Prayers for Kayla

If you have a minute to spare, the young lady above, Kayla, could use a few thoughts and prayers. Tomorrow morning, Osteosarcoma (bone cancer) will claim her right leg via a surgeon's knife. She is sixteen.

From my friend Karen's blog:

A member of our family, Susan’s niece, Kayla has been battling Osteosarcoma (bone cancer) since April. Kayla has an incredible spirit and has the bravery of an army despite only being 16. She has kept fighting despite chemotherapy wiping away her energy, it has not squashed her spirit. Tomorrow at 7am EST, Kayla will have her right leg amputated. I cannot imagine how scared she is or what she’s going through but she’s still fighting - fighting for her life.

Kayla and her family, as well as Susan’s family, need our thoughts and prayers. If you could, tomorrow morning, say a prayer for them, or send some good thoughts their way. It may not seem like much to do, but I have felt everyone’s thoughts and prayers last year when I was fighting for my life and I know it works and it means more than words can express.

Kayla's response to the initial outpouring of support:

Kayla said...Hello fellow bloggers online This is Kayla, the niece you have been keeping in your prayers and rooting hard for. I just dropped by to say how much I appreciate all of your kind wishes and thoughts and how I was absolutely over whelmed when I recieved papers and papers of messages from all over the world, never mind, the country!!! ^_^ It made me so happy to see the response from people and it totally gave me the boost I needed. ^^ Thank you, every one!! I am most grateful!! Cancer has touched every individual in one way or the other. No matter how hard you struggle to avoid it, it manages to infect even the purest soul. =( But you know what? That's the thing with hope and faith. It never lets the darkness corrupt. It fights it until the very end. And even when fighting seems like the very last thing you'd want to endure any longer, even when the pain seems so undurable, innerly and physically.....You fight it. Why bother? It's the only way to survive. Life has much meaning and I plan to decipher it through this battle. I promise you I plan on coming out of this as a gleaming champion because there is no way in hell I am letting a stupid, insignifigant tumor take me!! *kills it with sword* MUHAHAHA! DIE tumor!! ^__^ I may not look the same as I did before, but then again, I don't think the same either. o__O Funny how that works, yes?

Update (from her Aunt): 9/1

Kayla is doing very well.

Thankyou everybody for your support. Our prayers were heard. She got safely through surgery and recovery. She is now back in her room on the oncology ward.

On top of that, Keith called us this evening, with more good news!

When Kayla went in for surgery, She wasnt sure how much of her leg the surgeons would be able to save. She is glad that they were able to use the prefered tecnique called Van Nes Rotationplasty, which leaves a good basis for a prosthesis. That means she will have the greatest mobility possible. She still has alot of rough days ahead, but with her determination and alot of hard work she will be able to do so many things. She is tired and in some pain, but seems pleased with how things went. Tommorrow they plan on getting her up out of bed to try standing. I forget to ask if she will be useing crutches or a walker. She has to learn to balance herself properly. She has apparently already looked at her leg, some people take much longer to psych them selves up to view the results of the surgery. When family went in, she asked them if they wanted to see too! That says alot to me about how well she is going to cope.

144. Cold Hearts

Shen closed his eyes and looked deep. They were getting close. No time to investigate what went wrong but one thing was clear; guilty and innocent alike would taste the cold fire of space. Such a horrible way to die, thought Shen, lacking even a scintilla of compunction.

“Lieutenant, where is the girl?” queried Shen, his voice penetrating through the smoky corridors and cold hearts with equal measure.

“We’ve had a minor annoyance. She should be arriving within the minute,” responded a less than confident voice.

“Thank you lieutenant.” Shen turned slowly from the port window in his quarters to his loyal aide. Cerus had served him for more than a decade. Trusted aides were hard to come by. Shame I can’t take him with me, thought Shen.

+Cerus, prepare my personal pod for immediate launch.+

Categories: Story, Shen

Venus Hum

Initial impressions from last night’s performance at the Mercy Lounge—in incomplete sentences:

A voice sublime, control masterful, depth apparently unlimited, neither strained nor subdued, modulated with artisan flair and delivered with effortless elegant ease. Her smile, contagious, infectious, beautiful and seductive. Her eyes, brilliant, dancing, alive, communicating a present moment here and now joy with every glance. Movement fluid, dynamic, melding uniquely with each individual rhythm, at times like silk in a spring breeze and at other times spontaneously released with playful abandon. A spirit youthful and sophisticated; optimistic and circumspect; joyful and introspectively soulful.

Her voice simply must be heard live to understand and appreciate the gift she embodies and delivers to her audience. Thanks Annette, Tony and Kip for a performance that exceeded all of my lofty expectations. All the best with The Colors In the Wheel.

