nongmobro-blog

[nongmobro-blog]

Barbarism Unveiled “Humble Awakenings”

We now stand at a GREAT crossroads in life, certainly the biggest ever in human history. As nations clash and vie for power and recognition. Religious ideals attempt to dominate. Corporations systematically usurp natural order and family business. Faults in the institutional system are questioned. Agriculture practices are revealed and justifiably critiqued by the whole of society. Truths are uncovered by sound and competent science.

A stark realization sets in as those who care about truth in sustenance become aware of the bleak contrast that exists within the fantasy reality that a majority of the world still exists in. These truths are potent and many of them cause the fantasy worlds that many enjoy taking part in to feel as though they are dissolving. A seemingly detrimental call to arms that takes away from the epic journey and the fantasy bridges to worlds that are a joy to take part in, for those who are wrapped up in the fun of it all.

It is what it is. Ignorance of reality will certainly result in the decimation of the fantasy worlds that many enjoy, if these truths are not taken more seriously. In a world where the enjoyment of towering creativity is addictive to take part in, those who are on the front lines of change and speaking out about foundational growth may come across as pessimistic hippies to those who have been falsely trained to disregard these realities, demean such caring souls, and to remain ignorant to these seeds of positive, holistic growth that are assisting the entire species of humanity.

Video games. Fantasy and Sci-fi movies. T.V. shows. Cartoons. Music. Entertainment in general. People are addicted to the creativity of it all. Why shouldn’t they be? It’s a delightful escape from the reality that sometimes can feel so bleak and destructive. It is fun to fantasize and to dream. To imagine worlds that surpass our own in scope and capability. Super Heroes fighting the catastrophic calamity that Super Villains inflict. World ending situations that are interesting to imagine and to visualize.

The bleak reality of it all, however, is that real danger exists and it’s being revealed that the hurt is close to home. The very food we consume. The air we breathe. The fuel that powers the vehicles we drive. Things that have been customary staples in life for ages are being identified as toxic and destructive. Minute details within the daily workings of society, down to the very micron, having the veil lifted off of them by sound science and holistic medicine that is fighting to make the world a better place.

I have witnessed the strange addiction of those who think it is fun to be “evil” and to assume a wicked visage in reverence to the fantasy worlds and characters they adore or, to deny the ideals of the belief that plagues them. The truth is, regardless of whether or not this is a detriment, the feigned ignorance of those who partake in such fantasy existence are inevitably turning a blind eye to the beautiful, compassionate assistance being provided by caring souls who see the truth of it all and who fight every day to make the world a truly better place. Their pessimistic narcissism can only be repaired by paying mind to these realities blooming and to assist, selflessly. Pride is a HUGE factor. It is a “free country”, however...

The irony that I have identified and qualified is that many of the viewpoints that cause people to go “down that road” are born from inflicted points of view, from religion, from doctored ideals, from stories, and so on... The rambunctious attitude that leads to this behavior is usually a “lashing out” effect by those who have felt sequestered by whatever it is that ails them. SEX is a big factor in all of this. Women suffer most, I know. In a society that depicts sex as something that is “wicked” or “evil” many hop on that train as a means of escape from the reality that may come across as mundane or, boring. In most cases this is an ironic decision by those who choose to “rebel”. Their rebellion is very likely a result of the reverse psychology effect from the story or religious belief that inspired them to do so.

The BIG irony of it all is that sex is not evil. When the truth in health is learned and the reality is painted, this imagined aspect of beauty and sex is revealed as a massive sham. Regardless of whether it’s human buffoonery or, pre-meditated mad science, those who become aware of the many truths being proven find a certain measure of peace within themselves after realizing the audacity of false ideals that carry no merit within reality. The main focus from the perspective of those who realize the futility of it all is wisdom and focus. In a world where over population is a problem, safe sex and sound behavior is what crosses their mind. It’s not religion, it’s common sense.

No one is perfect, however, in a world that is bursting with these realities being shed in the light of pure truth, those who partake in a fantasy existence where being cruel and wicked is entertaining to their senses will inevitably be forced to come to terms with these realities that are inescapable. These children will have to grow up and face the certainty that is staring them in the face and asking for assistance.

The ignorance of perpetual existence is what has stricken me as most bizarre. Meaning the detrimental treatment of child from parent, as the adults partake in addictive fantasy, interactive media, drugs and alcohol or, are focused on an outside perspective, whilst denying the attention the child they birthed requires. Many are at fault for such behavior and they know who they are. Whether they care or not is an entirely different matter altogether.

It is a battle of ideals. The absolution of it all is being determined, day by day. True strength is born from fighting to reveal these truths and that takes time and energy. Time and energy that is being distracted. Life is glorious. Wilderness and nature is supreme. Fantasy is fun to partake in yet, if it dulls the reality of perpetual existence that is helping shape the planet we live in, one must learn to control their addiction to such entertainment. Many have suffered within their reality and are looking for an escape. To feel more powerful or, to simply forget what plagues them.

The time is now, for everyone to try as hard as they can to learn the positive changes and truths that are sprouting all over and to assist the movement. For the planet and thereby themselves. It is not lame. It is not boring. It is legendary behavior and it will pay off in the form of pure enjoyment of these fantasy worlds that are so much fun to partake in. Be it a video game, a movie, a show, a book, etc. Reality always comes first. It’s in determining the actual reality within life and assisting it’s solidification.

Redemption is reserved for all who look to better themselves in accordance with the coexistence of their fellow life forms on this planet. No religion determines the validity of this. No government qualifies the truth of this. It is up to the individual to understand what the truth is and to assist.

I have said it before and I will say it again: LIFE IS NOT A COMPETITION, IT IS A COOPERATION.

[nongmobro-blog]

Standards, Culture and Tradition

We, as a people, have grown on this planet, as the planet itself has grown. We began as primitive as any animal and slowly rose to power, through wisdom and strength. Colonizing. Adapting. Learning to build housing and expounding upon the creativity of construction. Even still. Architecture is a never ending, perpetual art and it is refining itself, again and again. This is evident in anything and everything we do as humans. To refine, adapt, improve, repair and advance.

No matter where you grew up, the world is connecting now and everyone is available to talk to everyone. The kinks are being worked out as the vehement doubt speaks it’s mind boldly and sometimes cruelly. The intelligent and wise are watching and assisting, adapting and cultivating. The caring are working to better the situation in any way they can. The stark realization of the worlds problems are being identified and cured at an exponential rate. Positive science is proving many things that are wrong and formulating methods to mend the planet and it’s many injuries.

Like the feeling of a warm Christmas Eve, there are many traditions that are close to home and therefore coming to terms with how they must change can seem shocking to people. Veganism is certainly one of those BIG changes that I know must come across as stark and extreme to people seeing what’s being said and the movement that is taking place, as people hop on board to identify realities and share their desire to enact the change that becomes clear to them as something that must take place, and quickly.

Not unlike if cell phones were somehow presented to citizens in the 18th century, people are becoming aware of veganism and it’s benefits now and sharing what they’ve learned with passion, care and wit. It’s the sleeping giant complex and this is one giant that must be awakened, without question. Many are realizing the blatant reality made clear to them and shouting out, in mass. This may offend some but, that is the way of it. Were a child choking, one would scream for a doctor or a qualified attendant to assist the child who is starving for air. They would not meander about and whisper for help in fear of offending those who don’t like disturbances.

This is, however, going to take time, as many traditions and standards are still tied to our primitive selves of old. Science is also proving that meat and dairy consumption is addictive and detrimental to the planet. We all must become aware of the truth of these things and learn better. It takes patience, strength, time and understanding. Many families are tied to these old practices that are still dominant within food distribution and agriculture. It is up to them to understand as much as it is up to those who have learned to understand the process. Hand in hand we walk this road together and this will not happen overnight but, it NEEDS to happen. It is not doctrine, it is wisdom and understanding.

I have visions of clean flowing rivers. Movie theaters with juice bars. Cities with grow houses on city blocks. Meat, poultry and fish trades fading. These things will take time. The sooner the political and financial agenda hop on board and fully understand this, the better. Super heroes are in existence at this very moment enacting great change to see these things accomplished. It becomes a selfless necessity the more the truth of it is revealed to those who are fighting for the cause.

GMOs are another entity entirely and their possible detriment will be revealed over time, as truth of their destruction becomes evident or, their dominance attempts to overtake the natural order of life. It is highly recommended that all pay mind to those manipulating DNA. It is a highly suspect and questionable practice that bears a ton of possible unnecessary introductions to an eco system learning to perfect the natural, organic growth provided by the earth.

Pay attention. Don’t fear. Lose the paranoia. Don’t buy into propaganda. Learn truth. Assist. Ascend.

NON GMO Veganism is salvation. Holistic doctors and science are proving we don’t need to eat meat or consume dairy for sustenance. Live and learn.

[nongmobro-blog]

The Kind Mum and the Beggar

Every day he was there, sitting on the street, smelling like onions and dirty clothing. Every morning Agatha passed the aged man who asked for change and every morning she told herself “If they want to run, they will have to prove they can keep up first!” an old saying her mother passed down to her, considering the homeless problem and their seeming inability to cope with the ‘Real World’ around them.

This night was like any other. The man sat there, looking downright haggard, asking for change and swaying like he was on death’s door waiting to be let in. He looked to Agatha and she turned her head, visibly telling him “NO.” with her expressive body language. He simply shrugged. The same reaction he would give each time she denied him. It pained Agatha to refuse the poor man any assistance.

As she entered her apartment complex, she denied taking the chunky old elevator up to her apartment and decided to walk the six flights of stairs, as usual. She wasn’t claustrophobic, she simply disliked the caged feeling of the old, rusted contraption. When she entered her well kept apartment, she made a cup of chamomile tea and sat down to relax. As she made herself comfortable and entered a mild trance, staring at the brick hearth her husband had built, her eyes gravitated towards his picture, staring at her. Her husband. He was a British war vet of WWII. The wounds he received while protecting his country eventually took his life upon his return, ten years later. Even still, the man came back to the UK with an upbeat attitude, attempting to enact great change on the streets that he cared for, so much. He had lost a majority of his friends and his brother to the war and yet he returned with an attitude that was truly marvelous. Some nights he would break down and become another person altogether, sobbing and shivering, muttering to himself and apologizing to thin air, seeming to be in a different place but, only Agatha saw that side of the brave man who birthed so much positive change on the streets of London that desperately needed the help.

That picture... that chiseled grin staring back at her like a taunting memory of the hero she had lost. It sometimes haunted her and made her feel ashamed of herself. Today was one of those days, thinking of the homeless man down the street, which inevitably lead Agatha to ponder the entirety of the homeless problem, which then lead to political contemplation, which eventually made her feel powerless. “What am I to do Tim?” she asked the painting. Of course there was no answer, as usual. Agatha began to weep. The room seemed so empty without old Tim there. It was raining outside and the cars driving by, splashing water and honking, elevated the feeling of emptiness in the home that used to be so lively. She sobbed herself to sleep in her favorite chair, staring at the picture of Tim.

Agatha woke the next day with a passion. She decided to go down and talk to the old man on the street. She took a shower and then ate her breakfast quickly while reading the paper. It seemed a blur. The next thing she knew she was down on the street looking for the man. After a moment, she found him. There was very little traffic, which was not usual, and she crossed the street to speak to the man who was sitting on an old rug that looked oddly familiar to her. 

“How can I help you?” she asked the man.

“Spare change love?” the man responded.

Agatha went to reach for her purse and stopped short, realizing she hadn’t brought it. “Half a moment dear, I have to go fetch my handbag... wait here?” she asked kindly.

“Aye.” the man responded, smiling.

Agatha crossed the street, entered her complex and retrieved her coin purse from her bag and then returned to the man. “Here we are, I have plenty of change to spare, hold out your hand or, do you have a cup?” she asked the man.

The man’s eyes glazed over and he seemed to go mute and look through her, not responding.

Agatha was put off for a moment. “Hello? Deary, can you hold out your hand or offer me a cup? I can give you a pound or two.” she offered, once again.

“Spare change love?” the man asked again, smiling.

Agatha’s face pinched and she assumed the man might be a bit off as a result of his predicament, and so she spoke louder. “I have five pounds I can give you dear, please hold out your hand.” she said loudly.

Once again, the man’s features went pale, with his mouth ajar and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“My lord, you poor thing. Can you understand me?” she questioned with genuine concern.

“Spare change love?” the man asked again, smiling warmly, looking completely natural and capable.

Agatha felt a pit in her stomach, she didn’t understand. “Yes dear, I have offered you five pounds. Will you take it? I am sure you can buy a loaf and a-” she stopped speaking as the man assumed the same face, once again. “You’re scaring me, why are you d-”

“Spare change love?” the man asked again, brighter than ever.

“I’ve offered you five pounds dear, what is the problem, do you not want th-”

“Spare change love?” asked the man, smiling warmly.

“Stop it! What are you about? Do you want my whole purse?! Here! Take it!” she said, offering the man her purse. The man looked dead, yet again. “Please stop this...” she begged.

“Spare change love?” the man asked, as if he had only just recognized Agatha, for the first time.

Agatha screamed for help, but the streets were completely unoccupied. She broke into a cold sweat and covered her eyes. “Please stop... Please stop...” she murmured through her hands, pressed to her face.

“Spare change love?”

“STOP! STOP!”

“Spare change love?”

“STOP IT! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!?”

“Spare change love?”

Agatha screamed as loud as she could. “GO AWAY!” she yelled. There was no answer. She slowly removed her hands from her face and opened her eyes. Her husbands face stared back at her, wearing that signature, chiseled grin, his eyes squinting lovingly at her.

“I love you Agatha...” he said.

Agatha screamed.

Agatha awoke in her apartment, soaked in a cold sweat and breathing heavily. It took her a moment to adjust, remembering the dream and what happened therein. She sat breathing for a moment, allowing her heart to beat normally again. She looked to the hearth, her husband’s picture stared at her just as it did in the dream. Agatha said nothing. She got up, walked to the picture and kissed it softly.

Agatha and Tim never had children and so she had plenty of money saved up in her bank account. Over the next few weeks she used a portion of the funds to purchase a variety of commercial grade kitchen appliances and utensils. She also hired her young niece, Sara, to assist her. She was aware that Sara knew her way around the kitchen and that the girl was in need of a solid job, and so they got to work. Agatha was an excellent chef and worked in a number of restaurants during the war while Tim was away, earning much praise from the patrons and from Tim upon his return. 

They began to create. Cakes. Pies. Soups. Pastries. Cookies. Candy. Muffins. Vats of home made ice tea. Lemonade. Parfaits. Ice Cream. Agatha turned the alley next to her apartment into a makeshift kitchen for the hungry. It became so popular the children from Regent High School became aware of her kindness and started a city wide petition to expand the process. With their help and a bit of her own money, they moved into a large warehouse. “Agatha’s Oasis” it was named and she became very popular, among the homeless, the hungry, the children and the community.

The man she had always passed on the street turned out to be an astounding artist. He painted murals and he joined up with some of the children from the high schools to paint many beautiful pieces on the side of buildings and businesses. When Agatha told him of her dream and the motivation thereafter, he simply laughed and hugged her. It was a running joke that he played, to come in and ask for change with his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Agatha always busted a gut laughing at the silly man.

When Agatha passed, years later, many people attended her funeral and the chorus from Regent High sang beautiful songs in honor of her memory. Fredrick, the old artist, painted a beautiful mural in Agatha’s memory as well, her image immortalized with her husband, which Fredrick painted using the picture from the hearth in Agatha’s apartment. Fredrick considered it to be his finest work he’d ever done.

Sara gladly took over after Agatha passed and enjoyed the work, assisting many good people and rehabilitating them, making many new friends and assisting the community as Agatha and Tim had taught her to, setting the heart warming example they had. Every Christmas a large feast is held in their name and children from many schools come to put on plays, play music, and entertain the people at Agatha’s Oasis.

[nongmobro-blog]

The Winner

“I am going to win!” predicted the winner, exuding that exuberant demeanor he was so well known for, his eyes squinting with the vision of victory close at hand. He had trained his whole life for this. To win. To be victorious. To dominate the competition. They were weak and they would all fall under the pressure of his awesome presence, the winner knew. Nothing could stop the winner now from winning what needed to be won. “Win...” he said to himself in the mirror, grinning at his own image, adoring his own, glorious visage.

