I couldn't believe it. The petrol station was closed. It had gone out of business since the last time I made this trip. I didn't have enough fuel to make it to the next station, and on my desolate journey I wasn't going to have anyone to rescue me.

I was toast. I had no brain fryer cell phone, and I'd been too short sighted and reliant on past experiences repeating themselves to carry extra petrol.

The mountains were about 50 miles away. I'd been a Brownie, a Girl Scout, studied plants and knew all kinds of wild foods to eat. If I could make it to the mountains, I'd survive. Granted, it might take me a couple of weeks to get to the other side of the range, but on that other side there was civilisation. The problem was, between me and those mountains, was desert.

So is life in the United States. If I was still back in the country of my birth, I wouldn't be in this mess. The crowding of England had its advantages, though I never realised it until now; not to mention that nowhere in England was there a location this hostile to the concept of anything living in it.

Though I'd lived most of my life in the states, I'd generally gone home for the summer. I was rather proud of being born on the other side of The Pond, and I couldn't have made it more obvious. I guarded and maintained my accent like it was platinum. I oozed arrogance at having been born in Whitehaven, and surprisingly this; in addition to my accent got me quite a few dates, not that I'd ever met anyone who measured up to my standards in the States.

I did have a lad friend in Scotland who I hoped to make a part of my life later. He was in Ayr. The problem was, my job was in Seattle, and there was no way I could take my ridiculously high standard of living with me to the UK, and I wasn't going to bring him to this country that was falling apart and that I held in such high contempt. I was planning on working another three years, saving up another couple hundred thousand, and seeing if we could both move to Ireland if the job situation was right. After all, we both had ancestors from there. I loved England, but the taxation there had just gotten too high to deal with.

I was coming home from a trip to Death Valley. I'd taken a week off this late September before th 4th quarter rush where I might end up working ten or eleven weeks straight with no days off, and. . .well; it looked like I'd be forced to take more than that week off unless there was someone else on this road going my way. I hadn't seen a car all morning, though. I wasn't counting on it, not to mention that I didn't know if they'd even stop for me.

The United States Of America. The Land Of The Isolated.

I would drive my car as far as I could, and walk the rest of the way if nothing came by. I thought that was doable.

I made it another 20 miles, and it was 3:00 P.M.. The sun was too high, and it was still too hot to travel. First I opened all the doors and windows of the car, then sat in the back where it was shaded. I had some water, and decided maybe I might sit outside of the car in its shade.

As I closed up the water bottle, a shadow passed over the rear window of the car, and I heard a loud thump as I felt something impact the top of the car. Whatever it was, was big and heavy.

I think my heart raced at about 500 beats a minute. I couldn't get the doors closed in time if there was a threat, and even if I did get the doors and windows shut, I'd die of heat stroke in an hour or two. I'd cook. And then the threat could simply break the windows if it wanted to, couldn't it? Assuming it was a person?

Before I could blink my eyes, a golden nose poked through the doorway I was sitting by. A beautiful, furry, golden nose.

A Palomino pony was standing outside my car. He had a light saddle, and a bare head. He was a stallion, and his Arab breeding was evident, but he was a little too stocky to be pure Arab. His head was Araby, he kept his neck arched, and carried his tail high. He was very muscular, had four white socks, a star on his forehead, and his mane and tail looked absolutely silver. I'd also never seen a horse look so close to metallic gold as this lovely creature.

But what was on my car?

Suddenly I heard a voice. 'Well, are you just going to sit there all day like a total idiot, or are you going to get on Hesper's back so we can take you to those mountains you want to go to?'

"Huh?"

'You heard me. Oh, and if you kick him, he will throw you off, stomp on you, roll over on you, and I will have you for lunch right after, hoping you are vegetarian, because they tend to taste better.' The accent was Irish.

"Who are you?" I asked.

'Percy. I'm on top of the car. Would you like to come out and meet me?'

"Considering what you just said, I'm not so sure."

'Oh, come on. I was a'bein' sarcastic. I wouldn't hurt a hair on your head. Now are you coming out of the car?'

Like did I have a choice? I got out of the car, and when I saw what was on the roof, I screamed about as loud as I could.

It was a cat. A black cat. He was huge. Like a leopard, but he had like 13 centimeter fangs. (About 5 inches, for you American non-metrically inclined ignoramuses.) He also had a long tail, and his body was too light to be a smilodon, but what a sight. He had his paws over his ears. 'Shut up, you stupid bitch. I said I wasn't goin' to hurt you, and I meant it! Do you have any idea how much you are hurting me? My ears are pretty sensitive, you know. After all, I'm a cat.'

I was taken aback. "I. . .I. . .I'm sorry. I am actually being talked to by a cat?"

'NO, YOU CLUELESS TWIT!!!! I CAN'T TALK. MY VOCAL CHORDS ARE ALL WRONG. WHY DO I HAVE TO TELL THIS TO EVERYBODY?! I AM SENDING THOUGHTS INTO YOUR HEAD LIKE WE USED TO DO A THOUSAND OF YOUR LIVES AGO, THOOUGH I THINK CONVERSATION LIKE THIS IS SO MORONIC AND TIME CONSUMING; BEING I CAN SEND TO YOU ALL OF MY THOUGHTS AT ONCE INSTEAD OF DIVIDING THEM INTO THESE SILLY WORDS, BUT YOUR PUNY LITTLE NON-FELINE MIND WOULD BE SO OVERWHELMED YOU COULDN'T MAKE HEADS OR TAILS OF THE MESSAGE!!!!' That came to me like a very loud yell.

Oh. I think I was just pretty heavily insulted, but I guess I couldn't argue. "Are you some kind of magical aide like out of a Mercedes Lackey novel come to rescue me from my own stupidity, or am I hallucinating, or what?"

'We'll get to that later," said another, softer voice. "Just get on my back, and let's go. But I would appreciate it if you don't kick me. I won't throw you or stomp you, but I won't appreciate it, and I'll never let you ride me again if you make one gratuitous harsh move with me. Understood?'

I looked at the horse. "Understood! And you are?"

'My name is Hesper. You are Addison Radcliffe.'

"How do you know this?" I asked.

Percy sent me, 'We're telepaths, IN CASE YOU HADN'T NOTICED!'

For some strange reason, I was suddenly feeling mighty dim. How could I have NOT noticed. "I'm sorry, but these unfamiliar circumstances have turned my reality downside up, and I'm not thinking too well. Can I pet you?"

'Yes, but then mount up and let's get out of here. Considering my penchant for always wearing black, it is a bit toasty under this desert sun; and I'd like to get a move on,' sent Percy.

I reached out and stroked him behind the ears. He narrowed his eyes like a contented housecat. "You know you're beautiful? Both of you?"

'We know," sent Hesper. "We get told that all the time. I also agree with Percy in wanting to get out of here. I'm used to a cooler climate. Neither one of us can stand the heat.'

"OK. Let me get my water."

'Drink what you need now, and leave the bottle behind. Trust me in that you won't need it,' sent Hesper.

"But look at how far the mountains are?"

'Almost 55 kilometers, you English snot,' sent Percy. 'No Problem. We can run fast.'

"But cats can't run for that long," I said.

Percy simply roared. He would have put a lion to shame. Needless to say, I mounted Hesper; and he took off like a lightning bolt. I hadn't had any water, but at the moment I really didn't need any; having just filled up in the car.

The pony was almost a horse. He was shy a fraction of a hand. He was going at an all out gallop, but the gait was very smooth. The wind in my face felt pretty good, despite it's heat. It was better than hot, static air.

Percy was running along side us, and he was keeping up quite well. I couldn't judge the distance or the speed, but I know it would have taken me all day to cover what they were going to do in what looked like, maybe an hour if they kept this up.

They kept it up.

When we got to the range, it was 4:13 when I looked at my watch. The road narrowed quickly when Hesper rounded the first hill of the range, and it turned into a stairway.

"Wait a minute," I said. "This isn't the way I came. But it's the same road. Where are you taking me?"

'Home,' said Percy. 'Now that you're in the mountains, would you like to walk the rest of the way, or shall we stay with you?'

I had to be honest. "I think I'd better walk for now after that ride, since I know I'm going to be saddle sore; but I'd feel better if you stayed with me. Safer, too. Will you?" I dismounted.

'For a heavy petting session that includes a tummy rub, hell yeah!' sent Percy.'

'Me too. And a complete grooming would be nice after we get to where we live, too,' sent Hesper.

"You live near me?" I asked. Ye gods, sore I was. I'd be limping for a while.

'As near as you want us,' sent Percy.

I chuckled. "If you kill your own food, I think I'd like you as a flatmate. Not that I can't afford to feed you, but it would put a crimp in my budget."

'Says the one high power executive who makes over a half million a year,' sent Percy.

"Well, I'd have to get a room added on for Hesper too, wouldn't I? And feed him a gallon of fresh squeezed orange juice, a few bottles of Martinelli Sparkling Cider, a few pounds of carrots, apples, peaches, bananas, a bucket of farina with maple syrup every morning, and hell knows what else."

'Chamomile tea with lots of honey,' sent Hesper. 'Lukewarm. And two hours of daily gentle grooming.'

"Deal," I said.

'I can be sarcastic too. None of that food is necessary, but hey. I'll take the grooming.' sent Hesper.

When we got to the stairs, I said, "The last time I took this road, this was a road. That was 2 days ago. What happened?"

'We took a slightly different turn. Don't worry, though. There's a waterfall a few meters up, by the way. Very cold, and very good.'

I wasn't thirsty, but I'd try it. "All right. You know of a shortcut, or something?"

'We know of a shelter,' sent Percy.

That sounded appealing.

The stone steps were tiered in sections. After the third section was that waterfall and a stream.

I never dreamed water could taste so good. The steps narrowed, and they came to a tunnel after the eighth tier. It was a long tunnel, but you could see light on the other side.

"We're supposed to go through this?"

'Ideally,' sent Hesper.

"Where does it go?"

'The garden of our slaves,' sent Percy.

"Your slaves?"

'Our so called caretakers when we were like how you used to be,'

"What does that mean?"

'You'll find that out in a couple of minutes. Come on. You'll like this,' sent Hesper.

When I go through the tunnel, I was awed beyond measure. The garden was huge, and so perfect. It seemed to go on forever. There were meticulous flower beds, trees that were both in fruit and in bloom, cobblestone paths, fountains, gazebos of different types, streams with small bridges, berries of different types, scented flowers like jasmine and roses that perfumed the air around them and made the vicinity hard to leave. There were also many torches with different coloured lights.

It would be twilight soon, and I imagine this heavenly place would be a locale to make my best past phanatsies pale in comparison. "Who owns this place?" I asked.

'Source,' said Percy. 'Donn Ui'Midir built it, though. In fact, we'll come to him soon.'

I scowled. "Strange. Donn is the name of the Irish death god. It means 'brown'"

'I know,' sent Percy. 'Don't know why he was named that. His hair is red. Light red, but red nevertheless. Some call him blond, but I wouldn't.'

I wrinkled my nose. "And he was the son of Midir the Proud. Wait a minute! Ui'Midir?"

'You didn't survive the desert, Ms. Radcliffe,' sent Percy. 'Donn sent us to you in an illusion to make your death a more pleasant experience to you. Neil Wakeman will be joining you shortly via a suicide after he hears of your death. We'll do the same for him.'

"My Scottish boyfriend. He loves me that much?"

'He does.' Percy and Hesper stopped. 'See the dude up ahead on the bench by the fountain? That's Donn. He's waiting for you. He'll tell you what to expect.'

