#donald calling her Beauty Eyes at first as a joke but then genuinely

[sananaryon]

No characters will ever be as soulmates as Paperinik and Xadhoom

[queen-of-my-goofball-army]

O Tannenbaum

Hi everyone!!! I have a Christmas DuckTales fic for everybody. My OC Sabrina Duck has been one of my favorite original characters that I have come up with. I have been a fan of Ludwig Von Drake since I was really little. He’s always been my favorite member of the Duck family other than Donald. I love kooky Ludwig Von Drake and this has been one of my favorite fluff fics. I wish all of you a happy, healthy and safe Christmas!! 

I put the last bow on the present that I had gotten for Louie yesterday with Mrs. Beckley, the new gaming system that he had wanted. I had spent months working hard in order to be able to afford it and I knew that my brother was just going to love it. Christmastime was a rare occasion for my family. It was the one time that we ever got spoiled. Uncle Donald spent most of the year other than our birthdays saving up for it. As I tied the green ribbon around the green paper I wrote Louie’s name across it.

“Lass? What are you still doing up?” I heard my uncle’s voice coming from the front of the room and he sat down on the couch.

“I’m wrapping Louie’s present. You might have noticed that he’s a bit of a present hound. If I get anything for him every year he finds it.” I joked and my uncle just chuckled at me as I pushed the present underneath the tree.

“Figured that you’d be fast asleep by now. You have to make another trip tomorrow don’t you?” I nodded my head watching the snow outside with a small smile. Another great thing about the holidays was spending them with uncle Ludwig. I had been doing it since I was really little. I would open presents on the boat and then go off to his mansion.

“It’s one of my favorite parts of the holidays. I always spend New Years Eve with him as well but that was before…” I felt the carpet beneath my fingers smiling softly looking outside. I still had two more of Louie’s presents that I wanted to wrap before I eventually went to bed and now I had company.

“Before what lass?” I laughed at him grabbing the green wrapping paper. We always had color coordinated our wrapping paper so that we would know who had what.

“Well before we moved here with you Uncle Scrooge. I might not do it this year.” I carefully measured out the wrapping paper so that I could make it perfect. Uncle Ludwig had helped teach me how to do it to look more professional last year.

“I don’t want you to go changing your schedule around for me Brina. That’s not what the holidays are for. I know that you’ve been spending less time with Ludwig since you moved in here with me. You really only see him for school now and that isn’t how it used to be right?” I nodded my head faintly, my headband slipping a little bit. 

“I would spend every other weekend with him just for fun. That was when he taught me how to play violin and piano. Back when we lived on the boat things were really cramped and that was my time to get away. Now that I live here it’s a lot less crowded so I’m able to be alone a lot more.” I mentioned to my uncle and he just smiled softly at me as I put a little ribbon across one of Louie’s games.

“He can take this counsel on adventures with us; it's one of the reasons why he wanted it so badly.” Uncle Scrooge just smiled softly at me and patted the seat next to him on the couch where he was sitting.

“I know that this year has been… challenging for you. You got your mom back and I know how happy that made you but at the same time you haven’t seen one of your favorite people as much as you used to. It’s been an adjustment having people living in my mansion that weren’t me. I never thought that Donald would actually come back, nor that he would bring you four rascals with him.” I smiled softly at my uncle taking the wrapping paper and carefully wrapping the last of my brother’s presents.

“At first it was… really hard for me. I spent most of my life not having a mom and uncle Donald never talked about her. I figured that it would be too difficult for him to. I’m the only one of the four of us that was the general translator. Louie joked for years that I should write them a dictionary so that they would understand him too. Having a mom now it’s great. It took me probably the longest to get used to it. But then again I’m me and a bit of an oddball.” My uncle chuckled at me adjusting my headband.

“That’s Dewey talking not you lass, I thought that you two were getting along better?” I sighed running a hand through my fur with a small smile.

“We are, thanks to you mostly. To him I’ll probably always be the kooky sister he just doesn’t call me that much around other people. I don’t really mind that nickname so much because it reminds me of uncle Ludwig.” Uncle Scrooge just sighed a little bit and I could tell that what I was saying did hurt him in some way.

“Sometimes the kookiest people are the best people like you and your uncle. There’s a difference between that and being actually crazy. I mean remember your cousin's Fethery?” I shuddered at the memory violently. That had not been a fun adventure; it had been a lot of me and Dewey bickering.

“Don’t remind me of that please, that was not a fun time for me. I missed out a school session that day because of that wild goose chase. Uncle Donald was right, he's kind of coo coo bananas.” I joked and we shared a good laugh about the antics of our wacky family. It didn’t mean that I loved them any less.

“I’m still sorry that you missed your schooling for that day. Not like you need it though you are a little genius.” I rolled my eyes with a small smile tucking my webbed feet into my body with a small smile.

“I am not a genius, just somebody that was taught really well. I didn’t do well in regular school. It was too crowded and I couldn’t think straight during classes. It wasn’t until I was sat down and taught by uncle Ludwig that I became actually intelligent. I think I just needed to be taught in a different way from most people.” Uncle Scrooge smiled softly at me putting his arm around my shoulders.

“I’ve got something for you lass…” He handed me a wrapped package and I was about to protest.

“But uncle Scrooge-” He shook his head at me with a mischievous smile on his face before he handed me the package.

“I think you’re really going to like it. I wanted to get you something special that I knew you would enjoy. I also wanted to give you it before your pesky brother’s got up.” I unwrapped it carefully and saw that he had gotten me a new violin. My old one was on the boat and that had wound up being very bad for me. When the boat blew up due to Magica De Spell uncle Ludwig had promised that he would buy me another one but I kept it at his house.

“You didn’t need to get me a new violin…” I protested and my uncle just laughed at me heartily shaking his head.

“Yes I did. I know that your other uncle already got you one but you don’t have it here. I’ve never even heard you play in front of me. Ludwig has sent me videos of you playing once I told the old loon you were officially staying here with me he just wouldn’t stop.” I laughed a little bit at the fact that my teacher and mentor had been sending videos of my performances.

“I’m sorry about him, we’re just really super close that’s all.” I apologized and uncle Scrooge just laughed a little bit as I got a better look at my new instrument.

“It’s beautiful… thank you so much for this uncle Scrooge!!” I thanked him, scrambling to give him a hug and he just smiled softly at me. 

“It’s no trouble lass, I wanted to find ye something that you would love. And don’t apologize for the antics of my brother in-law. I’ve been related to him for far too long so I’m used to it.” I smiled softly at my uncle looking down at my violin and seeing that it was one in the morning.

“I should really be getting to bed. It’s late or rather early in the morning. Sometimes it’s like I’m the parent. I’m used to staying up past an ungodly hour to wrap Louie’s presents on Christmas Eve.” I told him as I yawned and sat down for a second just looking at the beautiful tree in front of me.

“Go and get a few hours of sleep lass you look like you are just about dead on your feet right now.”  I nodded my head rubbing my eyes and I went back upstairs and curled up in a little ball against my sheets grabbing my favorite stuffed octopus.

“Did you just come to bed sis?” I heard Huey ask me from the bunk below mine and I looked down leaning my head into his bunk.

“Yes and if you were a good twin you would go right to sleep yourself Huebert.” I threatened lovingly and he just rolled his eyes at me.

“Look who's talking, it's one in the morning Brina. Then again I’m too excited to sleep.” I laughed a little bit at my brother’s surprisingly childish nature.

“Just close your eyes and try to get some sleep Huey. I know that we’ve got a lot of presents out there but that’s no reason to not sleep. Uncle Scrooge got me a home violin. He just gave it to me.” I told him taking off my holly headband with a small smile on my face. I leaned my head back against my pillows and instantly fell asleep. Despite everything when I heard Dewey singing about Christmas only six hours later I still felt well rested.

“It’s Christmas, gotta open up some presents, it’s Christmas gonna spend some time with my family, it’s Christmaaaasss!!” I sighed holding back the urge to jokingly throw my pillow at my younger brother.

“Dewey I love you, I really do but please put a sock in it…” Huey muttered from underneath my bed and I laughed genuinely at him. I put back on my headband from yesterday grabbing my Christmas clothes that I would wear over to uncle Ludwig’s after breakfast and presents. It had Nutcrackers on it and I had gotten it last year on Christmas Eve from uncle Donald.

“Alright I’m coming, Louie get up it’s Christmas that means… present time!!” I waved my hands around animatedly and he shot up out of bed trying to race us to the tree. 

“Oh no you don’t, come on Huey we can’t let the greedy Gus get to our presents first we have to beat him.” I told my brother as he put on his shirt and cap and ran after me for the presents. I skidded to a halt seeing Webby looking around our tree. I looked around the tree for the purple wrapped paper that I had put there a few days ago.

“Merry Christmas Webby!! I hope you like it, I wasn’t really sure what to do for you but you’re one of my best friends.” I gave her the sweater that I had made for her that I hoped that she would like. 

“This is beautiful… You didn’t need to do this for me Sabrina.” I shook my head with a small smile gesturing to my dress.

“Obviously I’m a huge fan of the holidays. I have always been since I was small so everybody gets a present from me that’s how the holiday works.” I reminded her and she held up her purple let it snow sweater that I made for her.

“But you hand knitted this didn’t you? I didn’t even know that you could do that!!” I rubbed the back of my neck a little bit.

“Another teaching of uncle Ludwig’s and it’s one of my favorite hobbies. I made my ugly sweater that I was wearing yesterday. It’s just a little hobby that I have I knit usually before bed. It calms down my anxiety putting on soft music and just feeling the tension of the day go away.” My mom came into the room and I ran to give her a hug. She easily hugged me back, tying the bow a little bit better in the back of my dress. 

“Merry Christmas baby.” I smiled softly at her as she pushed my headband back just a little bit. I showed her the violin case that uncle Scrooge had given to me yesterday.

“Oh wow, this is beautiful!! Did you get this for her uncle Scrooge?” He nodded his head, still looking half asleep but happy.

“I did the lass was out here until one in the morning wrapping presents for her brothers.” My mom turned to me with a quirked up eyebrow.

“In my defense Louie is the literal present hound. He always tries to open his presents before Christmas so I have to wrap his the night before.” My mom looked over at Louie who was shaking one of the green presents and I gestured with my hand in a see motion. 

“Alright sweetheart I see your point. Why don’t you give him a present then.” I nodded my head, grabbing one of Uncle Donald’s presents for him.

“Merry Christmas everyone!!” Uncle Donald came through the room and I took one of the mugs of hot chocolate that he was carrying. 

“Merry Christmas uncle Donald!!” I gave my uncle a tight hug with a bright smile on my face. Webby came back wearing her new sweater over her usual colored shirt.

“Merry Christmas Sabrina, which of the boys wants to go first?” I gestured to Louie who had already started to open his already.

“Ugh clothes!!” He made an exaggerated face and I laughed a little bit and I sat down next to him on the floor.

“Come on Lou at least be nice.” I told him and he smiled softly at me handing me his present for me and I shook it gently.

“Don’t turn into me Brina just open your presents.” He said jokingly and I laughed a little bit at him opening the present and finding that he had gotten me the illustrated version of my favorite book series.

“Lou why did you get this for me? You always make fun of me for reading them…” He gently nudged my shoulder with a laugh.

“I make fun of you because you are my big sister and that’s my job.You’re my best friend in the entire world and I love you that’s why I tease you.” I rolled my eyes at my “younger” brother for his gentle teasing and I flipped through the book seeing the beautiful drawings of dragons.

“Hey!! I loved that book when I was your age!!” My mom encouraged me and I looked up at her with a small sad smile on my face.

“Uncle Scrooge already told me about that. Do you want to look at it mom?” I asked her and she nodded her head enthusiastically. 

“Look at this one Sabrina!!” My mom enthusiastically showed me and I took the book from her looking at the sketch that she was showing to me.

“That’s so awesome wow!!” I looked at the beauty of this book and hugged my younger brother tightly.

“Thank you Lou…” I thanked my little brother and he hugged me tightly back with a small smile before lightly pushing me away.

“Alright that’s enough of the snuggles, get away from me clingy.” I rolled my eyes at him and I went against the other side of the couch.

“Fine, you don’t want my love, that's fine with me…” I protested and I took my book from my mom as she handed it back to me.

“Hey Hue I got something for you!!” Our mom got up and handed my brother his wrapped red present. My brother opened it passionately and found that it was a Sr Woodchuck Guidebook for his new set of badges he was going to earn. He had graduated back in June of this year and I knew that he was excited about the new year for that. 

“This one is yours from me Sabrina!!” My mom told me handing me a book wrapped up in pink paper and I took off the corner of it.

“Learning German, a workbook. Thank you mom… this.. This means a lot to me. I’ve wanted to learn the language for so long but have been too scared to ask uncle Ludwig. I want to surprise him.” I teared up looking at my mom. This present was more than just a workbook. It felt like she was accepting that part of my life. I hugged her tightly and she dried my tears with a small smile on her face.

“Don’t cry sweetie. I know what he means to you and I know that you are going to change the world due to his influence on your life.” I nodded my head with a bright smile on my face finding my present for Dewey.

“Merry Christmas Turbo.” I joked and he just laughed at me while muttering still bitter about that. He opened his present and saw that I had drawn a framed sketch of Darkwing Duck and had Drake sign it the last time that we were in St. Canard.

“Thanks Brina this is… beautiful.” He hugged me tightly and I just smiled softly at my younger brother. We really had come a long way since we had moved here earlier this year. 

“You’re welcome Dew. I know that we haven’t always gotten along and that I can be a bit of an oddball.” He gently shoved at my shoulder showing the rest of the family what I had made for him. 

“I know that I’ve been a jerk to you and I’m sorry for that. You’re not a kook in training and I’m sorry that I made you feel that way sis.” I smiled softly at him lightly kicking his foot with mine. I went through the pile finding a box for Uncle Donald and I gave it to my ultimate favorite uncle.

“You didn’t need to get me anything Brina…” I shook my head with a small smile bouncing on the heels of my webbed feet.

“I knew that but it’s Christmas so just take your present. I have one for Launchpad too but he’s not here…” Our local pilot had gone to St. Conard to help Drake officially adopt one of my newer friends Gosalyn.

“He’ll get your present tomorrow when he comes back. Do you have anything for me?” My mom asked me jokingly and I nodded my head with a small smile going underneath the tree and found the spaceship wrapping paper that I had used. 

“It might be a bit cheesy…” I played with my fingers a little bit and she opened the present showing off a blue sweater that said World’s Number One Adventurer\Mom.

“Oh sweetheart, I just love it. This is the best gift that I could have ever gotten and you know why?” I shook my head and she hugged me tightly to her. I hugged her back. It had taken me so long to become adjusted to having a mom in my life. 

“Because it came from you and from your beautiful heart. You have the heart of an adventurer and the stubbornness of one. You got that from me sorry about that.” I smiled softly at her adjusting the skirt of my dress.

“Huey, I’ve got your present right here!!” I handed my brother the wrapped gift that I hoped that he would like. Out of my brothers he was the hardest one to either shop or make things for. Until I got this idea this year, an organized planner using the Junior Woodchuck sash.

“You… when did you do this?” I laughed a little bit, putting up a finger to my lips and sitting down next to my brother.

“A gift giver never tells her secrets.” I teased and he hugged me tightly. I was just happy that he liked his present. I had finally gotten him to genuinely like something that I had made for him.

“Thanks Brina this is amazing!! I can plan accordingly now!!” He cheered and I couldn’t help but smile softly at him as I waved for uncle Donald to open his.

“To my favorite uncle, wishing you another year filled with adventure and stories to tell.” He read the card that I had put on the present. I always left my biggest ones for last. Those all had cards with meaningful words that I typed out.