“Win what?” asked the winner’s friend, who was wearing a puzzled look and standing in the doorway, unbeknownst to the winner. “We’re all going out for a bite, you coming or what man?”

The winner simply stood in front of the mirror wearing a crooked look of raw contemplation, dumbfounded *cricket orchestra*

[nongmobro-blog]

True Warrior

How long had it been? The warrior could not know. During a pause in the epic war, the warrior had a brief moment to think. All the warrior could do was breathe, and feel. Turning to the scarred and bruised souls that accompanied the brave fighter was a stark reminder that there was no time to think. Truth had been identified and the battle before them was just, for their part...

The next wave poured on, not unlike the last, a mindless gathering of subjugated souls, fighting for a lost cause. The mad look in their eyes was a tell tale sign that they fought out of fear for their lives, rather than for something they believed in. Their fighting skills also lacked precision and awareness and their attempts to induce fear by screaming madly simply focused the warrior’s senses. Suicidal dogs barking for their master in hopes to create a disturbance among their opposing force. The warrior took no joy in destroying these foolish, lost souls, as they salivated for victory, thinking their numbers and madness could outmatch the coordinated squad of True Warriors before them. The closer they got, the more this look dissipated before the honed stare of the fervent protectors they rushed towards. Some even called for truce and attempted to escape as their numbers behind them pressed them into a wall of their own death.

The warrior kicked, slashed and bashed, relentlessly. Always turning to gain strength from the others, sisters and brothers, as they too fought valiantly, taking no pride in a war that did not hold merit or, purpose. If a mate fell, five hundred would pay. The opposing faction had afforded all their tricks and when their malice was revealed, they attacked in answer to the growing questions facing them. The time of the Pantheon and of just morality seemed lost on the mass of seething followers before them who lusted for unworthy battle, flowing madly into war like confused ants following strange commands.

Another wave defeated. The warrior banged upon it’s great shield, igniting an effervescent fervor among the other fighters and striking fear into the hearts of the next group that dare gather to face them, the metal reverberating a loud, sonic resonance. Others answered in kind, sounding horns and stomping ground. Shouting battle cries and taunting the next assault to march in, and so they did. Yet each wave seemed to be reduced. A diluted potency of desire to fight that was reflected in their demeanor and prowess, as they stared in awe and fear at the immovable beasts that screamed like ancient warriors born from another age. Their false dedication being shed under the light of righteous fighters who defended a just cause, rather than attack for doctored ideals that faded within the reality of heated combat. Those who stopped to cry for their ill conceived decision were simply kicked unconscious, the remaining duration of their lives being determined by their fellow soldiers, who did not pay heed to their cries. Most were trampled.

Wave after wave, until they learned, surrendered their honorless crusade or, faded. The warrior’s arms itched as the muscles strained in response to the seemingly never ending parade of witless combatants that attempted to take ground. The warrior thought of nothing, other than the memory of loved ones who needed protection from the mindless gathering of madness that fell before the fury of absolute resolve. Tempered by wisdom and honed by love. The witless decimation of life from the opposing factions fueled the warrior in a sickly way yet, that was the way of it. Warm homes. Children sleeping at the hearth. Men and women tending the soil. These visions passed through the mind of the warrior like an endless slideshow, as each deranged face that attempted to rob the beauty of these moments was systematically shut down.

Wave by wave. The spirit of the True Warriors tower like a spirit temple, fighting ever on...

[nongmobro-blog]

The Wizard and the Ancient

The Wizard was in the midst of a long walk during the early morning, traversing the rolling hills of bright green, as the faint aroma of licorice and herbs wafted from many directions. The mild wind from the north was robust and cool, grabbing the Wizard’s robes and cloak and tugging on them lightly, causing the Wizard to stride with more effort than usual as they flapped wildly in the formidable breeze. This is precisely the reason the Wizard decided to take the lengthy stroll on this particular day. Magic worked wonders yet, without keeping a proper blood flow and working the muscles, it dwindled just like anything else that remains stagnant. It always helped clear the Wizard’s mind and to contemplate more keenly and proficiently, to trek through the hills and see the plants, the wildlife and the great sky, with all of it’s shapely clouds rolling over the great mounds of earth that surrounded his awesome tower on the top of Torland Peak, the highest and most prominent hillock that rose off the edge of the Great Forest called Willow’s Wayfare. The great wood in the North was suffering a heated rivalry between multiple sects of human forces, and the kingdoms from which they originated, vying for control.

“They are destroying it…” Grimdale thought as he crested the peak of yet another hill, his legs wobbling under the pressure of the climb, as he pressed tightly on his staff to assist the final steps. He stopped at the peak and lit a match, then puffed on his pipe which he pulled from his leather pouch that was cinched onto his thick, cloth belt. He did not attempt any smoke play, as he exhaled freely, thinking deeply on the matter of the warring factions that were slowly destroying the beautiful groves of Willow’s Wayfare. He was worn out from attempting to speak sense among the kings and queens of the four kingdoms that surrounded the massive forest. He ventured fluently between them, always having to explain the wisdom of his ways and to expel the justifiable doubts of treachery within the minds and hearts of their leaders.

Their fears, however misguided, came as no surprise to Grimdale. The four kingdoms were at each others throats and emotions were towering on the edge of all out warfare. He was performing some sort of a small miracle however, as two out of the four were now conjoined. They saw the plight of the forest and it’s inhabitants and they agreed that the forest and it’s perpetual growth were more important than the obsessive stake on the land. Although, the other two kingdoms were still at odds and needed a bit more prodding and consulting. Grimdale’s altruistic persuasion tactics were seemingly falling on deaf ears within the two, more barbaric, territories and their leaders. They were growing even more angry and hostile as they became aware of the truce between the other two kingdoms.

Grimdale took a deep breath and closed his eyes, humming to himself and enjoying the crisp, invigorating breeze that caused him to sway back and forth as his heavy clothing caught the sudden drafts and whipped sporadically in the brisk wind. Grimdale then began to whistle rhythmically, carrying high and low notes, as he meditated soundly, allowing his stress over the matter to dissipate. This went on for a long moment before Grimdale felt a sudden wave of well being wash over him, just as the sun burst through the clouds to shine directly on the old wizard, filling him with warmth. He breathed deeply and opened his eyes. His sharp vision caught something near the top of the next hillock directly ahead of him that he was not familiar with and, although he couldn’t truly remember having seen it, he would have sworn it was not there moments before, when he closed his eyes to think. “Odd…” he thought aloud.

Grimdale pursed his lips thoughtfully and began making his way down the hill, carefully, to get closer and inspect the object. As he got closer it became more evident. It seemed to be a large rock, a VERY large rock. He was certain this boulder was never here before. He knew this hill well and he would have remembered such a prominent stone. He was baffled. He stopped at the bottom, in the cleft, between the hills. A wide ravine in between the two large mounds where a small, shallow river flowed. The clean water was trickling and gurgling through the small pebbles and stones on it’s bed. He picked his way down the safest slope leading to the water, which he easily found his way across, and then stopped.

“Who goes there!?” he questioned loudly up the slope. There was no answer, save the dribble of crystal clear water flowing behind him. Something was certainly strange about this rock. What really bothered Grimdale was that he did not recall seeing the rock just moments before, atop the hill, before he closed his eyes.

For many moments he contemplated what to do, before deciding to ascend the grassy mound and inspect the mystery stone. Grimdale sensed a very strange presence, something he never quite felt before, like the stone was watching him and expecting him… As he got closer he noticed intricate markings on the huge rock. There were swirling designs and some form of runic engraving carved deeply upon it’s surface. Certainly not made by nature yet, not any form of script that he was aware of. The boulder also had a moss growing on it that was not familiar to Grimdale, a dark shade of green that shimmered with golden sparkles in the light of the sun.

As he approached it, thinking to touch it, there came a booming voice “YOU.” it said. The sound of it seemed to resonate, as if Grimdale had heard it and imagined it simultaneously. The feeling of it was that of two like magnets trying to press together, blurring Grimdale’s vision and causing him to sway for a moment. He kept  himself aloft by the strength of his will and the grip upon his mighty staff.

“Wh-wh… who’s there?!” stammered Grimdale.

“IT IS I!” the voice boomed again, bringing the shaking wizard to his knees, gripping onto his staff, fumbling to stay upright.

“Wh-what do you want?” Grimdale gasped. “I do not take kindly to invisible inquisitors. Reveal yourself!” he ordered, gathering his strength and rising, his eyes glowing with gathering power in response to the mysterious assault.

“I AM HERE. YOU SEE ME. I SEE YOU.” the voice announced.

The power of the unforeseen threat had relinquished it’s grip or, Grimdale was simply adapting, either way, the wizard was not brought to kneel again from the strength of it. “What is the meaning of this?” the wizard questioned justly.

“YOU ARE THE MAGICIAN. THE ONE WHO ATTEMPTS TO CULTIVATE THE BARBARIANS. I SEE YOUR ATTEMPTS. I FEEL YOUR INTENTIONS.” the voice stated.

Looking around, Grimdale could see no sign of the speaker and when he looked directly at the rock his vision seemed to falter and blur. “What are you?” the wizard demanded.

“SILENCE!” the voice boomed again, causing Grimdale to fall to his knees once more and grasp at his temple in response to the overwhelming assault. “WHO I AM IS OF NO CONCERN TO YOU. KNOW ONLY THAT I ALLOW YOU TO LIVE. KNOW ONLY THAT I AM JUST. KNOW THAT I MEAN YOU NO HARM OLD MAN.” the voice seemed to relinquish the commanding, overpowering tone, once again.

Despite the courtesy of those words, Grimdale was not completely satisfied with the intentions of the unseen speaker. “When I hold court with guests, I allow them to speak with me AND to see me. Why do you hide?” he questioned with a sarcastic tone.

The voice laughed at this, for a long moment, the sound of it seeming to surround the wizard, stacking upon itself and towering to a chaotic crescendo and then muted, like a vacuum sucking all the air out of a large room. “YOU ARE BOLD WIZARD, AND POWERFUL, I KNOW.” it spoke.

“A spy?” Grimdale mocked. “I never liked spies, such a co dependent crutch. A desire to dominate, born of inadequacy yet, lacking the bravery to face it’s manifest competition…” the wizard added.

The voice laughed again. “THERE IS NO COMPETITION OLD MAN. THIS FALSE EMOTION IS BORN OF HUMAN KIND AND IS NOT MY DOING. I SEE YOU AS I SEE ALL. AS I FEEL ALL. AS I KNOW ALL, LIKE THE SEA IS AWARE OF EVERY ORGANISM BIRTHED FROM THE PRIMORDIAL OOZE WITHIN IT’S DEPTHS, SO TOO AM I AWARE OF YOU AND YOUR KIND.” proclaimed the towering voice.

“Interesting…” Grimdale plainly observed.

A long moment passed, nothing but the sound of the wind on the grass and birds in the distance. “YOU HAVE GREAT FAITH IN THE CULMINATION OF PEACE AMONG THESE KILLERS, WHY?” the voice asked.

Grimdale pondered for a moment. Whoever or, whatever he was speaking to was obviously very powerful and, although it was enforced, this parley was becoming mildly interesting to the thoughtful old wizard. “I have hope in them. I have seen them learn. I have witnessed their greatest warriors and leaders bring peace where there was only death. Despite the calamity around them I have witnessed this young race rise to occasions that did not seem possible.” Grimdale retorted.

“AHHH.” the voice purred. “HOPE… THAT WORD. THAT EMOTION. I HAVE SEEN THESE GREAT DEEDS MYSELF. I HAVE ALSO SEEN THE TERROR, FROM THE OTHER SPECTRUM OF MANKIND. WHICH IS THE GREATER?” the voice questioned.

“Peace.” the wizard answered without pause. “Although it is a smeared disbelief among the primitives, I have witnessed peace change the minds of the darkest souls and cultivate the hearts of the most hopeless tyrants.”

“PEACE. INDEED. A WONDROUS PROPOSITION, PEACE… I TOO HAVE WITNESSED THE CURING NATURE OF THIS IDEAL VIRTUE. HOWEVER, CAN IT STOP THE GROWING RAGE OF THOSE WHO DO NOT BELIEVE? DO YOU REALLY THINK IT IS POSSIBLE?” the voice pondered.

“I do.” Grimdale said sharply. “I believe in this young race as a parent holds faith in their offspring, despite the seemingly inescapable terms provided by fate.” the wizard remarked.

“NOT ALL PARENTS ARE BOUND TO SUCH FAITH, HOPEFUL WIZARD.” the voice countered.

“Most are.” the wizard calmly responded. “The fuming madness of a confounded dictator holds weight only in the court of the unwise who have not experienced the joy of cooperative peace.” said Grimdale.

“LUST AND FEAR IS THEIR TOOL.” the voice observed.

“Indeed…” Grimdale offered.

“I CARE NOT. I DO NOT TAKE JOY IN SEEING THEIR POWER TOWER TO GREAT HEIGHTS, AS I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE DESPERATE EXPENSE OF THOSE WHOM ATTEMPT TO ENACT SUCH PEACE AS YOU DO NOW. I KNOW ONLY THAT THESE LANDS BREATHED BEFORE THEIR KIND AND THEY WILL BREATHE AFTER, IF THEY DESTROY THEMSELVES.” the voice predicted.

A long moment passed. The wizard rested on his staff and produced his pipe, taking a long drag, breathing deeply and exhaling a large cloud of smoke. “It is a tiresome business.” the wizard admitted. “However, it is a business I take joy in, as the fruits of my labor pay off in the form of growing souls living freely among like minded kindness. The contrast is bleak, yes… However, one cannot focus on the view of an enraged behemoth. Like one who is forced to climb a dangerous peak, the only way up the deadly slope is to focus on hope and to exude strength, sharing the load and setting an admirable example that is impossible to ignore. To give into the fear of the fall is folly. I intend to strengthen the resolve of those willing to pay heed to wisdom and love so that they may climb with the emotions that are necessary to crest the worthy summit and to breath the free air.” Grimdale said at length.

“WISE WORDS…’ the voice said. “I DO NOT CARE, HOWEVER, I DO ENJOY THE STRENGTH OF YOUR RESOLVE AND OF THOSE WHO FOLLOW YOUR EXAMPLE, OLD SOUL. THE TYRANTS ATTEMPT TO ENACT A SIMPLE REGIMENT OF FRIVOLOUS DOMINANCE THAT CONTAINS LITTLE TO BE DESIRED OR, RESPECTED. A PARADE OF SHALLOW WANT AND GREED THAT WILL SURELY DESTROY THEIR KIND. THEY SPEAK BOLDLY AND ACT WILDLY, THINKING THEMSELVES INVINCIBLE AS A RESULT OF THEIR DOMINANCE AND THE TOWERING EMOTIONS THAT INDUCE THE FEELING OF INVULNERABILITY. I HAVE WITNESSED COUNTLESS MADMEN FALL UNDER THE WEIGHT OF THE STARK REALIZATION THEY REFUSED TO SEE COMING AND I HAVE SEEN THEM BEG, LIKE THOSE WHOM THEY IGNORED WHO THEY LEFT TO DIE IN THE COLD, WHILE THEY HORDED THEIR POWER AND STOLE THEIR GLORY AND ENERGIES. IT IS BORING...” the voice observed.

“Indeed…” Grimdale agreed.

Another very long moment passed and the sun was now dipping low into the west and the wind was starting to bite through the wizard’s thick garments. Grimdale simply observed the giant rock before him, though his vision was blurred as though he was viewing through a thick steam of gas, he marveled at the great stones intricate features.

“I WILL LEAVE YOU NOW. IT HAS BEEN REWARDING TO HAVE MET WITH YOU DIRECTLY, OLD WIZARD.” the voice soothed

A powerful feeling of warmth passed through the wizard then. “And I you.” Grimdale responded. “Are you not concerned that I may speak of your existence?” he asked.

“I KNOW YOU BETTER THAN THAT.’ the voice quipped. “BE AT PEEEEEEEACE…” the voice reverberated and sent the wizard into a daze, his vision fading to black.

Grimdale awoke later that evening, wrapped in a blanket of earthly colors that was very well made. The wizard could not place the make or material, however, it folded nicely, was smoother than silk and it felt strong, despite how thin it was. It fit easily in his pack and he remarked on how incredible it was. The large rock was no longer there.There was no indentation or any sign that such a large object had ever been there.