I walked up to him with Percy and Hesper at my side. "You're Donn?" Damn, he was cute. Looked hell a young, though.

"Welcome, Addison. Did you enjoy your trip here?"

I smiled. "It was like entering Narnia, almost."

Donn smiled back. "I can see the analogy. The love of your life will be joining you in five days of his time. For you, between now and the moment of his arrival, which has absolutely nothing to do with the concept of Earth time whatsoever; you can explore this place, and re-learn what existence is like on this side of The Veil. Now, shall we go in and have some tea?" He pointed to the castle which I hadn't even noticed until now. He stood up.

"I'd like that very much," I said as I put a hand over Hespers withers, and a hand on Percy's head. "but after these two, Neil might have to fight to get my affections back."

'Nah,' sent Percy. 'Around here, we just share.'

Donn stood up and pointed at Percy. "Hey! Don't you start anything you little bastard. I am off limits!"

Hesper looked at me. 'Yeah right. He can't fight 'em all off.'

I chuckled. "I'll leave 'im be. You're coming with us, right?" I asked as we started walking toward the castle.

'Indeed we will,' sent Percy. 'And I will also snuggle up in bed with you to-night, to cater to your unspoken desires.'

As the four of us walked to the castle, I wondered why I was ever alive on the Physical Plane. . .but I'd find that out soon enough.

(The whole collection sets:
http://allmyshortstories.blogspot.com/ (The closed blog)
http://moreshortstories.blogspot.com/ (The growing blog))

I am a Irish Gate Keeper called Donn Ui'Midir, of the peoples of the Tuatha de Danaan. You die, I put you where you belong if you're assigned to me. You can stay at my place for a while as you acclimate to your new way of existence. In all likelihood, I'll have taken over your mind just before you died; and forced an illusion onto you that was far more pleasant than your actual death. Our kind can do that, though white washing your death is not always the case. Some times some of us will do the opposite, depending on what we think you deserve.

My place is in the Low Etheric. It looks much like Earth, though none of the old rules apply. It is a low density location where form is not necessarily static. One can look like anything they want. One can eat, or not. One can feel, or be insensate. One can travel at the speed of thought, and materialise anything they can visualise. One can even become perception alone, and not have a form; but few choose to do this at such a low level as this. . .having just come from a place where having a form is par for the course.

I was sitting on a couch at my castle on the isle of Tech Duinn, which means 'The House of Donn' in my first language. I had a. . .um. . .nose. . .oh gods, A WOMAN (for the time being) called Stephanie at my side; and the Greek version of me called Thanatos beyond her. We were under a couple of blankets in front of a fireplace, and we all had either tea or hot cocoa in hand. It was as cold as anything, and we were all quite aware of it, having 'turned our senses on'.

Get uncomfortable to get comfortable. This was Stephanie's addiction. My paradoxical mortal love who I rescued from an attempted suicide in her early daze, who couldn't forget me; and ended up seducing me into adopting her in the most unusual way. . .which I think I'd rather not get into right now. . .or ever again, for that matter.

Stephanie said, "My nose is cold."

I said, "You could put a sock on it."

She had one arm around me, and a teacup in the other hand. She inhaled the steam, and had a sip. "We don't have any that are big enough, and it would interfere with my tea."

I ran my fingertip down that rather large proboscis she was so proud of. "True. Thank you for just settling for warming up like this and not coming up with any more hair brained schemes like riding on the beach in negative five degree weather Celsius, just so we could get relief from the discomfort by jumping in the whirlpool. The horses will never forgive you for that."

"I know," said Stephanie. "I won't ever do anything like that to them again." She paused. "Wait a minute! You mean the lengthy grooming sessions I gave them aren't enough?"

"No," said Thanatos. "They're too polite to inform you directly, but they bitch about it to us all the time. You know how they are. Cats on hooves."

"Looks like I'm gonna be an indentured servant to three equines for a while," said Stephanie.

"And how about us?" asked Thanatos. "Insisting we strip in that freezing hall before entering the steam heated room? I ought to get at least a hundred back rubs from you for that one."

"Yeah!" I said. "Me too!"

"That can be arranged," said Stephanie to me, with a wink.

I sighed. "Never mind. Just take care of the horses."

I got a raspberry from her.

Thanatos ruffled her hair. "When are you going to let go of your Earthly drives? They are such a nuisance."

"As soon as you two quit being the most gorgeous things I ever saw in my life," said Stephanie.

"You better not let Percy hear you say that," I said. "You've got that cat convinced he's the prettiest thing that ever walked. And you tell your pony the same damn thing, when you're not telling that to our horses."

"You know what I mean," said Stephanie. "For something that looks like a person, you are the most beautiful things in existence. . .of male gender, that is."

"Wise choice of words around here," said Thanatos, who had a sip of his cocoa. There had been whipped cream on top, but that's been gone for a while.

I put my teacup on the table to the side of me, and leaned into Stephanie; returning her embrace. I had to admit, I was getting a kick out of this moment. Snuggling under some nice warm blankets with my best buds in front of a hypnotic fire in the room of an ancient, mint condition castle was nice. The walls were tapestry covered stone, with strategically placed torches, and the ceiling was three and a half meters high in this particular room. The atmosphere was very peaceful, and the only noise outside of our conversation was the crackling of the fire.

Stephanie finished her tea, and the cup vanished into thin air; being she had no further use of it. She put her other arm around Thanatos, and pulled him a little closer to her. Soon she stroked our hair. "Can I tell you guys another joke?"

"Like we could stop you?" Asked Thanatos.

"True," said Stephanie.

"Of course, this is another one of your misanthropic ones, right?" I asked.

"That is my specialty."

"Go," said Thanatos.

"If I make you laugh, can I borrow you two to-night?"

We'd laugh. We always did. Stephanie was a whack-case, pretty entertaining company; and you'd never know what to expect. "I suppose so," I said with a false stoicism. I was actually eager to hear the latest tale.

"Gods, I hate children. I didn't have a virtual kid once. I never felt such loathing for an unwanted, non-existent intruder in my life. I called it Pemmican Del Sol the day it wasn't born, and it was a fitting name, for I had plans for it. Ahhhhhhhhhh, yes.

"About a year later I bought a 50 gallon fish tank, and drove to Furnace Creek in July. I had with me garlic powder, brown sugar, liquid smoke flavouring, some sea salt, and black pepper. I put the figment of my imagination in the tank at 10:00 A.M., and seasoned the soon to be fully sun dried bugger as it turned crispy brown. Quite tasty it was, but I must say I suppose I should be glad it was a virtual experience, for I might have been otherwise arrested." She held up her right index finger. "Of course, you must not take me seriously. I do NOT believe in torturing my food before eating it."

Me and Thanatos looked at each other. I think that was the strangest, most detached-from-reality thing I ever heard in my life. It took a moment for me to digest it, and I chuckled, as I shook my head. "Ye gods!"

Thanatos was trying to control himself, but failed. "Man, for that one maybe you and me should make out; and we should chain Stephanie to the wall so she can watch."

"You wouldn't!" said Stephanie.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Than, who gets their nose petted with a peacock feather first?"

"Since you put it like that, you."

I shrugged. "I can live with that."

Stephanie scowled. "If you do that to me, I'll never let you see my nose again!"

Thanatos exhaled histrionically, and put the back of his right wrist against his forhead. In a tone connoting hopeless despair, his said, "Oh, by the gods; we can't have that. How can we live a single day without a sighting of that regal beak?"

I winked. "I have a better Idea. Let's go to Tir na nOg, and have a picnic in the willow grove by that stream we like so much."

Thanatos kissed Stephanie on the forehead. "OK, let's."

Stephanie kissed both our noses. "Deal!"

(If my publisher wants this, this is the end of the book. I will write more, but the subject matter will be a bit more diverse.)

AND NOW, FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT (This is actually an excerpt from the current short story I am writing.)

Gods, I hate children. I didn't have a virtual kid once. I never felt such loathing for the unwanted, non-existent intruder in my life. I called it Pemmican Del Sol the day it wasn't born, and it was a fitting name, for I had plans for it.

Ahhhhhhhhhh, yes.

About a year later I bought a 50 gallon fish tank, and drove to Furnace Creek in July. I had with me garlic powder, brown sugar, liquid smoke flavouring, some sea salt, and black pepper. I put the figment of my imagination in the tank at 10:00 A.M., and seasoned it as it turned crispy brown.

Quite tasty,but I must say I suppose I should be glad it was a virtual experience, for I might have been otherwise arrested.

****************************************************

NEEDLESS TO SAY, I AM HAVING ISSUES WITH THE BRATS AT THIS APARTMENT COMPLEX. I'M ALSO TRYING TO OUTDO ANDRE VON POE'S INKBLOT SERIES, BUT I DON'T THINK I CAME CLOSE WITH THIS ONE.

MAYBE NEXT TIME.

(Of course, you must not take me seriously. I do NOT believe in torturing my food before eating it.)

In Emeryville, I saw a store. It was called "Babies 'R' Us", though the 'R' was backward. Now I have a question. It they sell the damn things there, why not pick one up there instead of going through the process of pregnancy, with morning sickness, looking like you had a basketball implanted into your abdomen for a while, not to mention getting ripped to shreds while giving birth? It would save a fortune on medical costs, health issues, personal discomfort, etc. . .

And if you don't have one of these stores in your neighbourhood, maybe they do overnight delivery?

Wow, what a trip. It was early October. Phoenix, Arizona to Eastport, Maine. I wasn't at my destination yet. I was approaching Edmunds, Maine, and what a journey it's been.

I'd never been outside of Arizona until now. I was kind of scared to do it at first, but in the twelve days it took me to get here; I'd been pretty impressed by the parts of the U.S. that I saw.

I wasn't in a hurry, so I more or less took the 'scenic route'. There were towns I wanted to see, and towns I wanted to spend the night in. I had a penchant for small, charming backwater inns. I didn't like big hotels, and I wanted to spend more of my vacation time in rural areas. Living in a city all your life makes you long for a slower paced environment.

When I hit Vermont, a storm came in. I spent the night in Reid Hollow. It was out of the way, but it was a place I just had to see. I loved all the trees and the greenery. I liked the cooler weather, too. Maybe I'd see about moving to New England in a few years.

After I left Reid Hollow in the late morning, it was still stormy with heavy rains, thunder and lightning; but something else happened. These beautiful phantom lights started showing up in my field of vision. Half the time they'd be a gorgeous, electric blue, and the other half of the time they'd be a spellbinding fluorescent magenta. They looked gaseous, but they had a form. Sometimes an edge would be a straight line. They also stayed around. They didn't fade into nothing the second you looked at them, like do some spectres you see from the corner of your eye.

I wasn't afraid of them. Intrigued, was more like it. They didn't seem threatening. They were just there, giving me a show. There were times one of the lights would be next to my car, going at the same speed. Other times a light would lead me, or follow me. I wondered if they were protecting me. Indeed, when I saw them I felt an inner peace that I'd never felt before. Now that I was almost in Edmunds, they were still with me.

I was going up the coast, and it was night by now. The winds were getting pretty ballistic. I was having trouble keeping the car on on the road. The rains were also getting to be impossible to drive in. I had to pull over.

What was convenient, is I came by a dock with a parking lot. There was a walkway out over the water, and at the end of it there was a building with lights on.

There was a sign. 'Vergil's Breakfast, Lunch And Dinner'.

