderful girl. It was too bad he was such a pin head. He was going to lose her, Nathan had no doubt, and with her his great-grand. She was the only child of his issue that maybe had a chance for real life. God, how he wished he could be there to watch her and help her grow along the way. He wished he could be there now since now he knew what love was.

The line shuffled forward slowly and Nathan came to realize there were more people there than he imagined there would be. He had supposed that it would be a very small affair. Most of his old friends were already dead; well, just about all of them, and the few survivors were in far away places, mostly below the Mason Dixon line in retirement communities or nursing homes.

Nathan jumped, just because he could. He was twenty-something years old and he was so glad he would never see the inside of one of those nursing homes. Maybe that suicide bomber did him a favor, and he grinned and thanked God again for yet another thing. He felt the love of God very strongly at that moment, and he loved God right back just as strongly as he could. God is good. He kept thinking that, and he wondered if that was something he could tell Lisa.

Lisa, I am all right. God is good. Don’t worry about me. I have met the most wonderful girl, make that woman, and I am going to be with her, God willing, and happy forever. To be sure, God gave her to me and she is everything I ever dreamed of. She is twenty-something, but so am I now; but you know, even if she were seven, I think I would become seven just so I could be with her.

He paused. With that thought, he watched the last of his reluctance slip away. It did not matter if they were both seven or both eighty-four. He just loved her. He just wanted to be with her, and she wanted to be with him, and that was that.

Lisa, I know I will be very happy; and he did know it. I pray that you will be happy, too. He could only pray for his daughter.

Then Nathan hit on a thought. It was not the goodness of God that was Lisa’s problem. It was her trust. It was her inability to trust God or anyone else for that matter. It was her incessant need to be in control, to never let anything be out of control, to be in charge to be sure things stayed in control, the way that she wanted them to be.

Lisa, he wanted to say, there is so much in life, in this world that we cannot understand when we are in the middle of it. There is so much we cannot control, my own demise being exhibit “A.” You can’t be in charge of death, or the weather, or of the way other people think and feel. At some point you just have to let go and let God, as the Baptists say. At some point you just have to trust in a God that is even greater than I can imagine, and I am standing on the cusp of running into him. At some point, and honestly it is at all points in life, you can only do so much and then you have to trust God to work things out; and, you know? If you will just give God a chance to be in charge, if you will just let God be in control, you may be surprised, like me, when he works things out in a way that is more wonderful and incredible than you can ever dream or imagine. Please, Lisa, just give God a chance.

Nathan thought all of these things and more, but then he came to stand before his daughter. He was flabbergasted when she reached out and shook his hand. She squinted at him for a moment as if trying to place him and even asked, “Do I know you?”

Nathan startled her by kissing her on the cheek. “Just in this.” He said. “That God loves you and wants the best for you if you will let him give it to you, and your father loves you, too, and he will always love you even if he never told you so.” Then he rushed down the line without speaking to anyone else until he came to Stephen’s daughter, little Emily. He kissed her smack on the forehead. “Be good and live a good life.” He told her. “And always remember that God loves you and your great-grandfather loves you too.”

“Grandpa Nathan?” Little Emily looked up at him and he winked and ran out of there as fast as he could. He knew where Mya would be and he did not want to be late.

Ghosts part 15 M/F Story

August 7, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Series: Strange Tales Story: Ghosts by M Kizzia part 15

As the mist faded, Mya felt utterly lost and alone. The fact that she found herself in a graveyard did not help one bit. When she looked down, though, she saw it was the grave of her grandfather. There was a space beside him for her grandmother when she died, but Mya knew Grandma was still alive because so far the space was untouched. So why am I here? She asked herself. She could not see anyone around. It was a slow walk in those heels to get to the top of the little hill, but she made it without mishap and there she looked all around and saw that she was not far from a canopy tent. There were chairs set up there, and a little grave with the coffin waiting to be lowered to its final resting place. Mya knew whose grave it was before she saw the stone that would be set up. It was her own, and she tried to cry. She felt she should cry for herself, but she could not cry. She was much too happy about Nathan.