“Interesting…” Grimdale remarked as he began his trek back to his tower, to ponder over the many ways he could cultivate the strength needed to assist the people, so that they may battle the spreading nightmare and reveal the beautiful dream that was necessary to awaken the sleeping masses that were trapped in the emotional sea of fear and doubt.

[nongmobro-blog]

Master Fang (revised)

“Destroy your competition” said Master Fang at the end of the session, giving the warrior a serious look.

The warrior nodded grimly and bowed, then exited the dojo.

A week later the warrior returned, scarred and bruised, however, looking proud and tough. With a keen swagger it approached Master Fang, who pursed his lips with disgust and then seemed to look through the warrior.

The warrior waited a moment before saying “I don’t understand Master Fang. I did what you told me.” it blurted with a ignorant tone of demand. “I defeated many opponents, I found and eliminated my competition!”

Master Fang trained his eyes on the warrior then with the piercing stare of an eagle for a moment before unleashing a light yet effective flurry of blows, coordinating his attacks with finger tip and knuckle on multiple precise points on the warriors arms and legs before finishing with a snap punch to the warriors chest knocking the warrior back. Not missing a step the sensei dipped low to the ground and picked up a rock covered in dust and kicked it at the warrior, hitting the fighter in the right shoulder, making the warrior drop the weapon it had just unsheathed and putting dust in the warriors eye.Master Fang then jumped into a forwards roll, hopping out of it to land a solid kick to the warriors stomach. At nearly half the warriors size and three times in age, the old sensei had no problem defeating the witless beast before him.

The warrior stood crouched, breathing and looking betrayed. Master Fang kicked the sword back at the warrior, who caught it cleanly and then held on to it tightly while staring at the old man, breathing in deep gasps.

 Master Fang simply walked up to the warrior while picking up a twig which he used to point at the center of the warrior’s chest, sneering at the pupil with a wicked stare, before turning to walk away swiftly.

The warrior stood there then and absorbed the lesson.

Master Fang stopped at the doorway to add “There is no competition yet, a warrior must always be strong and prepared to protect..”

 The warrior nodded thoughtfully.

[nongmobro-blog]

The Hunter and the Fox (revised)

A breezy dusk, within the wind of the days ending, there was a light scent of floral in the air as the Hunter stared at the sun, still peaking above the dunes, miles away. A faint sliver of bright, red orange quickly receding as the sky quickly changed from auburn to a brilliant shade of purple. As still as a tree the Hunter sat staring at the spectacle with a deep expression of raw thought crossing it’s pale face, it was in the eyes..

This is how the Fox wandered upon the old Hunter, the Fox had never seen the Hunter like this before. In fact, the Fox never bothered coming near the Hunter, as a result of it’s reputation of killing wild animals. The Fox was rare, a light, silver blue coat covered it’s athletic frame. A frame made strong by staying alive in the wilderness, being hunted by both human, and animal. The Fox was also wise and adept. Something was different in the Hunter this night. The Fox could smell it, like the fading scent of smoldering embers, this Hunter had a faint scent, not at all like usual. The Fox crept close to the Hunter and stared into it’s thoughtful eyes.

“I witness your stare.” Spoke the Hunter. “If you’ve come to kill me, I suppose I deserve it, though maybe a worse fate is designed, after what I have done..” The Hunter paused. “.. I care not.” The Hunter added as it went back to staring into the darkening night sky.

“You speak unlike I thought you would. Do you not wish to kill me?..” asked the Fox

“I do not.” The Hunter simply replied.

“What has happened to you? This seems so unlike you, you have spent your whole life, and your forebears as well, hunting wild and rare animals.”

“A Hawk..” The Hunter said without pause, speaking with a choking whisper, barely able to contain it’s sorrow. The Hunter cleared it’s throat and focused. “A Hawk,” the Hunter repeated clearly. “A Hawk I have known, since I was but a wee child, with my pop gun and a hungry pair of eyes for anything that I could shoot at. I have known this Bird since I can remember. I spent my youth, admiring the beautiful raptor, it was unlike any of the others!” The Hunter ended with excitement. “It had a beautiful, gold coat of feathers, silver at the tips. It was perfect. It flew unlike the other Hawks, with purpose, and compassion. Like it knew it was different, which I sometimes wondered if it did.. I was always taught to think they were so stupid..” The Hunter paused at that, getting lost in a moment of deep thought, it’s eyes glazing over with nostalgic memories.

The Fox waited patiently, this was the most incredible change it had ever seen in any living things, a Hunter at that. “I saw it..” The Hunter continued in a cold, dry tone of regret. “I saw it after not seeing it for almost 5 years. I had thought it dead and lost memory of it. Until yesterday, when I saw it..” The Hunter stopped and began to breathe heavily, the Fox sensed much stress from the poor Hunter and it was perspiring now. “.. I saw it but the sun was in my eyes and I only saw the silhouette of the Bird and I shot it down.. I killed the bird I admired so much, mindlessly. I had gotten so used to hunting that I woke from a sleep and shot at the beast without even thinking..” The Hunter inflicted with a heavy burden of guilt towards itself and paused again, breathing deep.

The Fox could smell the rage building in the Hunter, let alone see it, however, the Hunter exhaled loudly and threw it’s arms up lazily. “I killed it..” it said blatantly. “I aimed, fired, and destroyed one of the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen. I used to draw pictures of it, paintings.. I grew up adoring this wonderful creature!” The Hunter finished with a yelp, with the pinch of guilt causing it to choke on the word. “Walking upon the corpse, I saw what it was. My Bird, I named her Flyer, cause she was the best of the bunch!” The Hunter spoke aloud in sarcastic tone, berating itself. It then went cold again, staring into the now indigo sky.

“You regret killing this Bird.” The Fox simply confirmed. “You are sad because you did not want to kill this Hawk.” It added. “I knew her. I called her Swiftwind, because she always glided on the breeze, so very well..” The Fox paused now, having a memory of it’s own.

The Hunter began to weep then. “I did not need to hear that..” it pleaded, low and desperate.

“What do you mean?” Asked the Fox

“It stings my..” The Hunter grasped at it’s chest and was choking for breath, going through waves of personal agony. Many moments passed before the fit subsided, the Fox waited, dumbstruck.

“I do not understand what just happened.” The Fox admitted. “Although, the sight of you just now, and the smell reminds me greatly of my dear love, Shel.“

“Why do you call her that?” The Hunter asked instantly, in a bland tone caked with a dry curiosity, blowing it’s nose and interrupting the Fox.

“She lives in an old tortoise shell on the plains..” The Fox replied dryly. The Hunter began laughing, loudly, at this, for a long moment. The Fox did not understand this either, eyeing the Hunter with it’s head tilted to one side.

“Forgive me..” The Hunter begged in apology. “Please, continue..” It prompted.

“It is where I mated with her..” The Fox continued. “.. and where she kept our litter. Her stress was great, She cared for the life of the young with a ferocity unmatched by anything I’ve ever seen. Terrible to behold, truly..” The Fox trailed off, looking off into the sky.

“Aye, I know what you mean.” The Hunter said after a moment. “My wife and mother both had a temper one learned to regret tempting, if and when they ever made the mistake of doing so..” The Hunter said rolling it’s eyes. Time passed, a long moment, as both sat staring at the stars twinkling in the night sky.

“What will you do now?” The Fox questioned.

“I am dropping the hunt, no more killing, save the protection of my family.” The Hunter added sternly.

“That seems drastic, is it not your business?” The Fox wondered genuinely. 

“I.. no.” The Hunter said. “No.. I vowed the end of my life killing, after wandering upon the landing zone, and grave, of her babies, that had fallen from their perch..” The Hunter seemed about to pass out, swaying in guilt. It continued in a harsh, quiet whisper, splitting it’s sentences in between quick gasps of fading breath, it’s lungs clenching up from inner turmoil. “They had the same coat as their mother… gold and silver the tip… They looked old enough to fly, or just about..” It paused again bobbing it’s head, trying to keep balance, allowing the pain to fully rush through it’s emotions. A very long moment passed and even though the Fox could not understand the grief the Hunter was exuding, it could imagine from it had just heard, that the Hunter was very disappointed in itself.

“I see now..” The Fox said at length. “I see.” It repeated

“Yes..” The Hunter replied with a forced hiss, resonating with pain as it inhaled deeply. “Now you see.. I am a murderer..” It replied.

“Well now.” The Fox said. “You shouldn’t say that, you didn’t know any better, you were raised to kill the animals, yes?” It asked with a stern, emboldening tone. “You did something wrong, made clear within yourself, a reflection of your regret that seems inescapable.” It added wisely.

“You make it sound so simple..” The Hunter stated with a wry expression. “I feel like dying..” It plainly stated.

“There is always hope, old Hunter..” said the Fox. “This will pass and so long as you do not do any more harm to the animals, so too will you come out of this, the stronger, eh!” The Fox quipped with enthusiasm. “Maybe you can learn of a way to help the animals, I could use a covering for my Fox hole, it’s drips when it rains.” The Fox said with a serious tone, the look on it’s face reflecting it’s distaste of getting wet during the storms.

This made the Hunter smile. “Perhaps I can.” It said, then it gave the Fox a light scratch and stood up. “I can start with getting a tarp for you, I can rig it u-”

the Fox stopped paying attention to the Hunter then, not understanding a single thing the Hunter was saying. It looked excited though and this made the Fox feel good, seeing the change within the mood of one it thought only capable of hunting. After the Hunter was finished rambling on about it’s plans, it looked at the Fox. “Thank you.” Said the Hunter with gratitude.

The Fox was very flattered, and impressed. “You are welcome.” It simply replied. “I live next to the brook, near the waterfall, next to the red rock.” The Fox admitted. “Be well..” The Fox said, turning to walk away. “And forgive yourself.” It added.

The Hunter nodded it’s head at that, it’s heart warming as the sun was rising over it’s favorite mountain, off in the distance. “Wait on!..” The Hunter blurted out turning it’s head wildly, scanning for the Fox but, it was gone.. “never got your name..” The Hunter said low.

The Hunter then stared at the sunrise in awe, a flood of emotions rushing through it as it wondered on the possibilities at all of the assistance it could provide the animals now, swearing to never harm them again and forgiving itself with watering eyes of hope.

The phone vibrated on the Hunters hip, tearing it out of the deep session of meditation and it peeked down, clicking on the screen to see the text, sent from it’s wife. “Jason got in! Kelly was so excited she slipped and fell dancing! :-) I wish you could have seen it! LOL”

The Hunter breathed with a compassionate gratitude of relief, Jason had been trying so hard to get into that school! “Yeah!” The Hunter screamed aloud. “Whoo!” The Hunter saluted to the wind, bowed low to the earth and vowed to never kill another living thing. It never had to and never did. -Fin

[nongmobro-blog]

The Story of Goldcrow (revised)

Goldcrow was hatched from a golden egg, blotched with copper spots that resembled the shape of a heart to the family of the Grey Tree. Upon hatching it was revealed that Goldcrow had golden feathers that caught the light of the sun and shined bright gold, with a beak of copper, streaked with golden tan at the tip. She was given the name Goldcrow by her mother and father, Siren & Greybeak. She also had two brothers, Gullfowl & Falon. Gullfowl was a friend of the Seagulls, which none approved of, and Falon was the best Hunter in their murder but, he preferred grubs and worms. This made the largest and most feared of the crows, Guttur, very angry. He disliked the entire family from the Grey Tree for their strange ways, the family always seemed to be going against the grain.. He continued to try to dominate the Grey Tree and garner allegiance from them but, to no avail.

Goldcrow always stood out in the murder she hunted with. Not only in looks but, also in her ways and demeanor. She disliked hunting animals. Guttur was the head of her hunting murder and, despite being well trained and efficient in hunting, the group always bickered and fought over the scraps of flesh. To Goldcrow, it was madness. Guttur always was on her case, asking why she didn’t partake in the hunt with more fervor and why she didn’t respond when called to the area where a fresh kill was being feasted upon. Goldcrow hated eating the animals. Young rabbits, frogs, mice and the like. She hated seeing them in pain and hearing their pleas for mercy when captured. She hated when they looked at her, pleading. She came to terms with the fact that if they had eyes, they had a soul. She saw it in their stares of misery as they were captured. She excommunicated herself from her murder and decided to join Gullfowl, who was becoming very adept at catching fish, as he was taught by Elfwing, the leader of the northern bay Seagull clan.

For months she became accustomed to the new regiment, she was very good and was one of the best divers, even amongst the gulls, who revered her as one of their own. Elfwing was very fond of her and watched out for her. Guttur watched her from afar with discontent, he did not approve of her decision to take up with her obnoxious brother who bridged the gap between the Crows and the Seagulls, who before were always at odds, never trusting one another. However, despite the fact that Goldcrow enjoyed hunting and eating fish much more than she did land animals, their eyes spoke the same language, of fear and pleading. She grew to not like it, after a time. She spoke to Elfwing and Gullfowl one morning and let them know her predicament. Elfwing advised her to think more on her decision before she be forced to return to the murder and Guttur’s rule. Gullfowl agreed as did she, not knowing what else to do, so she flew off to the Glade of Serenity to think.

There she saw what she never expected. The Great Elk, fabled by the Seagulls, was there feasting upon a green plant with large green and purple leaves, chewing slowly as he noticed her quietly fly upon a branch from a tree towering above the brush. The Great Elk was majestic.. strong and defined like nothing she had ever seen before. It’s great horns were very tall, dark brown and light tan at the tips with many angular limbs branching off in multiple tiers. It looked at her and spoke to her with it’s spirit. It didn’t say anything in particular, however, she felt welcome by the beast. It nodded and snorted, steam spraying out of it’s nostrils and it turned and trotted off slowly, out into the Great Forrest.

Goldcrow was awestruck. She wanted to fly back and tell the Seagulls and her brother but, she had a better idea. She flew down to the plant that the Great Elk was eating from and ripped off a large stalk and began to eat it. It was tangy and bitter but, she continued, she wondered how the Great Elk was so healthy eating just this simple plant. She had a great energy within her, after eating a few more stalks and returning to the sea where she informed the Gulls and her brother that she would not be continuing her hunting of the fish. Both Elfwing and Gullfowl wondered what she would do for food and when she told them they both shared looks of disbelief and bid her good luck.

She continued her journeys to the glade, every time running into the Great Elk who became more fond of her, every day. They began to eat together, the Great Elk dropping shreds from the plant for Goldcrow to eat. Goldcrow became very fond of the Great Elk, as the Great Elk become fond of her. This went on for months and Goldcrow became lean and fit and her muscles carried her over longer distances with less fatigue and her feathers were pristine, shining gold in the light of the sun. Her vision became more acute and accurate and her voice hummed with a beautiful resonance, losing the guttural squawk she once produced.

This did not go unnoticed by Guttur, he became very suspicious and jealous of Goldcrow. He networked his murder to keep tabs on her. He swore she had found a secret den of meat and was keeping from the rest of the Crows and he meant to find out exactly what it was she was up to. However, Falon noticed a pattern to Guttur’s murder and it’s movements and talked to Gullfowl about it, who said they should be wary of Guttur’s intentions.

One day, upon returning from the glade and feasting with the Great Elk, she was accosted by Guttur who asked her what secret meat she was eating to be so strong and enduring. She told him she ate no meat and Guttur did not believe her. He raged and called for his murder, meaning to scare Goldcrow or, worse. However, Goldcrow stood her ground and told Guttur to let her show him where she found her food. Guttur reluctantly agreed and followed her to the glade. The Great Elk was there and he seemed unabashed by the murder at hand, however tentative.

Goldcrow offered some of the leaf to Guttur and he spit it out angrily. He did not believe her claim and demanded to know what her secret was. She sternly responded that he had just eaten what she herself had been eating for months. Guttur’s response was a loud squawk, signaling his murder to attack. They all began pecking at Goldcrow and Great Elk wildly and sporadically. Just when things looked dire, in flew Gullfowl with Falon with the Seagulls of the northern shore in tow. They thwarted the attack and all came to a standstill. The crows squawking in defiance as Elfwing explained what Goldcrow said was true. Guttur spat once again, not caring. He vowed he would never believe that a Crow could feed on the foul greens he had just gotten sick from.