I parked. I was getting kind of hungry anyway, so this was a pleasant surprise. What wasn't pleasant is that I'd have to walk out on that wind whipped deck to get to the restaurant. It was more than 50 yards out there, and an occasional high wave did hit that deck.

Oh well. I got my umbrella out, and ran for it.

The umbrella ended up being totally destroyed about halfway there. When I got in, I was soaked, and freezing.

The place was dimly lit, and two people were playing chess in the corner. An absolutely gorgeous long haired albino man with a rather soft, refined, androgynous looking face, and. . .I'm not sure what the other one was. 'It' was a rather pretty red head, despite the beak that garnished 'its' face.

The albino was in a shredded black T-shirt, badly ripped jeans, and work boots. The red head was in a long sleeved black work shirt, black jeans, and black fringed moccasin boots. The guy behind the counter looked like a younger, colourised version of the albino. A late teen, I thought. Another red head. If he'd worn looser clothes, I wouldn't have been able to tell what gender he was, either; and he was beyond beautiful. Looking at everyone, I'd say Heaven had dropped three angels.

"Hi," the kid said. "Don't know if we're gonna make it through the night, so everything is on the house until the storm is over." Was that accent Scottish or Irish?

"Are you serious?" I asked.

The chess playing red head looked at me. "He's dead serious."

The albino laughed. "Stephanie, do you ever quit?" They all had the same accent.

So the nosed one was a woman. I guess a private joke had been told that I was completely clueless on, for when I looked at the guy behind the counter; he was silently laughing his head off. When he came under control, he said, "You look like you can use a cup of tea, and you can sit by the heater to dry out." He pointed to a table by the wall with an old fashioned metal wall heater.

I sat down there. "Sure," I said. "Do you have Earl Grey?"

"Of course. And how about some corn chowder with hot buttered sourdough as a starter?"

"Sounds good to me." I pointed to the albino. "Are you two related?"

"Nah. We're good friends, though. All three of us work to-gether. I'm Vergil, by the way."

My eyebrows went up. "You own this place?"

"Ayuh. I'm older than I look, and I'm from a very rich family. I always wanted to have a diner out on the water like this."

Two of the walls were mostly glass. They were holding up pretty good, though. "This is a nice place." I looked out the window, and saw the storm in its full fury, but everything was holding up pretty well. I saw a flash of magenta, like what I saw when I was driving. "Do you guys ever see any purple or blue ghost lights out here?" I just had to ask.

"Yeah," said Stephanie. "I first saw them with my room-mate when I was living in San Jose, and driving home from Santa Cruz. That's at night. In the day, I've seen them as turquois, yellow, green, and red. There's a lot of that out here. Real intense, like on a black light poster, right?"

"So I'm not going nuts. Have any idea what they are?" I asked.

"It means you can see into the next world," said Vergil. "The Veil is thin for you. You can see tree auras too, right? Like almost every time you look at them?" He didn't quite answer my question. He brought me my tea, corn chowder, and heavily buttered bread.

I just had to smile. "As a matter of fact, I can. I have no problem perceiving any auras. My name is Andrea, by the way. Most call me Andy." I think I was going to really enjoy my stay here.

The chowder was buttery and delicious, and I don't think I ever had such good bread. It had bits of garlic baked in, and it was topped with sesame seeds, caraway seeds, poppy seeds, and onion bits. The bergamot was ultra powerful in the tea. It stood up well to my sugar and cream. Yes, this place served real cream, and only cream. There were no non-dairy sweeteners, and not even any artificial sweeteners. You had a choice of sugar and honey in a flask.

Everything was emaculate. The salt and pepper shakers all looked like they'd been freshly washed and filled, and there was no dirt anywhere. I also picked up faint traces of jasmine, sandalwood, and a stronger scent of some other sort of cologne. I wasn't sure who was wearing what, since they blended in with each other. It wasn't strong enough to interfere with my enjoyment of the meal, at least.

"Checkmate." said the albino. "You're holding out longer. Maybe in another thousand years we can stalemate."

Stephanie said, "Keith, if I really cared; I'd go to the Akashic Library and absorb Bobby Fischer's brain."

"As if. Cheating was never one of your vices, not that that would have done you that much good. I could have whupped Bobby, too. After all, I had the best teacher in strategy that ever was."

What a trippy conversation. Dared I interrupt it? Akashic Library? These guys were mystically inclined, and they were talking about all this stuff that fascinated me that hardly anyone knew about.

Maybe later. I ran my hand down my thigh to check how dry my Levi's were. Strange, but they seemed to have dried out completely. So did the rest of my clothes. It made no sense, but that's the way it was. When I looked up, one of the blue lights was hovering by the chair across from me. It stayed there, and had me entranced. I don't think I ever saw a more beautiful shade of blue in my entire life. I stared at it for a moment, then it was gone.

Vergil brought me a whole new teacup with fresh bag the second I finished mine. "What do you think those ghost lights are?" I asked.

"Ah yes! I sort of evaded the question last time. Sorry. Energy fields with intelligence," said Vergil. "Not malevolent. Curious."

"You sound sure of yourself." I said.

"I am."

"Can you talk to them?" I asked.

"I can talk to anything. I can even engage in a one-way conversation with the cup of tea I just brought you, not that there would be a point to that."

"Can they talk back?"

"I haven't seen any vocal chords or speech centres, so I don't think that's technically possible. . .or even necessary."

"You have a point there," I said.

"Sharper than any of those ordered by Vlad Tepes," said Vergil with a wink and a smile.

Bright guy. "The Hungarian impaler of Turks who allegedly governed a totally honest town, for fear of dishonesty resulting in being readied for the rotisserie." I had to let him know I knew what he was talking about.

"After allegedly burning up all the poor folk of the town."

"Yeah. I read about that. The more evil people of history make for a more interesting education, I think."

"I'll have to agree," said Vergil. "I talk about that sort with a lot of people, in fact."

"That was delicious," I said as I finished my chowder, and Vergil was right there to take the bowl and saucer that had held the bread.

"Would you like some blueberry cheesecake for desert?"

How could I turn that down? "Sure." I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, while I was secretly droolong.

The piece was huge. A quarter of a slice. And with whipped cream. I couldn't have asked for anything more superb. "Here ya go, Andy," he said.

"Thank you."

"Any time."

Excellent desert, as expected. I wolfed it down in record time, and didn't have any room for any more food after that. If Vergil had offered me a second piece, I would have had to decline, regardless of how delicious it was.

Keith and Stephanie had set up for another game, but they weren't playing. Both were looking out the window at the storm. "Those windows are holding up damn good against those gale force winds," I said.

"Triple paned, superbly high tempered and bullet proof," said Vergil.

"Is that why we can still hear each other talk with those winds outside?" I asked.

"I suppose it helps," said Vergil.

Before I finished my tea, Keith put four chairs by the front window. "Hey Verg! How about 4 more cups of tea for a storm watch, and turn out the lights?"

"Sounds good to me," said Vergil.

"Yeah. The water's even hitting the windows," said Stephanie.

"Sounds like a hurricane. Well, we're in a good enough place for it. We have enough in supplies to live high off the hog for a week, and they never last that long," said Vergil.

Oh to be trapped with these gorgeous probable intellectual whizzes for a few days. Life doesn't get any better.

When I put my empty tea cup down, a magenta light hovered over it. I moved my hand into it, and felt a pleasant tingle. Vergil turned the lights off, and came to me with a fresh cup of tea on a platter with three other cups. The light was still there, and I still had my hand in it. "It likes you."

"You see it too?" I asked.

"The purple light around your hand? Ayuh." It then disappeared. "But maybe it doesn't like me. Sorry."

"It's OK," I said. "I assume there will be more."

"Always. Shall you join us to watch the storm?"

"Most definitely." I got up, grabbed my tea, and took a seat at the end. Vergil served the others their tea, grabbed his own, put the platter down, and sat next to me.

The next time the lightning struck, I didn't see the Atlantic ocean. I saw solid ground and a huge castle in front of me. I think I about had a heart attack, and I almost dropped my tea cup.

Almost. "What the. . ."

"I suppose you'd like an explanation for our exchange of apparent environements," said Vergil.

"Should I put my cup down? I almost dropped it already."

"I'll hold it."

I gave it to him. "OK, I'm ready."

"Your car got blown off the road, and went over the edge of the cliff. You were assigned to me. My original name is Donn Ui'Midir. I'm an Irish Gate Keeper wrongly referred to as a death god. Keith's original name is Thanatos; who's name you are familiar with, and Stephanie is new to the occupation. Her name actually is Stephanie unless she feels like bein' a dude of male gender that week, in which case she transforms herself and goes as Stefan. I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet that Than's eyes glow."

I looked into Thanatos' eyes. They were neon red. "My god, you look like a demon in disguise. Beautiful, though" I looked at Ver. . .Donn. "So you're telling me I'm dead?"

Thanatos interrupted. "There is no death. Only transition, and yes you did transit. We know everything about you, think you're pretty cool; and hope you stay with us for a while before moving on, though the choice is yours. The lights you saw were from us. We created them to woo you to your destination here, check on your progress, and provide a comfort to you on the way."

I smiled, as I looked at Vergil. I just couldn't resist, and put my head on his shoulder. "It worked, and if you keep treating me to this killer tea and cheesecake, I'll never leave."

I got my hair ruffled, sat erect again; and went back to watching the storm from the edge of one of the moat bridges of The House Of Donn in this temporary shelter.

No complaints from me.

This is a conceptual piece for those with small children. I'm not sure about actually going through with it, for it might get you somewhat arrested, but hey!

You take a small child, and tell it every day in various ways, several times a day that on its eighth birthday; it will be cooked and eaten. Like obsess on it, ya know? And a week before it turns eight, buy a bunch of spices, make a big deal of it, leave web pages up of meat grinders and such, and invite the kid to go with you to find a big enough stew pot. . .

Can ya'll imagine????????

Aren't we glad I'm not a parent? (Heh-heh-heh.)

2:00 A.M., and approaching Raleigh-Durham from New York; which had been a layover from London. We were landing in a storm, and the turbulence was incredible. Thunder, lightning, high wind speeds, and getting rocked to Kingdom Come every now and then was better than any amusement park ride I'd ever been on when I was a kid.

The flight attendents had even been ordered to take a seat and buckle up. I was just glad I had a window seat, but I would have been happier if I could have had a bag of popcorn and a good root beer on tap. However, this was an aeroplane; and not a movie theatre, so I was shit out of luck; not that anyone could have served me anything now anyway.

I was really enjoying the adventure and the lightshow, but a couple of passengers here and there were freaking out. At least they were only verbalising their distress, and not making a scene in the aisle. I'd been on tons of flights, and this was nothing new. Being a V.P. for an international company had its perks. I liked flying, and I got to do it maybe 10 or 12 times a year; give or take. Being well-behaved and co-operative, I never had any problems with the heightened security issues. Wearing $600.00 suits, a Rolex, always looking picture perfect, and affecting the condescending arrogance of the high powered, semi-famous businesswoman I was, never failed me.

I was getting progressively annoyed with the announcements from the cockpit. The captain reminded me of a whiney teacher in charge of a kindergarden class. His voice was as close to fingernail down a chalkboard as one could get in the range of tones.

The seat next to me was empty, but there was a light-red haired kid with jet black eyes sitting in the chair beyond that. He was the most gorgeous piece of jail bait I'd ever laid eyes on, but we hadn't said one word to each other. In fact, he hadn't said one word, period. He was engrossed in a thick tome in some foreign language that I'd never seen before, as I found out from the times I'd had to use the loo.