“Oh Sabrina this is beautiful…” He held up the sweater that I had knitted from last year’s family Christmas photo. I knew that to my uncle nothing was more important than the happiness of my brothers and I.

“You’re not out of the woods yet uncle Scrooge!! This one is yours.” I found his maroon colored wrapping paper that I had put underneath the tree. 

“To the duck who brought our family together and helped me come out of my shyness.” I smiled softly at the tears in his eyes as he opened his present and saw the gold sweater that I had made for him with silver number one dimes on it. “Thank you lass this the sweetest thing that anybody has ever done for me.” He thanked me and I grinned over at the man that had helped me out so much.

“Alright, I think that the gift giver now needs to open one of her presents again before we all start crying.” Louie snarked from over at his spot and I found one of the magenta colored ones testing the weight of it.

“That one is from me.” Uncle Donald told me and I saw the card on the side of the wrapped up box.

“To Sabrina, my niece who collectively is the most stubborn and independent young duck that I have ever met aside from her own mother. You have grown so much out of your shell this last year able to make friends of your own aside from Louie and Huey. Hoping that this new year brings you all the joy and near heart attacks that it has given me.” I opened the present seeing that it was a picture of me when I was a little duckling. I was in the arms of my uncle Ludwig and he was showing me a map that had all the colors of the rainbow.

“I kept that photograph on the boat in a secret spot knowing that one day I would give it to you. You have always been so captivated by the world around you. It’s something that made you unique Sabrina. I am so proud of everything that you have become during these last few months.” I felt tears fall down my cheeks as I took a picture of it and sent it to my uncle. He instantly got back to me.

“What did he say?” Dewey asked me and I let out a watery laugh drying my tears as I smiled down at the picture. 

“He said that I was always his most captive audience. I love that so much oh my god thank you uncle Donald this is so special to me.” I thanked him and he opened his arms to me while I put the picture next to me.

“Don’t thank me my darling, you’ve always been the best of my children.” I stuck my tongue out at my brothers. I got down and found my other present, this one from Dewey. It had a card on it that just said from Dewey on it but it was a new stuffed animal. My favorite sweet treat had been strawberry milkshakes for as long as I could remember. He had gotten me a stuffed strawberry milkshake.

“Aww it’s adorable thank you Dewey!!” I thanked him smiling softly when he just gave me a thumbs up. He also pushed me a French fry set as well.

“No problem alright, alright who’s the big green one for…” He hummed jokingly as he pushed the gaming console and games towards my green brother.

“It’s for me but this wasn’t here yesterday so it must be from Brina…” He trailed off finding the card and smiling softly.

“To the best friend and brother that a duck could have ever wished for. I hope that this brings you as much joy as you bring me everyday.” I smiled softly at my brother as he opened the gift and gaped at me.

“You didn’t?!” I nodded my head as he tore off the wrapping paper finding that I had indeed gotten him just what he wanted.

“You really are the best sibling in the entire world!!” He cheered and I pushed the two video games toward him that he tore open already booting up his new console. 

“Well we won’t hear anymore out of him today.” I joked and he just lightly kicked his webbed foot in my general direction. Huey handed me a neatly wrapped up pink box. 

“It’s not as heartfelt as you gave me but this is for you Brina.” I smiled softly at my brother as I unwrapped his present seeing that it was a scrapbook from over the years.

“I got most of them from the house, read the inscription.” He told me and I flipped to the front page.

“To Sabrina, a sister that taught me that being brave doesn’t always mean that you go looking for trouble but that you know just the right way to get out of it properly. You are the bravest person I know who is always ten steps ahead of whatever enemy she’s facing. Through learning with uncle Ludwig he has taught you to solve problems not just by looking at things straight but also sideways and backwards. Your brother, Huey.” I teared up reading the emotional inscription that he had obviously put a lot of time and effort into. When I flipped through the pages and saw all the different pictures that he had put in there including a replica in the frame that he must have copied. 

“Thank you Huebert this is everything that I could have ever wanted.” I thanked my brother and he just hugged me tightly to him.

“Don’t thank me sis you’ve worked hard enough. Not just on this Christmas but every single one of them before. Even when we were scraping for cash you still made the right gifts that would make everybody have a happy holiday.” I smiled brightly at my brother seeing one last present under the tree with magenta paper. I picked it up and saw that it was from Gosalyn.

“Oh from your girlfriend?” I shoved my Louie hard in the arm and he tilted but thankfully caught himself. 

“She is NOT my girlfriend.” I protested and he stuck his tongue out at me as I grabbed the card at the front of the package.

“Maybe not yet but she will be one of these days.” Dewey commented from the sidelines and Webby came back from the kitchen carrying waffles for everybody.

“Who’s who’s girlfriend?” Huey rolled his eyes coming to sit next to me and he grabbed the last of his presents from uncle Scrooge.

“On three…” I counted down with my brother keeping the card to read a bit later in the car on the way to uncle Ludwig’s. I opened the box to see another stuffed animal, a Build A Bear this time around this one a cute little reindeer that was white and sparkly.

“Ooo that’s really pretty!!” My mom exclaimed from over on the couch and I nodded my head hugging it tightly. 

“Watch her start sleeping with that instead of the jellyfish.” Louie shot back at me and I flushed a bright pink.

“You-why-you-” Dewey laughed heartily at my brother and I looked around for any other presents for somebody.

“Why lass, what’s there up in the tree?” Uncle Scrooge asked me and I looked around seeing that there was an envelope stuck in the tree.

“It’s tickets to St. Conard for New Years!!” I cheered and Dewey looked over my shoulder with a small smile.

“New Years was never really a huge deal for us anyways, we were way more Christmas fans.” I noticed that there was one more present with magenta paper and Gosalyn’s tag on it and I opened it seeing that it was a stuffed fox.

“She got you two?!” My mom asked me and I nodded my head with a bright smile on my face instantly becoming attached to the fox.

“They have those buy one get another for half off deals all the time if you get them without clothes. You’ve never really liked the clothes huh sis?” Louie asked me and I nodded my head standing up and hugging my uncle tightly.

“Thank you for the tickets to St. Conard uncle Scrooge.” I thanked him and he hugged me back with a small smile.

“No need to thank me lass. Why don’t you do me one favor though instead of a thank you?” I laughed a little bit grabbing my new violin and maneuvering my way around wrapping paper strewn across the floor that Huey was picking up. 

“Anybody have any specific request?” I asked and Dewey looked over at me with a small smile as he played with his new electric train that uncle Donald had gotten for him on the floor.

“What’s that Christmas song that uncle Ludwig really loves? O something?” I smiled softly putting the violin on my left shoulder. I gripped it with my left hand and started to play the beautiful Christmas song with my right hand. This had always been a favorite of mine to play. It just simply made me really happy.

“That was beautiful Sabrina sweetheart!!” My mom encouraged me and I did a mock bow in front of my family.

“That was the first time that she’s ever played for the rest of us…” Louie mentioned looking up at me in sheer awe.

“That’s true!! We used to have to sneak peeks of what she was playing because she was too shy to have an audience. You really have grown a lot this year sis.” Huey reminded me and I looked down at my tights.

“We should be getting you to uncle Ludwig’s, he’ll bring you back here. He’s coming to family dinner this year.” My mom told me and my eyes widened turning to my uncle Scrooge who sighed and adjusted his spectacles.

“I thought that it was high time that I stopped avoiding family. I always had a soft spot for my brother in-law anyways as kooky as he can be.” I cheered with a bright smile on my face. I grabbed my boots and coat, lacing them up.

“Are you ready to go Sabrina?” Uncle Donald asked me and I laughed a little bit at him as I turned around in a small circle.

“I’m ready uncle Donald!!” I cheered and he opened the front door for me and I got my new stuffed animal. I hugged my new fox and grabbed my reindeer as well to take them with me.

“Alright, I’ll be back in a little while family!!” He opened the front door for me and I sat down on my side of the front door. Uncle Donald drove me the short distance to my third uncle’s house and I instantly saw him get up excitedly and open the door for me.

“Mein starchen, happy Christmas!!” I hugged him tightly and he picked me up and hugged me back.

“Happy Christmas uncle Ludwig!!” Uncle Donald handed me the present that I had made for my teacher.

“I’ll see you in a few hours okay Sabrina?” I nodded my head while uncle Donald kissed my forehead driving away.

“Come along starchen it’s cold out here you’ll catch ze sick.” I laughed a little bit at my kooky uncle. I grabbed my stuffed animals and the sweater that I knitted for him.

“Did you get those stuffies for ze holiday?” I nodded my head and I softly felt the ear of my fox. He brought me into his study where I saw three carefully wrapped presents sitting on my work desk.

“My best friend sent them to me!! I told you about Gosalyn. She just got adopted by her foster dad a few days ago.” My uncle smiled softly at me as he scooted his chair over so that he could sit next to me.

“Well that was very sweet of her to do something like that. Did you send her something?” I nodded my head, getting out my phone and showing him the Darkwing Duck ugly sweater that I made for her.

“I knitted her this, I’ve gotten a lot better at knitting words over the last couple of Christmases.” My uncle looked at the picture in awe that I had made something of that caliber.

“Do you remember why I taught you knitting?” I shook my head and he just smiled at me taking one of my wings in his.

“When I was a little duckling much like you, I was an anxious little ball of trouble. My granny sat me down and taught me knitting. At ze time when I taught it to you I thought that it might help. I was never very good at it myself. I would always get too frustrated but I am so happy that you’ve stuck with it. Even though it was hard sometimes.” I smiled lovingly at my uncle who had taken me under his wing and made me his protege.

“I think of it as playing the violin. Yes it’s difficult and sometimes I want to throw the needle and thread across the room while telling it to simply do what I want it to. But then I just remember that you can’t rush knitting. It taught me to be more patient because sometimes even when you really want something done a specific way and it just won’t work you need to work through it.” I told him and I handed him his present that he ripped off like he was my age which caused me to laugh at him. He held it up with two wings and tears in his eyes. He had taught me about checklists when I was really little and I had combined that with my recent passion of knitting ugly sweaters.

“Starchen this is so sweet of you, I-I’m at a loss for words…” I laughed at my uncle unbuttoning my coat and draping it over the sides of my chair and taking off my boots.

“There’s a first time for everything.” I teased and he made the oh hush you motion with his hands. He turned the sweater around so that I could see the dark blue sweater that I made. It had a little checklist that I thought of for a design of four boxes, multiple PHD’s, incredible inventor, kooky uncle and best teacher. Every one of them I had double checked along with the percentages of 25. 

“I’m going to wear this, I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare open up those presents while I’m gone.” He told me and I put my hands up in complete surrender as my phone buzzed and I saw the familiar picture of my best friend. Gos: I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!! Thanks Brina it’s super cute and just my style. She thanked me and I smiled softly at the selfie that she had taken of her wearing the Darkwing Duck sweater that I had knitted for her using black fabric. 

Me: Hey no problem!! I had a great time making it besides it’s kind of something that I make all the time. I prefer giving presents to getting them during the holidays (thanks for the Fox by the way I am naming him Ferdinand and the reindeer is Rosanna.) I’m at my uncle Ludwig’s right now. Did your dad tell you that I was coming for New Years?? My uncle came back with a bright smile showing me that his sweater fit perfectly.

“I love this starchen. I’m not taking it off for the next twenty four hours.” He told me and I smiled softly at my educator.

“I’m just really happy that you love it so much. I wasn’t really sure if you would or not but knowing that you do it just… makes me really happy.” My uncle ruffled my hair softly and sat down next to me.

“Did you already name these new stuffies of yours?” I nodded my head gesturing with my wing to Ferdinand and Rosanna.

“This one is Ferdinand and this one is Rosanna. Gos sent me a selfie in her new ugly Christmas sweater that I made for her.” I showed him a picture of what my best friend looked like and she messaged me back.

Gos: He did tell me!! I’m really excited since you didn’t really stay long enough to do some of the touristy stuff with me. We’ll have to do that when you come up for New Years. I thought that you spent New Years with your uncle though? The one that is your teacher?

“You should spend some time with yer friend, we spent a lot of free time together this year too. I knew when Scrooge offered you to stay in his mansion that I would see you less. I expected it so it’s fine that you want to go to visit your friend for ze holiday.” I smiled softly at my uncle giving him a tight hug. His sweater was soft and I instantly melted into the hug.

“Are you sure uncle?” He nodded his head and dried the tears that were there while I smiled softly at him.

“Look at us eh, couple of crying fools.” I laughed at my uncle taking Ferdinand and looking at him. 

“Are you going to knit them some clothes Starchen?” I nodded my head with a small smile. I couldn’t stand the actual Build A Bear clothes; they were far too itchy and scratchy. 

“Probably knit them some ugly sweaters of their own!! I’ll think of something my hands are a little tired from all the knitting that I had to do these last four months.” I went back to my own chair and he just smiled softly at me.

“Well starchen pick a present any present.” He told me like it was a gameshow and I went for the smallest one first. I unwrapped it seeing that it was a new necklace. I opened it and saw that it was a family portrait with my brothers and I last Christmas.

“Oh this is super cute!! Look at Louie’s little hat!!” I laughed a little bit at the memory remembering how much he hated wearing it. We had all worn Santa hats last year in our colors for Christmas photos. This year would have everybody there including Miss Daisy.

“So my nephew is bringing his girlfriend?” I nodded my head with a small smile on my face. I was just happy that uncle Donald had found somebody who would love him for who he was. 

“He is actually!! It’s the first Christmas that he is bringing Miss Daisy with him. I just hope that everything goes alright between them. I love uncle Donald but sometimes things just don’t go his way. Daisy is really nice though she liked my knitting the last time that I saw her I was wearing my GIR sweater.” My uncle laughed softly at my interactions as I tried to tie my necklace around my neck.

“Let me help you with that starchen  before you hurt yourself.” He warned half heartedly and I saw the snow start outside. It was beautiful and I always loved watching the snow. It was something that I had treasured ever since I was really little.

“I was really surprised when Scrooge invited me over for Christmas dinner. It has been a long time since we’ve last truly talked.” I smiled sympathetically at the man that had taught me everything I knew.

“I think I’ve helped him just as much as he has helped me. He got me a new violin for home even though you already replaced my old one and kept it here. I performed in front of my brothers…” My uncle gazed at me a little bit surprised since I had always been terrified of performing in front of somebody that wasn’t him.

“And how did that go?” He asked me carefully and I smiled softly nodding my head looking down at my dress. 

“It went really well surprisingly. I didn’t get nervous really at all. It’s not that I don’t love playing, it's that I get performance anxiety when everybody is looking at me expectantly. Like they expect me to do something and when I don’t… I fear that I’ll get rejected.” My uncle put his arm around my shoulders with a small smile on his face.

“But that won’t happen. They are your family and whether or not you get along with all of your brothers is up for debate. You are working hard to repair your relationship with Dewbert and I know that has been hard for you at times. But you’ve always worked through it and I am so proud of you for that. What did you play for them?” I smiled softly looking down at my necklace and seeing the goofy photo that we had all taken together.

“O Tannenbaum at Dewey's request. I was surprised when that was the song that he told me he wanted to hear. He didn’t know the full name but the point was that he remembered that I would always play it this time of year on the boat because it’s your favorite.” My uncle smiled softly at me adjusting my headband.

“Your siblings love you, I know that especially Louie does. Without you he wouldn’t ever do anything most likely but ze fact that you are there he does everything for you.” I smiled a little bit thinking about my younger quadruplet.

“I got him the gaming system that he really wanted. The cool thing is that it’s portable so he can take it on adventures!! He always whines about having nothing to do during the actual adventuring and getting to the place. So I thought that he would appreciate that. He got me the illustrated version of Earthsea. I’ll show it to you when you come back to the mansion.” I told him and he leaned his head on top of mine.