After that day, Gullfowl and Falon began joining their sister at the glade, becoming good friends with Great Elk and learning to like the taste of the green plant. More and more caught on, even a few from Guttur’s murder became accustomed to the new way of eating. Months later, Guttur, looking very sound of health and lean, even in his old age, came to Goldcrow. She tensed and he bade her to relax. He explained that his wife crow had talked him into trying the green and that he had been going at night to eat with the Great Elk and learning better by her example. He bowed his beak many times and thanked her for bringing the change to the crows. They were all much healthier as a result of her efforts and he also apologized for being untrustworthy and mean. She accepted his apology under oath of humble piety to the Great Elk. However, Great Elk declined any reverence and spoke finally saying that no one deserves respect save the plant and all animals that feed from the plant. He explained he eats the plant as the plant will eat him and there is no allegiance save to the energy which the plant is derived and that belongs to no one.

So the cycle continued and the Crows became great friends with the Seagulls and all fed on the green leaf of the glade and it became stronger as those who past were fed to it in turn and the Great cycle continued. One day, years later, the Great Elk passed of old age, right next to the plant and, as he predicted, his energy, even in death, fed the plant and it flourished greatly for years to come, feeding all the crows, seagulls and even Little Elk, who emerged to continue the cycle of his father whom he barely got to know before he passed. He was proud of his father, however, and he too learned to love the Crows and Seagulls as his father did. All were fed well and the eco system perpetuated soundly for many, many years to come.

[nongmobro-blog]

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I have spoken a lot here on twitter and on the social media in general. My journey has been an interesting one and like many people I enjoy good times such as watching a movie, listening to music, laughing my ass off at well made comedy and, although I have not afforded myself the time in recent years, to enjoy a sporting event as I, like most people, enjoy cooperative combatants battling for glory and the exciting moments that these rivalries provide the people who enjoy watching and attending them.

I have spoken boldly, in many cases, about things I have learned that are very stark in contrast to the care of my heart. This care, at times, has felt back stabbed as a result of the truths I have qualified through my own trials of guinea pigging and identifying actuality in substance, physically, spiritually, and intellectually, etc.

I suppose this is a form of an apology. Not to those who do not deserve it, rather, to those who may have felt stricken or, attacked by my words, which may have felt like accusations. This is not the case.

Think of it like a being who traversed another dimension, only to return home, to see the devastation, in real time, that seemed only a fable from childhood or, a dark edge of a fairy tale, brought to life, before eyes no longer clouded by standards that do not merit the credit they demand.

You are my parents, my brothers and sisters, my cousins and my children, and I care for you all. These realizations have caused my acute power of deduction and analyzation to ponder this entire planet, it’s governments and their workings, the people, both free and subjugated, and all the ins and outs in between. I guess one could say I have nearly “lost my mind” however, that phrase to me, after all I’ve learned, sounds like a cop out for the ignorant who do not wish to parley on a serious level concerning profound dealings detailing the mass production that is life itself and the absolute truth therein.

Life on this planet is an effervescent masterpiece, playing out like a grand symphony, and the crescendo that is peaking in this modern age is undeniably audible to the ears of the masses, across all nations, throughout all religions, within all cultures, as these truths become more clear to the caring souls that inhabit this planet earth, and beyond.

Humility is absolutely key, on all fronts. From the highest tower, to the lowest dungeon. From the richest, to the poorest. The stars shine for all and the sun feeds the whole, human, plant, insect and animal, alike. All one.

We have all grown. We have battled. We have known glory and defeat. Tales have been told and honest historians have archived these massive appendices for the next in line, so that they may learn from these mistakes, and accomplishments, to better themselves. To grow. To learn. It is the way of life. Each soul that is born cannot know what wisdom is without the assistance of the great kings, queens, wizards, warriors, and everyone in between, that has assisted this great planet to be at this marvelous stage of existence. From the nerds crunching data, to the warriors entertaining the people with passionate sport, to the actors reenacting moments to induce emotion, to the artists weaving magic and painting fantasy into reality for the enjoyment of all.

Wisdom is also learned from the mistakes an individual makes, building character and knowledge. Many of these stories, both fiction and non fiction, are as a result of these mistakes having been made, for as they say, the burnt hand teaches best, and those with seared hands may have much wisdom to share.

Life is exciting and glorious. Those who may be experiencing life at a fast pace that is generous within their specific timeline, may not understand the emotional outlook of one who sees life from a perspective they themselves cannot identify with.

Humility. Understanding. Patience. Wisdom. These are key elements within the psyche that all must pay mind to, if this planet is to function on the level it needs to, to perpetuate soundly for all on board.

Those experiencing life on such a grand level may feel like a fish in the sea, being baited by a hook they do not wish to bite. In many cases this is a justifiable concern as I myself have been made aware of the many who take sport in creating ill forms of communication, madness and disturbances. However, bad apples will not spoil the growing crop of wisdom, love and kindness I see sprouting throughout this planet, as the hearts and minds unite to see the greater good and the realistic solutions to finally putting an end to poverty and starvation.

I do not apologize from a perspective of fear of loss. I am past that. I genuinely apologize to others, like myself, who believe in beauty, love, cooperation, growth, prosperity and wisdom. The humble caring souls who may not understand where I am coming from who may have felt let down or, hurt by my words and/or actions.

I do not apologize to those who do not deserve it. To those who know they are doing wrong. Creating catastrophe and ill derived calamity. I do not know what to say to these souls. I do not care for these souls. These souls must humble themselves and submit to truth and love, and make amends in equal part as payment for their unethical and possibly detrimental performance that may have had ill effect on the world surrounding them. A humble action that only holds merit if and when it is enacted as a result of the soul realizing the possible dysfunction they may have caused among the fellow life forms who inhabit this earth.

I am an artist and a creator and I apologize to those who may have been inspired by my work and may have felt that I gave up on what they saw to be a towering crescendo of creation that they enjoyed partaking in the enjoyment of.

I am not dead, in fact, I am very much alive.

To those who would wish to thwart one such as myself. To distract me. To diffuse me. To dilute me. To destroy me. To demean me, corner me or, subjugate me as a means to own me or, otherwise. I say to you… YOUR TIME IS COMING TO AN END and your ways of conducting your strangely devised means of existence are making less and less sense to the good people of this planet who are understanding, more and more, what the word freedom means and the absolute foundation that the meaning of the word implies.

To those good people out there, fighting the good fight, on all levels and all fronts, I say to you… BRAVO. KEEP GOING. NEVER STOP. ASCEND. PREVAIL. CURE. MEND. BUILD. CONNECT. ENDURE. GROW. LIVE. LOVE.

To those great souls who endure the stark truths of evil and continue to endure and spread love among a world that desperately requires assistance and uplifting experience, I say I love you. Always.

[nongmobro-blog]

Goldbeard and Xera

Goldbeard Hafthammer was one of those ‘eccentric’ dwarves who was not very well thought of by his peers. The other dwarves had no idea why a dwarf would live outside of a mountain or, a cave. Surviving in an erected skeleton on the top land was the last thing most ‘normal’ dwarves would ever consider doing. Goldbeard didn’t mind though. He enjoyed building his house and if any one ever attempted to make a claim on his homestead, he’d bruise their forehead. Besides, he lived close enough to his cousins in Farmount, if he ever was in need of help in a pinch. Not that they would willingly afford it, however… family is family and when a dwarf asks another dwarf for assistance, they give it or, a broken nose and lost teeth might be in order.

On this particular day, Goldbeard was on his porch, smoking his pipe and enjoying some of that Northern Ale he liked so much. It was tangy and bitter but, it was intense and hit the stomach like a hammer on an anvil. “A healthy brew.” his cousin called it. A brew that the elves of the Greywood helped master. The list of herbs and spices that were used to create it was too much for Goldbeard to try and remember. He just knew he liked it and that it was MUCH better than that sour sludge from The Downs. “Worth the extra price.” Goldbeard thought as he downed the remainder in the tall mug and puffed on his Greywood leaf. Those elves really knew their herbs.

Goldbeard had spent the entire day trimming the trees and hedges around his home. It was around that time of year when it seemed the overgrowth would attempt to seize the entire property in a sea of vines and needles, and those little prickly things that seemed to enjoy latching on to clothes and poke through to the skin. “NOT ON MY WATCH!” Goldbeard pronounced to the plants and trees around him, victoriously puffing on his pipe and laughing. Goldbeard had made his home right on the edge of a thick forest that surrounded the base of Farmount. A thick, three mile forest of mostly oak that encircled Farmount like a giant ring. Goldbeard lived on the southern edge of the forest, where it was warmer.

Goldbeard stomped his mighty foot on the thick planks of treated wood and slapped his hand on the dwarven brick wall that comprised the shell of the sturdy home. Breathing deeply, the scent of the summer floral and tree sap invigorated the strange dwarf. Most dwarves couldn’t bear the smells of the forest. Goldbeard loved it up here, on the surface. He had grown up with his father, Hamsmead, in the the tunnels of Farmount and, one day after visiting the elves of the Greywood for provisions, he vowed he would not become a slave to the stifling stone cage that he considered Farmount to be. He did miss it from time to time and he would usually attend the winter festival deep within the heart of Farmount. That was a feast not to be missed…

Goldbeard was starting to black out as he stared out at the night sky and decided it was time to head in for some rest when he saw THAT massive form meandering FAR to close to his home for his liking. “HEY!” he bellowed. “Get gone from my place of peace ya’ giant furball!” he picked up a rock and threw it at the creature as it roared in defiance and hurried off down the slope, towards Lake Farmount. “That big usurper thinks it can just come onto our land and make due wherever it sits, eh?” Goldbeard thought. “Think again you massive guzzler!” Goldbeard walked inside, grabbed a knife and poked himself on the thumb to draw blood. He then pressed his thumb against the wall of his living room as a reminder to himself to deal with that troublesome tyrant upon the morrow. He sucked the blood from his thumb and went to sleep as soon as he hit the mat.

The next morning Goldbeard awoke, did his morning stretch and yawned. After washing up he thought to go out for a stroll when he saw the blood reminder and sneered. “Thought I’d forget about ya, huh? Think again ya giant land fouler!” Goldbeard proclaimed as he grabbed his family hammer and made his way out of the well made house and down towards Lake Farmount, where he assumed the beast lived.

It was a wide, circular lake. If one were to swim the expanse, it would take a good hour to cross it. As Goldbeard arrived, he noticed no signs of the beast. The lake was actually if fine order, which surprised Goldbeard. He decided to walk a lap around the large lake and just as he was going to give up on trying to locate the beast he saw an odd looking, very large rock just off the eastern bay of the water. It was covered in branches and did not look at all natural. Goldbeard’s keen dwarven eye caught it easily.

He approached the rock with caution and when he was close enough, he pushed on the branches with his hammer and behold! There was an opening in the rock that seemed to lead into an underground tunnel. “Clever bugger…” Goldbeard thought. “Let’s see who’s the cleverer!” he whispered, as he began formulating a trap to capture the massive beast, so that he may kill it and be done with it, without any harm coming to himself.

He had seen the beast multiple times before, while building his home, and he wasn’t too concerned with the creature, at the time. Now, however, Goldbeard had a home to protect and he couldn’t just allow the thing to assume it could squat on his newfound land. Within a weeks time, Goldbeard had constructed a massive cage that he planned to place above the monster’s rock, so that the next time it exited or, entered the cave, it would be captured. Goldbeard would figure how to deal with the thing after it was jailed properly.

As the sun set on the night Goldbeard decided to lay the trap, he carted the cage all the way down to the lake and hoisted it up with ropes and pulleys, using his dwarven skills, to tie it onto one of the thick branches that covered the entrance. He decided he would check on it every night to see if the trap worked.

Days passed, and every night he went down to check on the beast, there hadn’t seemed to be any disturbance. He checked on the trap multiple times and there was nothing wrong with it. A well placed trigger system, pulleys were in order… Goldbeard just shrugged and assumed the beast maybe moved on. On his way back up to his home one night, however, there came a loud crashing sound from behind him and he turned to run down and check.

The trap had worked! The massive creature was bound in the large cage, growling and attempting to remove the object. Goldbeard moved quickly and hammered the nails he brought, through the holes on the rim of the cage, driving them deep into the earth and making sure the monster didn’t swipe him to death. Upon hammering the last nail into the ground Goldbeard let out a victorious “Ha!” and stared the beast right in the eyes. It was easily three times his size, covered in fur, with huge talons and a protruding maw that was indeed terrible to witness. It growled at Goldbeard with a pathetic tone.

“Now here ya are! You may yet live, if yer lucky! Be civil, ya hear?!” Goldbeard offered. The beast roared again in response as if it understood. “Good, good… Well I’m not one for wildlife, what do I do with ya?” Goldbeard asked. The beast simply roared low and licked it’s backside, where the cage had stuck it upon it’s descent. “Well for now, I will leave ya here. I need to talk to my cousins and see what they might be wanting to do with ya. Hopin’ they won’t have a taste for your type, if ya catch me, for your part…” Goldbeard looked at the poor beast with pity, before walking back up the slope, towards his home.

The beast’s cries that followed Goldbeard all the way home made him sore of heart. “Had to be done!” he declared to the trees, that seemed to be judging him, towering over him ominously. “I got to protect me home, I’ve been kind to your kind so I’m expecting the same!” he yelled at the trees, who seemed to ease off a bit in response. Goldbeard didn’t get much sleep that night, or the few evenings after, as the cries of the massive animal caused him to toss and turn through his slumber. He decided, one day soon after, that he would go see his family in Farmount, to see if they may have an idea what to do with the beast.

None of them seemed to give a care… “Kill it?” was the most productive response he received, from cousin Fandril.

“You’re no help! THE LOT OF YA!” Goldbeard screamed as he exited the halls of Farmount. He was answered by a parade of laughter, deep within the halls. “Bah! Worthless stone grinders!” he spat.

Goldbeard’s heart nearly stopped when he returned home. There were a group of small, hunched forms meandering about his property, inspecting his possessions and speaking to each other in that god awful tongue. “Goblins!” Goldbeard observed. “How in all the Hammers of Farmount is this?” Goldbeard counted eleven. Too many to take on without help. “Drat!” Goldbeard raged as he hurried back to Farmount to let his family know of the intrusion.

“Goblins!?” Fandril asked with heavy skepticism, after hearing Goldbeard’s tale. “I find that hard to believe Goldbeard…” he said. “The elves assured us that no Goblins would ever come near our lands, they said they had agents in place to thwart their movements.”

“I seen it with me own two eyes or I’m a blind dwarf, ya half wit!” Goldbeard responded. This caused Fandril to rise as if to do battle. The other dwarves settled them both down, however. “I seen it!” Goldbeard reiterated.

Fandril stroked his beard for a long moment before responding. “I suppose a warband is in order…” he stated grimly.

“Five of us should be plenty.” Goldbeard deduced.

“If you’re wrong Goldbeard-” Fandril began to say.

“I ain’t…” Goldbeard stated plainly.

Fandril gave the signal and those dwarves chosen, began to suit up. Axe and hammer. Sword and shield. There were seven in total. They exited the massive halls of Farmount and made their way to Goldbeard’s home, singing an uplifting warsong.

Fandril hushed the singing dwarves before they got too close. The bold goblins had set up a campfire and a makeshift tent. “Infectious little leeches.” Fandril hissed. He hand signaled to the other dwarves and they fanned out on both sides, preparing their attack. “You said eleven Goldbeard… I count twenty seven at least.” Fandril whispered.

Goldbeard did a headcount of his own. “Twenty nine…” he whispered. “I counted eleven and there was eleven!” he barked low at Fandril, who was eyeing him peculiarly. “We can still take em…” he enthused.

“At the cost of a cousin’s life?” Fandril asked. Goldbeard winced at this and shrugged. Just then, there came an odd noise from the tree above them, like that of a bird. They both looked up to see a cloaked figure, wearing a cloth mask and wielding a large bow. The slender form pointed two fingers to it’s eyes and then pointed them to the surrounding trees where the two dwarves saw movement on the limbs.

“Elves!” Goldbeard observed. The elf pressed it’s hand to it’s mouth and pointed at Fandril then to the bow in it’s hand, signalling they were to move on Fandril’s word. Fandril nodded, understanding.

“We have help.” Fandril stated. “On my word, we attack.” the dwarf said with an angry tone and slanted eyes.