Nathan! That thought ran through her head like a shot. She had to get back to him, but just then cars began to pull up on the narrow, one-way gravel drive. People were getting out and coming to the graveside. Mya recognized a couple of her childhood friends, her best friends, her only friends. As a child with a crippled foot, she did not have many friends, and that almost did bring a tear to her eye.

Then she saw her mother and she ran to her, almost stumbling once because of the heels. That caused her to think before acting, and in the end she decided to accompany her mother from a little distance and again she nearly cried because she wanted a hug so badly.

She stood a step back and watched the others come. Her relatives sat in the chairs. The others stood, making nearly a full circle around her little grave. Then the priest came and he talked about the love of God. She knew that was true, absolutely, and she lifted up her heart to the almighty in thanksgiving for Nathan, and she realized then what Nathan had already figured out in the bathroom; that this whole thing was a set-up from the beginning. That God knew all along that she and Nathan belonged together, but they never would have met if she had not missed the school bus, and they never would have even been close unless they died.

“Thank you.” She cried out to God. “Thank you.” And she felt then and there that she truly loved God even as he loved her and she felt warm and unafraid and never alone. Still, she understood that for those gathered around the grave, these were hard words to hear. If only she could tell them. If only she could assure them of God’s love; but then she knew that they would learn some day, even as she had, and she prayed for every one of them that was sitting and standing there.

She heard the priest talk about perpetual light, and she thought of the angel who glowed so brightly she could hardly look upon him, and again she felt the love of God flow through her, and she reciprocated and loved God all the more, and then all at once she understood something she had not quite understood before.

The priest gave the benediction and Mya drew near to her mother, and she spoke, even knowing that her mother could not hear her. “Mother.” She said. “I know what love is. Mother. Do you understand? You did a wonderful job. You have nothing to be sad about. I know what love is, Mother. God is love. I am all grown up now, Mother, and God has given me the most wonderful man in the whole world to love. And I do love him, Mother, with all of my heart, but first I loved you, only I did not understand what that was.” Mya paused and reached out toward her mother’s face, but she did not touch. All the same she saw her mother turn briefly to look in her direction. “First with you, and now with Nathan, I know what love is, Mother. God is love.” And Mya watched while Sam, Mother’s friend, came up and placed his hand gently on her mother’s shoulder.

“Sam.” Mother reached up and patted that hand and then left her hand there as if not wanting him to go away. “She would have made a beautiful woman.” Mother said. “I can almost see her all grown up and all filled out.” Mother tilted her head to the side a little the way Mya did once and though she was not looking at Mya she spoke this way: “I see her in a purple sundress and lavender heels to match, and she is lovely. No, she is beautiful.”

“I am so sorry.” Sam said as Mya leaned forward and kissed her mother on the cheek. Mother paused and put her hand to her cheek and then began to weep as Sam helped her back to her feet. Mya watched while Sam escorted her to the waiting limo, and Mya finally cried for her mother. She knew her mother was only twenty-seven and Sam was not much older. She hoped and prayed that they would be good for each other and she hoped and prayed that her mother would never forget about love.

“You did I good job, Mother.” Mya repeated herself. “I know what love is.” Then the cars pulled off and Mya thought to run. She pulled her heels off to run faster because she knew where Nathan would be and she felt if she did not see him soon, she would burst for the love of him.

Ghosts part 14 M/F Story

August 3, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Series: Strange Tales Story: Ghosts by M Kizzia part 14

When the morning came, Nathan was the first to wake. He did not think anything special and did not immediately remember the past couple of days, being in his own bed and in his own place. He did wonder, though, who this immensely comfortable female creature was that was snuggled so tight against him. He heard her let out a little sigh or sound of utter contentment and it prompted him to look down. She had the most radiant, raven hair that came back easily to his hand and that revealed a face that was absolutely stunning with high, thin brows and rosy cheeks, long dark lashes which somehow he knew covered big, beautiful brown eyes. She had a little nose and sweet little ears and wonderfully luscious thick lips, but not too thick, he thought. Then he looked further and let his hand run down her back. She was young and masterfully made, slim in all the right places and well toned, and all her curves were perfect in every way, and she had the most utterly gorgeous bumps. He sat up like a rocket. Mya opened her eyes slowly at first. Nathan hopped out of bed and grabbed the clothes he had set on the back of the chair.