He's simply shaken his head when a flight attendent came by with anything, not even giving her the opportunity to ask if he wanted anything; and he'd wave his hand to shoo her away. I wasn't even sure if he could talk, and I wasn't going to ask or start anything. Being I was sort of well known, and had a reputation to maintain; I needed no unfounded rumours to be started because I had a conversation with some underage brat. In reality, I ended up being rather intolerant of conversations with under 25's, these days. Especially the American and English ones. How vacuous can a person get? I suspected there was no limit, from what I read in the news. The 'real' news known as alternative news, as opposed to CNN; and all that government controlled garbage (A recurring sentiment, I know. For a REASON, of course.). The younger generations had become intellectual deficient I knew, not only according to those news reports; but from what I saw in day to day personal experience.

I closed my eyes and smiled when we had the worst 'shake-down' in the flight so far. I thought if anyone had been standing in the aisle, they would have hit the floor, and maybe ended up ten feet down that aisle.

The kid finally said something. "You seem to be enjoying this. Elspeth Brody?" What a beautiful accent he had. Irish. I'd been there enough times to identify it. Though my name was Scottish, I was all American. I'd had enough exposure to regional dialects in the British Isles and beyond to identify quite a few.

"Yes, to both," I said.

"I've read about you and seen your picture on the cover Business Week and on the web. Quite an honour to be sitting next to the software queen. I was a bit intimidated, so I didn't want to disturb you."

A precocious one with a brain. I looked at him. I just had to say it. "And my reputation of being a snoot?"

"To be perfectly honest, yes."

I looked out the window to hide the fact I was struggling not to laugh. I think I liked this kid. When I had full control of myself, I said, "It's a well deserved reputation. I am a snoot. I'm an intellectual snob who doesn't tolerate those of lesser knowledge or cognitive ability very well. They bore me. I prefer the company of books to people, for the most part. I was never really much of a social creature. Is your book Gaelic?"

"Astute observation. It's a collection of myths even preceding the arrival of Cesair."

Oh, I was such a show off. "Who was denied access to the ark, arrived in the flood spared Ireland before the rains started, married Fintan; one of 3 men who came with Cesair's other 49 ladies, who couldn't handle being a stud to 50 ladies after the other two men died, and turned himself into a salmon; leaving the other ladies alone to die off."

"Impressive."

"Thank you," I said. "And I find your knowledge of the Gaelic language impressive."

"It's my first. Due to the nature of my existence, I've had to learn quite a few languages."

"Latin, Greek, Arabic and Spanish; for me. I can mostly read French, but I don't speak it too well."

"Arabic helps to read Gibran Kahlil Gibran in his his native tongue," he said. "My favourite Lebonese philosopher, and the Arabic translations are much more beautiful."

"I wholeheartedly agree." I think I was falling in love. Oh, what a mind. "And reading Vergil Maro in English just doesn't cut it."

"Vergil! I forgot to introduce myself. Please accept my apologies. Vergil Xanon at your service. Xanon with an 'X'."

"A Latin name for an Irish lad? How incongruous." I said, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

Vergil about lost it. He doubled over in silent laughter, and I don't think he could stop for about 3 minutes, or so. When he finally controlled himself, he said, "I am so sorry about my reaction to your statement, but that is a very long story; and you shall know it soon enough."

"I haven't been listening to the weeny voice of the cockpit, but I don't think we have time for a long story. We should be landing shortly."

"I wrote a book, and the subject of my name and why it is what it is; is covered. I can give you a copy before we part." He pointed to a bag in front of him.

"You wrote a book?" I was now even more astounded by this kid. Writing a book was one thing I hadn't done. . .yet. I'd do that after I retired. . .maybe.

"Aye. I bared my soul in 'The Xanon Chronicles'. It gets kind of silly sometimes, but with the company I keep; there was no helping that."

"Can I see it?"

He opened the bag. It was a multi-volume set of paperbacks in a black cardboard box.
There were five books. Vergil said, "The last book is a collection of poetry. It's not all mine, but it goes to-gether. I had help with 'Warren', too. Mr. Colfax did a little editing after I was done, but hey. It told his story, so he had that right."

"This is quite a project for a youngster like you."

"I'm older than I look."

The front of the cardboard box was black, and had the title spead out between the top and sides of two crossed claymores, and there was an Omega under the claymores. When I looked at the titles, I found there were two books to each volume. "'Life With Thanatos'? This is real?"

"It's real. Me thinks we should be landing now."

I looked out the window. To me, it looked like we were in the middle of a thick cloud. We were slowing, though. It didn't feel like we were landing. There were no bumpidy-bumps, but we were slowing.

I became aware there was no noise. The plane came to a halt shortly, and it was as smooth as a car coasting to a stop. It was all wrong, for being so right. The second we were stopped, Vergil said, "We can disembark now."

"But we weren't given instructions from. . ."

Vergil interrupted me. "It doesn't matter. In fact, you can leave the collection of books on the seat. I have another copy at home that you might enjoy more. A single volume bound in leather, gilt in silver and written on parchment." He stood up, and left the tome he'd been reading on the seat.

When I stood up, I found the plane to be empty. "What's going on?" I was a bit alarmed.

Vergil smiled at me, and I swear I never saw such an angelic looking face in all of my life. "You didn't survive the plane ride. Nobody did. The storm increased to hurricane level, the plane did a crash-landing and it went up in flames. The name of Vergil Xanon was given to me by one of my loves who couldn't remember my real name, but she thought the Xanon name fit; and it kind of stuck, on and off. I use it for a while when someone I take on knows my real name"

"What is your real name?"

"Donn Ui'Midir."

"Irish death god!"

"Aye. Now shall we get out of this illusion, and on to my island?"

"Sure. How long can I stay?" I asked.

"As long as you like."

"And where do I go after?"

"Where ever you want."

We walked to the plane's exit, the stairs were attached, we walked down them, and the plane disappeared. There was a super heavy fog where I could barely see the end of my nose, and it lifted when Vergil. . .I mean Donn waved his hand. I was in the most beautiful garden I ever saw in my life. . .er. . .death, or should I say, 'existence'?

I was ecstatic. "I think I'll stay for a while."

"Fine. Let's go to the castle, set you in front of a nice warm fire;, and you can start on that book."

"I'd like that very much."

"I know. Your mind is mine."

If he was going to cater me like this, that was fine by me.

LINK TO THE REST OF THE COLLECTION:
http://allmyshortstories.blogspot.com/

I don't know how long I was here. I was hanging from the ceiling, with every square millimeter of me in pain. I was also very hot. The temperature in this 'dungeon' must have been 44 degrees Celcius (That's pretty close to 112 F.) at least. I was hung with my hands and legs tied behind me, from my wrists and ankles. Everything had been dislocated, I'd had other bones broken; including a rib, had half my skin flayed off me, and weighed about three quarters of what I should have from starvation. I'd had one eye gouged out, and they only let me keep the other one so I could see what was coming. I'd been electrocuted, prodded in the worst possible way, had much of my hair ripped out, been smeared in my own waste, only had urine to drink for I don't know how long, had my tongue slit, been beaten black and blue, been raped, was missing two ears, one nose, all toes on my right foot, three fingers on my right hand, and we can't forget the privies; can we? I'd also been sleep deprived, and had my eardrums blown out. There was more, but I can't think of it right now. All I could think about was death. The sweet release that was so long in coming.

What was my crime? Being a war reporter who told the truth.

I don't know why I was still alive. I was alone for the moment, in a brightly lit pink room; and I wondered if I would ever see the dark again before I died.

I think I stopped believing in god the past few days, weeks, or whatever. I had lost all sense of time. I had no references to go by. If there was a god, why would he let what happened to me, happen to anybody?

Free will! Oh yeah!

Man, the people who were torturing me made Elizabeth Bathory seem like an angel.

Oh, where was Amnesty International when you needed them? Technically I suppose I was a political prisoner. I'd gotten some pretty cool exposés on the web, along with some good, very graphic picture shots. I gave them to private sources, since I knew damn well that the government controlled medias wouldn't touch them with a ten foot pole, to say the least. Needless to say, my non-profit move got distributed world wide; could not be covered up, and now I paid the price.

I guess I won. But oh, at what a cost.

Would I have done it again if I knew what was going to happen to me?

YES!

Justice was a passion of mine, and I could have done nothing less.

Man, if I couldn't die yet, I wish I could at least slip into unconsciousness?

I heard a pully. I had my eye closed. I felt myself being lowered. What was worse? Hanging from dislocated limbs, or touching the floor with half of your skin missing? Or was I going to luck out and be submerged in pure hydrochloric acid?

I didn't open my remaining eye to verify. If they wanted me to see what was in store for me, they'd have to lift the lid themselves. I'm surprised they hadn't sown it back. Maybe they didn't think of it, but like I was going to tell them? I'm glad they probably didn't see 'Clockwork Orange'.

Oh, an acid bath wouldn't feel too good; but at least I'd disintigrate and be outta here, huh?

You gotta be desperate to want to be dropped into a vat of acid. Needless to say, I was. I couldn't even scream anymore. I whimpered instead.

Though I had my eye closed, I could tell the light was fading. It was actually getting darker. I was lowered again.

Oh my god that I no longer believed in, I felt my forehead touch liquid.

OK, now I screamed.

But it didn't hurt. I lifted my head, and yelled, "NO! NO! NO!"

OK, the acid idea sounded great in theory, but I guess I didn't really want it in reality. Or maybe I did consciously, but the subconscious had other ideas?

I don't know, but I was terrified. I still refused to open my eye. I just couldn't deal with it.

I felt someone touch me. Before, if anyone touched me on my raw skin; I would have hit the ceiling if I'd could have, from the pain. But there wasn't any pain.

I was lowered into about 5 or so centimeters (2 inches) of liquid. I don't know what kind of liquid, but the second I touched it, all the external pain I'd been feeling went away completely.

I opened my eye. The room was dark, but there were torches on the wall. I was hanging over a shallow tub of sorts. I felt a hand on me as some of the ropes where cut. What was freed wasn't allowed to fall, but my leg was held up, and gently put into the tub. It was only about 15 centimeters (6 1/4 inches) deep. More pain went away. Everything that touched the liquid seemed immediately healed.

This wasn't where I'd been hung up. Had I been rescued? I didn't really want to be rescued. I wanted to be killed. . .quickly. I didn't want the mutilated mess that I was, to live. I couldn't deal with it. I'd commit suicide if I'd been rescued.

My other leg was lowered. I couldn't see who was cutting me loose.

A hand went into the water and held up my chest as my arms were freed, so my face wouldn't fall in the liquid.

"Git on yisser side." commanded an accented voice.

I got on my side. It was a weird way of telling me to get on my side, but I understood it word for word, though I don't know how.

"Lay back in de water."

I did.

"A go over, an' put yisser bake in de water."

It was water? Well, whatever. I actually managed to follow his instruction, rolled over, and put my face in the water.

"Open yisser eyes an' luk at yisser lempsor' an' 'ands."

I looked at my feet and hands. I had all my digits, and I had no wounds. I felt my head, and found I had all my hair back. I think I even had proper depth perception. "Do I have my eye back?"

My 'rescuer' stood in front of me. He was hell of cute for a guy, despite the nose that seemed to span half across my body sideways. No, not really; but it was pretty big. A pale, delicate looking, turquois eyed, red headed dude with long layered hair and feminine features. He'd handled me with gloved hands, and he didn't care that his old style, high collared, and tailed, velvet, tuxedo-like suit got wet. He wore a cape, too. "Yer. . .dae, Vlad."