Fandril waited a long moment, allowing his kin to get into place. He scanned the area and devised a battle strategy that he went over with Goldbeard. They both nodded in agreement and hugged each other. Afterwards Fandril stood up and, hefting his hammer above his head, he flung the weapon directly at the campfire. As the hammer landed directly in the center of the fire, creating a massive explosion of embers and flame, he screamed “WRATH OF GARRUM!” in memory of his father. The dwarves charged in and made easy work of the disrupted goblin force. The elves shot any goblin that attempted to sneak attack the dwarves, as they cut a swath through the overpowered, screeching enemies.

When they were finished, the elves hopped down silently from their perch and approached the dwarves. “What is the meaning of this!?” Loren asked as she removed her mask to reveal her beautiful, angular elven features, her eyes darting among the bewildered dwarves like daggers.

“What do ya mean?!” Fandril responded accusingly. “Goblins were attempting to thieve me cousin’s home! Are ya blind or, just not understanding?” he barked at Loren.

She ignored the mild insult. “What I mean is, who was behind the capturing of Xera?!” Loren demanded.

“Eh?” Fandril genuinely wondered. “What are you on about ya mad elf?”

“The beast, by the water, we name her Xera and she was captured by the likes of your kind, we know by the craftsmanship of the cage that harmed her. Don’t dare deny the truth of this!” She warned.

Goldbeard raised his hand and spoke. “Uh-I… that would be me, ma lady” he stammered.

Loren sliced him in two with her fierce glare. “That ‘beast’ that you decided to cage just so happens to be the protector of these lands! She keeps the goblins from wandering near Farmount. If you are wondering who is to blame for this night’s raid, you may construct a mirror so that you may stare at yourself!” she berated.

“I-I didn’t know…” Goldbeard responded to the sea of accusing stares that were trained on him, elf and dwarf alike. “I will go release her at once, I-”

“We have already seen to it dwarf. Were you to attempt freeing her, she may very well decide to swallow you whole. You kept her from her nearly starved children!” Loren growled “You also injured her hip.” she added, eyeing the dwarf with a stern gaze.

Goldbeard felt like a pile of mud. “I-…” he thought for moment and gulped audibly. “Can I still live here?” he asked tentatively.

“You may…” Loren offered “if you swear to never trap another animal of this forest without consulting us first.” she added, taking the glove from her left hand to place it, palm up, in front of Goldbeard. “Swear it!” she demanded.

“I-… Aye.” Goldbeard submitted, as he place his gnarled hand on top of Loren’s smooth, bony fingers.

“It is settled then!” she proclaimed, eyeing all of the other dwarves. “This oath I hold on the word of all the dwarves of Farmount, agreed?” she questioned.

“Aye!” the dwarves of Farmount responded in unison.

“Very well!” Loren replied, signaling to her fellow elves, who disappeared silently into the night. She masked herself, once again and turned, before entering the forest, to nod at the dwarves and bowed low, then darted straight up, like a frog, to climb the tree above her, scaling it quickly like a large squirrel.

Later that night the dwarves all enjoyed some of Goldbeard’s store of ale and herb, making jokes and poking fun at their cousin who graciously accepted the remarks, before all but Goldbeard traveled home to Farmount. As the sun crested the massive mountain’s peak, they returned home singing engaging songs as they marched.

Goldbeard, over time, befriended Xera and even afforded her some of the food that he foraged, which Xera was very glad for. They became good friends and sometimes Goldbeard would even go on long hikes with the humongous animal, who was much more playful and kind than Goldbeard could ever have imagined. He saw the little ones grow, as they graduated to other parts of the realm to protect what land they were assigned to by the elves. Goldbeard cried like a big baby when each one left. He also laughed when Xera would lick the tears from his face.

The dwarves, deep in the halls of Farmount, sing great songs about her. They also bartered with the elves to purchase fantastic pictures of the beast, that the elves had masterfully painted. These paintings hang high above their mead hall in reverence of their great protector, Xera.

[nongmobro-blog]

Cassandra and the Library

Cassandra or, “Cassandra the Barbarian” as she was known by her schoolmates, breathed a heavy, vexed sigh of discontent as the principal called her into to her office. The Principle wore an expression of disdain towards Cassandra, who she assumed had been getting better. After all the counselling she had afforded the young girl, it was very disappointing to see her sulking back into her office, wearing that infamous sneer. Completely unfitting for one so beautiful, thought the principal. Cassandra was a beautiful, sixteen year old, orange haired young girl with pale white skin, peppered with freckles and she had the face of an angel.

“So…” Principle Popov began, as she gestured for Cassandra to sit. Who pursed her lips in defiance before deciding to sit down with a heavy thud into the plastic chair, causing the feet to drag on the ground, screeching loudly. “What happened Cassandra?” the Principle asked, raising her eyebrows dryly and cupping her hands together.

“He deserved it…” Cassandra simply stated, folding her arms, as if the argument were concluded.

“What happened Cassandra?” Principle Popov asked again with a kind yet, demanding tone of authority.

After a long pause Cassandra began “I was eating my lunch, alone, when Suzy Pearlman walked by…” Cassandra began. Popov could sense the girl was doing all she could to keep her voice steady. Looking down at the girls raw, bloodied knuckles, Popov could see her hands shaking. “… I said hi to her and she smiled at me then, Jeff Coleman decided it would be a fine thing to do to inform her that she is overweight by asking her if it-” Cassandra paused as she steadied her rage. Popov gestured that it was okay, urging Cassandra to continue. “Is it a boy or a girl?” Cassandra said in a mocking tone, imitating Jeff. It was all Popov could do to not snicker at the young warrior before her. However, she could not allow the girl to think such behavior was acceptable.

“And?” Popov prompted.

“AND! Suzy started crying! It was awful! It made me cry to see her cry and Jeff was just laughing!” the girl was visibly shaking now as her emotions boiled from the memory.

“Shh, shh. Now, now.” Popov soothed. “Please continue.”

After a long moment of heavy breathing Cassandra added “I broke his nose. I lost my temper and I punched his face until I couldn’t feel my hands. He cried for his parents while I punished him for being a sour prick…” she said grimly. Popov noticed that look in her eyes. She called it the “Beast”. When Cassandra lost her temper, she seemed to switch her demeanor from a beautiful young, growing girl to a cornered, ravenous wolf.

Popov simply sighed. She had grown up with similar rage and, although she had very “proper” parenting and never went down the road that Cassandra had, she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that she understood where Cassandra was coming from. “Suzy is a fine young girl.” she said at length. “She does not deserved to be talked to that way.” Popov added. She noticed Cassandra perked up at this. “However.” she transitioned sternly “Physical force is a punishment applied by law enforcement or, combatants in a test of trials, such as the colosseum.” Popov finished with her hawk eyed stare, letting the girl know she was serious.

“I-” Cassandra began weakly.

“YOU… do not possess the right to attack your fellow classmates Cassandra!” she interrupted. “I am going to have to suspend you now!” Popov added with tears forming in her eyes. This caused Cassandra to look down at the ground, not knowing what to say. Popov wiped her eyes and breathed deeply. “I am going to have to fight to keep you from being expelled now Cas. We can’t keep playing this game.” she stated, seriously. “I am going to have a talk with your father.” Cassandra began weeping then. Popov got up to kneel next to the girl, hugging her. “It’ll be okay. Just watch that temper, huh?” she quipped, nudging the girl under the chin and adding a “boink” on her nose. This caused Cassandra to snicker, through the tears and mucus pouring down her face.

“Now go to my study room next door and contemplate your actions.” Popov produced an ancient looking key, on a ring of many old looking keys then handed it to her, gesturing towards the large door that read ‘STUDY’ “I have to talk to the Coleman family now and fight for your right to continue attending this school.” she said, as she breathed deeply, adjusting her clothes and preparing. “Go now! Don’t fret. Learn from this.”

Cassandra entered the study, closing the door softly. A small, quaint office with many books that lined the walls. Papers were strewn everywhere, colored tabs and paperclips binding them together. It smelled of chalk and there was a thick sun shaft blazing on the chair, where Cassandra sat down. A very comfortable chair that sank in, the combined comfort and warmth causing Cassandra to drift into a solid nap, almost instantly. She was barely aware when her father picked her up and carried her to the car, later that day.

“Wake up champ!” Cassandra heard her father say, pulling her from a forgettable dream. She woke to realize she was in her bedroom. “Let’s go have a talk. Take a shower and meet me in the living room.” he added.

Cassandra winced as the soap and water stung her knuckles. She took an extra long shower, not wanting to confront her father. She took her time drying herself off as well, and then breathed a resolute sigh, as she opened the door to head downstairs and find out what kind of trouble she was in.

The fire was blazing warmly as she entered the living room. Her father was stoking the thick logs of oak and humming a soothing tune. “Have a seat young lady…” he said, without even looking in her direction. Cassandra sat on the family couch her mother had made, not long before she died. Her father continued to hum and whistle, the contrast of his demeanor causing the situation to feel even more stressful to Cassandra. He had a way with doing that… He continued this for a long moment before holstering the poker next to the fire and turning to sit in his chair, gripping his hands together and looking at Cassandra with eyes of deep concern. He continued, playing out his staring contest routine until Cassandra poured out her confession.

“I see, I see.” he said, after she was done. “That Coleman boy has always had quite the attitude. Suzy is such a good girl, she does not deserve to be talked to that way.” he observed “You.. young lady, do not go around hitting people. What do I do if you get expelled, eh?” he asked plainly. Cassandra lifted her eyes to look at her father with a defeated expression. “Oddly enough, when I was in high school, I beat up HIS father for talking trash about your mother.” he admitted. “Bet the Colemans are going to think we have some form of vendetta against them.” He laughed. Cassandra laughed as well. After a moment of gut laughter, they both wiped their eyes.

“I’m sorry dad.” Cassandra said sincerely.

“I know you are. I know. C’mere.” he said smiling. Cassandra hugged her father and pressed her face into his chest, completely soaking his shirt in tears. “You just take it easy, eh?” he said softly, rubbing her head. “Now, I have to go speak with Popov about this whole ordeal. I may have to confront Mr. Coleman as well.” he let out a vexed sigh. “Big storm coming.” he added. “Heard it on the news. Biggest one in years. Be mindful.” he said, staring out the window at a darkening sky. There was a wicked breeze hissing through the cracks in the house. “I’ll be back in a bit Cas.” he said, grabbing his keys and putting on his thick coat. “Make yourself some dinner. The Beyers are next door, if you have any trouble or problems, go see them huh?” he afforded her a warm smile as he opened the door to leave.

Cassandra sat there for a very long moment, the sound of the wind hissing and wood creaking putting her into a form of trance. When she came to, she thought about food and realized she wasn’t hungry. Meandering about the house she came upon the pictures of her mother her dad kept in the kitchen. Her favorite place. They were stark reminders to Cassandra. Her mother had been killed in a car accident by some college kids who were drinking and driving. They plowed into the side of her car, killing her instantly. Cassandra’s last moments with her mother were not the best, they were fighting about Cassandras school presence. She never got to apologize. Her father had classical music playing in the kitchen and the song that was playing added to the feeling of Cassandra’s heart being ripped from her chest.

“I need to walk.” Cassandra thought. She put on her favorite coat and hat, grabbed her pack, then went out the side door and walked with the house to her back so the Beyers wouldn’t see her and possibly dissuade her or, call her father… 

She walked for a good five miles down the empty roads of her small town. Everyone seemed to be inside. It felt like a ghost town. Deep rumbling thunder off in the distance reminded Cassandra about the storm her father had mentioned before he left. “You dolt!” she berated herself, turning directly around to begin jogging back home, another rolling wave of deep thunder chasing her. The sky was usually dark around winter and Cassandra hadn’t thought twice about the storm until the thunder had reminded her. The wind began to pick up and stinging bits of snow accompanied it.

After a mile of jogging, it became hard to breathe and the snow was now coming down in vast waves. Cyclones of white ice flailing all over the street and piling up on the side of the road. Cassandra began to panic. She hadn’t even thought to bring her phone with her! It was now pitch dark and she could barely see ten feet ahead of her. She knew where she was generally so, she began to think in a desperate rush. The school must be nearby. Maybe there she could find a place to hide in a cubby or… She had no time to think. It was her best bet. She lined up where she believed the school to be and identified the faint light, through the haze of snow, to be the school’s parking lot. Growling through the snow piling at her feet, she plowed her way to the growing light in the distance.

That is when she heard a noise that chilled her to the bone. “AW-WOOOooooo!” she stopped dead for a moment. The sound was answered from another direction “AW-WOOOooooo!” Stifling a scream, Cassandra forced herself to move faster. Wolves… They only dared come close to the town when the weather was so bad that people weren’t outdoors.

“Never cry in the snow.” she remembered her mother saying, long ago, when she was much younger “The cold will freeze the tears on your face and won’t you feel silly then, with frozen tears stinging your eyes…”

Cassandra forced herself to focus and breathed deeply. She pulled the Gerber knife from her pack that her father gave her for emergencies, gripped it tightly in her hands, and began to storm her way towards the light she visibly confirmed to be the school. Another howl had her hopping through the snow at full speed, her legs lifting high to avoid wafting. She then heard a series of growls and yelps. They were getting closer. By the sound of it, they were fighting. Cassandra had watched documentaries on wolves and she deduced they may very well be fighting over who gets first dibs on her.

She reached the school parking lot. She didn’t want to walk into the light and reveal her position yet, she had no choice. So, as she ran into the light, she raised her knife in the air, screaming a wicked battle cry, hoping to scare her possible hunters. She made it under the awning to the front entrance of the school and stopped to gather herself through heavy, pained breaths. More growling from her left made her aware of how close the wolves actually were. She was certain they were hunting her at this point, which seemed to sharpen her senses, strangely enough. Not allowing herself to panic, she began to systematically test all the doors to the classrooms that she passed. “All locked!” she thought, frustrated.

Just then, she swore that she heard scuffling behind her. She could not see outside. Under the lighted awnings that protected the classrooms from such weather, all she could see was white waves of snow swirling madly and beyond that, pitch dark. There then came a wicked growl that felt like it was right in front of her. Cassandra replied with a wicked growl of her own. Producing the knife, she held it aloft for the predator to see, making sure the light caught the wicked tip of the admirable blade and reflected it’s warning.

She didn’t know what to do. The beast was close enough to attack, she knew. Holding the knife in warning and growling was all she could think to do. Just then she remembered something “The keys!” she thought. Pulling her pack off and rummaging through it’s contents, there they were. Popov’s keys! A wicked growl pulled her from her newfound excitement and she stammered, as she raised herself up to point the knife towards the sound and then bellow the most wicked and primal scream she could think to produce. It seemed to work, she wasn’t dead yet…

Keeping her back to the classrooms, never relinquishing her hold on the knife, she began to test the keys on the door directly behind her. It was the library. One by one she tested the keys, most of them didn’t even fit the keyhole. She began to panic just as the fifteenth key she tried clicked loudly, unlocking the door to the library. Opening it, slowly, never turning her back to the threat, she entered the room and then shut the door quickly, just as the fear inducing vision of a snarling wolf jumped into view. She slammed the door on the beasts paw  and maw, as it clawed at her, almost pushing the door ajar, causing it to yelp loudly. Cassandra kept her footing though and screaming, she forced the door shut. The sound of the wolves tearing up her backpack, that she had left behind, caused Cassandra to stand in a state of panic for many long moments.

She finally fumbled her way to a chair, where she sat in silence, having no thoughts, just enjoying the warmth of the very large, two story room. Feeling lucky to be alive. She fell asleep soon after.

Waking up with a start, hours later, Cassandra got up to check all the windows and to make sure they were closed and locked. “All clear…” She thought, as she ensured the final window was secured. “Now what?” she spoke aloud, as she looked around the humongous room, with it’s vast array of books, housed in fine rosewood shelving. Cassandra was never very keen on reading. However, the school and Principle Popov were, and this particular library was a result of Popov’s mass petitioning, seeing the dream library be brought to fruition. The school had closed down during it’s months of construction, forcing all the kids to be home schooled for the duration. Cassandra had to give it to Popov, this was a fantastic library. Beautiful. Study tables. Wireless internet and even a snack bar that was a favorite of the schoolkids, most of them frequented it, rather than the cafeteria. Cassandra’s stomach growled at the thought of it and, after testing the many keys on Popov’s key ring, she found the correct one and breathed a sigh of relief as it unlocked the door.