“So is it that bad?” He heard Mya ask, but he had already shut himself in the bathroom and he was trying to get his racing heart to calm down. He could not help looking in the mirror. He looked to his own eyes to be about twenty-four, or anyway, not over twenty-five. He looked at the back of his hand and there were no spots or wrinkles, and not even a hint of such things. The skin was firm, but with the elasticity of youth. And he had abs, and a perfect hairless chest, and he could not help lifting his arm and making a muscle; but then all that time he was wondering if Mya would like it. He could not stop thinking about her. She was perfect. She was almost too perfect.

There was a knock on the door. “So was it that bad?” Mya asked through the doorway.

“No.” He shouted back. “It was that good.” It was too good. It frightened him, and what he was feeling frightened him even more. He was not going to be able to hold out very long. If he thought Mya was beautiful, absolutely attractive and sexy at eighteen, that could hardly describe what he thought now that she was twenty-two. Anyway, she was certainly over twenty-one. “I’ll be right out, and it was perfect, only I think we need to get dressed.” Nathan put his ear to the door for fear that he might hear her start crying again. He breathed because of the silence, and then he dressed in his slacks and polo shirt, not even realizing that the suit was gone. Then he had a thought and promptly accused God. “You knew this from the beginning. You set this up. How could you?” He did not expect an answer, but he felt now that him being eighty-four and her being seven should no longer be an obstacle. In fact, it took a second for him to remember how old he had been and how old she had been.

There was another knock. “Are you coming out?” Mya was getting impatient.

“Hold on.” He said. He looked in the mirror again. He looked twenty-four and felt twenty-four, and he was thinking like a twenty-four year old and could hardly help it considering what was waiting for him in the other room; and then he realized that he was acting like a twenty-four year old as well, locked in the bathroom, scared out of his wits by the beauty of the woman.

He opened the door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, mercifully dressed in a purple sundress with white flowers. Mya stood right up and he saw that the dress was quite short, and she was standing in high heels. Along with everything else, he was not surprised that she had incredible legs, and those heels. He bit his lower lip and noticed she was biting hers, looking at him with big eyes filled with trepidation.

“You look spectacular.” He said in complete honesty except for thinking that the word spectacular was not good enough so he added the word, “Awesome.”

Mya reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Only his head had been sticking out the door. She pulled him all of the way into the room and said, “Wow!” and rather loudly, and she made him turn around once so she could get the full view. “That does it, I don’t care what you say. You are my boyfriend and I am your girlfriend whether you like it or not. If I so much as catch another girl looking at you I’ll poke her eyes out.” Her mouth was open that whole time and Nathan had to reach out and tap it closed.

“Scratch.” Nathan said. “Women scratch each other’s eyes out.”

“That too.” Mya said with that irresistible smile and she stepped up, right into his arms. What could he do but hold her? She certainly did not mind. He noticed that barefoot, Mya topped out at his chin, but in these heels her eyes came up to where he could kiss both eyelids without bending in the least. He did that, and watched her flush. She pulled in closer, if that was possible, and raised her lips. He met her half way, and he was thinking all sorts of terrible, wonderful thoughts when he remembered her again as a child. He broke it off and broke free, turning his back like when he turned to the sink. He knew the issue of their ages was a sham. He had no excuse there. It seemed on that score they were designed for each other, and judging by her reaction to him, he imagined on looks they were equally designed for each other, and he knew in terms of compatibility, they were also designed for each other. He was already reading how she felt about things. It was how he felt. And he understood the way she thought because that too was how he thought. Yet there was one other thing, a small thing perhaps, but very important.