Click here for the best set of photos from the night, so far. Enjoy!

143. Memoirs or Beer

Las fire intensified. I could feel the heat above my head and no matter how tightly I tried to squeeze myself against the bulkhead, no matter how small I tried to make myself, I felt as exposed as those winter nights in the hopper.

My eyes burned with salty sweat dripping into them.

“Kyra, can you read me, over? Repeat, Kyra, come in, over.” I sat in the corridor trying to make myself as small as possible. Las fire whipped passed me in sight and sound. The colorful bolts of energy traveled at near the speed of light yet still they seemed to whiz forth in slow motion.

Salty sweat dripped into my eyes making them burn. I dared not release my grip on either las pistol, nor expose my side by trying to rub them with my shoulder. So I sat, eyes on fire, in the dark corridor watching the colorful bolts of energy whip pass me in sight and sound.

Silent night. I saw the light, those wonderful, colorful bolt of death, each heading my way, each hoping to be the shot that ended this impasse. If I moved just a few inches to the left, the next bolt would take me out. I would hardly feel it; and then, maybe just then, I could be reunited with Chaz.

I leaped out into the corridor, both las pistols firing on full auto, grips burning hot in my hands. Executing a full one-eighty, I nailed three . . .

With las fire whipping past left and right, and no support, I charged, both las pistols firing on full auto . . .

The rest of the crew had abandoned . . .

I stood, risking life and limb, firing both las pistols, against impossible odds . . .

I saw the forced and violent abduction. Mairi's cry echoed into the night, her voice silent to all, it seemed. But I heard. Not her voice but the plaintive cry of her heart. There was no time to alert the rest, I knew I had to take immediate action . . .

Yul was indifferent, but I knew something was amiss. I grabbed my stuff and headed into harm’s way, my own well-being be damned . . .

Against impossible odds I powered my las pistols for full auto and maximum effect. Mairi was in harm’s way. The rest may sleep, unaware, but I would not let these barbarians have their way. Bastards. Risking all, I charged . . .

Impossible odds. Forgotten by all. I recharged my las pistols. Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I steeled my nerve for a full frontal charge. Frail the rest, now or never, I wouldn’t let the bastards have their way with one of our own . . .

I heard her plaintive cry. What could I do? Ignore what needed to happen? I grabbed my two las pistols and headed into harm’s way. Like a sonic boom I exploded upon the raiding party. Surprised, I would say, they were to receive a little Rog heat . . .

Yul nestled up next to me. I looked into her gorgeous blue-grey eyes. Frail me was written all over them. My lips lowered toward hers, her warm breasts and hard nipples pressed against my rock hard pecs. I felt the warm dance of her tongue . . . And, yet, I felt the need to move, to seek resolution, to feel needed in a time of urgency . . .

My thighs flexed as my abs contracted. Shadows danced on the walls. Moans dominated the night as the smell of snoot intermingled with the female call of night. I partook of the mutual pleasures rightly earned and deserved. Yul never heard the call. I knew. Grabbing my gear, I headed for the door . . .

Las fire whipped passed. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I tightened my grip on both las pistols as they warmly hummed to life. I had twelve rounds to make a difference. Twelve rounds to change the story, to change reality, to carve my name . . .

My eyes rolled inward as Yul worked my mind into perpetual debt. Breathing deep, and deeper with each rotation of her Lospusian lips around my . . . Frail, what was that . . . I leaped out of the warm cocoon of our abode, grab my gear and headed toward . . .

Sweat dripped from my brow on to Yul’s forehead. I rotated my hips upward and increased my pace. Her moans turned more and more submissive, which only led to me increasing the intensity of my thrusts. My impressions matched her sighs. Fluid, dance-like movements, heaven building in my mind. Then, something other, something urgent, something needed. I paused. Yul’s wet eyes pooled before me. Question unasked. I had no answer . . .

Yul’s legs wrapped around my hard torso. My ears filled with the sweet sound of affirmation. Yet, still, I felt something more. Something other. My triceps flexed in suspension. I listened. A single drop of exertion slipped from my chin to the nape of Yul’s neck. I knew. Time to move . . .

Yul arched into the starlight. Her cool blue shadow, curve divine, my mind beyond logic, body on instinct, then a sound, not a gasp, but a gasp, a gasp that didn’t fit . . .

My guts contracted. My mind expanded. Instinct took over and nausea surged forward pushed aside by . . .