Opening the door filled Cassandra with an overwhelming sense of joy. A juice machine, bags of all her favorite potato chips, premade sandwiches, potato and macaroni salad, rice pudding, bread pudding. There was enough to feed her for a year! She breathed a sigh of relief.

After enjoying an avocado sandwich, some dill flavored potato chips and a tall glass of orange juice, Cassandra began meandering about the massive library, perusing the many titles. She thought of the irony of her disliking reading, without ever having actually read anything save the text books in school. She decided on reading the Princess Bride. She adored the movie and thought she’d have a go at the book. She could not put it down, as the story was woven in her mind by the author. She finished the book within a days time, only stopping to take unexpected cat naps. She then went on to read the Harry Potter series. Glorious! Then onto the tale of King Arthur. Beowulf. Sherlock Holmes. The Lord of the Rings. She laughed and cried so many times. Closing the each book after completion was like closing a memorable chapter of her heart.

The days flew by. The massive blizzard lasted for well over two weeks. Occasionally the thought of her worried father crossed her mind. She only hoped he hadn’t given up hope or, done something foolish, looking for her. She tried using the school phone multiple times, only to receive the “Your call cannot be completed as dialed…” message. Cassandra kept herself entertained with the vast array of epic tales available to her, each one becoming a part of her. Like the passing of a soul torch, handed down by masterful writer, encouraging the ability to transcend the mundane rigamorale of normal, daily life and open portals to worlds of vast potential. Magic, witches, wizards, dragons, viallains, valiant heroes and wisdom.

One day, when the sun actually shown through the thick walls of snow that covered the windows in towering piles, the phone rang. Startling Cassandra back to reality. She fumbled the phone as she picked it up to press it to her ear. “Hello!?” she answered enthusiastically.

“Cassandra! Oh thank god! Is that you!?” the stressed voice of Popov blurted.

“Yes Mrs. Popov! It’s me!” Cassandra answered excitedly.

“It’s her! It’s Cassandra!” she heard Popov yell, followed by an overwhelmed applause and “Whoo-hoos!” in the background. “Where are you exactly?!” Popov asked.

“I am in the Library Mrs. Popov!” Cassandra answered.

She heard Principal Popov crying then, which brought tears to her eyes as well. The phone made some static noise as the verklempt Popov handed the phone to her father. “Cas! Is it really you!?” her fathers voice rumbled excitedly. “You’re okay? Are you hurt?!”

“I am fine dad.” she responded, sobbing.

“We have been looking everywhere for you!” he stated while laughing, receiving a rough hug from Mr. Coleman.

“You had us scared half to death!” she heard Jeff Coleman say in the background, followed by laughter and more cheers.

“We are on our way! Have you eaten!? Are you hungry?!” her father asked genuinely.

“No, I have eaten plenty.” she responded. “The library is well stocked!” Cassandra added.

Her father then handed the phone off to Popov, who stayed on the phone with Cassandra the entire time, talking about the books she had read and pouring over their favorite details. Nearly an hour later, there came a loud knock on the door, followed by her father’s concerned voice. “I gotta go, Mrs. Popov, dad is here.” she informed.

“Okay Cas. I am so glad you are okay. I can’t wait to see you!” Popov admitted.

“Same…” Cassandra simply replied.

“I love you Cassandra…” Popov cried.

“Same…” Cassandra afforded, through overwhelming emotions.

Cassandra opened the door to her father who picked her up and spun her, hugging her so tightly it was hard for her to breathe. He set the giggling Cassandra down and looked at her with eyes of pure joy. “Oh my god, I missed you so much young lady…” he said, trailing off into tears as he kneeled down to hug her again.

Cassandra began writing not long after, and with the help of Popov, she started a voluntary reading class that was held after school. Many students attended and from that class there spawned many activities. They named themselves the “Coalition of Creativity” and performed plays, musicals, art shows, drum circles and much, much more. Cassandra was very well thought of afterwards and was awarded many plaques and significant awards for her accomplishments.

The school renamed the library “The Alpha’s Den” not long after Cassandra had graduated, in memory of the brave young girl who influenced the school and changed it forever. Cassandra became a famous writer and thanked her father and Popov in the forward of each book, and dedicated each to the memory of her mother.

[nongmobro-blog]

Cassandra and the Library

Cassandra or, “Cassandra the Barbarian” as she was known by her schoolmates, breathed a heavy, vexed sigh of discontent as the principal called her into to her office. The Principle wore an expression of disdain towards Cassandra, who she assumed had been getting better. After all the counselling she had afforded the young girl, it was very disappointing to see her sulking back into her office, wearing that infamous sneer. Completely unfitting for one so beautiful, thought the principal. Cassandra was a beautiful, sixteen year old, orange haired young girl with pale white skin, peppered with freckles and she had the face of an angel.

“So…” Principle Popov began, as she gestured for Cassandra to sit. Who pursed her lips in defiance before deciding to sit down with a heavy thud into the plastic chair, causing the feet to drag on the ground, screeching loudly. “What happened Cassandra?” the Principle asked, raising her eyebrows dryly and cupping her hands together.

“He deserved it…” Cassandra simply stated, folding her arms, as if the argument were concluded.

“What happened Cassandra?” Principle Popov asked again with a kind yet, demanding tone of authority.

After a long pause Cassandra began “I was eating my lunch, alone, when Suzy Pearlman walked by…” Cassandra began. Popov could sense the girl was doing all she could to keep her voice steady. Looking down at the girls raw, bloodied knuckles, Popov could see her hands shaking. “… I said hi to her and she smiled at me then, Jeff Coleman decided it would be a fine thing to do to inform her that she is overweight by asking her if it-” Cassandra paused as she steadied her rage. Popov gestured that it was okay, urging Cassandra to continue. “Is it a boy or a girl?” Cassandra said in a mocking tone, imitating Jeff. It was all Popov could do to not snicker at the young warrior before her. However, she could not allow the girl to think such behavior was acceptable.

“And?” Popov prompted.

“AND! Suzy started crying! It was awful! It made me cry to see her cry and Jeff was just laughing!” the girl was visibly shaking now as her emotions boiled from the memory.

“Shh, shh. Now, now.” Popov soothed. “Please continue.”

After a long moment of heavy breathing Cassandra added “I broke his nose. I lost my temper and I punched his face until I couldn’t feel my hands. He cried for his parents while I punished him for being a sour prick…” she said grimly. Popov noticed that look in her eyes. She called it the “Beast”. When Cassandra lost her temper, she seemed to switch her demeanor from a beautiful young, growing girl to a cornered, ravenous wolf.

Popov simply sighed. She had grown up with similar rage and, although she had very “proper” parenting and never went down the road that Cassandra had, she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that she understood where Cassandra was coming from. “Suzy is a fine young girl.” she said at length. “She does not deserved to be talked to that way.” Popov added. She noticed Cassandra perked up at this. “However.” she transitioned sternly “Physical force is a punishment applied by law enforcement or, combatants in a test of trials, such as the colosseum.” Popov finished with her hawk eyed stare, letting the girl know she was serious.

“I-” Cassandra began weakly.

“YOU… do not possess the right to attack your fellow classmates Cassandra!” she interrupted. “I am going to have to suspend you now!” Popov added with tears forming in her eyes. This caused Cassandra to look down at the ground, not knowing what to say. Popov wiped her eyes and breathed deeply. “I am going to have to fight to keep you from being expelled now Cas. We can’t keep playing this game.” she stated, seriously. “I am going to have a talk with your father.” Cassandra began weeping then. Popov got up to kneel next to the girl, hugging her. “It’ll be okay. Just watch that temper, huh?” she quipped, nudging the girl under the chin and adding a “boink” on her nose. This caused Cassandra to snicker, through the tears and mucus pouring down her face.

“Now go to my study room next door and contemplate your actions.” Popov produced an ancient looking key, on a ring of many old looking keys then handed it to her, gesturing towards the large door that read ‘STUDY’ “I have to talk to the Coleman family now and fight for your right to continue attending this school.” she said, as she breathed deeply, adjusting her clothes and preparing. “Go now! Don’t fret. Learn from this.”

Cassandra entered the study, closing the door softly. A small, quaint office with many books that lined the walls. Papers were strewn everywhere, colored tabs and paperclips binding them together. It smelled of chalk and there was a thick sun shaft blazing on the chair, where Cassandra sat down. A very comfortable chair that sank in, the combined comfort and warmth causing Cassandra to drift into a solid nap, almost instantly. She was barely aware when her father picked her up and carried her to the car, later that day.

“Wake up champ!” Cassandra heard her father say, pulling her from a forgettable dream. She woke to realize she was in her bedroom. “Let’s go have a talk. Take a shower and meet me in the living room.” he added.

Cassandra winced as the soap and water stung her knuckles. She took an extra long shower, not wanting to confront her father. She took her time drying herself off as well, and then breathed a resolute sigh, as she opened the door to head downstairs and find out what kind of trouble she was in.

The fire was blazing warmly as she entered the living room. Her father was stoking the thick logs of oak and humming a soothing tune. “Have a seat young lady…” he said, without even looking in her direction. Cassandra sat on the family couch her mother had made, not long before she died. Her father continued to hum and whistle, the contrast of his demeanor causing the situation to feel even more stressful to Cassandra. He had a way with doing that… He continued this for a long moment before holstering the poker next to the fire and turning to sit in his chair, gripping his hands together and looking at Cassandra with eyes of deep concern. He continued, playing out his staring contest routine until Cassandra poured out her confession.

“I see, I see.” he said, after she was done. “That Coleman boy has always had quite the attitude. Suzy is such a good girl, she does not deserve to be talked to that way.” he observed “You.. young lady, do not go around hitting people. What do I do if you get expelled, eh?” he asked plainly. Cassandra lifted her eyes to look at her father with a defeated expression. “Oddly enough, when I was in high school, I beat up HIS father for talking trash about your mother.” he admitted. “Bet the Colemans are going to think we have some form of vendetta against them.” He laughed. Cassandra laughed as well. After a moment of gut laughter, they both wiped their eyes.

“I’m sorry dad.” Cassandra said sincerely.

“I know you are. I know. C’mere.” he said smiling. Cassandra hugged her father and pressed her face into his chest, completely soaking his shirt in tears. “You just take it easy, eh?” he said softly, rubbing her head. “Now, I have to go speak with Popov about this whole ordeal. I may have to confront Mr. Coleman as well.” he let out a vexed sigh. “Big storm coming.” he added. “Heard it on the news. Biggest one in years. Be mindful.” he said, staring out the window at a darkening sky. There was a wicked breeze hissing through the cracks in the house. “I’ll be back in a bit Cas.” he said, grabbing his keys and putting on his thick coat. “Make yourself some dinner. The Beyers are next door, if you have any trouble or problems, go see them huh?” he afforded her a warm smile as he opened the door to leave.

Cassandra sat there for a very long moment, the sound of the wind hissing and wood creaking putting her into a form of trance. When she came to, she thought about food and realized she wasn’t hungry. Meandering about the house she came upon the pictures of her mother her dad kept in the kitchen. Her favorite place. They were stark reminders to Cassandra. Her mother had been killed in a car accident by some college kids who were drinking and driving. They plowed into the side of her car, killing her instantly. Cassandra’s last moments with her mother were not the best, they were fighting about Cassandras school presence. She never got to apologize. Her father had classical music playing in the kitchen and the song that was playing added to the feeling of Cassandra’s heart being ripped from her chest.

“I need to walk.” Cassandra thought. She put on her favorite coat and hat, grabbed her pack, then went out the side door and walked with the house to her back so the Beyers wouldn’t see her and possibly dissuade her or, call her father… 

She walked for a good five miles down the empty roads of her small town. Everyone seemed to be inside. It felt like a ghost town. Deep rumbling thunder off in the distance reminded Cassandra about the storm her father had mentioned before he left. “You dolt!” she berated herself, turning directly around to begin jogging back home, another rolling wave of deep thunder chasing her. The sky was usually dark around winter and Cassandra hadn’t thought twice about the storm until the thunder had reminded her. The wind began to pick up and stinging bits of snow accompanied it.

After a mile of jogging, it became hard to breathe and the snow was now coming down in vast waves. Cyclones of white ice flailing all over the street and piling up on the side of the road. Cassandra began to panic. She hadn’t even thought to bring her phone with her! It was now pitch dark and she could barely see ten feet ahead of her. She knew where she was generally so, she began to think in a desperate rush. The school must be nearby. Maybe there she could find a place to hide in a cubby or… She had no time to think. It was her best bet. She lined up where she believed the school to be and identified the faint light, through the haze of snow, to be the school’s parking lot. Growling through the snow piling at her feet, she plowed her way to the growing light in the distance.

That is when she heard a noise that chilled her to the bone. “AW-WOOOooooo!” she stopped dead for a moment. The sound was answered from another direction “AW-WOOOooooo!” Stifling a scream, Cassandra forced herself to move faster. Wolves… They only dared come close to the town when the weather was so bad that people weren’t outdoors.

“Never cry in the snow.” she remembered her mother saying, long ago, when she was much younger “The cold will freeze the tears on your face and won’t you feel silly then, with frozen tears stinging your eyes…”

Cassandra forced herself to focus and breathed deeply. She pulled the Gerber knife from her pack that her father gave her for emergencies, gripped it tightly in her hands, and began to storm her way towards the light she visibly confirmed to be the school. Another howl had her hopping through the snow at full speed, her legs lifting high to avoid wafting. She then heard a series of growls and yelps. They were getting closer. By the sound of it, they were fighting. Cassandra had watched documentaries on wolves and she deduced they may very well be fighting over who gets first dibs on her.

She reached the school parking lot. She didn’t want to walk into the light and reveal her position yet, she had no choice. So, as she ran into the light, she raised her knife in the air, screaming a wicked battle cry, hoping to scare her possible hunters. She made it under the awning to the front entrance of the school and stopped to gather herself through heavy, pained breaths. More growling from her left made her aware of how close the wolves actually were. She was certain they were hunting her at this point, which seemed to sharpen her senses, strangely enough. Not allowing herself to panic, she began to systematically test all the doors to the classrooms that she passed. “All locked!” she thought, frustrated.

Just then, she swore that she heard scuffling behind her. She could not see outside. Under the lighted awnings that protected the classrooms from such weather, all she could see was white waves of snow swirling madly and beyond that, pitch dark. There then came a wicked growl that felt like it was right in front of her. Cassandra replied with a wicked growl of her own. Producing the knife, she held it aloft for the predator to see, making sure the light caught the wicked tip of the admirable blade and reflected it’s warning.

She didn’t know what to do. The beast was close enough to attack, she knew. Holding the knife in warning and growling was all she could think to do. Just then she remembered something “The keys!” she thought. Pulling her pack off and rummaging through it’s contents, there they were. Popov’s keys! A wicked growl pulled her from her newfound excitement and she stammered, as she raised herself up to point the knife towards the sound and then bellow the most wicked and primal scream she could think to produce. It seemed to work, she wasn’t dead yet…

Keeping her back to the classrooms, never relinquishing her hold on the knife, she began to test the keys on the door directly behind her. It was the library. One by one she tested the keys, most of them didn’t even fit the keyhole. She began to panic just as the fifteenth key she tried clicked loudly, unlocking the door to the library. Opening it, slowly, never turning her back to the threat, she entered the room and then shut the door quickly, just as the fear inducing vision of a snarling wolf jumped into view. She slammed the door on the beasts paw  and maw, as it clawed at her, almost pushing the door ajar, causing it to yelp loudly. Cassandra kept her footing though and screaming, she forced the door shut. The sound of the wolves tearing up her backpack, that she had left behind, caused Cassandra to stand in a state of panic for many long moments.

She finally fumbled her way to a chair, where she sat in silence, having no thoughts, just enjoying the warmth of the very large, two story room. Feeling lucky to be alive. She fell asleep soon after.