“No.” He said. He was shaking his head sharply in denial. “It’s just. I can’t.” He paused because even he knew that was not true. He could so very, very easily. “I just want you to be happy, that’s all.” He did not say anything about his own feelings of inadequacy. He hurt his mother when he married a Baptist. He failed to make Mildred happy. He failed with Lisa. He hurt and failed with every woman who ever loved him, and likely ever person who loved him. He would rather die than hurt Mya. He did not say these things, but it was in his voice. When he said “I just want you to be happy,” he might as well have added, “And I don’t believe that I am able to do that.”

Mya sat on the edge of the bed and sniffed just once. “But that is all I want, too.” She responded. “I mean, I just want you to be happy.” She sounded utterly sincere before her voice took on the sound of determination. “And I feel if the only way I can make you happy is to go away, then I will go away.” She sounded sniffly again with those last words, and then Nathan heard her crying, but softly, as if she was trying to hide it.

Nathan spun around to face her. “No. Don’t do that. That isn’t what I meant.” He lifted Mya from the bed so she could stand and face him, and he held tight to both of her hands while she sniffed back the tears and looked into his eyes. “I don’t ever want you to leave me. I would die if you left.” He was serious. He was afraid to be with her, certainly in that way, but he knew he could not live without her. “Please stay.” Nathan pleaded and he almost got to his knees to say it, and then he really looked at her and he saw the slow spread of Mya’s lips until she was grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat. Nathan pulled back a little to look sternly in Mya’s eyes.

“I was hoping you would say that.” She spoke through her grin. “I really, really wanted you to say that.”

“Why you…” Nathan had to think for a second to come up with just the right word to get his revenge. “Why you woman.” He concluded and with that word, he surrendered.

Mya stepped up a little and put her arms up on his shoulders, clasping her hands around the back of his neck while he dropped his hands to her slim waist and slowly found them encircling the small of her back.

“You’re a Pinocchio, sort of.” Nathan said, now grinning as broadly as Mya. Mya laughed just a little, and it was no child’s giggle but a wonderful, warm and tender genuinely grown-up laugh. And she nodded.

And all this time they remained locked in eye contact. Then all at once the smiles vanished and Mya’s lips parted ever so slightly and they drew in to each other just as tight as they could and they kissed. Mya kissed him, not like a little girl might kiss her grandfather or even as a daughter might kiss her father, but as a woman who was absolutely and completely in love with this young man; and Nathan kissed her back like a vital young man who remembered, no, knew for certain what it was like to be on fire for the woman he loved. It was perfect, and they might have remained that way forever if not for the tug.

The lips parted first so they could look into each other’s eyes and note that they both felt some sort of tug on their backs. It came again, stronger than before, and became a steady pulling that wanted to separate them, pulling them in opposite directions, away from each other, and it was growing in strength. At first, they clung to each other and tried to hold on, but the pulling became too much to resist. They held each other by the shoulders, then the elbows, then the hands as the room around them began to fade away to be replaced by a kind of gray fog. As they grasped hands in mid air, their legs straight out behind them pulling ever so hard, struggling equally hard to hang on to each other, Nathan finally called her for the first time by name.

“Mya!” And they parted, speeding up as Mya was pulled away, and she screamed her response.

“Nathan!” and it echoed in the mist.

Ghosts part 13 M/F Story

July 31, 2009July 31, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Series: Strange Tales Story: Ghosts by M Kizzia part 13

When they got to Nathan’s first floor condo, he knew the door would be locked so he went in through the door, bringing Mya with him. “I didn’t know we could do that.” Mya said when they were inside.

“We did it at the theatre.” Nathan pointed out. How could she not have noticed?

Mya looked down. “I had other things on my mind at the time.” She answered his unasked question and then ran a finger through the dust on the little table by the door. “Nice mess.” She turned her little nose up just a little.

“Welcome to my pad.” He said, and he brought her into the kitchen where he turned on the light.

“Not too bad.” She said, looking around the room. “I could live here.”