I scowled. "My name's not Vlad."

The dude smiled at me, and by George; he had fangs. "Yer were in yisser last life, laddie. Yer chose dis life an' dis death ter compensate for waaat yer did, dragon lord. Yer 'ad a stake in correctin' yisser past brutal behaviour due ter yisser pointed tastes in entertainment in de 15th century ter be at peace wi' yerself on dis side av De Veil nigh."

I nodded. It was all coming to me. I'd been Vlad Tepes in my former life. After I was killed in that life, I ended up pretty horrified by what I'd done; having had to face all my victims individually, and having to experience for myself what I'd put them through. I'd ended up begging for another life to make it right. To forgive myself. 'Stake' in correcting. . .'pointed' tastes. I chuckled. "You so funny. Are you looking like a vampire in Count Dracula clothes just for me, Gatekeeper?"

"Nah. Oi alwus luk an' dress loike dis. Oi 'av ter admit de combinashun av yisser former life an' de flicks they made aboyt Stoker's character did influence me tastes, though. After al', in a way; yer were wan av me 'eroes."

I just shook my head. "You choose strange heroes, dude."

He flicked both wrists. "Jist call me Stefan."

I put the one hundred forty dollars for the week into my wallet, put the passbook in my shirt pocket, grabbed my walking stick, and was out of the building after me and the bank teller exchanged our good-byes.

It was a cold November morning with sporadic rain. I was in my long underwear, jeans, a denim shirt, and a coat. My arthritis was acting up pretty bad, but what could I expect; being the 79 year old fart I was?

It was a quarter of a mile to my retirement home. In my state, it might take me ten minutes to walk it on a good day; but walk it I did, almost every day.

My sole pleasure these days was to eat out once a day. It might be breakfast, it might only be a coffee and doughnut, or lunch. Meals were included at my retirement home with the rent. My social security covered that, and left me with six hundred left over every month. I'd retired at 72, so I had a little more than I needed. I didn't spend much on medical costs, because I figured if I was going to die, I'd die. I wasn't going to waste my money prolonging the inevitable, and I wasn't that bad off. I'd taken pretty good care of myself, had been a vegetarian most of my life, was free of all vices but caffeine, and I wasn't even remotely diabetic. Oh, I had a few other problems, but nothing to warrent any medications.

My eyes were still sharp, my hearing was adaquate, and dementia just wasn't going to happen. My mind was as sharp as a Damascus steel blade. I still read a lot of books, I surfed the web every day, and I never stopped learning things. I even had all my own teeth.

Fog was coming in. I looked at the park across the street, and contemplated going for a while. I could sit by the lake until the rain came again, or by one of the fountains for a while, or if it rained; maybe under the gazebo. It was a nice park that went for about 3 blocks in each direction. It was covered in weeping willows, oaks, and elm trees. Blackberries and wild strawberries grew at the north end. The play area for children was well maintained, and in addition to the swings, the slides and bars, there was an elaborate, tiered wooden structure that was like a little mini-maze; and it even had a small clubhouse on top.

I would have loved that when I was a child.

Yes, I'd go to the park. I know I was cold, but maybe I'd come back to this side of the street for a cup of coffee before going home. Nothing beat a cup of Kona with two tablespoons of sugar, and real cream. Ruth's Tea And Coffee actually served real cream. Yes, I'd go there after. I'd even spoil myself and have a biscotti.

I went to the light, and crossed the street. Moving hurt like hell, and I didn't quite make it before the light turned red; but it was close enough not to interfere with traffic.

With my luck, it started drizzling the moment I hit the sidewalk.

Toward the gazebo I went. As I approached, I found two people were there. I would have preferred to be there alone, but oh well. The two were a couple of longhairs, and they were dressed in tattered rags that would do nothing to ward off the elements. Despite their ratty clothes, they didn't have that 'homeless' air about them.

They were clean shaven, not a hair was out of place, and I was picking up faint traces of sandalwood and jasmine from the two. From their faces, they may have been twins. The structure of those faces was identical, but one was a pale red head with dark eyes, and the other was alabaster white with red eyes. I guess one was an albino, but it seemed his eyes glowed. The white one was also a few inches taller than the red head, and both were exceptionally beautiful for men.

They had two beat up accoustic guitars out, and a violin case was on the bench, along with a recorder. "Hi," said the red head. "Do you mind being treated to a concert of classical Irish folk tunes?" His accent was Irish.

I suddenly was glad they were here. I was German, but I loved Celtic music. "I'd like that very much," I said, as I sat down.

"Thank you," said the white one.

When I sat down, I had an easier time of it than I thought I would.

Not only did they play, they sang. One soprano, and one tenor. The voices were clear, beautiful, and heavily accented. It was a treat. They started out both on guitar, then one or the other might take up the 'fiddle', as they called it, or the recorder.

After they started performing, I wanted it to last forever. They started out with some traditional Irish drinking songs, including Finnegan's Wake.

I forgot it was cold. I forgot that it hurt to move. I forgot I was in a small city. I forgot everything. . .but this experience. This wonderful, enchanting experience. I may as well have been a young man in his prime, and I may as well have been in Ireland four hundred years ago.

I closed my eyes. I imagined an evening with feasting, and dancing, and bonfires all around.

Then the two broke the routine. They did a modern piece. They did a cover of Orinoco Flow that made me fight not to cry.

After that, they no longer sang in English. I guessed they only sang Gaelic, but I wasn't sure. All I knew is the music after was such I never heard before.

Oh, it was Celtic. There was no doubting that, but it was the most moving, haunting material I ever heard in my life.

When they finally stopped, I don't know how much time had passed. I looked up at the sky, and it told me nothing. It was still cloudy, it was still drizzling lightly, and there was no sun to be seen. "Do you play professionally?" I asked after they put their instruments away.

"No," said the white haired one. "We just do it for our own pleasure, and the pleasure of the select few we either invite into our lives, or those who just happen to pass by when we feel like playing in the open."

"Who are you?" I asked.

The red head said, "I'm Vergil Xanon, and this is Keith. . .Munster." He'd pronounced the first name, 'Kayth'.

Keith whirled on Vergil, and bared his teeth in a snarl. I swear he had fangs. "You just wait."

Vergil laughed. "Oh, I almost can't."

"Forget he said that," said Keith to me. "The last name is a joke because of where I was. . .born. I never had a last name, considering the circumstances of my beginnings."

"You two aren't related?" I asked.

"No," said Keith. "We're just friends who work to-gether."

"Can I buy you two a couple of cups of coffee across the street? I feel it's the least I can do for what you've just done for me."

They looked at each other, and Vergil shrugged. "I guess so, but we can get our own."

"I'd feel better if you let me buy just to make a small gesture of repayment for the treat you just gave me."

"All right," said Keith. "I suppose so."

When I stood up, I didn't need the walking stick. It's like I didn't have arthritis any more. This was all too weird, but not in a bad way; so I wasn't going to complain. When I took a few steps, then I couldn't take it any more. "What happened to me? When I got here I was in a lot of pain whenever I moved. Now it's gone."

"I don't have a clue," said Vergil.

I scowled. "Are you a couple of psychic healers or something?"

Keith looked at Vergil and with a shrug, he said, "I guess he's on to us."

I smiled. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did," said Keith. "It's just we'd rather work under cover. We don't want to be bothered by the masses, you know?"

"Now I want to take you to lunch," I said.

"Let you work off your bogus self inflicted Karmic obligations that don't have a place in an unconditional world, huh?" asked Keith.

"Please?" I asked. What he said was quite interesting. I wanted to know these two.

"OK," said Vergil. The both went to walk with me, but they left their instruments on the benches.

"Don't you want to take those?" I asked, pointing to the guitars.

"No need," said Vergil. "No one will steal them, and it wouldn't matter if they did."

"Then I guess I'll leave my walking stick here, too. I don't need it now."

"You'll never need it again," said Vergil.

"Where would you like to eat?" I asked.

"We're vegetarian. Fresh Choice is a nice place." said Vergil.

It was cheap, too. I said, "I don't eat meat either. All right. Nice that they have one at that strip mall across the street, huh?"

"Convenient," said Keith.

We walked to the street corner.

I barely noticed that only two cars passed us as we waited for the light to change. It just didn't register. There were no people on the sidewalk, and when we walked into Fresh Choice, there was no one in line. There were the cooks, the servers, and the cleanup crew. One table had customers. A young man and a lady who may have been in her early thirties, and both had fiery red hair. The lady was quite a distraction to me, being perhaps the most beautiful woman I ever saw.

We all made ourselves various salads, I had the cream of mushroom soup, while both Vergil and Keith got split pea, I got some French bread with butter, and those two each picked up a three seeded onion bagel with butter. Not only did the two look alike, but they seemed to have identical tastes in food.

Me and Vergil sat down, but Keith went over to the table with the other customers after he put his food on the table, and ruffled the hair of the woman. "Macha! Stefan! What are you two so intent on that you didn't even notice us?"

Oh god, Keith; and probably Vergil knew those two.

Macha looked directly at me. "I can't believe I did miss you. Especially with your fine looking gentleman guest. Shall we sit with you?"

I couldn't believe what the lady just said. And her voice was so clear, and beautiful. Another Irish accent, and I was charmed to no end.

Keith said, "Actually we're David's guest. He heard us play and decided he wanted to compensate us for our practise session, of all the silly things; but he seems to be quite interesting and I hope we stay in touch for a while."

Did I tell them my name? I wasn't sure, but I didn't think so.

Vergil stood up and pointed to another table. "Let's move to that table. It's bigger."

We all got our food and moved to the eight seater. After I was seated, Keith said, "This is Macha and Stefan. They play with us too."

I really had to fight not to stare at Macha. She was milky pale, had flawless features, and was dressed in a black halter top, a slit black mini-skirt, low heeled knee high boots, a silver torc, an asp armlet around a very defined bicep, and two thick silver bracelets around her wrists. She also wore a knife at her belt. She was tall, and powerfully built. She looked like she worked out, but she was still on the slender side, so she obviously didn't do steroids. She looked quite feminine, and let's say I found her presence. . .distracting. She also looked potentially dangerous. I felt like I was in the room with a tigress.

"Pleased to meet you. Are you all in a band?" I asked.

"Not technically," said Macha. We just play together once in a while when we feel like it. There's been others, but they come and go." The way she was looking at me, I felt like I might have been a tasty dish on the table or something. I couldn't understand it at all. A stone fox like her looking at an old coot like me like I was Orlando Bloom or something.

I stabbed a piece of tomato, and it tasted like nothing I ever had before. It may have been dropped from heaven. I had a few more bites of my salad, and couldn't believe anything could taste that good.

When I looked up, the four were staring at me. Macha said, "I think this charade has gone on too long. I believe it's time you tell my new lover here the truth of the situation, considering that the word patience isn't in the vocabulary of Macha the Red considering these matters."

I almost went under the table in embarrassment. "Excuse me?"

"Look at your right hand," said Keith.

I did. It was the hand of a twenty something year old, and not the hand of what I last saw when I paid attention to it.

Macha stood up, and a mirror appeared in her hand out of no where. She came around the table and walked over to me. She caressed my hair and held the mirror in front of me.

I saw what I looked like in my early twenties, and yes; I had been an attractive youngster. She gently traced her hand across my upper back, and set me on fire. "You never made it across the street, David Stoddard. You were hit by a van, and killed instantly.