“I look forward to it starchen. How was Christmas with your mother? Was it everything that you wanted it to be?” I nodded my head with a small smile on my face thinking about the German workbook that she had gotten for me. 

“It really was!! I made her a sweater that said number one adventurer\mom on it.” He smiled softly at me and I reached for the medium sized present seeing that it was a chemistry set of my very own. I had only ever used his before during school sessions but I loved science and especially chemistry because that was the kind of thing that you could catalogue. He had taught me all the names for the elements through song.

“Thank you uncle Ludwig!! I love it so much!!” I thanked him and he just chuckled a little bit at me as I started to take it out of the box. I looked at all the different mechanics and put them together to make the full set. 

“That’s my niece, using that big brain of hers to put that together in… three minutes flat!!” He encouraged me and I laughed a little bit at him as I looked at all the different elements that were in front of me.

“Well I had a pretty fantastic teacher!!” I reminded him and he just laughed a little bit at me that typical ho, ho, ho laugh that I had grown up loving.

“You were an even better student, you just needed to be taught in an unconventional way. It makes sense since I am a highly unconventional type of person.” He reasoned and I smiled softly at him looking at all the chemicals that I had. I couldn’t wait to start experimenting with this once I got back home.

“I just needed a song about all the chemicals on the table set to a song. I love music and you used that to your advantage.” I added onto that and put all the items back into the box looking at the last one.

“What could it possibly be, I don’t really know…” I gently nudged him while laughing at his typical antics. I took off the wrapping paper and saw that he had gotten me another box. I opened it hearing a soft meow.

“You didn’t….” He nodded his head and I took out the cat carefully seeing that it was this tiny ball of fur.

“I already cleared it with Scrooge and you can keep ze little guy. What do you want to name him?” I hummed in thought before an idea occurred to me while petting his soft little head.

“Jiji? Do you like that name?” The kitten meowed in affirmation and approval and my heart simply melted at the cuteness.

“I say that he does like it quite a lot!! That’s all the presents that I have for you this year. I wanted to get you another stuffed animal but figured that you had plenty of those from the others. So I wanted to get you a real life friend.” I smiled softly at my caring uncle giving him a tight hug. 

“Thank you uncle Ludwig this is the best thing that could have ever given to me.” I thanked him and he just shot me back his signature kooky smile. “There is no need to thank me starchen. Simply seeing you happy is the thing that I wish for every year.” He reminded me and I smiled softly at my new kitten that I had just gotten as I petted his head and scratched behind his ears and he purred back at me.

“Well that’s funny because every year I wish you the exact same thing so it must come true.” I joked and he just smiled at me. Jiji came to sit in my lap and I felt him paw around until he found a comfortable spot.

“How is he already so attached to me?” I asked him and he gestured to the box which I sniffed and smelt the lemon and citrus shampoo that I used.

“I made it into a perfume if you want the rest of it, it's right here. I wanted him to get adjusted to the way that you smelled. I thought that if I made a perfume with that scent it would work and it would be a success!!” He cheered and I laughed a little bit at him hearing the soft purrs of Jiji against my lap.

“I love him uncle Ludwig thank you so much, he’s so cute…” I thanked him again, kissing his forehead and he pressed closer to me.

“There is no need to thank me Sabrina. I knew that he would make you happy. If he gets unattached maybe we could build a snowman in ze front yard?” I nodded my head enthusiastically since that was one of my favorite yearly traditions. 

“Yes!! Of course we’re doing that again, I love building the yearly snowman.” I cheered and I smiled softly taking a picture of Jiji and sending it to the family group chat.

Me: Uncle Ludwig got me a kitten!! Welcome to the family Jiji!! I got a series of gasping emojis from Huey along with a response that he would go out and get a cat tree for him to put in our room. I saw Jiji get up off of my lap and go wander around the mansion for a little while.

“Come on starchen it’ll get dark before you know it and I promised Scrooge that we would be back by four.” My uncle reminded me offering a wing up and I buttoned up my coat and put my shoes back on.

“Here take this scarf and hat. I don’t want you to get sick out there.” He reminded me lovingly and I took the items from him that were magenta colored. I tied up my snow boots and looked out at all the snow.

“Alright time to ze best snowman on ze block!!” He encouraged me and I nodded my head helping him to roll out the base. I got a really mischievous idea when I rolled up a ball of snow and launched it at him. I couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on my uncle’s face. He just looked so dejected and almost hurt for a moment before I saw the determination.

“Oh so it’s going to be like that is it young lady?” He asked with his hands on his hips arming himself with another snowball as I sprinted around his front yard.

“Gotta find a place to hide…” I muttered to myself and I found the big tree on his side yard running over there dodging snowballs.

“So that’s your strategy, you strike first and zen you run away?” I snickered to myself finding another snowball and gagging where his voice was coming from before throwing it.

“Oof!!!” I heard a sputter and a fall over and I couldn’t help but cackle with laughter at the fact that I had made a perfect bullseye shot.

“I grew up with three brothers, uncle Ludwig, in snowball your best bet is to find a place to hide and then build your ammunition. I’m sorry if I hurt you.” I apologized and offered him a hand up only for him to find the first pile of snow and lightly shove me into it. 

“Hey!!” I laughed a little bit when I hit the ground since the snow was not that deep and watched as his eyes widened. 

“Are you okay starchen?! Oh noes what was I thinking, I should have checked that snow pile.” He quickly offered me a hand up and I dusted off the back of my dress a little bit. I was fine. It did hurt a little bit but I was tougher than I looked.

“I’m fine uncle Ludwig, it did hurt but I’ll survive. It was more of a surprised hey than anything else.” I hugged him tightly and I felt him hug me back tentatively. I sighed a little bit since I knew that I had worried my teacher.

“Why don’t we go and finish the snowman? I promise no more snowball fights.” I held my hands up in surrender and he just smiled softly at me.

“You’re so strong starchen, I’m still so sorry that I did that. I wasn’t thinking.” I smiled softly at my uncle kissing his cheek gently.

“I’m okay uncle, come on this snowman isn’t going to build himself!! Ooo that would be a fun invention to try out an automatic snowman builder.” I thought to myself and my uncle did his bright laugh that I always moved hearing.

“It would save us ze trouble of having to freeze our tookies off every year!!” He added onto my thought and I laughed a little bit knowing that next year he just might have made the Von Drake automatic snowman builder. Whether or not invention would work was entirely up to chance. 

“Exactly!! But for now a snowman needs to be built. And a snow niece.” I reminded him helping him to build the perfect snowman while I got to work on my snow niece next to him. I went inside and grabbed the carrots and coal that we used every year and decorated them.

“Ze perfect snowmen!! Great job starchen we still have a while before we need to go. Come along let’s get you thawed out.” He put his arm around my shoulders and led me back inside. He lit his fireplace and brought out his latest invention.

“I call it the Von Drake automatic homemade hot chocolate maker!! Have you ever wanted a cup of freshly made hot chocolate and not wanted to use ze sometimes nasty but all together fine instant things from the microwave but the homemade was too much of a hassle for you?” I nodded my head because he did have a good point.

“Well no longer because this will make you a cup of hot chocolate that is homemade faster than the ones from ze microwave!! All I have to do is press this button.” He showed me putting a mug under the machine as I watched it fill with homemade hot chocolate.

“Don’t forget ze marshmallows!!” He encouraged me and I took a handful taking a picture of the hot drink and sending it to Gosalyn. 

Me: My uncle made a machine that makes automatic hot chocolate that is homemade!! Let’s see how it tastes and I’ll give you the verdict. I took a gentle sip and my eyes widened. He was right!! This did taste like homemade hot chocolate and it was made with no fuss, no mess that usually went along with the dessert.

“And what is ze verdict?” I put my mug down and gave him two thumbs up with a bright smile on my face.

“It’s amazing!! It really is, it tastes just like homemade hot cocoa but it’s without having to dirty up the big pot in order to do so.” He cheered with his laugh and filled up a mug for himself grabbing the marshmallows.

“It does work!! This could be my next big project, it would definitely bring in ze big bucks.” He thought to himself and I laughed at him.

“You don’t have to in fact I’d prefer if you didn’t. Have it be our little thing.” I clinked my mug with his and I sent my best friend starry eyed thumbs up emojis.

“It also just makes warm milk for ze kitties…” I looked down and saw Jiji come into the room and uncle Ludwig got a small bowl.

“But uncle Ludwig most cats are lactose intolerant!!” I reminded him and he held up one finger before showing me that he had made it with a cat milk option.

“And only be given it in moderation. Don’t worry, starchen I did my research.” Jiji carefully lapped at the milk that was offered to him and my heart warmed.

“Thank you uncle Ludwig again for him, he's so beautiful.” I thanked my uncle and he just laughed at me sitting down next to me on the couch.

“Tis no problem I wanted to bring you ze happy feels this holiday.” I smiled softly at him and the warmth of the drink brought the cold out of my body.

“Just spending the holiday with you makes me happy uncle. You didn’t need to do anything in particular to make it that way. But building the snowman is always my favorite part of the holiday.” I mentioned to him and I snuggled into his side as Jiji hopped up next to me on the couch curling up behind me.

“It’s my favorite too starchen. It makes me so grateful that you are so kind hearted to your kooky uncle.” I rolled my eyes at my uncle settling against him. I had never liked when he called himself kooky since even though he never really cared about the insult it still made me want to yell at anybody who had ever called him that.

“I don’t think that it’s right that people make fun of you uncle Ludwig…” I trailed off and he just smiled softly at me.

“They just don’t really understand me, tis them that is kooky not me. Besides I’m sorry too. I think that from hanging around me so much you got the gene too.” He apologized and my heart broke for my teacher.

“That’s not true!! I mean it did make me a bit… odd but I love the way that I am. You taught me that there is no straight answer or right way to answer anything. That there is always another way to analyze a problem. That methodology helped me to become a better problem solving adventurer because I knew that whatever bind I got into that there was always another way. It also helps that I got my optimistic attitude from you.” I joked and my uncle laughed a little bit at me.

“You always know just what to say to make me feel better starchen. I was only happy to help you. I knew that your schooling wasn’t helping you and that you needed a more eccentric way of getting the message across.” I smiled softly at my uncle drinking from my cup of now cooling but still warm enough to soothe the coldness in body hot chocolate.

“I made another machine for you to keep at ze mansion so that you can have it whenever you want to.” I cheered since that would make the colder mornings a lot easier for me to handle. I preferred his more grounded in reality inventions. There was one time when I was younger that he made an apple chopper that went haywire that scared me from eating apples for a year.

“Thank you for that uncle Ludwig. Really this is one of the best inventions that you have ever thought up. What made you change from being overselies with them to being more grounded in reality?” He sighed adjusting his spectacles with a small remembering smile on his face. Jiji pressed his body a little bit closer to my leg.

“It was you Sabrina. You made me rethink the way that I was inventing things after the apple slicer incident. I was only trying to make you happy. In doing that you had your first ever sensory overload. It was my fault. I know that you told me it wasn’t but I often felt bad about it. That’s when I knew. I had to stop the crazy gizmos and gadgets and make things that were more practical for people. Things that would save people time or bring people together like this one.” He mentioned to me and I smiled softly at my favorite teacher. He had done so much for me and I wanted to bring just a little bit more happiness to him.

“I love you uncle Ludwig…” I didn’t really know what to say to that whole speech. It would probably take me a bit more time to process but when he kissed my forehead gently I knew that he knew what I was trying to say. “Finish your cocoa and then we should probably get on our way starchen.” He reminded me and I drank the last of my mug and he took it over to his sink to wash later.

“Did you get your stuffies?” I nodded my head gesturing to where they were in my arms and Jiji walked beside me.

“He’s an outdoor and indoor cat but I would keep him indoors if I was you. Don’t want him running away now.” I nodded my head as Jiji looked down at the snow and then up at me as if to ask me mommy what is this sorcery.

“I got you little one.” My uncle picked him up and Jiji looked around at the atmosphere around him curiously. He stuck his pink tongue out at the snowflakes and caught one on his tongue.

“Good boy Jiji, we’re almost in the car.” My uncle had made his first car into an electric one a few years ago to try and save the environment.

“Alright starchen off to Scroogie’s house!!” He cheered and I cheered along with him as Jiji climbed into my lap to watch the world go by out the window. It was a beautiful snowy Christmas night and I loved the look of everything right now. Before I knew it we were at the mansion and I found my brothers playing outside with new sleds.

“Hey!!” Dewey cheered and I rushed to hug my younger brother and Jiji looked around outside the car.

“Hey Dew, what’s going on?” I asked him and he smiled showing me the igloos that they had made while I was gone.

“We all got new wooden sleds and we were giving them a test run. Also you missed a snowball fight but we’ll make up for it tomorrow. Is that him?” I nodded my head with an apprehensive smile but Huey was already rushing towards our uncle.

“Hi I’m Huey, it’s great to finally meet her teacher.” My brother introduced himself to our inventing uncle who just gave his laugh.

“I already knew which one you were actually Huey. She described all three of you to me since she was very little. Where is Louie?” My brother gestured to the inside where I assumed my brother had been most of the day. 

“Playing his new system he got cold about an hour ago which makes sense. I’m Dewey. You probably hate me and I’m sorry for all the stuff that she probably has already told you. I can kinda be a jerk to her sometimes.” My blue brother apologized and our uncle got down on his level.

“I won’t say that your words didn’t hurt me because seeing starchen cry is like a dagger in me. I do however understand that siblings can’t always get along. I commend you for being honest and upfront about your flaws. That is a very hard thing to say. I think ze ego gets in ze way of that.” My uncle reasoned and he took my wing in his wrapping it around his. He looked at the igloos that my brothers had built in awe.

“We build them every year as our team's secret bases for snowball fights. It’s every man for himself so it usually results in all out warfare. Is Miss Daisy already here?” Huey nodded his head with a bright smile on his face.

“She got here just a little bit before you did!! Is this Jiji? I got a place for you to live little buddy.” My brother bent to pick him up and Jiji gently sniffed his hand before deeming Huey trustworthy.

“So he really does say the as ze?” I nodded my head with a laugh a little bit as Huey was already asking him how he came up with the chemistry song.

“I love his laugh too, when he does it you’ll know it’s the ho, ho, ho laugh.” I did a bastardized interpretation of it.

“You are also both hand talkers I see.” I nodded my head since I had inherited that from spending all that time around him.

“Oh yeah he taught me a lot with the hand movements. Starchen is German for star by the way.” I mentioned off handedly to my brother and he just listened to me while I talked about the person who meant more to me than anything else in the world.

“Louie loves his game by the way he was playing it for hours after you left. He didn’t even come outside at first when me and Huey were. Uncle Scrooge had to make me drag him.” I laughed a little bit at the idea of Huey kicking and screaming just wanting to play his game. Huey opened the heavy door to the mansion and I heard Louie in the living room with our mom.

“Die monsters!! Die!!” I cackled with laughter hearing my mom’s overly enthusiastic video gaming style. 

“Ludwig…” I heard uncle Scrooge from the front hall as he walked briskly down the hallway. I couldn’t help but smile since I could see how happy he was. 

“Scroogie…” My uncle’s hugged tightly and I couldn’t help but want to commit this moment to memory.

“I’ve missed you, you old mad scientist you.” I laughed at uncle Scrooge and I knew how important this reunion must have been for both of them.

“I missed you too, my brother in-law. Not really doing much of ze mad scientist thing these days. I’m more moved onto teacher and and mentor now. Look what mien starchen made me!!” He exclaimed, showing him the ugly sweater and I saw that Scrooge was wearing his as well. My family was really the best family in the whole wide world. It was at times like Christmas in particular that reminded me of that. 