“No.” Nathan shook his head and she almost looked upset for a second, thinking that he might exclude her from some part of his life. “You deserve better.” He finished his thought and she smiled. Then she turned serious and took his hands and made him sit down beside her. She worried his hands a little as she spoke.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier, you know, about the way this world has become. I don’t want to be like that so I have to say this.” She had to clear her throat and Nathan thought it sounded so cute. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

“No, no.” Nathan started, but Mya slapped his hand softly.

“Quiet. Stop treating me like a child. Let me finish.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Go on.”

Mya cleared her throat again and paused. She almost laughed when she saw the smile on Nathan’s face. She cleared her throat in an exaggerated way and they both laughed before she lowered her eyes and began to worry his hands again. “Anyway.” She used his word and said it with the same inflection he used. It almost got them laughing again. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you and I shouldn’t have asked you to be my boyfriend. Maybe I’m not old enough for that yet.” She was being more than gracious. She knew she was old enough on the inside, and he knew it, too. She looked up at him because she seemed to be finished and she was only waiting for him to respond.

“First of all, you have no need to apologize for the kiss.” He thought about it and was as careful as he could be in how he described it. “It was very nice and I kissed you too, you know.” Mya looked down. Clearly she thought the kiss was more than just very nice. “And as far as being old enough, I know you are.”

“But.”

“Now you let me finish.” He said, and she quieted.

“I’ve been watching you very closely, and I have seen the changes you have gone through. Somehow, you have been growing up and maturing on the inside faster than possible for a living person, but I know it is real. I have seen how you have responded to people and situations, and I know the difference between a child and a teen and an adult. In fact, I would say you are an adult now, already. You are absolutely no seven year old trapped in a grown up body. If anything, I was thinking your outside body has just been adjusting to keep up with your age on the inside. You said you did not want to be a child forever, well now you certainly won’t be.” His eyes looked her up and down. He was a man, and far younger than he used to be so he could not help it, but Mya caught the look and leaned forward, exposing herself just so and spoke in a more husky voice

“So, do you like what you see?”

She was smiling, joking again, but Nathan growled a little, stood straight up and turned toward the sink, turning his back on her. “Don’t do that.” He spoke sharply, and she responded with a little anger, or perhaps some frustration.

“And what about you? You were nothing but a pot bellied bag of bones. Your arms were so spindly I was afraid at first if I squeezed too hard the bones would just snap in two. But now look at you. You can’t be more than thirty, and you have real arms and muscles and a flat belly and a chest and… and I better not say anymore. But you know what I mean. You have shed far more years than I have gained. Where have they gone? You’re not old enough to be my father anymore, maybe not even if I was still seven.”

“That isn’t the point.” Nathan turned toward her still angry, but he softened the instant he saw her and he realized that she was genuinely struggling with all of this. She knew what she was feeling, but she needed to know what he was feeling. She needed to understand, and he could tell by the look in her big brown eyes that she would never force herself on him if he honestly felt that it simply was not right.

He spoke with all the tenderness that was in him and explained things once again as well as he could to this little girl. “I remember being eighty-four. It is a bit like a dream or maybe a story I read once, but I remember working all those years, and all the bad times and good, though maybe not so many bad, I think. Still, even if it does not exactly feel like me anymore, I know it was me. And you. I remember you as a frightened little rabbit, just seven years old with a bad foot and a limp, begging for a ride home so you and your mother could visit your grandmother who was dying. I remember you that way like it was yesterday, because it was just yesterday. Do you know what they call old men who take liberties, like do things with seven year old girls? I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“But you just said I am far from seven, and you are becoming a very attractive young man. Isn’t there somewhere we can meet in the middle?”

“No. Stop it. Not now, not tonight. I don’t know.” He turned again to face the sink. “It is just how I think of you and me, fool that I am. I’m sorry.”

Mya started to cry, and after a moment, Nathan sat down beside her and held her. He could do that much. He never wanted to hurt her. It was breaking his heart to even think that he was hurting her. But what could he honestly do? She was weeping, holding on to him for dear life and wracked with tears, and he was crying right along with her.