Damn this writing stuff, thought Rog. Where's the interviewer so I can just tell the story. With that, Rog put his pen down and headed to the fridge. Seems this thing they call beer is not so bad. "Yul, where are you baby? We have some unfinished bidness."

Categories: Story, Rog, Earth

142. Yul Revisited

Yul Revisited

The first known sketch of Yul was rather lacking, so in prep for a second attempt in oil, here is the updated sketch.

Categories: Story, Yul, Sketches

141. Pinkster

“Emy, Emy, wake up,” said Pinky, poking and prodding the sleeping young Hynerian as she hovered above her bed, the soft pink light from her oculators illuminating the room like a gentle nightlight.

“Go away Pinkster,” moaned Emy, half awake. She pulled the warm sheets over her head and wiggled back into the fetal position, hoping Pinky would get the message.

“I think you’ll want to hear what's going on,” cooed Pinky. “I got the lowdown directly from Goldie. You’d be mad at me if I didn’t tell you.” Pinky was a gift from her seafaring father. He had purchased the cogitor south of the Nusian peninsular on one of the trips Emy had stayed home to attend an art seminar. Pinky was going to be a birthday gift until the sudden climate change; as such, she became the last material exchange between father and daughter.

“Pinky, we’ve been over this before. I’m not interested in the gossip you exchange with Goldie. Besides, can’t you see, I’m sleeping. Now go away.” Dang cogitors, thought Em, if they can program them to gossip why the frail can't they program them to understand the most basic of Hynerian needs, namely, sleep.

“Emy, my darling dear child, this isn’t gossip, it’s a plan and if you don’t wake up, it’s going to happen without you. You see, Rog is—“

“A plan? What are you talkin bout Pinkster?” said Emy, sitting up in bed, her hands corkscrewing the sleep from her eyes. “This better be frailing good or we’re going to have another talk about your non-sentient access.”

“I know, I know, I do love to exchange potential useful information on occasion.”

“Pinky!”

“Promise. No gossip. Rog went to rescue Mairi and has got himself in a hornet’s nest of trouble. Poor lad, I know he means well. Such a handsome--”

“Pinky, please.”

“Sorry child, I do get carried away. As I was saying, Rog is in trouble. Las fire you know. Not good. Outnumbered I hear.”

“P-i-n-k-y!!”

“Yeah. Sorry. Kyra, Von and Yul are going on a rescue mission. They’re over in Von’s quarters right now. If you don’t hurry, you’re going to miss them.”

Emy jumped out of bed. The thought of not being included fueled her desire to be seen as an equal. After the mission on Neraj she felt a certain bond with Rog, shared experiences no one else could claim. Besides, he liked her art work. That alone was worth rescuing she reckoned.

Kyra came tumbling out of Von’s quarters and right into Emy causing both to fall to the floor. “Emy, what are you doing up?” asked Kyra, caught off-guard.

“You’re not going without me,” said Emy.

“I don’t think you want to go where we are going,” responded Von.

“Thanks for making assumptions about what you think I want or don’t want,” said Emy.

“We don’t have time for this,” interrupted Yul with just a slight irritation in her voice.

“I can handle a weapon as well as anyone here,” said Emy, her tone indignant. “What do you think my father taught me on those long journeys south of Point Unknown? Yul’s got a pulse rifle, model 945, last used in the Vespusian campaign--single charge, multi-fire. Von, you’ve got duel proton magnum las blades, modified for Blue Onyx divisions and rumored, I believe, to be issued exclusively for Zing Tao use. And Kyra,” Emy paused, “I don’t know what the frail that is in your left hand.”

Kyra looked up at Von who just shrugged his cheeks with a slight tilt of his head.

“It’s a Ji Shield,” said Kyra. “Von, get her equipped and be quick. We’ve got to move.”

“Whoa, whoa whoa,” snapped Yul. “You’re not—“

“She’s coming Yul. We need all the firepower we can manage,” answered Kyra.

Emy smiled. She knew opportunity when she saw it. Sticking it to Yul was just a bonus.

“Come with me,” said Von. “I think I have just the thing for you.”

Categories: Story, Pinky, Emy, Kyra, Von, Yul

140. On You I Depend

I have seen peace. I have seen pain.

“Yul, tell us what you know,” said Kyra.

“Rog and I were enjoying the evening and we heard odd sounds from down the corridor. Rog grabbed his stuff to investigate. Twenty minutes later, he hadn’t returned so I went to check on him. The door to his quarters was open but no sign of him. I noticed the door to Mairi’s quarters was open too and no sign of her either,” said Yul.

Resting on the shoulders of your name.

“What sort of odd sounds?”