[caleblewis94]

Preview: The Door To Infinity

           Puck was now a forty-two-year-old man who still hadn’t learned his last name due to a grease stain from a slice of pizza obscuring the name on his birth certificate in the no-good year of 1978. Why couldn’t his mother or one of his eleven older siblings have told him somewhere during these last 4.2 decades, you ask? Why because they had all died in an oxygen tank explosion that had completely obliterated the house before the Fire Department could even arrive, of course. What else could have possibly happened? Puck’s mother whose name was literally Mother, and who had once been a nun before she was banned for playing Elton John on the church organ, could actually be called Mother Mother, the mother of Puck, because as the saying goes: once a mother, always a mother. That sure is a mouthful, thank God she’s dead.

Mother returned home from the hospital bringing with her a cart of portable oxygen bottles for her own mother, Mother the first, who suffered from COPD which was exacerbated by the pre-existing condition of being apt to not listen to advice or heed warnings. Upon the delivery of oxygen bottles, Mother Mother the mother of Puck finally thought to cut the umbilical cord. The wailing mucus membrane with the fat, pudgy face of a forty-two-year-old man on the disproportionately large head of a newborn had tripped her on the way up the stairs, reminding her that she had forgotten to “forget” him at the hospital. With a sigh, she cut the umbilical cord with the first thing she could find: a pair of safety scissors. The act was hilarious and took nearly fifteen minutes to complete. Afterwards, she lugged the oxygen bottles in and gave them to her ornery old witch, but minus the cool magical powers, of a mother.

Some say that a mother’s intuition can cause her to feel an impending sense of danger to her own. Perhaps this is why she went lovingly outside, cradling the slimy, writhing middle-aged newborn in her tattooed and cigarette burned arms,  and ever so carefully dropped Puck into the first pile of trash she had found lying by the street, which just so happened to be a random bale of hay in a DIY manger that her neighbors had attempted to assemble after purchasing it from Ikea before growing frustrated and throwing it half-finished in the street. One can say this motherly intuition saved the baby named Puck that would one day grow up to become the man named Puck. Then again, her motherly instinct didn’t seem to apply to her other eleven comically-named children.

Mother Mother, the mother of Puck, went back inside her home. Puck no longer cried. Now he sat in the Ikea manger with his arms crossed and his lower lip jutting out. This would become his signature look which would make him quite popular, albeit for mocking purposes, with all of the former high school football stars who would form the majority of his coworkers at the glue factory in his adulthood. Moments after his mother entered the house behind him, he would hear, though he wouldn’t understand because he was a baby and everybody knows babies can’t understand words, his mother shouting at his grandmother in her obnoxious twang of a Country accent that Puck would thankfully never acquire himself.

“God Dayum, you old bat, Cain’t you read?” Mother Mother, mother of Puck shouted.

“I can read, you little skank. I’m just having me a cigarette,” Shouted Mother, mother of Mother Mother the mother of Puck.

“I’m tired of you smokin’ meemaw!” Shouted the shrill voice of one of Puck’s siblings. Judging by the whiny tone, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume it was Kyle.

“That’s too dayum bad.”

“The sign says no smoking, because it could explode if exposed to fire!” Mother Mother, mother of Puck shouted back.

“Then why hasn’t it yet?”

“Comical effect!”

In completely coincidental, and in no means embellished or made-up fashion, the entire house exploded immediately after the joke in the dialogue was wearing thin. The sound of the explosion sounded to Puck like the winner to the 1978 Darwin Awards if they were around in that terrible, no-good year of 1978. Kaboom with a capital KA.

Now, it’s reasonable to ask why Puck? Why this ugly, slimy, miniature spitting image of Donald Trump? Why did this little clump of living smegma survive in lieu of his entire family being incinerated instantly like a bunch of redneck Icaruses that flew directly into the sun because they didn’t believe the Science that said the sun can hurt you? It is because of a thing called fate. Puck wasn’t meant to die that day. For, you see, you beautiful reader, you, Puck was destined for greater things, like developing a nicotine habit he couldn’t quite kick, working in a glue factory overseeing the melting of the horses, and his destiny to die in a hilarious accident involving a shopping cart at the age of 42. As a wise man once said, so it goes.

∞

           Puck, now a forty-two-year-old man full of past traumas and experiences that shaped him into the disgruntled, burned-out, and inconsiderate grump that people subconsciously hoped would drop dead, went to the supermarket. What he bought at said supermarket holds no importance whatsoever to the rest of the novel, but for the record was; 19 bushels of crab legs, 30 cans of Ragu spaghetti sauce, 20 gallons of vegetable oil, 12 cartons of increased fat milk, 8 sticks of extra-salted butter, 57 liters of Mountain Dew, 3 bottles of Coca-Cola that had been stuffed under the clearance shelf since 1958, 5 jugs of eggnog, despite it being the middle of April, two of those obnoxiously bright blue lightbulbs for some reason, and a Milkyway Lite because he was trying to watch his figure.

           Puck pushed his shopping cart outside. Of course his luck would have had him picking the cart with the broken wheel, causing it to limp along like a sprinter who had torn their ACL and was desperately trying to hobble their way across the finish line. Plus, the fact that he had so much food weighing down the cart didn’t help him steer it any easier. Life was so hard for poor Puck. On his way to his car, Puck was passed by an old lady on one of those automatic shopping carts that truly highlighted the pinnacle of modern invention. The old woman was smoking three cigarettes at the same time, blowing tendrils of smoke through her nostrils like a dragon who had already expended all of his (or her) fire and couldn’t ejaculate any more. She had an oxygen tank on the back of the cart, though she wasn’t using it. Maybe she’ll need it later, Puck thought. Yes, riding an automatic shopping cart around a store for an hour sure is exhausting work.

           Puck got to his car and popped the trunk, which promptly swung open much faster than normal, hitting him in the chin because even his car was tired of his shit. In the background was the sound of an explosion, but Puck thought nothing of this. He flung the groceries in the trunk and shut it back, then he promptly took the shopping and left it right there in the middle of the street, despite there being a coral only twenty feet away. It wasn’t that Puck didn’t see the coral—he did—he just decided to rebel. It was his way of sticking it to the proverbial man. Puck got in his car and drove home, the shopping cart looming menacingly in the parking lot, vowing to get revenge on the forty-two-year-old-man.

           When Puck got home, he realized that he had forgotten to also purchase a diet Mountain Dew, because—how can he watch his figure without a pound of aspartame in his system?—Puck lovingly kissed his wife goodbye, and by lovingly kissed his wife goodbye, I mean he didn’t kiss her goodbye, he simply said “I forgot something, be back in ten” then left. However, he wouldn’t be back in ten. In fact, he also wouldn’t even be back at the supermarket in ten, traffic was awfully heavy for two in the afternoon on a Sunday. Also, he wouldn’t ever be back because he would be killed in a tragic, yet hilariously Shakespearean way. A way that said, maybe there is a God who occasionally involves himself in the affairs of humans to deliver righteous justice.

           Puck went to the self-checkout line again, but this time at least he actually had under ten items. He hated the small talk Cashiers would make with him, especially the pretty twenty-something-year-old ladies who would make blatant attempts to flirt with him by saying things like “Good morning, sir,” “Paper or plastic?” and, worst of all, “Would you like a receipt?” The total on the screen came up to three dollars and twenty-three cents after tax. It was a bit more than he thought it had cost when he was just here half an hour ago, but he was trying to watch his figure, dammit, so he would not and could not be stopped. He paid for the bottle, and also a banana, and left, not even bothering to take the receipt that had printed from the machine.

           “Have a nice day,” said a blonde and blue-eyed nineteen-year-old with a smile that conveyed anything but a genuine smile inside. It was a smile that seemed to say that this young lady was going through her own personal troubles and was having a tough time but was trying her best to be strong and kind to others. To anyone else it would be inspiring, but to Puck it was just another attempt to flirt with him. Puck, not wanting to be rude, gave her that kind of sideways smile any suburban white person would give someone they accidentally made eye contact with in public, and walked by, sidestepping a random broken piece of an oxygen bottle by the door. As he crossed the windy threshold that separates the land of groceries from the humid, suburban air of the Greater Atlanta Area, he swallowed the banana in one gulp. It was a fun party trick he had learned in college. He didn’t have to waste time chewing, and everyone loved it. Especially the random man he had accidentally made eye contact with in the process of the great swallow.

           Puck walked out into the crosswalk without looking both ways, not that he needed to look both ways, there were stop signs and everybody in the United States obeys stop signs. He dropped the banana peel absentmindedly onto the ground and made his way towards his car.

           As Puck approached his car, he bumped into the shopping cart he had left sitting in the street—not the corral, mind you—thirty minutes prior. The cart rolled forward towards him, ready for its vengeance. If it were alive and wielding a knife, it would totally stab Puck right in the abdomen. For far too long Puck had violated its shopping cart family’s rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of being put back in the corral. But, luckily for Puck, it wasn’t alive. It was a shopping cart. In frustration with this minor inconvenience, Puck pushed the cart further into the street with one swift kick.

           “I should have used a basket,” He muttered to himself.

           However, the shopping cart heard him make this remark. Or it would have heard him if it were alive and had ears or some other method for processing auditory information. And if it were alive and capable of not just processing auditory information but also understanding English, this comment would have been the last straw. The shopping cart would teach him a lesson if it were alive. Puck was so lucky it wasn’t alive.

           Puck turned back to his car and fished for his keys in his pocket, except the keys weren’t there. What the hell, Puck thought. I just had them! He checked his pocket again as if he could possibly miss a keychain the size of Timbuktu, and to his utter shock, the keys hadn’t pulled a David Copperfield and magically reappeared. He turned back around to head into the store and angrily ask the poor girl behind the customer service desk if anyone had found and returned his car keys, as if she were the one herself who had misplaced them. However, before he could do so, something glimmering beneath the partially clouded sky caught his eye. His car keys lied in the bottom basket of the shopping cart that, after being kicked, scampered away before settling eighteen feet away from Puck and just a measly two feet from the corral.

           You got him now, you devious shopping cart you, the corral would have thought if it were alive and capable of thought. With a long, drawn out sigh, Puck crossed the street. He removed the keys from the lower basket and glanced at the corral which was now literally not even out of his way to return the cart to. The shopping cart was already facing towards the corral like a baby reaching out for its mother. Puck didn’t even have to walk forward at all to return it, all he had to do was lightly push the cart and it would be back in its rightful place. Puck didn’t do this. Instead, he took the cart and placed it back in the middle of the street for some reason, and then went back to his car.

           This would have been the final straw for the shopping cart if the shopping cart had any packets of straws left to give, never mind the rude comment about getting a basket instead. Oh, if only the shopping cart were alive and capable of inflicting punishment upon this horrible man with an even horrible-er—or, dare I say—horrible-est name. Puck? More like duck, the shopping cart would have thought, not that the cart would have any prejudices against ducks, it was just a slightly speciest saying it would have learned growing up in a family of shopping carts in the Southern states.

           Suddenly, like a car that had hit a pothole at 110 miles-per-hour, causing it to flip over multiple times before flying into a tree, a car driving at 10 mph, ignoring the 5 mph speed limit sign on the wall next to the cross walk, struck the banana peel Puck had left in the middle of the street. The car going twice the speed limit, lost control and swerved to the left, ironically enough while using a blinker. The out of control car collided with the poor shopping cart with an unquenchable thirst for blood and vengeance at the devastating speed of 2 mph. Puck turned around in time to see the accident.

What, scientifically speaking, should have sent the cart forward with the same force as the weak kick Puck had given the cart minutes earlier, oddly enough launched the cart at the speed of 200 mph directly at the man who never put his carts back in the corrals where they belong. Puck didn’t even have time to realize the error of his leaving-shopping-carts-in-the-middle-of-the-street ways, before the cart flew directly into his face, causing his head to explode like the 125,452nd watermelon destroyed by the great philosopher Gallagher, splattering blood all over a man walking past who had made the foolish mistake of wearing a white t-shirt over-confidant in his ability to avoid acquiring a stain, and sparking the obsession with blood of a three-year-old who was watching the whole scene unfold through a pair of binoculars from his parents’ house across the street.

Puck, the youngest son of Mother Mother the mother of Puck, and the youngest grandson of Mother the mother of Mother Mother the mother of Puck, was dead, though his story and misadventures wouldn’t end there. It was a tragic death. Nothing that has ever happened in human history has ever been more tragic than the death of Puck on that cloudy April day in the year of whatever year this is being read in. But don’t be sad—stop crying, society says it’s not cool to cry with empathy—for there was a sign that he had read thousands of times before that read: Please put your shopping cart up, we can’t afford another fatal accident. So, if it makes you feel any better, Puck kind of deserved it.

[lostinfic]

Dissonance and Harmony | 6

Pairing: Roderick Peterson (Nativity 2) x Alison Crosby (The Canterbury Tales).

*You don’t need to have seen either film.*

Summary: Alison wants to boost her pop music career whereas Roderick needs to restore his reputation in the world of classical music. Neither of them is above using “irregular” means to get what they want, so when she joins his choir, they are in a unique position to help each other… if only they could get along.

Rating: M  |  Word count: 4k

A/N: I'm far from a music expert, researching songs for a mash-up was holding me back from writing so I had to make up one of the songs.

Ao3

♪ ♪ ♪

Alison still can’t believe Roderick not only agreed to add mashed-up songs to their repertoire— on a trial basis only— but has also invited her to his home.

She stands on the sidewalk, staring at his beautiful Georgian building in Kensington and its liveried doorman. Her phone pings with text messages from Marcus, Janet and Abel.

“How’s it going?”

“What’s his place like?”

“I bet he has one of those hairless cats”

“He’s not a Bond villain!” Alison replies.

“He looks like one”

“Ali watch out for shark tanks lol”

She mutes her phone and heads in.

Roderick greets her with a smile she can only describe as uncertain. Perhaps he’s as surprised as her by her presence in his apartment.

Inside his own home, she expected him to wear a different outfit, more casual than his typical turtleneck and jacket, but he’s not. And he still calls her “Miss Crosby”. Everything to indicate this is no different than their regular choir meetings.

Alison hangs her jacket by the door, regretting her leopard print crop top and pink dungarees.

“Where’s your music?” he asks. She holds up a USB thumb drive. “Convenient but poor quality. Would you care for a drink?”

“Sure, whatever you’re having. What’s your poison?”

“Mint tea.”

“Oh. Spiked with rum?”

She follows him into the open-plan kitchen on the left. It has the same sleek minimalism as the theater, white cupboards without knobs, bare countertops. Where’s all your stuff, she wants to ask.

Beyond the black marble island, the living room stretches to high bay windows, a baby grand piano stands in front of them. The sun is setting over Holland Park, and orange rays play across the glossy black lid of the Steinway.

It’s beautiful but empty, something out of a magazine, the bones of a home she wants to flesh out with silly cookie jars and fuzzy blankets.

Roderick prepares two cups of tea.

“Don’t you have a butler or something to do that for you?” she jokes.

“I gave him the night off.”

“Wha’, really?”

“No.”

He hands her a steaming mug. She detects a hint of alcohol in it.

In the living room, opposite the leather couch, where a TV usually stands, shelves line the wall, stacked to the ceiling with vinyls, CDs as well as pictures and awards. Everything symmetrically arranged.

Alison whistles and takes a closer look.

“You must think it’s vain,” Roderick says.

“Nah, I have a wall of my achievements too, mind you it’s not as impressive.”

The first photo to catch her eye is one of Roderick holding two babies. His twin brother’s sons, he explains with warmth in his voice, he has already started introducing them to classical music.