At last, as always happens, the tears subsided for a bit and Nathan helped her to her feet. He practically carried her to the guest room where he pulled down the covers. “I think it would be best if you slept here tonight.” He said as he glanced at the clock. “It is almost eleven.” He said. “I don’t know about you but it is way past my bedtime.” Mya laughed once through her teary eyes. Of course it was way past her bedtime too.

“Mother would be very upset to know I stayed up this late.”

“Mine too.” Nathan agreed and then he explained before Mya could ask. “My daughter, Lisa. She treats me more like she is my mother than my mother ever did.” He sat Mya on the bed. “And I am her wayward son.” He added with a touch of his finger to her little nose. That made her smile, but it also caused her hand to go up and caress his cheek. She grinned, almost appearing happy again as she brushed his unruly hair behind his ear. “Now go to sleep.” He said, backing up to the doorway. “You think about it.” He said. “And pray about it.” He added. “And I promise I will do the same. Maybe in the morning we will be able to figure this out.”

Mya nodded. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He said and turned toward his room.

“Good night.” He heard Mya again, but he dared not answer her again.

Mya got out of her gown, not wanting to wrinkle it. She had already decided to sleep without it but was kind enough to wait until Nathan left before getting undressed. She found, then, that she could crawl under the covers, something she was not sure she could do, and she snuggled under the sheets expecting to get a good sleep.

Nathan also got undressed, but it was because he felt he had worn the same suit for two days and that was long enough. He left his boxers on, though, and crawled into bed. He was confused. He was more than confused. He was madly in love with the girl and he knew it. She was the most beautiful creature in his eyes that he had ever seen, and he lived a long time and saw a lot. What was his problem? God, what is my problem? He almost said that out loud as he closed his eyes for sleep. Then he had a thought, and apparently Mya had the same thought at the same time. The angel said they had two times a time between and a half time. He translated that as a half a day, two nights and one day between They had a half a day on the day of the accident, and then last night and the day. What if this was their last night on this earth? What if they were taken up in their sleep? What if they were separated and never got to see each other again? He was about to rise when he heard Mya at the door. She came over quietly and pulled up the covers, and then she crawled in and pulled up against him, holding on and laying her head in the crook of his shoulder. His arm went around her of its own volition. He could not help that, but he honestly thought it was best if he pretended to be asleep. All he knew was if he was going to be taken anywhere in the night he was going to do everything he could to take her with him, and she felt the same.

Reflection: The Proof for God: Religion vs. Science continued.

July 30, 2009M G Kizzia 1 Comment

Is God a Mathematician? That is the title of a new book by Mario Livio. I am sure it is a fascinating book, but the short answer is, duh! Of course he is, and everything else as well if I read the PR correctly.

In Switzerland, Scientists are touting the new multi-billion dollar, seventeen miles worth of particle accelerator where they hope to find what THEY call “the God Particle” (The glue that holds matter together). It is all nonsense to equate any particle with God, you know. Particles, by definition are neither theistic nor atheistic; but I am sure they are just using the name like some manufacturer might use the terms, “new and improved,” or like so many food venders presently use the terms “natural” or “organic.” It doesn’t necessarily mean what it says.

Then, another recent publication is the book by a former Christian Scientist – a reporter who reportedly went in search of the science part. The conclusion, as I understand it, is she grew closer to some of her Christian Science family and friends, but she did not really find it – not exactly.

I would have been surprised if she found any scientific evidence at all.

Science and the scientific method have a marvelous place in the universe. With mathematics, we may be able to eventually understand everything there is to know about matter and energy and the relationship between the two and science may describe for us the beginning and the end of the universe (especially if it turns out that energy can be created and destroyed after all). But what it cannot tell us is anything of value (for example): why we should be interested in science, mathematics and the scientific method, what good are the scientific laws and discoveries, or why we should care.

To be sure, more of life is understood by means non-scientific than scientific and “proved true” by means other than the scientific method. A BS degree from the university is a valuable commodity, but there are other places where a BA is much more highly regarded.