“Loud voices, metal banging on metal, more hurried urgent voices and then silence. I told Rog to leave it alone. The bed was warm, we had nowhere to go, and besides, well, we had unfinished business,” said Yul as Von fought back a smile.

Do you see the truth through all their lies?

“Von, any ideas on why they aren’t answering their responders?” asked Kyra.

Before Von could answer distant las fire echoed through the room. “Oooh, that’s not good is it,” quipped Yul.

Do you see the world through troubled eyes?

“No, that’s not good,” responded Von. “My guess, they came for Mairi and Rog caught them in the act or followed them. Either way, he is facing impossible odds.”

“Taren, this is Kyra. Can you tell me what is going on?”

And if you want to talk about it anymore,

Silence. “He’s not responding.”

Intensity of las fire picked up. “Kyra—static—outnumbered—static—can’t—oh shiott--“

Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,

“Rog! Rog, copy. Rog?” Nothing. “We got to move but all I’ve got is a las pistol,” said Kyra, a sense of relaxed intensity in her voice, her crystal blue eyes looking more steely than blue.

Von stood up. “I think I might be able to assist. Follow me.”

I’m a friend.

Von wasn’t kidding. His Ji Shield was the tip of the iceberg. “What the frail Von,” said Yul, “afraid the Javalinas were going to come back for ya?”

“Hope for the best my friend, but prepare for the worst,” said Von, picking up a pulse rifle. “Try this on for size Yul, that is if you think you can handle such a large tool.”

I have seen birth. I have seen death.

“If I can handle Rog I think I can hand this,” said Yul, taking the instrument in her hands. Her delicate facial features belied her core strength honed in the countless hours she had spent training with Kyra. Von couldn’t help but admire the definition in her arms.

“Yes, I think you can,” smiled Von.

Lived to see a lover’s final breath.

“What have you got in there for me,” asked Kyra.

“I want you to take the shield. Zeke would have wanted it that way. Strap it to your left forearm. Feel the energy flow,” said Von, watching as the center of the shield came to life with a brilliance he hadn’t seen since her Papa had last worn the ancient relic.

Do you see my guilt? Should I feel fright?

Rog wiped the sweat from his brow. Las fire singed the bulkhead just inched above his head. His two las pistols hummed in recharge. The corridor was lit with green and red and the occasion blue ray of energy. He couldn’t see his attackers but then again, he thought, they can’t see me either.

“Lieutenant, what seems to be the problem?” asked Taren, with just a tinge of frustration in his voice. With Mairi in their hands, he could not communicate with his squad other than by normal means, which meant less than secure.

Is the fire of hesitation burning bright?

“Red leader, do you read?” queried Kulmyk command.

“Loud and clear,” responded red leader, his Vollmond approaching target lock.

And if you want to talk about it once again,

“Taren, I need that girl here now,” commanded Shen.

“We’re working on it,” said Taren.

On you I depend. I’ll cry on your shoulder.

Kyra held the shield in her arm. Her whole body flooded with the strangest sensation as the shield responded to her wishes. It moved, like her arm, without thought, without effort as if the very instrument had become a part of her body. “Rog, not sure if you can hear me. Hang tight. We’re on our way,” said Kyra.

You’re a friend.

[ed note: Lyrics from James Blunt's Cry. Imagine the song playing in the background as this chapter plays itself out.]

Categories: Story, Kyra, Von, Yul, Rog, Taren, Shen

139. Yellow

I’m not sure how long I sat on the balcony overlooking the cove and watched Papa, brush in hand, paint one broad stroke after another across his rough-hewn canvas. The azure blues of the ocean reflected in his grayish eyes as a slight glint from the morning sun highlighted his silver brow. No matter how warm the rising sun, I don’t recall ever having seen Papa sweat.

If he made a mistake, he would take a long slow deep breath and squint his eyes as if he was about to say something very profound and then, in all seriousness, would declare, “If I don’t mind, it don’t matter.” With my eyes wide in wonder, he would break the tension with a smile that rolled down from his grey eyes, over his ruddy cheeks, into his trademark contagious white grin.

He stood upright; posture dignified yet absence pretension, as the manner of his bearing gave forth a certain unexplainable charisma. He wore his customary white tunic, always immaculate and tailored to fit without effort. I marveled at how his smile matched the tunic, both of which he wore with a natural elegant ease. I never asked grand, but he must have had a whole closet full of them since they always looked spotless. No doubt, Papa looked better in causal dress than most Hynerians in full formal wear.

Papa stretched his own canvas, said it was the only way to become one with the work and he only ever worked with primary colors and a bit of white. I asked him why not black too, and he said there would be no darkness in his paintings. And then he laughed and said nothing is truly black and he would not use it as a crutch. I never knew whether he was serious in that remark or not.