“Very cute,” Alison says.

“Yes, they are.”

“I was talking about you.” She winks to indicate it’s another one of her flirting jokes.

Roderick rolls his eyes. “Shall we begin our research?”

But Alison is more interested in looking at the other pictures. Many of them are of his former choirs. She picks one up: Roderick fifteen years younger, a jacket too large for his slim body, wire-framed glasses, smiling with pride.

“Do you prefer conducting children or adults?”

“It’s different. I like both… But shaping young minds, giving them the gift of music and self-discipline, it’s very rewarding.”

He wipes specks of dust off several frames, lost in souvenirs, smiling to himself. They’re obviously important to him.

Maybe one day we’ll be on that shelf too.

“You know, for what it’s worth,” she says, “you gave me that gift too. The self-discipline. And I appreciate choral music a lot more.”

“As you should. I’ll fetch my laptop for your music.”

So much for trying to make him feel better.

Roderick sets his Macbook Air down on the coffee table. Meanwhile, she pulls a list of songs from her front pocket, suggestions sent by her friends, and reviews it.

As he browses her music collection, she peruses the albums on his shelves.

Alison loves every genre, from K-pop to opera, traditional Celtic ballads to hip hop, and Bollywood movie soundtracks, of course. As far as she’s concerned, there’s no such thing as a guilty pleasure. Roderick’s collection, on the other hand, consists exclusively of classical music, some contemporary composers and a little jazz.

“No Led Zep or Beatles? That’s your generation, innit?”

“My generation?” He scoffs. “I’ve been listening to Mozart since I was in the womb.”

She picks a few CDs at random and scans the songs listed on the back. As it happens, one is an album of Mozart’s piano sonatas. On the cover, there’s a painting of the composer as a child.

“How old was Mozart when he wrote his first piece?”

“His first simple one, that was around 5 years old.”

“Wow. And you?”

“Seven.”

Alison’s jaw drops, and she takes her eyes off the CDs to stare at him.

“You’re a proper prodigy. Still, you must’ve had like a teenage rebellious phase where you listened to The Clash or something.”

She tries to picture him as a teenager with acne and spiked hair, but she can’t.

“My father forbade other genres of music,” he explains. “My brother Donald did have a phase like that, and that’s why he’s a primary school teacher and I have an O.B.E.”

“As long as he loves his job, that’s what matters.”

“I’m happy with my work,” he retorts. “For your information, I do listen to other music. Sometimes. It’s necessary in my work. I’m not a neophyte.”

“Like what? Name one popular artist you genuinely love.”

He ponders her question for some time while Alison taps her fingernails on the shelf.

“Queen,” he finally answers.

Alison agrees wholeheartedly with him. However, when she suggests they use one of Queen’s songs for a mash-up, he rejects the idea right away, calling it “sacrilegious”.

“Who is your favourite composer?” Roderick asks in return.

Is it a test? What if she picks the wrong composer? She bites her thumb nail, as she frantically searches her memory for a name. “Vivaldi?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m sure I’ve some Vivaldi on that USB drive. Look, I don’t know, okay? I really do love classical music, and I’m trying to learn more about it, but the titles are all the same: symphony No.8, No.3, No. 4., Opus 8. And all the Russian names and Italian ones sound the same.”

She expects a sneer or a lesson, but he says, “I envy you in a way. You have such wonderful music yet to discover. I wish I could listen to my favourite composers for the first time again. Erase my memory and relive that instinctive reaction to the melody.”

“So, who’s your fave?”

The look on his face isn’t unlike a kid’s who would have to choose between a kitten and a puppy. He scans the shelves and picks a record. The sleeve is worn out, the corners peeled to the brown cardboard. He lays the disc on the turntable and delicately places the needle over it. “Close your eyes.”

Alison sits down next to him, legs crossed, and closes her eyes.

The piece starts slowly with light, ethereal flutes. As more instruments join in, the tempo increases. Bouncy woodwinds, then a staccato of strings, counterbalanced by somber brass. Percussion thunders in. The melody surges into a crescendo that makes her heart beat faster, and ebbs to a wistful air, like a stream in a forgotten forest. A lump rises in her throat. When the song ends, she keeps her eyes close for a few seconds, savouring the chill the finale gave her.

“That was gorgeous.”

“Has a pop song ever done that to you?” he asks insolently.

“Many times, as a matter of fact.”

She scrolls through her music library to the letter L.

“Leonard Cohen, that’s cheating,” Roderick declares.

“Fair enough. So, do you think using his ‘Hallelujah’ would be sacrilegious too?” He hesitates, but Alison insists. “If you don’t want us to use commercial songs from pop stars because you don’t think they’re good enough, and none from artists you respect, I don’t know how we’re going to do this.” She crosses her arms on her chest. “Was that your plan all along? Agree, but then make it impossible?”

“No… but that song is in quadruple meter, it’s uncommon. Then again I suppose there are plenty of Hallelujah songs in choral music, maybe we can find one that will fit.”

“That’d be brilliant!”

He writes the title down on a notepad, and they start searching for other songs.

In order to create mash-ups, the songs must have the same meter and chords so the musical elements can be seamlessly laid on top of one another. But the songs must also carry similar emotions and themes.

They set to work, queuing songs on the computer and pulling albums off his shelves.

With each piece, Roderick shares some trivia about the composers. “Did you know Schoenberg had a phobia of the number 13? And he died on April 13th.” Or “Mozart wrote the overture to Don Giovanni on the morning of the premiere, whilst he had a massive hangover.” “Tchaikovsky, now he was a piece of work, he would hold his chin while conducting because he was afraid his head would fall off.”

Alison cracks up with each fun fact and asks for more. His limitless knowledge amazes her. Although she’s learning, Roderick is not in teacher mode; his eyes sparkle, and his whole demeanour bursts with energy. He discards his jacket and ruffles his hair, and keeps changing track before the previous one is finished because he's too excited to make her hear the next one. “You’ll love Vivaldi’s ‘Gloria’.”

Alison shares her music and trivia too: Joan Jet, Elton John, Nirvana, ABBA. “You’re tapping your foot!” Alison points out gleefully.

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are, you love it.”

“It’s repetitive.”

“It’s catchy. Number one hit. Everyone loves it... Even you.”

She bumps him with her shoulder, and he sighs.

“Why won’t you admit it?” she asks.

“I’ve fought all my life against this type of commercial music.”

She rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying something catchy. Takes a bit of pressure off our shoulders. It’s a happy song, just go with it. It’s like Schumann said.”

“Quoting Schumann now, are we?”

“I am.” She juts out her chin. “More or less. I don’t remember the exact words. But he said that artists must send light into people’s hearts. ABBA does that.”

“You want light in your heart? Surely nothing can possibly surpass ‘Ode to Joy’.”

Beethoven’s ninth symphony starts slowly, and Alison pretends to snore just to taunt Roderick. But the music escalates, and when the voices join in with a jubilant “O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!” Alison springs to her feet and pretends to conduct the recorded choir. She waves her hands as she pleases in exuberant movements.

“No more tea for you. You don’t know what you’re doing,” Roderick says, but he’s laughing.

“I do know! I’m making a fool of myself.” She grins.

Roderick steps up behind her and places his hands on her upper arms.

“Let me show you.”

Despite the space he carefully left between them, his breath brushes her ear, and her breath catches in her throat.

He guides her arms to conduct properly, up and down, along the tempo. It’s a dance of sorts. Two bodies moving to the same rhythm.

“Hold it… now drop.”

A beat of silence and the symphony slows to one instrument, and Roderick moves her arms in long, smooth strokes. Slowly, the tempo increases again into a steady pounding of brass and chords. Her hands thrust through the air as the fortissimo builds up, faster and faster, toward the finale. Roderick’s grip tightens. Her breath quickens. Her heart beats louder than the fourth movement. The symphony reaches its climax. Notes and voices erupt in an intense finish.

The symphony ends and Roderick’s hands stay on her arms. She leans back against him. For a moment, everything is still. The vinyl crackles. His chest swells with sharp breath.

Another song begins and startles them.

“I can do your job now,” Alison jokes to dispel the tension. “More tea?”

She scurries to the kitchen with heated cheeks.

What was she thinking? He’s the conductor of her choir. And the only professional contact she has who might actually help her career.

By the time boiling water is poured in the cups, she’s convinced herself nothing happened.

“You would have liked Beethoven, I think,” Roderick says when she hands him the mug.

“The man himself, you mean?”

“Yes. Even when he started losing his hearing, he made a point of going out with his friends every day. He was a bon vivant.”

She wonders what that has to do with her. Is he saying she’s like Beethoven? Is that a compliment? A very roundabout compliment.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

“I know I’m not the most… genial person, but I hope you know I do think well of you, Alison.”

“I think well of you too.”

They smile at each other.

The thing is, even if he’s not the most expansive person when it comes to compliments and encouragements, and despite how much she craves validation, at least one always knows where they stand with him. He’s honest. For someone, like Alison, who has been fooled by flattery in the past, there’s some comfort in that.

They get back to work. The list of songs grows, but they have yet to be paired in a satisfactory mash-up. Roderick outright rejects many songs he deems too commercial (”mass-produced music is the very antithesis of art, it has no soul”), but overall he proves more open-minded than she expected.

They make each other listen to various pieces. Each song invites the other to step into their inner world. It’s not just trivia they’re telling now, but meaningful anecdotes associated with Haydn, Cher, Stravinsky and Tupac.

Time flies, but Roderick never forgets their task. It helps that he enjoys the musical gymnastics of fitting the songs together. Alison looks over his shoulder as he scribbles notes on blank music sheets. After one listen of the songs, he can already identify chords that overlap. His fluency is astounding.

“Can you find me Alessandrini?” he asks, still writing with one hand, the other pointing vaguely towards the shelves.

His collection is sorted in alphabetical order, she spots the album on the highest shelf, but she's shorter than him and has to stretch as high as she can to reach it. Unsteady on her tiptoes, she retrieves the album but also knocks a picture frame off the shelf. She catches it just in time: it’s a selfie of Roderick with Angel Matthews, on holiday judging by the palm trees in the background. Angel is his ex-girlfriend, or so the Internet told her, but if he still has a picture of her in his living room…

She's not even that pretty.

Roderick takes the photo out of her hands.

“I thought you’d broken up”, she says.

“We have.” He replaces the frame on the shelf, face down. “How do you know that?”

“I googled you.”

“Uh. What else did Google have to say?”

He knows. He’s definitely the kind of person who would search for his own name.

“The usual: career, discography… and that you stole a song from another school during a competition last year.”

His features harden. “I see.”

“Did you?”

“Tell me, Miss Crosby, do you think I could do something like that?”

“No. I— I don’t know. Maybe? But I can’t understand why you would.”

He’s a competitive person, and his desire to use Marcus’s handicap and Alison’s beauty to gain an advantage says a lot about that, and yet blatantly stealing another school’s original song right before the competition seems a step too far.

Without answering, Roderick picks up their empty mugs and disappears into the kitchen. Alison waits, wringing her hands. They were having such fun and she's ruined it. He's not going to think well of her now.

Roderick comes back with refilled cups. Alison chokes on the first sip, it’s more rum than tea this time.

He walks across the room to the windows, and back. Finally, he says, “At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing for my students. I was invited to this competition to give it some credibility. I was under the impression our victory was guaranteed. But when I saw the judges and the audience, I knew they would be swayed by emotional appeals and catchy tunes, rather than our musical excellence. My kids were perfect but what if the judges didn’t see that? And there was my brother and my father there.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I made a bad decision. It was blown out of proportion by my detractors.”

“Is that why Angel broke up with you?”

“No. If anything, she encouraged me. But when it turned into a scandal, well…” He shrugs and goes to sit on the leather couch. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Alison isn’t convinced by his explanation. After some hesitation and a few more sips of rum for courage, she sits down next to him.

His straight back progressively hunches over as he circles the rim of his mug with his finger.

“It happened at a peculiar time in my life,” he says without looking at her. “The problem with being a prodigy is that one’s career begins early and therefore… ends early.”

“Are you thinking of retiring? You’re not even 40 yet.”

“I don’t want to. I’m not ready to let music go, but what if she’s ready to let go of me?”

“Oh, Roderick. You always look so confident, I had no idea.” She tentatively strokes his arm.

“Don’t take pity on me.”

“I don’t. I sympathize. I know exactly how that feels.”

He scoffs. “You’re too young.”

“Okay, maybe not exactly, but when I had my birthday last August, I felt like I was getting too old for this, so I told myself I had to make significant progress in my career this year or I would quit. The choir is my last chance.”

“Mine too,” he says.

What a pair they make.

“No, it’s not. It can’t be. You’re a bloody genius. And, you know what, I’m not that old. We’re so daft.”

Roderick chuckles and pats her hand. A fond, but almost paternal gesture, except his hand lingers on top of hers, his thumb rubs along her knuckles. Their eyes meet, he’s not hiding behind his severe glasses anymore, he’s letting her see him, and her heart melts. She gives his hand a little squeeze.

Roderick’s ears perk up, and he looks to the computer. “What is this?”

“Uh? Oh, that’s Florence and the Machine, I think. Yeah, ‘Shake It Out’.”

“This has great potential for choral arrangement.”

Roderick puts his glasses back on and hurries to the piano. He finds the partition online, gives it a cursory glance, and, after another listen, plays the first verse on the piano. Just like that.

“You know the lyrics? Go on.”

Alison sings the intro A Capella, “Regrets collect like old friends Here to relive your darkest moments I can see no way, I can see no way And all of the ghouls come out to play”

He holds her gaze as they adjust to each other’s rhythm. He tweaks the song here and there as she keeps singing. He’s got an idea, she can tell, he slows down after the chorus and he’s looking at her, expecting a reaction, an understanding.

“Wait, play that last part again,” Alison says.

Pride curves his lips into a smile.

“It’s like…”

“Yes.”

“Opus 16!”

He replays the passage and segues into the second movement of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s “Opus 16”, a song the choir already knows.

“We have our mash-up!” Alison says, clapping her hands.

“I think we might.”

They analyse the two songs side by side, trying out different points of transition and choral arrangements.

“Does it work thematically too?” Alison asks.

“Yes, it’s about rising from dark times. Williams wrote it after a hard time in his life, when he thought he’d lost his muse. See this line here: ante lucem tenebris it means dark before light.”

“I had no idea.”

‘Opus 16’ has never been one of her favourite chorals, she liked that it was a bit more upbeat, but now that she understands its meaning, she’s excited to sing it.

She can see it so clearly in her mind’s eye: the concert begins in a very traditional way, they’re in formation, wearing those black robes, singing the classics. And then “Shake It Out” begins, she steps to the front of the stage and discards her robe. Her colleagues follow suit and maybe dance a little. The lighting changes too, curtains part behind them to reveal colourful stage props. The second part of the concert consists of upbeat songs and more mash-ups. People in the audience stand up and clap their hands.

Roderick arches a dubious eyebrow at her suggestion.

“It’d be brilliant,” Alison insists.

“I’ll think about it.”

She stands by the piano and they go through the first half of “Shake It Out”. After the chorus, he slows the tempo, they stay in sync, eyes trained on each other, nodding along the notes. The transition into “Opus 16” is a little rough, but it works.

When she hits the high note in the third verse, her voice falters. Roderick abruptly stops playing, and the disappointment in his eyes cuts her deeper than any of his harsh words ever has before.

“I can do it,” she quickly says. “I’ll work day and night.”

“Clarissa would be able to do it.”

“No! I will. I can do it.”

“You must do it,” he says. “Again, from the top.”

Alison straightens her shoulders and gets ready to sing, but after three cups of tea, she needs the toilet.