Waking up with a start, hours later, Cassandra got up to check all the windows and to make sure they were closed and locked. “All clear…” She thought, as she ensured the final window was secured. “Now what?” she spoke aloud, as she looked around the humongous room, with it’s vast array of books, housed in fine rosewood shelving. Cassandra was never very keen on reading. However, the school and Principle Popov were, and this particular library was a result of Popov’s mass petitioning, seeing the dream library be brought to fruition. The school had closed down during it’s months of construction, forcing all the kids to be home schooled for the duration. Cassandra had to give it to Popov, this was a fantastic library. Beautiful. Study tables. Wireless internet and even a snack bar that was a favorite of the schoolkids, most of them frequented it, rather than the cafeteria. Cassandra’s stomach growled at the thought of it and, after testing the many keys on Popov’s key ring, she found the correct one and breathed a sigh of relief as it unlocked the door.

Opening the door filled Cassandra with an overwhelming sense of joy. A juice machine, bags of all her favorite potato chips, premade sandwiches, potato and macaroni salad, rice pudding, bread pudding. There was enough to feed her for a year! She breathed a sigh of relief.

After enjoying an avocado sandwich, some dill flavored potato chips and a tall glass of orange juice, Cassandra began meandering about the massive library, perusing the many titles. She thought of the irony of her disliking reading, without ever having actually read anything save the text books in school. She decided on reading the Princess Bride. She adored the movie and thought she’d have a go at the book. She could not put it down, as the story was woven in her mind by the author. She finished the book within a days time, only stopping to take unexpected cat naps. She then went on to read the Harry Potter series. Glorious! Then onto the tale of King Arthur. Beowulf. Sherlock Holmes. The Lord of the Rings. She laughed and cried so many times. Closing the each book after completion was like closing a memorable chapter of her heart.

The days flew by. The massive blizzard lasted for well over two weeks. Occasionally the thought of her worried father crossed her mind. She only hoped he hadn’t given up hope or, done something foolish, looking for her. She tried using the school phone multiple times, only to receive the “Your call cannot be completed as dialed…” message. Cassandra kept herself entertained with the vast array of epic tales available to her, each one becoming a part of her. Like the passing of a soul torch, handed down by masterful writer, encouraging the ability to transcend the mundane rigamorale of normal, daily life and open portals to worlds of vast potential. Magic, witches, wizards, dragons, viallains, valiant heroes and wisdom.

One day, when the sun actually shown through the thick walls of snow that covered the windows in towering piles, the phone rang. Startling Cassandra back to reality. She fumbled the phone as she picked it up to press it to her ear. “Hello!?” she answered enthusiastically.

“Cassandra! Oh thank god! Is that you!?” the stressed voice of Popov blurted.

“Yes Mrs. Popov! It’s me!” Cassandra answered excitedly.

“It’s her! It’s Cassandra!” she heard Popov yell, followed by an overwhelmed applause and “Whoo-hoos!” in the background. “Where are you exactly?!” Popov asked.

“I am in the Library Mrs. Popov!” Cassandra answered.

She heard Principal Popov crying then, which brought tears to her eyes as well. The phone made some static noise as the verklempt Popov handed the phone to her father. “Cas! Is it really you!?” her fathers voice rumbled excitedly. “You’re okay? Are you hurt?!”

“I am fine dad.” she responded, sobbing.

“We have been looking everywhere for you!” he stated while laughing, receiving a rough hug from Mr. Coleman.

“You had us scared half to death!” she heard Jeff Coleman say in the background, followed by laughter and more cheers.

“We are on our way! Have you eaten!? Are you hungry?!” her father asked genuinely.

“No, I have eaten plenty.” she responded. “The library is well stocked!” Cassandra added.

Her father then handed the phone off to Popov, who stayed on the phone with Cassandra the entire time, talking about the books she had read and pouring over their favorite details. Nearly an hour later, there came a loud knock on the door, followed by her father’s concerned voice. “I gotta go, Mrs. Popov, dad is here.” she informed.

“Okay Cas. I am so glad you are okay. I can’t wait to see you!” Popov admitted.

“Same…” Cassandra simply replied.

“I love you Cassandra…” Popov cried.

“Same…” Cassandra afforded, through overwhelming emotions.

Cassandra opened the door to her father who picked her up and spun her, hugging her so tightly it was hard for her to breathe. He set the giggling Cassandra down and looked at her with eyes of pure joy. “Oh my god, I missed you so much young lady…” he said, trailing off into tears as he kneeled down to hug her again.

Cassandra began writing not long after, and with the help of Popov, she started a voluntary reading class that was held after school. Many students attended and from that class there spawned many activities. They named themselves the “Coalition of Creativity” and performed plays, musicals, art shows, drum circles and much, much more. Cassandra was very well thought of afterwards and was awarded many plaques and significant awards for her accomplishments.

The school renamed the library “The Alpha’s Den” not long after Cassandra had graduated, in memory of the brave young girl who influenced the school and changed it forever. Cassandra became a famous writer and thanked her father and Popov in the forward of each book, and dedicated each to the memory of her mother.

[nongmobro-blog]

The Landlord and the Bum

The Landlord was very precise in his workings and dealings. Dotting every i and crossing every t. All was accounted for and all were held accountable. If the rent was ever late, those who did not pay on time were hustled out and ignored. The Landlord learned, long ago, that kindness was weakness and that people are untrustworthy and pathetic.

There always seemed to be a troublesome family or, couple complaining about food, school payments… the list never seemed to stop growing with their incessant excuses and feigned misery. The Landlord learned at a young age that caring was for suckers. Time is money and caring eats up time. “Their all a bunch of time eaters!” His father used to scream sometimes after returning home from work. “Indeed…” the Landlord reminisced, as he walked past yet another homeless scum on the street. “Lazy street mutt.” The Landlord whispered as he walked past the thing. By the look on the thing’s face, whose to say if it even heard the insult? Who cared anyway. They had given up and they deserved to starve, as far as the Landlord was concerned…

Seeing his building always inspired a feeling of admiration within the Landlord. The same building the Landlord grew up in. The Landlord’s father, mother and brother all grew up in the very same building. His father was the Landlord before, and then he handed it down to him. The Landlord always assumed that father would hand the property over to his little brother, who seemed to have a “way�� with the tenants. Very friendly they were, to him, and he to them. It always made the Landlord so sick. He was weak and they were eating his time. Father was always so keen on him though, and this made the Landlord angry, that father would not see this fact.

The Landlord never paid attention to little brother. The Landlord always alienated him, as it wanted nothing to do with that infectious weakness of “caring”. Mother disliked little brother as well, she was always saying he would bring the building down with the infectious scum he’d most likely allow to live in the place. The Landlord and mother always saw eye to eye on the subject. Father, however, always kept a place in his heart for little brother, it seemed.

So, when father was on his deathbed, in the hospital, the Landlord was very glad to hear that he decided to hand over the Landlord position to whom deserved it. Little brother did not seem to mind but, the Landlord was sure that he was secretly crushed as a result of the decision. That “kind” act of his was just a front to hide that he was simply weak, the Landlord knew…

The Landlord hadn’t seen little brother in over eight years, since he had moved out, soon after father’s death. Just as the Landlord was contemplating this and turning the corner to his building he noticed him, there sat that troublesome bum that had been bothering him and his establishment for well over a year now. Regardless of the Landlord’s efforts, this loathsome pest always seemed to sit right there, in front of the Landlord’s building, mocking him. Even the police said “There is nothing we can do.” which the Landlord considered hogwash. “Still waiting on that call from city hall…” He thought. Banning this particular vermin was of the highest priority.  

“Hey bro!” The bum said, smiling warmly.

“Don’t you ‘hey bro’ me, I told you to get away from my building. I’m in talks to see it done! I suggest you leave before you’re sitting behind bars. I’ve heard they do terrible things to men in prison, loser.“

The Landlord threatened. “Okay bro. Okay…” the bum responded, shaking his head and shrugging. “One love.” He added.

Like most bums, his face was covered in a thick beard and he wore a trenchcoat, with a pair of jeans and sneakers, sporting a well kept top hat and carrying a small backpack. “At least he wasn’t one of the smelly ones…” The Landlord thought, as he opened the door, glancing at the bum once again before entering. He was chatting with a girl who seemed to actually enjoy speaking to the thing! “Blech!” the Landlord spoke aloud as he entered the building.

After entering his room and locking the door, with it’s numerous latches and chains, the Landlord laid down to meditate. The Landlord began to float off into a dream just as a woman’s laughter outside caused him to stir awake. The Landlord breathed vexedly and growled. The next noise was produced by that troublesome bum, squawking some form of nonsense, followed by the woman’s laughter, once again. “Enough… is ENOUGH!” the Landlord thought angrily as he hopped up, grabbing his keys, opening the door and storming downstairs to finally deal with this criminal.

"Everything okay boss?..“ The doorman asked tentatively, as the Landlord raged past him, wearing a livid look of disgust.

"It’s about to be…” The Landlord proclaimed victoriously as he kicked the door open before the terrified bellman had a chance to open it for him.“HEY! YOU!!” The Landlord bellowed aloud as he exited the building to face the wretch, who was smoking weed and looking positively at peace. He was fraternizing with the beautiful girl who, like everyone else on the street, stopped what they were doing to pay mind to the raging Landlord, storming into the situation.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa… Bro, come on man. It doesn’t have to be like th-“ the bum began to say.

"Don’t ‘bro’ me, you insect!” The Landlord interrupted madly. “I’ve told you multiple times, more than I should have ever afforded, to GET OFF MY PROPERTY!!!” The Landlord finished with a scream so loud, the bustle of the street came to a stand still and even over a block away, heads were turning at the spectacle. “This is it!” The Landlord thought victoriously. “Now is my chance to be rid of this pest, while everyone watches…”

The bum looked simply bewildered and replied “Bro, one love m-”

“Don’t give me that one love tripe! I’ve put up with you for FAR too long, you worm! Get off of MY STREET!” The Landlord proclaimed, spittle flying out of it’s mouth. Just then the Landlord noticed a pair of police officers approaching and waved them over to take care of the scum.

“What’s the problem?” One of the officers asked dryly.

“This pest has been bothering me and my property for well over a year now and I demand something be done, IMMEDIATELY!” The Landlord ordered, causing a shift in the officers demeanor from casual, to stern.

“That’s enough… We told you there is nothing we can do.” The officer replied with an undertone of warning.

“I… Wh-. This is MADNESS!” The Landlord observed. “You’re just going to let this bum sit here and communicate with my guests and the hard working folks of this city!?” The Landlord questioned with towering demand, meaning to finish this, once and for all.

“That bum just so happens to be a hero in this city. He assists the homeless and helps families with no homes to find housing and educational assistance. He also happens t-” The officer began to say.

“I don’t care about that! How does THAT concern me!?” The Landlord demanded, considering himself well within his rights to do so, cutting off the officer from speaking. The officer cracked her neck and looked to the bum for assistance.

“I won’t put up with this much longer, sir.” She said to the bum.

“Ha!” The Landlord laughed victoriously. “There you have it! Be gone, pest!” He screamed at the bum.

“Hey!” The officer warned. “I was talking about you. This has to end.”

“Wha-… You’re joking right? You’ve got to be kidding me.” The Landlord assumed.

“Tell him or, I will.” The officer warned plainly.

“Tell me what?” The Landlord asked, confused.

“Bro, I-” the bum began to say.

“Stop calling me that!” The Landlord screamed and then turned to the officer. “Tell me what!?” The Landlord demanded. The officer shook her head and nodded towards the bum.

“Bro… It’s me. Your brother.” Little brother said, in a somber tone. “It’s me.” He repeated. The Landlord went pale and looked betrayed. After a long moment, with nothing but the sound of horns in the distance and nearby street noises, the Landlord spoke.

“What form of trickery is this? I don’t believe you… You have no right to be here. Are you tormenting me?!” he demanded.

“Bro, this is my building. Dad signed the lease over to me years ago, before he died. I have allowed you to remain as the Landlord because you are my brother and I don’t like to think of you being without a job, and I know you like the position so much.” Little brother offered kindly.

“I- I don’t believe it…” The Landlord stammered. “Dad signed the lease over to Mr. Mulberry, I received the notice.” The Landlord added weakly.

“Mr. Mulberry signed the lease over to me soon afterwards. It was the only way to ensure you would not be angry about the decision.” Little brother stated. “I come to hang out here because I grew up here and I love it here. And… Because I own the building.” He added.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” The Landlord feigned. “I w-” He began to say.

“You were never very fond of me bro. I never trusted you would have my best interests in mind. After ignoring all the anger management flyers I sent to your address, I assumed you hadn’t changed much.” Little brother admitted, cutting off the bewildered Landlord. “It’s okay man. Just relax.”

“I-… I.” The Landlord began crying then. "Don’t tell me to relax.” he stated blandly. “You don’t get to tell me what to do and you never will… “ the Landlord added, as he dismissed the hug little brother meant to give him and sulked back to the building he managed, for his little brother… The street seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and went back to it’s business, slowly but, surely.

Over the next few months, the Landlord fought the urge to leave the position and to find a new home but, he could not leave the home where he grew up. Mother had died two years ago and there was no one to consult with. Word of mouth reached the Landlord of his brother’s deeds around the city and he began looking them up online. The Landlord felt like a tyrant, seeing the heroic things his little brother had been doing, selflessly. Feeling humbled and defeated, the Landlord pulled one of the anger management flyers out of the stack in his office and decided to attend.

There he met a very kind young woman, Stacy, who seemed to completely understand everything the Landlord was going through. With the epic assistance of the head counselor, Antonio, the Landlord began to cheer up. During this transition, the Landlord underwent many stark realizations about how foul and greedy he had been towards little brother. He could barely look at him every time he returned to the building, when he was there, always smiling. This went on for nearly a year.

The Landlord felt guilty, at times, for enjoying his transition and experiencing so much joy with Stacy, whom he married, as the days rolled by. He neglected to invite him to the wedding, presuming he wouldn’t even show up. He didn’t know what to say to little brother, who he assumed would never forgive him.

One day however, upon returning home from a camping trip with Stacy, who was now pregnant, the Landlord and his wife turned the corner, coming from the parking garage, to see a street full of people who all screamed “Congratulations!” Little brother had engineered an intricate surprise party in celebration of he and Stacy’s newfound love and child. With musicians, food, balloons, ribbons, games… It was surreal. The Landlord and Stacy both agreed it was a street fair of some sort, though they couldn’t place for what reason or, event. The Landlord nearly fell over, as did Stacy, they were so overwhelmed, as little brother came up to hug them both, laughing joyfully.

“This must have cost a fortune…” the Landlord said with a cracked tone of appreciation, wiping the tears from his eyes and laughing kindly at Stacy, who was doing the same, smiling brightly at little brother.

“Don’t worry about that bro.” little brother said hugging them both strongly. “Congratulations.” he whispered.

The band was very good and played the songs people requested. The Landlord even hopped on the piano, which he hadn’t touched in years to play a few tunes for his wife. They played games, ate good food, drank fine wine and even took turns dunking each other in the carnival dunk booth, laughing all the while.

This particular building, and the Landlord who oversaw it’s workings, were very well thought of, from then on…

[nongmobro-blog]

The Lost Man and the Widow

It was a very windy and stormy night, the rain was pouring in drenching waves sometimes vertically, spraying up in the man’s face. He had become lost from his group after stopping in a clearing, where he accidentally fell asleep while meaning to have a moment of silence from the make shift picnic that the group had stopped to enjoy. The rain had woke him up with a startling crack of vicious thunder. It took the man a moment to come to and remember where he was, and as he searched quickly for the group, he soon realized they were nowhere to be found. Most likely they were beset by the massive storm that the man now endured and gave up quickly on finding him. The man could barely see more than four feet ahead of him and the rain was so loud, their screams would have fallen on deaf ears. They could be looking for him right now and he wouldn’t even know it. The man could barely hear himself when he yelled for the group…

Picking his way through the thick bushes felt like wearing a blindfold, as the man tumbled over roots and stumbled through the brush. The towering thunder and lightning above spurred the man on in a desperate rush, like the rage of the gods prodding him on with bright flashes and ear piercing crackling. Ignoring the growing number of cuts and bruises, the man pressed on, finding a fumbling form of rhythm as the pain was numbed by the cold, damp wetness seeping through his clothes.