The minute she said that, I found myself no longer at the restaurant, but sitting on the edge of a canopy bed in a luxurious bedroom. "And now I want you, if you don't mind," she added.

In a rather dazed state, I said, "I don't mind."

If this was death, why did I struggle so hard to hold on to life for so long?

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah"

"Trixieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!! Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!"

Oh my god, no. This can't be happening. We trained for years for this. It's only Rainier, not Everest. Just a little over 4 miles up. We only had a few hundred feet to go, and my wife fell.

I wanted to let go of the mountainside then and there. I couldn't live without her. She was my everything. My best friend, my business partner, my reason for living. I. . .I. . .oh god, what was I going to do?

I looked down. No, I guess I wasn't going to let go of the mountainside. I was too chicken-shit. One thing I knew though, was that I wasn't going to come down. I was going to get to the top of Columbia Crest, and stay there. I was going to freeze to death to-night. It was slower than a fall from the mountain, but it took a lot less courage which I didn't seem to have.

We should never have done this. We should never have gone on our own. We should have gone with an expedition, but now it was too late. One of the rebel team was dead. We didn't even tell anyone what we were going to do. Damn us. Damn me!

Well, I didn't just want to cling to this mountain like this. I had to get to the summit so I could just shed a few clothes, relax, and join my wife.

I wonder if this would have happened if I'd carried some more of her supplies. She'd been one strong lady, but I still had quite the advantage. If only I'd been more insistant. Trixie, the perpetual tomboy. She always had to prove she was man enough for everything. That attitude may have killed her, but I'll never know. . .until I cross over too, that is.

I was in top form, but mountain climbing is painstakingly slow. I was also carrying a pick, ropes, spikes, a hammer, and a fairly loaded back pack, among other things. Without all the gear, my progress would have been faster, but. . .

I was going up to die. I didn't need the food, the propane burner, the propane, or the canteen. I dropped the canteen, but couldn't do much about anything else at the moment. I was stuck with the load for the rest of the trip. If I got thirsty, I had snow.

I came to a point where I could unload all my unnecessary items. I just dropped them. I didn't care where they landed. I didn't even care if they landed on anyone at the time, though that was not likely. Nothing mattered to me at the moment but my own misery.

My fight to the summit was about two and a half hours from when my wife had fallen. What I saw when I got there, I wasn't ready for.

There was a flat green meadow with all kinds of trees and wildflowers. There was no snow, and it was warm. When I looked behind me, I ended up looking down the mountainside which I'd just ascended, but before me was a world than couldn't have existed.

I hauled myself up that final ledge, into the meadow. Then my mountain seemed to have gone. I was surrounded completely by the meadow. I dropped all my gear, took off my gloves, my jacket, my outer shirt, pulled off my thermals and my T-shirt, and put my outer shirt back on. I left everything where it fell. What was I to do? Bury it?

I couldn't freeze to death here. It was too way too warm. I wouldn't starve, either. Not this month, anyway. There were too many fruit trees. There was also a stream.

I went over to the stream, and tried the water. It was cold, and very good. "Harold," I heard a familiar feminine voice whisper.

I whirled. No one there. "Trixie?"

"Follow the dirt road." This was a high, but masculine voice. There wasn't anyone there.

I stood up, and saw the trail. What direction? "Follow the music."

Music. What music?

Then I heard it. Fiddles, flutes and pipes. Faint, oh so faint. It sounded like Irish music, but it had a lot of minor chords.

I followed the sound.

I should have been able to see the players, I thought. The country was pretty flat, and if the music had been over the horizon line; I wouldn't have been able to hear it.

I was so into the experience that I'd forgotten I just came up a mountain, and I even forgot my own sadness at losing my wife.

The music was getting clearer. It was happening too slowly, though. If I had been approaching an actual concert, the music would have been amplified much faster. That much I was aware of.

It was a while, but the music started to sound like it was almost there. Then I started picking up smells. Heavenly smells of roasting meat and cooking vegetable and baking breads.

I could almost hear people talking.

Suddenly I saw two figures running toward me from an oak grove. One was a lady with short auburn hair, in a hiked up, long blue-green dress. The hair was like Trixie's.
A man of light red hair ran with her, and he was in a black tunic, black leotards and boots, also black. The woman overtook him, and when she approached; I found she looked just like Trixie.

Her arms flew open. "Harold! You made it!"

I embraced her back. "Trixie. I thought I lost you forever. Didn't you lose your hold on the rope?"

The man who ran with her had stopped a few feet away from us. "No, she didn't. She pulled you down with her. I didn't let you percieve your death as it happened, though."

"I didn't see myself fall either," said Trixie. "Donn here, gave me the illusion that I lost you about ten feet from the top. I was going to go to the top to jump, but the scene changed on me; and Donn took me to this killer party over by those trees and told me to wait a little, and you'd be by soon."

"I closed my eyes and smiled as me and Trixie held on to each other." "Where are we?"

Trixie chuckled. "We're at Tir na nOg. Be glad you have an Irish wife."

"Oh, I am," I said.

"So let's get back to the celebration of your arrival, stuff our faces and dance until our feet fall off," said Donn with a smile.

I caressed Trixie's hair before we let go of each other. "I think I'd like that."

"I know you will," said Donn, as he took each of us by the hand and led us to the best outdoor bash I'd ever been to.

It was only a matter of time before this happened. I knew it. I'd been waiting for it. Looking forward to it, even.

Two weeks ago, both the DOW and NASDAQ were basically wiped off the board. The runs on the banks started less than a week later. Now the stores were empty, with the lawless roads impassable to the trucks. I saw it coming, and already had all my cash out. I'd also been stockpiling food for over a year, a little at a time. I had four months worth of food in my apartment, but I lived in a bad place. I was in a mid-size town, surrounded by a couple of other mid-size towns, but beyond them was major cities. I lived in a gated apartment complex right next to the hills, and if I'd had the right gear, I suppose I could have run into those hills and away from the chaos, but I really didn't feel like roughing it, though I knew in theory enough to survive.

It wasn't the life I was accustomed to, and it wasn't the life I'd tolerate.

I was in a slightly safer part of town, and I'd hang until I was killed; though I was planning on fighting back with my limited resources.

Electric power was sporadic, but still more on than off. I'm surprised I could even get on the internet for half the day.

With the banks and stores empty, violent anarchy reigned. Places were being set on fire, left and right. Home invasions were happening whether the occupents were home or not. The first one through my door or window was going to get a dart from my crossbow through them. I might take another one or two down with either my baseball bat, axe, Samurai sword or pitchfork. Those things make great equalisers for chicks against lesser armed opponents who are bigger and stronger than them. I had the sword strapped on, carried the crossbow with me even to the bathroom, and had the other weapons all over the place.

How long before my place would fall? Before it was discovered? It wasn't the remotest part of town, but it was off the beaten path; and a half mile away, it was chaos. I saw the plumes of smoke going up in all directions. I don't think I had 24 hours left.

If this had been late Summer instead of early Spring, this place might have already gone up. We had two seasons here. Wet, and dry. Three years of drought were finally broken this year, and if that hadn't been the case; this whole town would have gone up like a tinder box under the present circumstances.

Suddenly a thought occured to make me laugh. It couldn't happen now, but if I managed to order a pizza? A 'GOOD-BYE CRUEL WORLD' pizza? With a keg of Virgil's root beer that I didn't have. Oh, what a way to go. I'd be too stuffed to fire my crossbow. Oh, a clams and garlic pizza with sun dried roma tomatoes, and 'shrooms and red and green onions, and spinach, and black and green olives, and red bell peppers, and tons of extra garlic, and shrimp, and capers. Pile that puppy an inch high. Oh, and throw on some fresh tomatoes; while I'm dreaming.

But a phantasy is all that could be. I settled for a bag of jasmine rice pilaf, a can of eel with spicy black bean sauce, and some Asian stir-fried veggies I still had in the freezer. If I was going to be around for a long time, I would have gone for downing all the perishables yesterday, but I knew better.

Did I dare leave the place, go up the hill with my binoculars and check out what was happening in the surrounding areas after lunch? I know it would be a stupid thing to do, but I was notorious for doing stupid things.

Well, did I wanna be killed holding down the fort, get killed by some renegades in the hills; if there were any, or face an apartment that was taken over by the hords when I came back, if the place had been discovered yet?

The neighbours wouldn't be the ones to worry about. The apartment complex was pretty affluent, and those that I talked to were pretty informed and chose my way of dealing with the situation. Our kind couldn't win, so stay and go down fighting.

My lunch was ready in twenty minutes. I was twenty minutes closer to attack and death. Was I concerned? To tell you the truth, no. As long as I could take someone with me. Yeah, I had a chip on my shoulder. I had a few close calls in my past, and let's say I never had proper. . .closure over them. I wanted revenge on the types that I had those close calls with.

Yeah, I'd go up the hill. It was quite steep, I'd be in plain view of everyone, but hey. I had to be taken out with a gun. If I made it back to the apartment, fine. I'd get to stuff my face once or twice more before the end. Now I was enjoying a damn good meal with one bottle of Virgil's rootbeer to be followed by a lychee soda.

After lunch, I walked out the front door, but I didn't go to the front gate. I hauled myself over the fence with the help of a tree, and pulled my binoculars, sword and crossbow through the bars of the fence. I had six darts. When I got halfway up the painstakingly steep hill, I turned to look at what I'd left.

I wouldn't be able to go home again. The mobs were three blocks away, and coming fast. Rocks were being thrown through windows, cars were being whacked with crowbars and lit up, and though a piece of me was glad to be out of the immediate line of fire, the other other piece was pissed off that I wasn't down there with the battle lines drawn.

I guess I never got over watching all those Xena: Warrior Princess shows when I was a kid.

(Note: The author of this tale only watched TWO Xena episodes in ITS life, so. . .)

With effort, I made it up the rest of the way to the crest of the hill. It wasn't that high. Maybe 400 feet, give or take? The hills beyond were a bit higher. I wasn't that much of a judge on these matters. It took a lot out of me, though. Especially on a full stomach, with all the gear I carried.

By the time I got to the crest, my apartment complex was toast. I heard a few shots, and a few looters as well as residents would be history; I was sure. I knew for a fact that two of my neighbours had hunting rifles. I overheard them talking about their hunting and fishing trips often enough. My apartment would provide easy pickin's for the group that came to it. Ton's of food, an I-Mac, a couple of other electronic goodies if electricity didn't go away completely in a couple of weeks, a propane stove, lots of propane, lots of water, and quite a few packs of various exotic sodas, among other things.

I stood on the crest of the hill in plain view. "Come on up, you bastards. Come and get me. See what you can do with a solitary hold out who wants nothing better than to lop your fuckin' head off," I said to the audience who was out of hearing range.

Then something happened I didn't expect. A horseman on a large, brilliant white horse was coming toward me, and coming fast. I aimed my bow, but I had no intention of shooting unless I knew for a fact I wouldn't hurt the horse. I had too much respect for animals to risk one, even at my own cost.

As the rider drew near, I saw he only wore short cut-off jeans, tube socks and running shoes. Not that this was a bad thing. He was gorgeous. Buffed, lean, and as white as his horse. He also had long hair. I loved long hair on guys.

The horse. It was haltered. It didn't have a regular bridle. It was a minimal halter that only had enough rope to attach the reigns to guide the animal. A well muscled stallion with the Araby head, and feathered hocks. He carried his tail high, and had a very animated gait.