Consider Art, which is about as unscientific a category as you can find. Greatness (validity) is often a matter of consensus, but not entirely so. The art world depends on documents, expert and eyewitness testimony, and the jury of history in making its determinations. Of course, someone can still insist that the Mona Lisa, Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony and Shakespeare’s Hamlet are not great works of art, and they may try to justify their opinion by suggesting it is all subjective and only (no more than) a matter of opinion in any case. What that suggests to me is one of two possibilities: either the person is a “Contrarian” which I have defined as people who get a kick out of taking a contrary opinion no matter how irrational or unreasonable that opinion may be, or the person is in some serious need of some asylum time.

Of course the above mentioned works are great works of art, and whether we like them or not is honestly irrelevant. The jury of history alone has declared their greatness, as any jury would say, “beyond a reasonable doubt.”

Consider history, which is totally unscientific no matter how much historians may grumble otherwise. It cannot be understood by mathematics. I cannot be replicated under strict laboratory conditions, and while it may produce some good advice, it does not imply laws that can be applied invariably to the future. History, instead, is again a matter of documents and what the archeologists can discern from their shards. It is determined by expert and eyewitness testimony to the point where it can only be, “rewritten by the victors” (as is often the accusation for unreliability) only so far before it is contradicted by the known facts and again, by the jury of history.

Did Alexander once conquer the oikumene? Did Cleopatra abandon Anthony at a crucial point and thus place Egypt in the grasp of the growing Roman Empire? Did Victoria once rule over an empire on which the sun never set? The answer of history is absolutely yes (true, for real); and while you or I may not see what relevance such things have to our lives, that consideration is, to be blunt, irrelevant. History is one of the only things we have that explains not only who we are, but suggests where we are going, and the jury of history proves the reality of nearly everything quite apart from what science may or may not have to say about it.

The jury would say, “Proved beyond a reasonable doubt.” That has always been the legal answer to the scientific method, and keep in mind that justice is also a thoroughly non-scientific subject; and to be sure, no one (other than a contrarian) wants to honestly live in a world where justice is merely a matter of subjective opinion where one opinion is equal to another. That would put us all in danger of tyranny – subject to whoever was slick enough to obtain the judgeship!

Do juries sometimes make mistakes? Certainly. Juries have been wrong.

Do scientists sometimes make mistakes? Certainly. Science has constantly been revised.

Is this true even when the appropriate procedures are followed to the letter? Yes.

So is science the only arbiter of reality (to determine what is real and what is not real)? Absolutely not. “Proved beyond a reasonable doubt” works just as well for reasonable people. When a jury considers the facts (what hard evidence is available), studies the documents (contracts, affidavits), considers the expert and eyewitness testimony and follows the time tested procedures, they will far more often than not come to a conclusion that is beyond a reasonable doubt. Science (for example DNA testing) may have much to contribute to considerations of the law in a given case, but be clear about this: Law is in no way a matter for scientific inquiry or investigation. Other forms of investigation are involved, and they often relate to motive and opportunity.

I could go on to subject after subject that is essentially if not entirely non-scientific, but in nearly all of it, the truth (reality) is proved in the same way and by the same method, and at this point, someone must be asking, but what about God?

Well, clearly God is not a scientific subject, being neither composed of matter nor energy. God will never be replicated in a laboratory, proved by the scientific method or described by mathematics. So does that mean God is not real? By no means (unless you are truly a contrarian who is also willing to insist that art, history, the law and a myriad of other things are equally unreal). Rather, the “Truth” of God is “proved” by other means.

Consider the documents, the evidence or facts (such as they may be), the expert and eyewitness testimony, the jury of history, and the fact that there are billions of people alive today who will look you square in the eye and declare that God is “Proved beyond a reasonable doubt.” You may not agree, but honestly, it is the atheists who have a terrible uphill battle, and all I can see is Solon, pushing that boulder up the hill only to have it roll down again. I always feel sorry for anyone who has to work so hard to close the mind (and heart).

I will say this again, science and religion have no business being at odds with each other as long as each sticks to its area of study and understanding. It is when the Theologians deign to make definitive statements about this universe of matter and energy and when Scientists draw unwarranted conclusions about reality that excludes any consideration of non-scientific life that we all get into trouble.