From the bathroom, she hears the music Roderick is listening to on the computer. He selects more songs by Florence + The Machine.

She smiles smugly to herself. She did it. She changed his mind.

He skips to another song: “I know that it’s over They say that time’s a healer I’m ready to rise again”

“Oh no no.” She stands up from the toilet, but she’s not done pissing. “Fuck.” She hurries as much as she can.

When she returns to the living room, the song is still playing and Roderick’s face is a haughty grimace.

“Is that you?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s an original song I recorded a while back. In Canterbury.”

“It’s horrendous.”

Alison flinches. His words sting.

“Yeah, it’s silly. Can you stop it?”

“My pleasure. Let’s try the mash-up again, shall we?”

“Actually, it’s getting late, I should go."

“Already?"

I’ve to go if I want to catch the last bus.”

“The bus? At this hour? You must take a taxi. It’s safer.”

“It’s kind of a long ride, I can’t really afford it.”

“Let me call you one, I will put it on my tab.”

Before she can protest, he’s on the phone. She’s too tired to put up a fight.

“He will be here in ten minutes.”

Roderick holds up her coat so she might slip it on.

“I’ll wait downstairs,” she says.

“You’re welcome to wait here.”

“Nah.”

“Okay. In that case, thank you for your help.”

After shifting awkwardly on his feet, he holds up a hand for her to shake.

“Sure. See ya later, Mr. Peterson.”

[argotmagazine-blog]

Dancing On My Own

(Silvia...)

Yes, Mickey?

(How do you call your loverboy?)

Come 'ere loverboy!

(And if he doesn't answer?) Oh, loverboy!

(And if he STILL doesn't answer?) I simply say…

I was six years old the first time I draped my father’s after-shower wrap around my waist and lip-synched for my life. In the living room of my family’s single story, ranch style home in Walnut Creek, California, I performed to “Love is Strange.” The audience, comprised of my father, stepmother, and brother, laughed hysterically at my hijinks – oh how silly to see a boy wearing a skirt and singing the woman’s part of a song! At literally the same time RuPaul was gaining notoriety working the Atlanta Circuit Parties, I, at only six years old, was slaying the Bay Area suburb living room scene and living for it, Mama!

A year later, I performed live in an oversized sweatshirt dress and leg warmers on a leather ottoman stage. Another number from this genderfuck child prodigy that resonated with my home audience was my original drag parody based on a hit Crystal Gayle song “Donuts Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” Again, I was rewarded with laughter and applause. My family truly loved me, and I was beginning to know that I was born to be a performer.

Cut to a few years later: it was a dress-up day at school for Halloween and I had no idea what to be. My stepmother came in for the heroic rescue with a waist length straight brown wig, a bandanna, a peasant skirt, and a liberal application of lipstick and eyeshadow. I looked in the mirror and instantly fell in love with myself in what would now be considered a very problematic “fortune teller” Halloween look. I can’t even imagine the accent I spoke with. Suffice it to say, if repeated today that ensemble would most definitely result in a cancel culture call out.

Year by year, I learned that I was definitely different. As a “creative” child, I was prone to talking out of turn and disrupting the class. I did not know what “being gay” was, and I had certainly never seen an “out” gay person that I knew of. The closest thing to a drag queen I knew was my Grandmother, Beatrice. She was a Portuguese powerhouse that lived larger than life in an assortment of caftans, wigs, fur coats, costume jewels, fire red fingernails, and her ever-present cocktail of choice in her hand. I lovingly called her world’s cheapest screwdriver the “Popov and Donald” after its two main ingredients: Popov Vodka and Donald Duck orange juice. The constant, comforting refrain of clinking and tinkling ice surrounded her as she stirred it steadily with her nicotine stained index finger. With parents who blasted Elton John, Neil Diamond, Bette Midler, Barry Manilow, and let’s not forget the beginning of this story, the soundtrack to “Dirty Dancing” when I was but six years old, it would seem as if the Universe was surrounding me with the perfect, magical, organic tools I would need to live my best faggotty life. Yet, In the summer of fourth grade, it all coalesced into understanding that I was truly different. Not just a creative type but there was something else, something more that separated me from the rest of the kids around me. The person who taught me this was Mr. M.

Mr. M. was my summer school theater teacher. When I saw him, I could just tell that he had the same thing that I had. That thing – the one that made me different – it was in him too. I immediately recognized it, and it was beautiful, and it made me feel so good that I wasn’t alone. It was the first time that I truly could see that there were actually adults like me too. Mr. M. had created a 4th through 6th grade summer-stock follies masterpiece that combined the story of Rapunzel with the music from Hair. It was everything my queer little heart desired rolled into a masterpiece for the stage, dusted in fairytale glitter, and laid out like a prize before me. I was cast in the dream role I could have never imagined I needed. My character was “Jacques,” Rapunzel’s best friend, confidant, and (though unspoken) very, very flamboyantly gay hairdresser. I was obviously the comedic relief – and I knew that at the time – but I didn’t care. I loved the role and despite having no idea what camp meant at the time (and certainly wouldn’t have cared if I did). I knew that this part had been created just for me, to let me shine, and I was not going to let Mr. M. down.

My stepmom stepped up like a hero again and made me look like everything that a 10-year-old, fabulous hairdresser should look like. Remember that waist length wig from my fortune teller look? Well she lovingly cut off a little 6 inch snip and braided it into the back of my big ass, blown out hair. I didn’t know or care that this was being “gay,” but I knew that I had never in my life felt more right.

In what will be a surprise to no one, I can humbly confirm that I stole the show. The audience loved me, seeing this fabulous child, living his truth, loving himself and not being afraid to shine in all his homo-glory in only the fourth grade? I was years ahead of the world and it felt amazing. In fact, before the show, we had joked in my house about the mannerisms of being gay, the flouncy walk, the limp wrists, the sassy lisp. I genuinely loved them all so much that after the performance, I began to adopt these affectations officially into my daily life, from lisping from the breakfast table: “Plleathe path the theareal” to my bedtime prayers, “in Jethus name we pray, amen”.

And that’s the moment. The moment where things changed.

“Sit down here next to me,” my father asked as he patted the bed politely. He called in my stepmother. “We should probably talk.”

After everyone assembled, my father asked thoughtfully “Do you know what homosexuality is?”

“No,” I responded quietly. I could tell immediately from his tone that 1) I was whatever that thing was and 2) that it was absolutely not okay.

“Well, it’s when two men do the things together that only a man and a woman are supposed to do together,” he lectured me. “And it is very wrong. You know how you played that part in the play, and how you have been walking and talking that way since? That’s not okay anymore. That’s how these homosexuals really act. It’s okay to act like them and laugh at them as a joke, like in the play. But it’s completely unacceptable to do those things in real life. In fact, men who do those things, well, the Bible says that they are going to hell. Do you want to go to hell?”

I did not want to go to hell. I slowly shook my head turning red, the furnace of shame stoked hot inside me.

“Good,” he said finally. “Then it’s time to stop acting like that. Back to being normal from now on.” He said goodnight, kissed me on the forehead, clicked off my bedroom light and shut the door behind him.

10…9…8… I counted down in my head. When I got to one, I thought Okay, he can’t be by the door anymore. That’s when the tears started flowing.

I still didn’t truly understand what being a homosexual was, but now I knew that I could never be one. Not only would it upset my father, but Jesus too? Well, that was just too much pressure. I was going into the fifth grade and the one thing I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was that I did not, under any circumstances, want to go to hell.

My life was never the same from that moment on. As a child, I certainly never saw a dress or wig again. I spent the next twenty-five years pretending that I was not who I knew I was inside, trying my best to hide the traits as I got older but still knowing I had a funny voice and walk. Within a few years, I knew deep, deep inside that I was definitively the very thing I had been mandated not to be. I hid it further by marrying a woman and pretending even harder for many years that I was just a regular ol’ straight guy, just bein’ straight and actin’ straight and livin’ my best straight life. You know, lying.

I dated only women in my adolescence and finally, at age 18, I started dating my best friend. I guess we “fell in love,” though it was honestly more a relationship born of co-dependence, self-preservation, and convenience - and married at 21. For fourteen years I “played house.” To be honest, it wasn’t terrible. I had married my best friend and technically she knew I was gay as she had actually been the first and only person I had come out to up to that point. We pretended like that conversation had never happened. I thought I did an amazing job playing this role of dedicated straight husband contrary to many of the reviews on my role when I finally came out.

Everyday was a mental battle of epic proportions. Imagine a voice in your mind that has one job to do all day every day, and that job is to remind you that you are living a complete lie. I struggled with mental health issues, doing everything I could to manifest destructive patterns and catastrophes so that I could distract myself from my terrifying inner demons. As each year passed, the voice got louder and more distracting. But now I was in too deep. What would even be the value in listening to the voice and taking action? Destroying my marriage, my life and for what? I didn’t even know if what was on the other side would be better.At least I was safe in my cocoon as long as I played the part.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t prepared to come out, but I also knew I couldn’t keep ignoring the voice the way I had been. I just needed something to quiet the voice. At the same time, I was also looking for a new fitness regime to help get my weight under control. When I drove by Padme Yoga in Sacramento, CA on a drizzly October afternoon, it seemed like kismet. Yoga could help me with my fitness, but I had also heard lots of friends talk about how much it helped them quiet their minds. Perfect! I signed up for my first yoga class, and though I was scared shitless, I actually showed up. At the end of the class, the instructor came up to me and asked me if I enjoyed the class, which I told her I did. Then she said “Come back tomorrow, this practice will change your life.” So I did. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.

The weight came off of my waist and my thighs, but there was a different kind of weight coming off of my shoulders as well. I felt happier and more joyful. People seemed to want to be around me more and I felt more authentic. I just kept showing up and my teacher from that first class was right - my life was changing. Strangely enough, the voice about my hidden sexuality was a bit quieter but I had new voices as well - ones telling me that I was perfect the way I was in that moment and that in or out of the closet, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I began to feel this love for myself I had not felt in a very long time; not because I was skinny or more energetic, but because I was doing exactly what I needed for myself.

One Friday evening in May 2014, as I laid in pigeon pose I began to sob. People say they “ugly cry,” well I beautifully cried as years of self hate, sadness, anger, frustration, lies, manipulation, and abuse just flowed from my eyes and onto my mat. 75 minutes later, I knew I was ready. I went home, and for the first time, I let my inner knowing speak for me. I came out, for good.

The journey since has not been easy, but it has been a necessary one and I have learned so much. The best part is, I have never once been alone since. Remember that little boy, the one who went to bed that night crying, scared, and afraid that he would never be the person he was meant to be? Well amazingly enough, he woke up the moment I stepped off my yoga mat that evening. He has been by my side ever since. In fact, he is sitting right here next to me as I write this, wearing his favorite gown, loving himself, feeling beautiful and accepted. He calmly, lovingly reminds me that neither of us needs ever feel alone again.

Xavier Bettencourt is a writer and comedian currently residing in Sacramento, CA. Known for his authentic and humorous storytelling voice and unique point of view, Xavier digs deep to speak his truth and tirelessly encourages others to do the same. Follow him on Instagram for more: @thecomedybear.

[lostinreveriefiction]

I Can’t Stay Away From You. [Donald Pierce x Reader]

[Anon request: Donald Pierce / ‘I can’t stay away from you.’]

Warnings: None.

A/N: 4th part in a series, I guess. Here’s the other parts: 1 / 2 / 3 

In the weeks before you were last taken into the facility where Donald kept his hostages, you had set up a sort of rescue team – of sorts. Not by yourself, no, a whole team of underground mutants had taken you in and made sure that you were well looked after when you were first released from the place. It was probably all thanks to your mutant friend, who was now unfortunately deceased. Still, her death was not in vain. The team had very much helped you out in your plan to go back and save your friend, only with a little tweaks of their own. When you went back and had been caught ‘snooping’ around the Donald’s facility, not only did they take you in a prisoner, but now they had led the rescue team right to the front door. You distracted them, while the others attacked and rescued the other mutants who had been held there. It was perfect.

However the load of mutants that you saved was a much higher number than you first thought. Still, it was manageable, especially when they had a huge renovated warehouse built to facilitate the newcomers. This place also held a prison for those captured at Donald’s facility, so they could question them, and keep them from doing any more harm.

Unfortunately, Donald was not captured and it was something that had been playing on your mind ever since the big rescue went down.

Seated at your desk in the warehouse, you sorted through files of new mutants and tried your best to shove the thought of Donald from your mind. As friendly as the mutant rescue team were, they were often secretive when it came to certain things and you had a feeling that Donald was one of those secrets. Had they killed him? Was he actually here and you didn’t know it? You weren’t sure, but your brain would not stop guessing no matter how hard you tried.

Placing your head in your hands, you sighed. How could a man who had, captured you, betrayed you, toyed with you, and finally, captured your best friend, take up residence in your head? And not only that, but actually cause you to worry about him? How had he done it? The idea of Stockholm Syndrome had definitely crossed your mind, and it was becoming a more likely culprit with each passing day.

“You are not going to believe this,” your co-worker gasped, sitting at the edge of your desk as she shoved your arm.

“Believe what?” You asked, finally sitting upright and looking to her.

“They got him,” she stated, and you all of a sudden were completely interested. “Pierce, they got him! Well, they didn’t catch him exactly, he practically handed himself in.”

“What?” You cried, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at her. She eyed you questioningly for a moment before she pointed towards the holding cells.

Without another word, you stood up and ran over to the cells, grabbing the clipboard off of the security guy and noticing a D. Pierce in cell 4. Swallowing hard, you looked to the security man and started frantically pointing at Donald’s name.

“Let me into Cell 4,” you demanded and he obliged, yanking the keys from his pocket at a pace that was far too slow for your liking. Watching as he opened the cell, you thought of how this situation had turned completely. For a moment you toyed with the idea of saying something witty like he always did, but when they opened the cell door and your eyes fell on him – you were speechless.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” He asked, shooting you a wink.

“What are you doing here?” You muttered as the cell door was shut behind you.

“I just can’t seem to stay away from you, baby,” he joked, and you walked forward, slamming your hand on the table in front of you.

“This is seriously not the time to be joking around,” you warned, your voice low as you looked into his blues. “Why are you here?”

“You are so god damn beautiful when you’re angry, has anyone ever told you-“

“STOP IT!” You yelled, practically tossing the chair, you had been clutching onto, across the room. “Why?”

“Because I had to find you,” he admitted, his face more serious now. His smile had gone, and he looked rather embarrassed to have admitted such a thing.

“Why?” You whispered, gritting your teeth slightly. It was more through frustration – like he wasn’t saying what you wanted to hear.

“I’m gon’ be honest with you,” he began, wetting his lips. “I am a very stubborn man. Not a lot of people can touch me; emotionally, mentally – whatever you wanna call it. But you,” he chuckled, shuffling in his chair slightly, before he stopped and raised an eyebrow, a smile still apparent on his face. “There’s something about you. You got right in here,” he admitted, tapping the side of his head, before running his hand through his sandy blonde hair. “And I can’t get you out.”

“What do you want me to do about that?” You asked, shocked that he had practically been going through the same thing as you.

“I do not know,” he replied, standing up and taking a step towards you, forcing you to step backwards. “But I’ve got a feeling that I got into that pretty head of yours too.”

Stopping, you watched as he stood before you, only a couple metres or so separating you both as you shook your head, looking down at your hands. There was so much you wanted to say to him, but you didn’t even know how to begin to put it into words.

When he took another step closer to you, you put your hand out to stop him and finally looked at him again, noticing just how confused he, too, looked.