The horse wasn't saddled, either. He wore a harness of sorts.

The man rode up to me. He wasn't fazed by the fact I had a crossbow aimed at him. He simply said, "You're in danger, and I suggest you get on in front of me or behind me."

Both horse and rider had glowing red eyes. That was weird. I wondered how that stunt was managed, but it didn't really bother me. With to-days technology, I suppose anything was possible. Anyway, I had to admit it didn't look half bad. Impressive, in an eerie sort of way. I had no clue yet they were 'real'. I'd find that out after this short story was over.

I pointed my dart at the ground. "You're here to rescue me, or ravage me?"

He scowled, and though he stopped his horse; the horse wouldn't stop prancing in place. He obviously treated the animal very well. I don't think I ever saw a more beautiful horse in all my life, even in pictures. "'Dude'! Why in the name of every deity in the Pantheon would I want to ravage you?"

I smiled. "You're gay?"

"Technically no, but are you coming with me?"

'Technically' no? I'd have to ask about that later. "Can I keep my weapons?"

He came up to me, grabbed my wrist, yanked me from the ground, grabbed my belt, and seated me in front of himself on his horse. "Look below," he said.

The hords were approaching us, if just for the sake of doing gratuitous damage.

The rider didn't kick the horse or anything, but the animal took off what seemed to be Mach 1. I heard gunshots behind us, but nothing hit us.

The horse ran down and up three hills without seeming to slow, and then the scenery changed. We were in a flat, lush green meadow that had nothing to do with the land I was familiar with. There were tons of groves of various types of trees that didn't grow where I lived.

The horse stopped, and the rider got off effortlessly, leaving me still on the horse.

He smiled at me. "Rigg, you're OK now."

"How in the hell did you know my name."

"'Dude', for one thing; you're dead. I've brought you to the Ellysian Fields. You've read enough Greek mythology to know what I'm talking about."

"Uh, yeah. Sure. And you're Thanatos, right?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

I got off the horse using the harness to bring myself down slow, as opposed to just jumping off. He was a pretty tall stallion. I dropped my weapons. "Damn, I never thought you'd be so cute. Are you a virgin god?"

"The version of me that destroyed himself was, but lets not go there now, huh? You have a few issues to work on, now that you're here."

"I don't remember dying, by the way. What happened?"

"I gave you the illusions you had, but you were surreptitiously killed last night in your sleep. Your apartment complex was destroyed many hours ago. . .'dude'.

I gave him the thumbs up. "Thanks. I'd raise a glass to you if I had one to raise."

"Maybe later, that can be arranged."

Maybe later. . .

Ahhhhhh. Friday night, away from the wife and kid. The damn kid that wasn't supposed to be there. . .one vasectomy too late.

I was supposed to be playing poker with the guys, according to what I'd told my wife. I wasn't. I was alone, enjoying my overtime money at a Japanese restaurant, in my own little booth, with my laptop in front of me, expecting around an $80.00 bill plus tip.

This time 'I' was gonna enjoy my hard earned money from my long hours. I sure as hell had to do enough of them. Guess who quit her job to stay at home with the brat after she gave birth.?

So much for the plans. 'Oh, I don't have time for a kid. I'm not going to throw my college education and $60,000 a year salary away. . .' Yeah, she used to make more than me, not that I cared. Actually, it was kind of nice. Just because I was a man, I had no compunction about insisting I be the main breadwinner.

Uh huh! I was making a little less than that base pay now, but with the overtime; about 50% more. Boy, but what a price. I hated doing the 60 hour workweeks, and sometimes more. Love these stupid obligations I had to face from misplaced trust. . .NOT!

Oh, that rice they served was beyond compare. Loved the miso before the meal, the killer salad with rice vinegar, the eel, the lobster tempura, the chili tofu, and I wasn't going to be able to eat for two days after this feast. It was about time I treated myself. I was so sick of sacrificing the core of my being for someone who betrayed me, and the 6 year old piece of garbage in my life I barely acknowledged that I could have prevented; if only. . .hindsight weren't the only thing that was 20/20.

I was exhausted beyond exhausted so much of the time, but I had to pretend I was still the ball of fire I was in my twenties. I used to be able to do it all, but it was taking its toll. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the act. I was only in my early 40's, but I was breaking down. The former athlete who broke all the college track records. I wasn't all gone, but being able to jog 3 miles after running a marathon every year for 13 years was a bit of a let-down. I only did the three miles maybe a couple of times a month, and for how much longer?

I'm history now. So little time for myself. I was even getting fat, perish the thought. Lawrence T. Collins was fading away. Not exactly what I'd envisioned for myself.

Dessert. Mint sherbert. I was so stuffed, I wondered if I could even eat this little tidbit. I checked my computer again for a news update. A real news update. An alternative news update. Not the government controlled media lies.

China had just launched, and it was more than one firing. It was 100 missiles. All nuclear. After all the U.S. had done, it was no surprise.

I didn't finish the sherbert. I closed the laptop, took $200.00 out of my wallet, walked to my waitress very quickly, gave it her, told her to keep the change, and ran to my car.

How long before everyone knew about this?

I raced home. I did 70 miles an hour in 35 mile an hour zones, but hey! I didn't hit anyone, if it even mattered now; and I wasn't caught.

I didn't know where in the country we would be hit, but I lived in a potential strike zone; and I didn't want to be in the middle of town when we were hit, if we were hit. I had a place to go. A peaceful place, where I could watch the destruction and die at my own leisure. If we weren't hit, I could go home again; though I not sure I would.

I killed the engine a couple houses down from where I (yeah, 'we') lived, and coasted home. Manual steering on a mint, rebuilt old 1966 Mustang was a dream. I pulled into the driveway, so it was no problem not having to re-start the car.

I got out of the garage, and opened the front door of it. I didn't have an electric opener. It was an old house, and I never had one installed. How lazy can we get? I pulled my Yamaha Star Raider bike out, and left it next to my car. Could I get into the house unnoticed? My wife, Tiffany would probably be watching her prime time, wasting time. Erika would be asleep.

It was an attached garage, and I was lucky the door to the kitchen was open. We had a cat, so it wasn't really luck, but an expected convenience.

I didn't make a sound as I crossed the kitchen tiles to the carpet of the hall. I made it to the bedroom, and went to the safe in the closet. I had to turn on the light, but I had no choice.

I was a nervous wreck over the idea of being caught, and it took me 3 times to open the safe. It took willpower not to swear out loud. I pulled my 45 magnum out, a couple of clips, and closed up the safe. I took off my jacket, put my holster on, put myself together, and got out; not bothering to turn off the light.

I made it back to the garage. Whew. For the first time in my life, I was glad my wife was so hooked on prime time TV. Heh-heh-heh.

I didn't even bother closing the garage. I just took off. Good-bye Tiffany, and good-bye you worthless little intruder that was the too high of a price of a half hour of fun, or so.

My destination was 15 miles away. It was a park that contained the tallest mountain in the county. I'd have to park away from the park, and that would add an extra mile to my journey, but that was OK. I could handle it. I'd jog, and hopefully I wouldn't get caught by anyone. My gun was registered, but I didn't have a permit to carry a concealed weapon.

This time, I was a little more conservative on my speed. I think I only went about 10 miles over the limit. I laughed as I thought of my wife going out front to find the car parked, the garage open, and the motorcycle gone.

The ride was fast and easy after I got out of town. The hills to one side, and walled condos to the other. I saw very little traffic, and I ran a couple of lights, but hey. This was pretty sparse territory. A historical neighbourhood that had seen its days long ago.

During the day, this road was busy with commuters, but it was approaching 11:00 P.M., and there wasn't anything here. It was a thoroughfare, and nothing more.

When I was a mile away from the park, I parked the bike off road, well hidden by the bushes. It was my spot when I came up here. I'd hike this little mountain maybe once every month or two. . .by myself. Tiffany had lost interest in camping and hiking with the birth of her. . .I found it so hard to say 'our', kid.

I really hated Erika. I'd never laid a hand on her, but I did my best to have nothing to do with her. Tiffany and I had grown apart quite a bit because of this, but we stayed married for reasons of convenience. Cheaper to keep 'er. I had to admit, it was also nice not having to do half the housework anymore, coming home to dinner on the table a couple of times a week, and not having to run any of the errands. Tiffany insisted on doing all that, knowing it was fair.

Kind of. Her load was a hell of a lot lighter than mine.

'Daddy's tired. Leave him alone.' was music to my ears now. At least Tiffany knew a good thing when she had it. She used to do just as much overtime as me, we had a pretty equitable relationship in the period, and we shared way more than housework. We shared hobbies. We were quite well off in the old days. Now. . .yeah, my salary was good, the house was paid for, but I was supporting two other people in addition to myself in a faltering economy of high inflation, and it was all I could do. Resentmentville City had hit me hard, and everyone knew it.

And now. . .was there a way out of the life I'd grown to hate? Oh, I hoped so. Perhaps even if we weren't nuked, I'd shoot myself. Why not? The mess that had developed sure wasn't worth living.

Yeah, I would shoot myself. I just hoped I'd get to see what I was standing in right now, get burned to a toast.

I took off. It was like I forgot about the heavy dinner I'd eaten. It was late, my jeans were dark blue, my jacket was black, my hair was black, and I wasn't exactly pale. If I kept in the shadows, maybe I wouldn't be seen.

Good. No problems by the time I got to the park.

Of course I didn't run across the parking lot. I stuck with the trees, and worked my way to the trail up the mountain. With the cuts in funding, I was certain I wouldn't meet any rangers on night patrol. I'd slowed to a walk when I got onto the park property. I had to be alert and aware. As soon as I hit the trail, I took off again. I'd walk for the steeper parts of the trail, and run for the milder ones. The lighting wasn't the greatest, but I had a half moon; a few clouds to reflect some city lights, and I made it without twisting anything.

The trail was concrete down here, and pretty even. It would turn to dirt later. Then I'd walk. I also had to watch for critters. There were coyotes, cougars, skunks, and other hazards up here.

My progress was pretty fast.

When I hit the dirt, I ended up with one problem I hadn't thought about until now. It was cold. When I ran, I didn't notice it; but after I got to the unpaved part of the trail and it became foolhardy to run, I became quite aware of the elements. The destination altitude was almost 1 1/2 miles, it was late, and though it was late Summer, we were having a cold spell. Man, it was cold and windy up here during heat waves at high noon. And I was going to spend how long up here?

If this place got nuked via a land based missile, that might take place in another 6 hours or so, considering how long it took me to get to where I was since I heard the news. Or maybe a little less. I can't remember what time the launch took place. Oh well. I'd live. I'd been through worse. Too bad I didn't have any gloves, but hey.
It was less than a workshift. No problem.

How nice to die on a mountain top, I thought. I was hoping to high heaven we'd be nuked.

Yeah, I was taking my resentment out on society in general, but as far as I was concerned now; what else was it good for.

I was feeling absolutely paradoxical, and maybe a little psychopathic. I felt like a bullied child who was finally getting revenge in the worst possible way. I guess that was a good analogy.

I was feeling high over the fact that I was going to either get killed or kill myself. Escape. At the same time, I was feeling a lot of hate. I hated the wife who was once a partner and became a drain, I'd always hated Erika from the day she was conceived, I hated life, the world, everybody in it, and even myself for having allowed myself to be trapped in this way of living that I couldn't stand. And now I was going to kick it all in the face.

Can rage burn off the cold? As I got closer to the summit, it seemed like it. When I got to the summit, my anger got immediately flattened; kind of like Wile E. Coyote in one of those old 'toons.