The brightness provided from a tremendous lightning explosion revealed a cave not far ahead, maybe two hundred feet or so. The deep, rumbling thunder afterward reminded the man to hurry and he picked his way through the remaining trees and bushes to make it to the entrance of the cave. It wasn’t huge but, it was certainly big enough for a bear to possibly live in, the man deduced. He blindly searched for a rock in the darkness and found a suitable stone, then quickly tossed it into the cave and screamed as loud as he could. No response, save the sound of the rock ricocheting off the thick stone walls inside. “Good enough…” he thought as he quietly made his way in, pulling out his flashlight and cupping his hand on the lens to dim the brightness, just in case…

The cave, thankfully, was not lengthy. It was a well rounded cave with small stalactites hanging from the ceiling, close enough to touch, if the man jumped. It was warm and empty. That’s what mattered most. The man sighed his relief and released the heavy, drenched pack from his aching shoulders, popping it off his right shoulder and catching it cleanly to swiftly open it and grab a bite to eat and, water. After gulping down nearly half the skin, the man open the package of jerky and began chewing while laughing at his bad luck in getting caught in the massive storm. Exhaling a long, victorious breath however, for having found the cave. The man ate his jerky in silence and when he was finished, he pulled out his MP3 player and yelped as he felt a sting on his hand. “OW!” he screamed in response. After shaking his hand madly to remove the pest, he looked down to see a humongous spider. In a panic, he quickly fumbled for his first aid kit and found the proper antidote and after prepping the needle, he pressed it quickly into his arm, gripping his hand and groaning from the building pain of the venom.

He kept an eye on the spider the whole time, as the antidote set in and he felt the venom being countered. He carefully tip toed his way closer to the spider and he meant to step on the thing. As he lifted his foot for the kill however, the spider made eye contact with him and said “It is bad luck to kill spiders.”

The man stopped for a moment and then let his foot fall slowly while saying “Is it now?

“I’d like to think so..” the spider responded cryptically

“How is it that you…” the man began to say “… never mind that. Why did you bite me? Do you not eat bugs for sustenance?” He demanded angrily.

“I do…” the spider replied dryly “However, this downpour has caused a drought in my food supply.” She quipped.

The man simply stared at the spider with stern, pursed lips and slanted eyes. “Do you think it wise to attempt to feast upon a man’s flesh? I could kill you right now. Luck or, no.” he threatened.

“I am quite agile…” the spider responded, confidently.

“As am I..” the man warned.

“Undoubtedly…” the spider mocked

“You say to me that I should fear killing you for some curse of bad luck and yet you feed on my blood, freely, while injecting me with your deadly venom? What have you to say to that spider?!” the man screamed, causing a feint echo within the small cave, just as lightning flashed, accompanied by a thundering boom, accentuating his question.

The spider, seemingly unabashed replied “Hypocrite…”

“Excuse me!?” the man blurted “Is this some form of riddle or, game to you?” The man made a move as if to squish the spider yet, the spider called his bluff, refusing to move.

“You feast on the flesh of an animal and yet your race is meant to shepherd the very creatures you now feast upon. Us spiders do not understand your vehement lust of taste and flesh. And yet YOU have the nerve to question me for simply grabbing a bite whilst starving in a cave during this great storm? Do you humans really think of yourselves so highly? To be able to eat the flesh of any being you decide to conquer while having the nerve to throw in my face a desperate move to survive. This is just?” the spider questioned.

“I-… I. No, but…” the man was at a loss for words then. A pained, quizzical look crossing his features. The man breathed deeply. “I am a man of morality and you have me cornered. What now?” he offered.

“I am hungry…” the spider admitted “have you anymore of that antidote?” she asked.

“You have got to be kidding m-…” he began, palming his forehead and laughing. “Are you serious?…” he asked sarcastically.

The spider simply stared at the man with those dark, sparkling eyes.

“I suppose I c-…” he breathed vexedly “Will you leave me be then? After you’ve had your fill?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes, I am no glutton…” the spider teased.

“Very well, get it over with…” he paused “this is madness.” he added

The spider made no remark and moving with astonishing speed, she reached the mans ankle, where she bit and began to have her meal, sucking the blood in great gulps. “Thank you, kind sir.” she said with a tone of satisfaction, when she was finished.

“You’re welcome, I suppose…” the man retorted, while he applied another serum into his blood stream. He looked down at his jerky then and scoffed.

“What is it?” the spider asked

“N-nothing…” the man lied “it’s nothing.”

“I will leave you be then, thank you for the feast…” the spider said sarcastically, as she scurried off into the darkness.

The man did not get much sleep that night, as the lightning and thunder entertained him in the midst of deep contemplation…

[nongmobro-blog]

The Lost Man and the Widow

It was a very windy and stormy night, the rain was pouring in drenching waves sometimes vertically, spraying up in the man’s face. He had become lost from his group after stopping in a clearing, where he accidentally fell asleep while meaning to have a moment of silence from the make shift picnic that the group had stopped to enjoy. The rain had woke him up with a startling crack of vicious thunder. It took the man a moment to come to and remember where he was, and as he searched quickly for the group, he soon realized they were nowhere to be found. Most likely they were beset by the massive storm that the man now endured and gave up quickly on finding him. The man could barely see more than four feet ahead of him and the rain was so loud, their screams would have fallen on deaf ears. They could be looking for him right now and he wouldn’t even know it. The man could barely hear himself when he yelled for the group...

Picking his way through the thick bushes felt like wearing a blindfold, as the man tumbled over roots and stumbled through the brush. The towering thunder and lightning above spurred the man on in a desperate rush, like the rage of the gods prodding him on with bright flashes and ear piercing crackling. Ignoring the growing number of cuts and bruises, the man pressed on, finding a fumbling form of rhythm as the pain was numbed by the cold, damp wetness seeping through his clothes.

The brightness provided from a tremendous lightning explosion revealed a cave not far ahead, maybe two hundred feet or so. The deep, rumbling thunder afterward reminded the man to hurry and he picked his way through the remaining trees and bushes to make it to the entrance of the cave. It wasn’t huge but, it was certainly big enough for a bear to possibly live in, the man deduced. He blindly searched for a rock in the darkness and found a suitable stone, then quickly tossed it into the cave and screamed as loud as he could. No response, save the sound of the rock ricocheting off the thick stone walls inside. “Good enough...” he thought as he quietly made his way in, pulling out his flashlight and cupping his hand on the lens to dim the brightness, just in case...

The cave, thankfully, was not lengthy. It was a well rounded cave with small stalactites hanging from the ceiling, close enough to touch, if the man jumped. It was warm and empty. That’s what mattered most. The man sighed his relief and released the heavy, drenched pack from his aching shoulders, popping it off his right shoulder and catching it cleanly to swiftly open it and grab a bite to eat and, water. After gulping down nearly half the skin, the man open the package of jerky and began chewing while laughing at his bad luck in getting caught in the massive storm. Exhaling a long, victorious breath however, for having found the cave. The man ate his jerky in silence and when he was finished, he pulled out his MP3 player and yelped as he felt a sting on his hand. “OW!” he screamed in response. After shaking his hand madly to remove the pest, he looked down to see a humongous spider. In a panic, he quickly fumbled for his first aid kit and found the proper antidote and after prepping the needle, he pressed it quickly into his arm, gripping his hand and groaning from the building pain of the venom.

He kept an eye on the spider the whole time, as the antidote set in and he felt the venom being countered. He carefully tip toed his way closer to the spider and he meant to step on the thing. As he lifted his foot for the kill however, the spider made eye contact with him and said “It is bad luck to kill spiders.”

The man stopped for a moment and then let his foot fall slowly while saying “Is it now?

“I’d like to think so..” the spider responded cryptically

“How is it that you...” the man began to say “... never mind that. Why did you bite me? Do you not eat bugs for sustenance?” He demanded angrily.

“I do...” the spider replied dryly “However, this downpour has caused a drought in my food supply.” She quipped.

The man simply stared at the spider with stern, pursed lips and slanted eyes. “Do you think it wise to attempt to feast upon a man’s flesh? I could kill you right now. Luck or, no.” he threatened.

“I am quite agile...” the spider responded, confidently.

“As am I..” the man warned.

“Undoubtedly...” the spider mocked

“You say to me that I should fear killing you for some curse of bad luck and yet you feed on my blood, freely, while injecting me with your deadly venom? What have you to say to that spider?!” the man screamed, causing a feint echo within the small cave, just as lightning flashed, accompanied by a thundering boom, accentuating his question.

The spider, seemingly unabashed replied “Hypocrite...”

“Excuse me!?” the man blurted “Is this some form of riddle or, game to you?” The man made a move as if to squish the spider yet, the spider called his bluff, refusing to move.

“You feast on the flesh of an animal and yet your race is meant to shepherd the very creatures you now feast upon. Us spiders do not understand your vehement lust of taste and flesh. And yet YOU have the nerve to question me for simply grabbing a bite whilst starving in a cave during this great storm? Do you humans really think of yourselves so highly? To be able to eat the flesh of any being you decide to conquer while having the nerve to throw in my face a desperate move to survive. This is just?” the spider questioned.

“I-... I. No, but...” the man was at a loss for words then. A pained, quizzical look crossing his features. The man breathed deeply. “I am a man of morality and you have me cornered. What now?” he offered.

“I am hungry...” the spider admitted “have you anymore of that antidote?” she asked.

“You have got to be kidding m-...” he began, palming his forehead and laughing. “Are you serious?...” he asked sarcastically.

The spider simply stared at the man with those dark, sparkling eyes.

“I suppose I c-...” he breathed vexedly “Will you leave me be then? After you’ve had your fill?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes, I am no glutton...” the spider teased.

“Very well, get it over with...” he paused “this is madness.” he added

The spider made no remark and moving with astonishing speed, she reached the mans ankle, where she bit and began to have her meal, sucking the blood in great gulps. “Thank you, kind sir.” she said with a tone of satisfaction, when she was finished.

“You’re welcome, I suppose...” the man retorted, while he applied another serum into his blood stream. He looked down at his jerky then and scoffed.

“What is it?” the spider asked

“N-nothing...” the man lied “it’s nothing.”

“I will leave you be then, thank you for the feast...” the spider said sarcastically, as she scurried off into the darkness.

The man did not get much sleep that night, as the lightning and thunder entertained him in the midst of deep contemplation...

[nongmobro-blog]

The Farmer and the Goat

It was a crisp morning. The beautiful sun rising from the east produced a brilliant orange glow that welcomed the farmer as it walked out onto the pastures it had grown up on, and grown to love. A light mist clung to the earth, as the warmth of the suns rays slowly dispelled the vapors, leaving a crystalline, reflective sparkle on the grass and plants. A beautiful morning. These mornings, however, were becoming more and more difficult to endure, by the day. The farmer had just, finally, agreed to hooking up the “internet” to it’s home nearly a month before, after having denied the rambunctious, digital connection for years and years. The farmer’s son and daughter had finally talked it into it, after much deliberation. The farmer could not deny the reasoning. Real time connection to school. Faster homework. Calculations. The farmer could use it for business as well. Crunching numbers and quicker connections, and although the farmer had someone who normally handled all that kind of work, it was good to be able to check on the status of pick ups and deliveries and manage finances.

What bothered the farmer, however, was not the ease of production for it’s business, rather, it was the growing opinion formulating online about the implications of it’s business. Science proving that fruits and vegetables were a much healthier way of eating. Holistic science proving the human body is healthier when fed a plant based regiment of foods. The farmer finally went to a health food store to purchase some chia seeds, a bottle of green powder called spirulina, maca powder and other suggested items from the helpful vendor. After forcing itself to take these products for nearly three weeks, the farmer could not deny it felt better, stronger, leaner and could work longer with less fatigue. That pain in the farmers hip seemed to be lessening too. This forced the farmer to meditate and contemplate, further still, the morality of life, as wisdom kept lashing it’s soul, unavoidably.

The farmer had grown up, loving the animals it raised. The children loved them greatly as well and they were a part of the family. Each had a name and a personality. Some were so loved, that the farmer had paintings done of the beloved creatures. This was the way of life... The farmer never thought much otherwise. Raise the animals, love the animals and sell them to feed it’s family and survive. It was a way of life handed down from generation to generation. It’s grandfather to it’s father, to the farmer, and eventually the farmer would hand the business over to it’s children. Or, so the farmer thought before.. Now, the farmer awoke every morning with a growing sense of dread. Seeing the pictures and videos online of how the animals it raised were slaughtered and the growing, online collective’s reaction to the morbid aspect of it’s “business”. The farmer felt sick and feared for it’s children’s future. As the farmer was contemplating options to where it could send it’s children, family up north, friends etc, the farmer’s favorite goat came pouncing along and stopped to bah lovingly at the farmer. Filling the farmer with a sense of warmth, regardless.

As usual, the farmer spoke it’s problems to the goat. It helped the farmer contemplate and it seemed to help it’s conscience deduce problems much easier. “What do I do Rampart?” asked the farmer.

“Still concerned about the family and your business?” replied Rampart

“Aye, indeed I am. You are my favorite animal I have ever raised here on the farm and the thought of sending you to be slaughtered fills my soul with dread.” said the farmer.

“I love you...” Rampart stated simply

The farmer laughed, as the young goat hopped around playfully, responding to it’s brothers and sisters who passed by in their morning exorcise. “I love you too Rampart... I have my children to think about, however. I have learned things I cannot simply unlearn. What do I tell them? What do I do?”

“They love you too...” replied Rampart

The farmer nodded at that. A memory of it’s daughter, weeks ago, crying at the dinner table after having seen a video online that her brother had found and showed to her came back to the farmer and, although the farmer was furious with the boy at the time, it was an inevitable fate that the farmer was forced to come to terms with. The farmer breathed a heavy sigh. The video was of a pig being slaughtered and it made the girl very upset, refusing to eat the pork chop displayed before her on the dinner plate. “I feel like my life has been revealed as a sham Rampart. How could I in good conscience kill you, now? After having learned what I have... for money? It sickens me.”

“There has got to be a way..” Rampart encouraged, once again reacting to the parade of hopping family members that passed by

“This... I-I don’t know what to do. I am torn. I feel sick, although I am healthier than I have ever been.” said the farmer. “Am I to raise you to feed my own family, although I am feeding you to another family altogether, after having learned that plants feed us humans more efficiently? This is madness Rampart! Do you see my predicament?!” pleaded the farmer

“There is a way. You cannot give up. We love you.” Rampart admitted

“A way.. what do I do, sell you to the next in line who lacks morals? Hand you off to another so that you may die? Releasing my own guilt by transferring this barbaric existence and way of life to another?” the farmer choked up a bit at that and stopped. The emotions were flowing and the farmer’s vision became cloudy and distorted. This is when the farmer got some of it’s best thinking done, however. Breathing in deep gasps and holding back the tears, the farmer began to focus and breathe more fluently. Concentrating.

Off in the distance the boy was tending to a horse and not far off from there, the girl was playing with the goats, laughing wildly. “I can’t..” the farmer began and then stopped. “I..” the farmer looked at Rampart who squinted his eyes lovingly.

“You will figure it out..” replied Rampart, the same reassuring words the farmer’s father would always speak when the farmer was troubled, as he galloped off to assist in the joyful uprising caused by the girl and the goats

The farmer began to drop tears from it’s eyes then, the boy noticed and looked at the farmer with concern but, the farmer gestured that all was fine. The boy went back to combing the horse, eyeing the farmer with care even still. The farmers eyes gravitated towards the girl, who was still playing with the goats, laughing and giggling. The farmer knew it couldn’t slaughter these animals any longer...

Just then, a pristine vision was displayed before the farmer’s eyes, a feeling, a knowing. These animals bring joy to people. The animals are beautiful and loving. The land the farmer knew so well was laid out like a living blueprint of the mind and soul and the farmer began to contemplate. With the help of family members and friends this land could be transformed into a wildlife sanctuary. These animals don’t need to die. They deserve to live... It wouldn’t be easy but, the farmer had enough money saved up to make it work. It was just going to take time, care and love.

“KIDS!” the farmer yelled “Come here, we have great plans to discuss! I think you’re going to like this Judy! You too Tom! Come now!” The farmer had a growing sense of joy and possibilities racing. Wiping the tears from it’s eyes the farmer laughed at the concerned look from the girl and hugged her firmly to the leg, rubbing her back to reassure her. “It’s okay Judy, lets go have a talk!” the farmer said with great enthusiasm.

As the farmer turned to go to the house, it’s glance happened upon Rampart who stopped in the midst of play, to look at the farmer, exuding a resonating “BAH-AH-AH!”

The farmer stopped for a moment and thanked Rampart with squinting eyes of appreciation.

“You’re welcome.” said Rampart