“You know, of all the things that happened to me in that place, I think you might be the worst,” you said, and he continued to come closer with each word you spoke. “Those…monsters who hurt me, who treated me like dirt; they were nothing compared to what you did. You were kind, and deceptively charming. You allowed me to put my trust in you, only for you to betray me over and over again, like some sick game.” Eyes brimming with tears, you stopped for a breath to look into his eyes as he stood before you. “And yet, every time I thought ‘maybe this time it’s real. Maybe this time, he really does care.’ And even after it all, I still think you’re going to turn around and save me.”

Donald placed his hands on either side of your face, forcing you to look at him as he closed his eyes for a moment, forcing out a breath like he didn’t want to say what he was about to say.

“I know you’re not going to believe me,” he began, wiping a stray tear from your face. “But the kindness was real. Hell, all of it was. But when my life’s on the line, I have to do what I have to do. I’m not going to sit here and say I didn’t make some seriously fucked up decisions, but I had to.”

Standing there, you both stared at each other equally confused and scared. Looking into his eyes, you knew deep down that you couldn’t ever trust him, but there was that little part of you that desperately wanted too. And as he looked into your eyes, you knew he was thinking the same. Lost for both what to say and do next, you did what your heart had been willing you to do from the moment you saw him.

Tiptoeing up, you pressed your lips onto his and kissed him, which he responded to more than enthusiastically. His soft lips caressed yours as you lost your hands in his hair, pulling him further onto you as you both fell backwards against the wall in an embrace. His hands left your face as he hooked one under your leg and pulled it up to his hip, his fingers digging into your thigh as he ran his hand down the length of it. But then images of the last time you two had kissed flooded your mind and you pushed him off, closing your eyes and shaking your head slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Donald said, looking you over as he let go of your leg. “I-“

“No,” you interrupted, pushing him back. “Even now I’m expecting you to be using me for a grand scheme of yours.”

Pushing him fully away from you now, you looked into his eyes and saw what you could only guess was genuine hurt. But everything was far too messed up in your mind. He had done too much to you, and you hadn’t fully recovered from the whole ordeal.

Looking around, you sighed and stepped away from him. The building, the people and him just weren’t what you needed. You had to distance yourself from it all. Everyone. You needed time to be alone.

“I have to go.” And with that, you took off running, not really stopping until you were fully away from not only Donald, but everything that had occupied your life for the past few months.

You didn’t really know where you were headed, but it would be quiet and that was all you really needed.

[wildflowerfiction77]

Burning Bridges 1

Burning Bridges

By Daniel Vera

8/23/2019 8:41pm

 A Story

A story of revelation.  A story of Heaven and Hell.  A story of love and fate.  A story of truth and fame.  A story of lies and pain.  A story of real and fake.  A story of lose and gain.  A story of friends and music.  A story of betrayal and death.  A story of the entire world and one mind.  A story of Hollywood and a story of forgotten people.  A story of rolled dice.  A story of lost love or never real.  A story of family decimated.  A story of a hidden treasure at the bottom of the sea.  A story of pyramids.  A story of ancient myth.  A story of future visions.  A story of spirits and man.  A story of warring armies.  A story of blank checks with no pen.  A story of a burning buildings in New York.  A story of gangs and government.  A story of black holes in Hollywood.  A story of hidden cameras and naked actors.  A story of Atlantis.  A story of superheroes.  A story of vampires and zombies.  A story of Bruce Lee and Nazi America.  A story of dead poets.  A story of songs sung by Mozart and Taylor Swift.  A story of the Military, CIA and MK Ultra.  A story of cartoons and rap music.  A story from a galaxy far far away.  A story of approaching comets.  A story of 33.  A story of black and white.  A story of Red Skins.  A story of nuclear war.  A story of blue water in the sky.  A story of James Bond and Gilbert Grape.  A story of TV commercials.  A story of fat kids.  A story of ninjas and samurai.  A story of rebellion and anarchy.  A story of dragons and phoenix.  A never ending story.  White tigers and black turtles.  Buffalo women and tobacco.  Hummingbirds and Butterflies.  Flowers and Hearts.  Stars and Sky.  Earth and Moon.  Dreams and walking...

 Dreams

I awoke in my pajamas.  It was a normal day like any other day.  I had 15 days to make $500 to pay the rent.  I had an ex girlfriend that butt dialed me while she was partying.  I listened for around ten minutes to see if I could hear if she was with a guy or having sex.  I couldn’t tell and so I hung up the phone.  I hated her because my heart felt pain every time I though of her with someone else and I knew she didn’t deserve it.  I guess it might have been the times that there was a genuine love that was being created, like the countless hours of laying in bed and staring at each others eyes while sharing kisses and caressing fingertips.  Or the unexpected gifts to encourage me to become a stronger man.  The late night fights where I sat at the locked bedroom door pleading to be let in, while she wept in bed because she got jealous of another woman she thought I was staring at when we went shopping.  Or the years of waking up next to her as the sunlight broke through the curtains and staring at her sleeping with a golden light shinning on her brown skin. red lips and black messy hair.  Or the times my arm fell asleep underneath her head as we cuddled for as long as possible until we had to readjust to find a diagonal leg and arm pattern, still crossing touch.  Then I thought about all the times she destroyed my heart and continued my day. 

I began walking on the air to meet with God.  We had scheduled a few meetings.  The great creator always knew I would be late.  I guess God knew me pretty well and adjusted time itself to add the twenty minutes for me to catch the 9:14 cloud.  On this day we talked about the meaning of struggle.  I had been having this reoccurring dream about being crushed by wave after wave in the ocean, and not being able to catch my breath.  God reassured me that the waves were meant to strengthen me and that I wouldn’t drown.  Although it was somewhat comforting to hear, I rebutted that the dream felt real and it was causing me stress.  I had felt that the waves were unneeded and they were keeping me from being able to recover from previous ailments that I was still healing from.  God just smiled and looked at me with grace.  When I left the office I was thinking of some toast and jam, since I had forgotten to eat before I left.  I did thank the Great Spirit that gives life and did say some prayers before scheduling a meeting a few months later and commenting on the beautiful flowers to the secretary.  It was a good meeting.

I then proceeded to fighting monsters and saving damsels.  I thought I was doing pretty good.  It was almost like living in a movie, where you get to be Conan.  But I didn’t realize it was all the parts where he was being held captive, being tricked or stuck in a room full of mirrors.  So I turned the channel to see if I could find out another version of the same story that was a little more modern.  That's when the television went static and I started howling with the old mystics from the Dark Crystal.  I had fallen asleep to that movie, and somehow I was joining in the call to gather the ones that were left to make the journey.  I thought it was just a happenstance, until the small town started to share a video that someone had recorded, until it became the new thing.  They made a dance, a soft drink, a Netflix show, chicken and pizza commercials, the next 5 years of billion dollars movies, including Star Wars, was about it.  They even started bombing countries and making new religions.  It was crazy.  There wasn’t a TV or movie screen that it wasn’t on every five minutes for years.  I even saw it on Facebook.

Then they the military started burning the forest to sell lemonade and electric cars that still used oil and nuclear power.  This is when I knew something was going on.  Then a bunch of ex presidents started appearing in Kanye West videos and Quentin Tarantino movies with “kiss me, I am Jewish” stickers on their foreheads.  This is when I knew things were getting out of control of even the CIA.  The girl scouts started selling machine guns to the homeless.  The TV news people were smoking joints, eating hot dogs and advertising “Shamoo”.  The comedians began making signs to love one another and became civil rights politicians and activists.  They didn’t say any good jokes though.  I’m not sure why, but the politicians began making everyone laugh.  It was a circus that was only topped by Silicon Valley taking Ubers to Outer Space.  They said they were going to mars, but they took too much LSD and ended up going too far, and circled back to China, not knowing it was a parallel universe and they were lost.  Meanwhile on earth, the Patriots won another Superbowl which made ten in a row.  Everyone dressed in Captain America costumes during a white rappers reunion, singing country songs with the Spice Girls paying tribute to all the musicians that were killed in the last seven years.  It was a really long half time show.  Its still going on.  Kapernick has Snoop Dogg braiding his hair while they start a venture capital business with Donald Trump and Kevin Spacey for a Martha Stuart line of hemp products at Walmart.  The hemp is really Monsanto bio engineered, but they figure they’re burning down the Amazon in Brazil, no one will notice.  

So I turned off the TV and ate some waffles.  My ex girlfriend left some blueberries in the freezer, so I used those with some peanut butter and jam and butter.  As I started eating the five stack, I saw something moving out my window.  I saw Miley Cyrus twerking on the front lawn.  I looked at the waffles and thought maybe there was something weird in the ingredients.  Then George Bush, the CIA guy, was dancing with her and I knew the waffles had some weird shit going on, so I threw them in the garbage.  Fucken ruined my breakfast.  Every five minutes I looked out the front window to see if they had left, and sure enough, they were still there, except they would change faces.  Next was the Rock and Scarlette Johanson, then Bill Gates and the Queen of England, then the White Stripes.  I thought it might have been the blueberries.  She said she ordered them from Ashton Kusheten, and that dush liked to play jokes on people, and started doing Bruce Willies wife, so I figured that was it.  They must have been laced with something.  I took a nap till they wore off.  

The next day I was able to make it to the car without anything super weird happening.  Someone did steal my Bruce Lee movies and my kids toys from the car.  I must have left the window open.  I knocked door to door around the neighborhood to ask if anyone had seen anything weird, other than Miley Cyris.  It dawned on me that I never spoke to any of my neighbors for the five years I had lived in the house.  The first house was a bunch of cats sitting around a living room.  They were doing yoga and smoking huka, so everything they said sounded like cats fighting underwater.  I didn’t get any answers.  The next house was three little pigs and a wolf.  They were watching the news and eating cereal.  They said they had just moved in and didn’t see anything.  It was peculiar that they had a giant poster of me in their kitchen.  I figured they must be fans.  They smelled like weed.  Every house had some fairytale vibe to it, or a Disney cartoon.  Squirrels, Vikings, Revenge of the Nerds, even a Steven King house.  The last one was a Dukes of Hazard reunion.  They were cooking burgers on the bar b que, and they were nice enough to have the girl in Daisy Dukes make me a quarter pounder with cheese.  We started seeing each other.  I called her when I got horny and she would come over.  I still didn’t find my stolen stuff.  I figured Karma would make the rounds.  

When I drove away, I started seeing smoke.  I wasn’t sure where it was coming from.  It didn’t seem to be originating from the car, so I started looking around.  Planes were flying past me and leaving these trails of smoke, but that wasn’t it.  I looked in my rear view mirror and saw burning bridges across the whole country.  That's when I knew who stole my Bruce Lee movies.  

  Meat and Cattle

 In a long dark cavern, I saw a few faces staring in front of sunlight, casting shadows like dancing puppets.  They had orders to submerge me into submission, by who, I wasn’t sure.  During that time, there was a lot of turmoil happening in the world and in the small town in which I was living.  It seemed that the local white power groups were stock pilling machine guns and ammunition.  They would have weekly fight club gatherings in the mountains and practice military drills to kill “niggers, Jews and spics”, and now the Chinese and Russians.  I guess they were Irish and Scottish, but probably a mixed breed of good ol’ boys.  

I’m not sure how “the gays” became part of the picture, but they arrived in droves.  They all gathered at Duff Tavern, a place in the Simpsons cartoon.  It was absolutely insane.  Along with the Trans community, there were hipsters, hopsters, fibsters, and mobsters.  Not to mention, some pretty hot women in the form of pixies and catholic nuns.  On the jukebox was Rage Against the Machine, because sometimes I would hack the airwaves, just to annoy the patrons.  The Clamsters would stand watch outside while the Bob Dylan look a likes would secretly grow weed and sell it to Colorado, Texas and New York.  They had a good set up going.  They would smuggle pounds of grass in their beards.  When asked why their beard was green by the police or FBI, all they would have to say is it was an Irish thing.  It seemed to work.  

But after a few years, the government went in and started replacing some of the farms with robots.  The robots would answer to the Matrix and all was well for a while.  I noticed this because I lived in the small town and would often have art shows and play music with the other monkeys.  Sometimes on the news they would televise a social order black ops operation.  In the war of the weeds, all the multi-armed gangs would hide in the mountains behind trees and rocks.  They would shoot at each other just to make sure no one was stealing their crops.  The cops didn’t mind, since they would get a part of the profit, and sometimes the whole thing, depending on orders from the FBI, and ultimately the CIA and Homeland Security.  

They would cut up a cow and leave it hanging upside down to attract the wolves.  They caught a lot of wolves that way and turned them into guard dogs.  The cats had to be more careful since they were house cats, and not the Lions they wanted to be.  Some of them thought they were Tigers, but that was just something on TV.  It was a long summer.  Everyone was waiting for 2012 and aliens.  They would give palm readings and read the cards on your forehead to make sure you were a monkey.  God forbid you might be Godzilla.  That would mean you were Japanese and those nips tried to bomb Pearl Harbor in a movie made by Steven Spielberg in the 80’s.  

The new threat in Los Angels was the threat of the Mexicans and particularly, the Zapatistas.  So the U. S. planted a tariff on marijuana distribution.  Although they needed the plant to help with cancer and injured vets brains, they had to make sure they could use that extra money for more robots.  They started pumping all that money into Silicon Valley and I Phones.  They needed to make sure Facebook would convince people that everyday is business as usual.  No one can have a new thought, it would counter balance the already shaky control system that sat upon fake money.  So to go with the fake money, they created fake news, fake wars, fake presidents, fake jobs, fake laws, fake food, fake causes, fake movies, fake soap operas, fake drugs, fake toilets, fake videos, fake people on the internet, fake names to go with those people, fake gang wars, fake drug busts, fake homeless people, fake housing crisis, fake TMZ news, fake Kanye, fake cake, fake husbands and wives, fake kids, fake Wall Street, and fake music.  Along with those fakory items, they made fake laws and juried trials.  I saw a documentary on Netflix.  It could have been fake.  

  The Cafe

 I would go to the cafe daily.  It was like a meditation.  Sometimes I would play music there, sometimes I would draw.  I always noticed the same faces.  Once in a while, a gorgeous red head or brunette would come sit at my table and flirt with me over a mocha.  At this time I was through with blonds, kinda like Arnolds’ “Total Recall” movie.  It was a good five years.  I never had so many Red Sparrows fly to my window at once.  I was a greedy kid at the ice cream shop, so I tried all the flavors.  This town was a small concentrated town, so I didn’t know they were connected to all the gangs in the world.  I didn’t know that they have been hunting savages for generations, and they had marked me as soon as I grew some pubic hairs.  They already had submitted my parents and were working on the rest of the Wu Tang Clan.  So when I found out, I tried to warn everyone, but it was too late, they had already turned or were captured.  The Cladavors had used Aliens to possess each other and play role playing games to kill the time.  

They did pay well, from all that weed and coke money.  They gave my ex boat rides and free soda.  They even gave all of the Clan free weed fields and free cars and houses.  But really, they had to do a lot of favors in return, like video tape me having sex with gorgeous women and then they would make fake porn and put it on the fake dark web.  The pink clampers liked to watch those between football games and CSI.  They made a lot of money from those as well.  Meanwhile, I was figuring out what kind of mocha I wanted.  I wrote a lot of letters during that time and finished a lot of paintings.  I learned how to sing, and practiced on my mating skills.  Every time I would walk outside, I saw five clams and three turtle doves.  My stomach hurt a few times, but the Doctor reassured me that I was fine and had nothing to worry about.  So I kept eating ice cream, since it was free.  I got good at it, I could have won a contest or the Olympics.