There was a goddamn log cabin up there. Not only that, the door was open, there was light coming from the inside, and smoke was rising from the fireplace.

I was up here a month ago. The cabin hadn't been here. The park wouldn't have put it here, and it wouldn't have been allowed. This made no sense. It was all quite confusing.

Then again, the winds must have been going at about 30 miles an hour.

Should I draw my gun? Was there a threat?

No, I was the intruder. I left my jacket zipped up to hide the fact I was armed.

I approached the door. "Hello?"

"Come on in," said an Irish accent.

I looked inside. There was what looked like a late teenager sitting at a table in front of a fireplace in jeans, a long sleeved black shirt, and biker boots, with a tea pot, a couple of cups, and a plate of pastries in front of him. I was straighter than a ruler, but this kid was mighty cute for a guy. A pretty red head who you wouldn't have been able to tell was a guy, if he'd been in drag. "This place. It's not supposed to be here," I said.

"Neither are you. It's past curfew."

I smiled. "I'll tell you what. I won't tell anyone about you or this house, if you don't tell anyone about me."

He smiled back. "Works for me. It's cold out there. Come on in and have some tea and scones. You can close the door if you like."

I accepted his invitation. "Thanks." I walked in, and did close the door. It was a one room cabin, and all there was, was the table and the two chairs. "What is this place?"

"A way station. You came up here to watch the city destroyed from afar?"

"You know about the attack?"

He poured me some tea, and pushed the plate in my direction. The pastries were scones. They were cut in half, and buttered. I grabbed what looked like a blueberry scone. "Yes, Larry. I know about the attack. I also know you snuck out on your wife and child to experience this little dream of your life alone, as well as the fact you are wearing one mean retired police pistol given to you by a friend you lost touch with about ten years ago."

"And how do you know this, you who I have never seen before." If I wasn't so sure of myself, I may have felt threatened and blown him away; but circumstances just didn't seem to warrent that.

"I am a telepath, Mr. Collins. Now would you like to talk about all you just did so you can maybe come to terms with yourself, your life, and maybe get over it?"

"If you can read my mind, why bother? You already know everything about me, don't you?"

"Yes. From a more detached perspective than what you know about yourself. The discussion would be for your sake. Not mine. And pardon me for being so impolite. My name is Donn."

I bit into the scone, which tasted even better to me than the Japanese dinner I'd had a few hours ago. The tea was creamed, and fruity. Also delicious. "This is quite good, but what is it that I must face? I got stuck with responsibilities 5 years into a marriage that I thought I wouldn't be stuck with because that Tiffany bitch got her ass preggers."

"Uh. . .it wasn't her ass that got pregnant, and she didn't exactly get herself in that position. You did."

"I should have killed my fertility the day I turned 18. But still! She said. . .Donn, can you tell me if she did that on purpose?"

"It was an irresponsible moment."

"She should have gotten an abortion. I asked her a few times, but she refused. I guess Tiffany changed her mind to my chagrin, at the expense of my happiness, my discretionary time, no financial stress and getting enough sleep until that crotch dropping called Erika was out of the house."

"My, you are going to have fun when you see your Akashic Records; dude."

"What?" I asked with a scowl.

"You know what I'm talking about. You read everything there was to read about Edgar Cayce."

"But why did you say that?"

Donn had a sip of his tea, and put the cup down. "Lawrence, this place was hit one hour ago, five miles southwest, by a sea based ICBM. By Earth standards, you are dead. What you are experiencing now is an illusion created by me. Would you also like to know something else? You asked to experience all you experienced in life BEFORE you were born, as is the case with everyone else. Now what have you to say for yourself?"

"You mean I was stupid enough to ASK to be a father?"

"You wanted to experience the other side of being betrayed, to find out personally what it means to be in the so called favoured section of society living in a 'man's world', and by the way; Tiffany was your husband in your last life, and she. . .I mean he sure as hell treated your children better than you treated Erika."

"Erika wasn't supposed to have existed."

"You sure as hell made her know that. You rubbed it in, every opportunity you had. Looked right through her as if she wasn't there, and treating her like an errant box of cereal that fell of the grocery shelf and had to be stepped over. You seem to have gotten a Masters Degree in making people feel worthless. What if you'd been treated like that for no fault of your own, except the irresponsibility of one of your parents?"

Ouch. "I was. . .and still am an asshole. No, what I did wasn't very nice; but the expense to myself was pretty high, and I didn't appreciate it. Can I ask a question?"

"Yes, we can go outside, and you can see what is happening in the lowlands." A pair of binoculars appeared in his hand from thin air. He handed them to me. "These are night vision."

When I went outside, the air seemed still, and the moon was full. OK. I guess that proved what I was experiencing was an illusion.

There were fires raging in the south, and to the west. The fires were spreading north, and where I lived would be engulfed soon enough. This was a good time to be nuked. Late Summer, after several years of drought. The conflagration was pretty impressive to look at.

Donn asked me, "Would you like to see it up close? We can be there in less than a second, and being you're no longer a member of this realm of existence; you wouldn't feel anything. No pain. You could just see the results of the destruction and the pain from where it happened. The skeletal remains of those who were toasted in their beds, the night drivers in their burnt out cars, the remains of the staff of a restaurant, and a charred, collapsed customer over his or her last cup of coffee?"

"Maybe not."

"Would you like to hang around the next few days to see the wife you once conditionally loved so much die of radiation poisoning, along with your unwanted 18 year jail sentence. . .I mean daughter?"

"Donn?"

"I'm ripping you to shreds, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Good. So maybe you won't have to do this again. Come on. I don't think there's anything left for you here. Let me take you to my place and you can get yourself resolved there."

I actually felt a tear fall down my face. I extended a hand to the timeless one. "Thanks."

Donn smiled as he took my hand, and shook it. "Part of the job, dude."

AND BEFORE I FORGET AGAIN, HERE'S THE LINK TO THE REST:
http://allmyshortstories.blogspot.com/

I looked down from the rooftop. Thirteen floors. The magic number. A symbolic number. The number of completion. I was also terrified.

It was my intention to jump, and this time I was gonna make it. 39 years of this hell was enough.

39 is 3 times 13. Full circle, huh?

I had a pretty self destructive past. Abusive parents contributed to it, then I seem to have been a magnet for abusive relationships. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't lash out against someone bigger than me and win, so I took it out on myself. So was my thinking most of my life.

At age 11, I'd tried to slash my wrists. No go. I cut in the wrong direction, just made a big mess, and got slapped silly for it. At 16, I tried a datura overdose. Nope, that didn't work either. I guess I didn't take enough, but it got me a trip to the hospital; and again I got the crap beat out of me.

17. That time I ran in front to a semi. That one was a close call. 3 months in the hospital. It messed me up pretty bad, and I still feel the occasional pain of where I broke the various bones.
I didn't quite heal right. At least this time I wasn't beaten up. Ha! And it cost my asshole parents thousands and thousands of dollars in medical bills. Muahahahahaha! If only I'd thought of that sooner.

25. In an abusive marriage, I tried carbon monoxide. The twit I was married to found me, and put a stop to it. Another thrashing is what I got. At least I had the sense to get a divorce. . .after I took a baseball bat to him and told him I was going to kill him if he ever laid a hand on me again.

Actually, I almost killed him then. It would be our last physical confrontation, not that the previous incidents were confrontations. They were more like massacres. He didn't press charges. It hadn't quite been self-defense, but more a preventive attack. He threatened me, I had my new weapon, so I fought back for the first time in my life. I'd called the cops on him a number of times before, so both me and that worthless then husband of mine were confident I would get off for self-defense if he tried anything from a legal angle. I took control of the relationship at this point via my anger my suddenly vindictive nature, and he couldn't handle that. Both of us instinctively knew I felt I had nothing left to lose, and that made me dangerous. We split up. I now made enough to support myself in my own right, so it was no big deal. We'd always had our own bank accounts, and we each left the marriage with our own assets.

I let him have the house, along with the mortgage payments I would no longer be helping with. I rented a cheap apartment. He lost the house 18 months after we split up. When I found out, I partied alone that night until I passed out. I don't think I ever had so many giggle fits in all my life.

Now. . .now I was alone, and living with a memory. A beautiful, seductive memory that never left me after I got myself almost killed by the truck.

There was life after death. There was also someone on the Otherside who actually cared about me. A beautiful, gentle soul who wanted nothing from me, but everything for me. I think it was male. Barely. Asexual nature. My memory was kind of hazy. It was a memory from a month long coma I'd been in after getting myself hit by that truck. I have no idea what his name was, or if he even told me.

I remember he had a horse. A golden horse with a silver mane. He let me ride it. I loved horses. I still do. I hoped in was an Arab. I remember having been taken by the animal's perfection.

My love had a soft, rather high voice. I think his accent was Scottish. Well, whatever. He had long blond hair from what I recalled, and though I couldn't remember the distinctive features; I remember he was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.

When I met him after my suicide attempt, I was furious; and not in a good way. I wasn't in the mood to make new friends initially, and I was very hostile toward him. Still, he stayed with me and won me over eventually. Like just before I got pulled back to my physical body.

I cried like hell as I was yanked away from him. After I came to in the hospital, I had a recollection of him; but was confused. I was still in an angry state, and in no mood to acknowledge all he had done for me just yet. I almost forgot about him. Almost.

The memories of my Otherworld 'angel' came back to me full force right after the first beating I got from the asshole that I'd married when I was 19. I chilled out to my husband after that. Any affection I thought I'd had for him disappeared, but it was either stay with him or go back to my parents. . .who probably wouldn't have taken me back. I just wasn't making enough money to live at the time.

After my divorce, I'd been through a few more attempts at relationships. I never got married again, but still. . . could I find someone who wasn't a control freak and a dick? It sure didn't seem like it. They all seemed so nice at first, but the true colours would always show up within a few months.

In the here and now, the memories of my angelic rescuer who watched over me on the Otherside were burning within me. I couldn't get him out of my mind. Over the past couple of years he started completely obsessing me. No one else would do. He was all I could think about. I didn't even want anyone else around me, and I became a very unpleasant bitch to share company with. I cut down everyone who even tried to talk to me, if it wasn't business. Needless to say, I was absolutely miserable; in addition to being miserable to be with.

So I look down over the edge of my skyscraper. So far away. Would I die on the way down, or at the moment of impact? The moment of impact would be so sudden, I wouldn't have time to feel it; right? I'd go out in a splat of glory, pain free? I might even put on a bigger show by landing on someone. That would be sooooooo cool. What kind of a mess would that make?

But my god, what a hard thing this was to do. I had to fight every instinct I had. Would I? Could I? Oh, why couldn't I know a heroin addict and his or her supplier? That would be so much easier. And if you didn't overdose the first time, you could always do it again. . .right?

But I didn't know anyone who was a drug addict of any sort, I sure as hell didn't know any supplier; and I was here now, longing for a ghost, hating life more than ever, and had a 13 story drop in front of me.

I got on the wall. I dangled my feet over the drop side. I wished there was someone else on the roof who would just push me when I wasn't looking.

I was being such a coward. I wanted out so bad, the opportunity was right here in front of me, but I just couldn't work up the nerve. Thank god I lost my balance and fell when I tried to get
back on the roof by swinging both my legs over the wall at the same time.

Is there a need to say that I screamed? Well, I did.

I had my eyes closed, I ended up going down back first; and all awareness of what was actually happening was blanked out from my head. Time cam