But then my arch rival appeared in the form of my ex.  She got even better looking and I got fat from all the ice cream.  I was still practiced up, but she had some Kriptonite on me.  I didn’t realize she had been zombified as well.  I wasn’t sure if it was the same quirks or new ninja moves she was using on me.  One thing that was sure, was that she always won.  It frustrated me to the point of no return.  She kept coming back to me for more ice cream, but I refused to share.  I threw it in the freezer along with my heart.  When she stopped calling, I pulled my heart out, but it stayed cold for too long, and I had thought it died.  I put it in a vase and watered it every now and again.  Mostly just wrote poems about it.  

Eventually I stopped going to the cafe, since that was the place that I had met her.  I started making instant coffee, then started brewing my own from a used coffee machine that had a timer and automatic alarm clock built in.  Every time I would drink a special brew, I would remember the mocha’s we shared.  I would see pictures of her on Facebook once in awhile drinking mocha's with Asheton Klamster.  That really pissed me off.  Then she got the role as Wonder Woman.  It was like, “what the fuck?”  Fuckn Taylor Swift and Kanye, Miley and Mickey, Goons and Goblins, Jews and Gentiles, Obama and Trump, Star Wars and Dumpsters, Guns and Weed.  All I needed now was my family to turn on me and the Government to MK Ultra me.  I saw Bluebirds in the midst of Project Damn Daniel.  It was astounding.  It was almost like they had watched the Dark Crystal too.  

They got me on the run, and then I saw Kapernick with an Afro.  I had thought he was Middle Eastern.  Then all of a sudden, blond people started showing up.  They were dancing naked everywhere I went.  I would go to the grocery store, and there they were.  I would go to the bank, and there they were.  I would go to the book store, and there they were.  At first I thought they were some kind of religious group, then I concluded that they were a rock band in a video game.  I had saw it advertised on a commercial a few years prior.  It was a game from MK Tupac.  I had read it in a New World Order book from the early 1900’s.  Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud co-wrote it.  That’s when my brother called me to ask me how I was doing.

The only answer I had was “How the fuck do you think I’m doing?”  Then my first ex called to tell me she’s having another baby and if I wanted to co-sign for a new car.  I was like, “Bitch, I haven’t seen you since the 1800’s, how the fuck does your ghetto ass want a co-signer after you stole my sperm in 97 and then stole my life in 99?”  Needless to say, I co-signed.  I thought it was for the kid, but I think she got her nails did.  

  The Science

 It was a virtual video game and everyone wanted to play.  It was one of those soldier games where everyone is a shooter.  I had thought I had seen my brother in a bunker with a gunshot wound to his side.  He was bleeding.  He was drinking with his Clamster buddies, and they had asked if I wanted to play some football that weekend.  Since we were in a video game, I figured sure, why not.  While drinking a Natty Ice and smoking a cigarette, he asked how to defeat all the white men.  I looked at him, and wondered why he was drinking and smoking while bleeding on the rented floor.  I figured he had marital problems, he was in a slump and the locals must have been fucking with him.  I contemplated the question, and from the years of slavery and genocide, I didn’t really see a scenario that they would recede control of the area, America or stop their plans for world domination.  So I told him I don’t know.  It was a confounding question since his wife and his kids and his friends were white.

So his buddies were usually missing some teeth from some Oroville days.  I had known them for some time, so when playing football, I didn’t think much of it.  It did piss me off that they didn’t throw me the ball and kept me on defense.  I still disrupted most of the plays.  They just liked to throw interceptions.  They asked me if I wanted to be a bad guy in one of their movie projects that they were conjuring up.  Since I knew these guys had almost zero talent for movie making, I kindly agreed, if they did all the work.  They proposed some Star Trek and I proposed some Twilight Zone.  They proposed a Batman spin where the bad guys would be sitting at the table.  I figured I was Batman, so I’m not sure that would work out for me, unless I beat their face in at the end of the card game.  I guess my brother played the Joker.  

So I drove away, and then the game turned into Mad Max, Fury Road.  I guess Northern California wanted to keep the water, and Southern California didn’t like the country people and they wanted the water.  Everyone started throwing fire bombs at each other, it got crazy.  So the South paid off some ”official” people with the Damn money, and they shared the water with the weed growers and Mothers Milk.  All the gangs lived happily ever after, including the military and Hollywood, which we all know, are the most important gangs in California.  They eventually brought Donald Trump to rake and threw fake Rambo in military prison for trying to start a rebellion, which was actually a sting to begin with.  It was a complicated video game on story mode.  Most people just like to play on vs. Mode.  

I only rented the game, so I didn’t really play it, everyone I knew loved it and bought it.  I guess the marijuana dispensaries were selling it along with cookies.  I would rather spend my time watching Netflix and watch some Daredevil or Breaking Bad.  Those were some epic shows.  I used to just watch the Documentaries, but ever since I bought a subscription, I like the dramas.  It always begs the question, does art reflect real life, or does real life reflect art.  Sometimes I think to myself, when I notice the panic attack people have in the world around me, how could everyone not notice how much we believe other people to be better than us.  How much we fear other people to be better than us.  How groups of people feel threatened by others greatness, and that they don’t take the time to nurture their own greatness.  In a hysteria to feel loved and be seen in a crowded world, we try and find the flaws of the others around us to lift ourselves up.  Flowers fighting for sunlight.  Animals fighting for food and water.  Instead we are water and lightning.  We are the light.  

It makes me reminisce on the struggle of the waves crashing.  I find the breath I need in the moments between the struggle.  If I panic, I miss those moments while fighting against the ocean.  If I don’t panic, I am able to breath steadily and find the least resistance without drowning.  And if I live to tell the story, what else would a story need but you to tell it.  How many stories have saved your life?  How many stories gave you strength to carry on?  How many stories have let you share in the tragedies and triumphs of another?  Stories that made you laugh and cry, ones that you have learned from and ones that didn’t make sense till years later.  To play the video game in story mode or just in versus?  I personally like to write my own story.  

[gyrlversion]

Shakeup in the House of Trump

On Thursday, President Donald Trump revealed that press secretary Sarah Sanders is leaving to return to Arkansas. And his adviser Kellyanne Conway’s fate was put into question when a federal agency wrote to Trump urging she be fired for repeated violations of the Hatch Act’s prohibition on federal employees using their official positions to dabble in politics.

Apart from Trump himself, Sanders and Conway have been the most prominent White House voices explaining and defending the President’s actions.

He faulted her for effectively killing the daily White House briefing, failing to advocate for a transparent government and inventing the story that FBI staffers were unhappy with fired Director James Comey’s leadership. But Alice Stewart, a Republican consultant, insisted that Sanders’ troubles in the White House don’t define her and wouldn’t stop her from a successful run for governor of Arkansas, should she choose that path.

Trump said he’s going to keep Conway on the job, defying the US Office of Special Counsel’s report that cited her repeated verbal attacks, while in her White House role, on Democratic candidates. Jill Filipovic wrote that Conway belongs to a group of administration officials who have been accused of breaking the rules and haven’t yet paid a price: ” The use of public office as a mechanism for enriching oneself, bettering the position of one’s allies or associates or protecting oneself from the law did not start with the Trump administration, but this President and his associates have brought it to levels previously associated with gilded dictators and greedy, gaudy tyrants.”

‘Too thin-skinned’

In a 52-year career in journalism, Sam Donaldson had his share of run-ins with presidents and press secretaries (Jimmy Carter’s spokesman threw a glass of red wine at him), but the veteran ABC News White House correspondent said the Trump White House is different. “We have never seen a president like Donald J. Trump, whose disdain, even contempt and apparent hatred for many members of the press is almost daily on display.”

Writing about CNN White House correspondent Jim Acosta’s new book, “Enemy of the People,” Donaldson called Trump’s attacks on the press wrong and dangerous. “History shows that tyrants and would-be tyrants always attempt to destroy a free press. And that is why the First Amendment to our Constitution specifically forbids government from interfering with the work of the press.”

The First Amendment’s protection of free expression includes comedy. But that doesn’t mean Trump likes what he hears on “Saturday Night Live” — and he has been a particular critic of Alec Baldwin’s impression of him.

Baldwin said recently he doesn’t plan to appear as Trump on future shows. Dean Obeidallah attributed that, at least in part, to Trump’s relentless attacks on the actor. “Comedy has long been used in America to expose the faults of people in power, especially presidents. We cannot allow comedy to be silenced or infringed upon in any way simply because Trump is too thin-skinned to take a joke.” (Obeidallah’s column — “Alec Baldwin’s ‘SNL’ departure is a win for Trump”– prompted a tweet from Baldwin: “Wait! Wait! If pissing off Trump is the point, then I’ll keep doing it! I’ll keep doing it!!”)

The internet’s boyfriend

Peggy Drexler weighed in on the renewed popularity of Keanu Reeves, who gained plaudits for making sure not to touch women when posing for pictures with them. “Twitter fans are officially hailing Reeves as their ‘respectful king,’ a man who is taking the lessons of #MeToo to heart. Many have suggested he can serve as a role model for other men confused about what respect for women’s personal space looks like in platonic settings,” Drexler wrote. There could be many reasons why Reeves is so careful, she said, but little doubt that ” it’s never a bad idea to be mindful of another person’s personal space, whether female or male.”

Four-letter word

Dirt — a compact word, derived from the Old Norse term for excrement — made a lot of headlines last week. It was shorthand for what Trump called “oppo research,” the information that candidates obtain about their election rivals.

Asked by ABC’s George Stephanopoulos if he would be open to hearing dirt on his opponents from foreign governments, the President said there’s nothing wrong with listening, and questioned whether he would necessarily report the offer to the FBI. (On Friday, he changed his stance, saying in a Fox News interview, “Of course, you have to give it to the FBI or report it to the attorney general or somebody like that.”)

Many were shocked by Trump’s initial comments. Larry Noble, the former counsel to the Federal Election Commission, said there is no doubt — soliciting or accepting such information from a foreign government is illegal, and he faulted Robert Mueller for not charging Trump campaign officials in connection with the famous June 2016 Trump Tower meeting.

” By putting a ‘for sale’ sign on his forehead — and indicating that he’s open for business when it comes to receiving dirt on his political rivals — President Donald Trump is encouraging foreign governments to attack his political opponents,” Samantha Vinograd wrote.

This is precisely what the Founding Fathers feared, John Avlon wrote: They “were obsessed with foreign nations interfering with our elections and influencing our domestic debates. And it wasn’t a naive or paranoid concern — it was rooted in their understanding of how democratic republics had been undermined throughout history.”

A warning for Biden

Less than two weeks before the first Democratic 2020 debates, Joe Biden still leads in polls, but he’s not on a glide path to the nomination, David Axelrod wrote. The former vice president’s stumble over his position on the Hyde Amendment, combined with a “Rose Garden” strategy that has kept him aloof from mixing it up with his rivals, raised questions about the solidity of his lead. ” No one is going to hand Biden the Democratic nomination. He’ll have to engage fully and fight for it if he is to get the face-off with Trump he is seeking,” Axelrod said.

But while opponents poring over Biden’s four-plus decades in politics for vulnerabilities have found quite a few, there may not be huge reason for concern on the candidate’s part, Michael D’Antonio wrote. “We have a President who was elected despite a huge raft of controversies over his past. There have been bankruptcies. Multiple divorces. Sexual harassment accusations. None of it seemed to matter to his supporters. … Trump has paved the way for politicians to withstand criticism and controversies that may have been disqualifying in the past.”

The 13-0 US women’s victory

The US women’s national soccer team scored 13 goals in its shutout victory over Thailand, setting a World Cup record — and drawing scorn from some for its members’ exultation. Amy Bass was exasperated: The US women’s team has faced battles from the beginning — “shorter fields, shorter games and smaller balls. And incredibly, they get paid less to win more than the US men’s side. Flash-forward to Tuesday: Now they score too much, and when they score, they celebrate too loudly. Anyone ever questioned Lionel Messi (or any other male soccer legend for that matter) on that?”

World on edge

Images of a tanker on fire in the Gulf of Oman said it all. Tension between Iran and the United States (along with its ally Saudi Arabia) rose to a new, worrying level. Peter Bergen warned of ” a combustible mix that could be the spark for a wider regional war arising out of the rivalry between Iran and Saudi Arabia — unless steps are taken to lower the tension.”

On Tuesday Trump touted a “beautiful letter” he said he received from North Korean leader Kim Jong Un (one official described it as a birthday greeting for the US President), but there was no sign of progress on Kim’s nuclear program. Former National Security Council official DJ Rosenthal, who served in the Obama administration, suggested there might be an upside to Trump’s mercurial handling of foreign policy.

“President Trump’s incompetence in foreign relations, while not a cure-all, can moderate the damage that he might otherwise cause. The more exposure the world has to this President, the less he matters.” While traditionally a President’s words are given great weight, Trump’s comments “are heavily discounted by the world.”

Trade wars are an exception. In the Perspectives section of CNN Business, Dan K. Eberhart, the chief executive of a US oilfield services company, wrote, “With no end in sight in the tit-for-tat trade war, companies must turn to lower-cost nations in Asia and the Americas to find alternative suppliers. The problem is that it is becoming increasingly difficult to find a nation that is not also a target of President Trump’s tariff stick.”

That’s dangerous, warned the editors of The Economist: “When Donald Trump arrived in the Oval Office he promised to restore America’s might. His method has turned out to be a wholesale weaponisation of economic tools. The world can now see the awesome force that a superpower can project when it is unconstrained by rules or allies.”

Don’t be too hasty to criticize the wielding of America’s economic power, wrote Marc A. Thiessen in The Washington Post, crediting Trump for Mexico’s actions to limit the flow of Central American refugees to the US southern border. He observed: ” The president deserves credit for forcing a reluctant Mexican government to act. He was able to do so because the administration in Mexico City knew he was willing to pull the tariff trigger.”

High-heel sneakers?

Holly Thomas has “mixed feelings” about wearing high heels at work. “As a relatively short person (I’m 5 feet, 3 inches tall), I can testify that heels can be a genuine asset when trying to assert authority. They’re often the difference between looking up at a boss who already infantilizes you or looking them in the eye.” Still, she sides with the nearly 20,000 people in Japan who signed a petition against dress codes that require women to wear heels at work.

Heels “mildly incapacitate you. They make you swing your hips and walk more slowly,” and give you “bunions, back problems, ankle sprains and tight calves” — which helps explain why a University of Alabama at Birmingham study found 123,355 people sought treatment at US emergency rooms for high heel-related injuries over a decade.

Happy Dads’ Day

As Americans celebrate Father’s Day, Nara B. Milanich is out with a new book on “Paternity: The Elusive Quest for the Father.” Paternity, she wrote, was long seen as “an intractable problem. Whereas the mother can be known at the moment of birth, the father, it is said, is always uncertain. DNA testing is actually a very recent historical invention — it only emerged in the 1980s.” But the quest for something like it began a lot earlier. In 1921, a San Francisco doctor named Albert Abrams introduced “a machine called the oscillophore that claimed to verify parentage through electronic blood vibrations.” Nonsense, of course, but Abrams anticipated “the commercial strategies associated with the modern genetic testing industry: for $10, a patient could mail a drop of blood on white blotting paper for analysis in his lab in San Francisco.”

Today’s DNA-based tests are a little more expensive — and may be a lot more reliable.

Don’t miss these:

Kate Maltby: Justice Brett Kavanaugh wants us to know he’s won

Dorothy Brown: The real reason Trump won’t put Harriet Tubman on $20 bill

Dean Obeidallah: How I won a $4 million judgment against the neo-Nazis

Swanee Hunt: What happens when women rule

John R. Dunne: Trump administration’s case for census citizenship question is bogus

Marc Benioff and Marco Lambertini: We’re failing the world’s oceans

Alvin Y.H. Cheung: Why Hong Kong protesters are outraged by extradition bill

Jamie Metzl: Ironman deaths and the risks we take

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