We had just finished breakfast and I could hear grand in the kitchen, plates and glasses clinking as her delicate hands washed them one at a time. I had started inside to help her, but Papa insisted I stay. Said he had something he wanted to show me. I think he saw me roll my eyes as he rolled his in return. “Talk is cheap. Show first. Tell later. You know the routine,” he said, tapping the end of his brush on the table in mock anger like a school teacher. I still smile thinking at how adept he handled a nine-year-old girl. Papa’s lessons never felt like lessons at all.

“Come here Kyra. Take my brush. Pick up some yellow and put it on the canvas. Now pick up some red.” The polished wooden brush had a peculiar balanced heft in my nine-year-old hands and I had the overwhelming desire to whirl it in the air and let the paint go where it may, but of course thought the better of it. There was the white tunic to be mindful of. The brandonian oils Papa used looked thick, felt heavy on the brush and had the most wonderful sweet smell as they intermingled with the warm ocean breeze coming off the cove. “Now slowly run your brush between the two colors and tell me what you see?” he said in a low whisper as if we were about to share some ancient secret he didn’t want grand to overhear.

I looked in wonder as my yellows and reds became orange wherever the two met. “How does that happen Papa?”

“It’s the universal law,” he said. “Nothing stays the same and everything influences everything else. Be like yellow and you brighten everything you touch. Be like red and you darken everything you touch. There is no way around this fundamental principle.”

“But Papa, wouldn’t blue have been a better choice than red for this lesson? I asked with a smile as only a precocious young girl can do.

Papa cocked his head and with a wink said, “I think I hear your grand calling for some help.”

“Kyra, its Yul. We’ve got a problem.”

So much for daydreams I thought. “What’s the problem?”

“Mairi’s missing?” said Yul.

“Get Rog and Von over here right away.” I sensed a slight pause. “Yul, did you copy that?”

“No can do. Rog has gone missing too,” she responded, a slight nervousness in her voice.

Be like yellow I muttered to myself forgetting the responder was still on. “Be like what?” asked Yul.

“Just talking to myself, sorry. Grab Von and get over here as soon as you can.”

Categories: Story, Kyra, Papa, Yul, Paintings

138. Seven

Seven crew members, each living in their own universe; each viewing the world as if they stood dead center and all else revolved around them. It was enough to make Kyra ill, not in judgment but in reflection. She knew what she saw. She knew it was true. You see the world not as it is, Papa repeated often, but as you are.





Categories: Story, Kyra, Papa

137. Evv-err

Journal Entry: 07:283:005 M24 (continued)

I returned from Mairi’s quarters. My black leather vest and leggings, which were normally formfitting, felt tight. Tight is not the right word. They felt constricting, almost as if the very conversation, or their knowledge of my thoughts on the very conversation, caused them to shrink, led them to question their very owner. With no voice to express displeasure, they contracted. And in their contraction, they squeaked as only tight leather forced into motion squeaks. So I listened to their displeasure with each step from Mairi’s quarters back to mine.

She had put the question before me as if moving a chess piece. The words came forth, so it seemed, in slow motion, carefully chosen and perfectly articulated. She didn’t miss a syllable. Almost before she started I knew where she was going, but like a nightmare, I was unable to stop her. So I sat. And I listened. Felt like hours. Five words. Do you, ever feel guilty?

She paused after you, but she didn’t need to. She had my attention, or so I thought. Do you, pause. Her eyes narrowed with the pause. Couldn’t have been more than two or three seconds to say Do you, but I swear I saw her eyes narrow, her blue irises contract like a laser dialing in concentrated focus.

And I knew. I knew where she was going and I was helpless to stop her. The third word sounded like two words. Word three, the hump word in a five word sentence. Her pronunciation betrayed her upper class upbringing. The articulation was very subtle, seductively subtle, sneaky subtle, but there to hang in the air, a clue to say, this is me and it is all I’ve got left. Can you hear what I am saying she seemed to communicate with her widening eyes. We must have been on the third second and the third word, but her eyes widened with the utterance of Ever. Do you evv-err she said. Evv-err. Who says evv-err I thought.

Feel. Word four. Never did much like that word. Even less since the events of the virus. Feelings, why do we care. They don’t stay. They often lie. They have their own agenda. Yet, we seem to lift them up high on the mighty alter of truth. If I feel it, it must be right. How can a feeling be wrong? So we elevate our feelings to god-like status. But there is was, front and center, word four—feel. Do you evv-err feel.

By Janus woman, I thought, just spit it out. I was amazed at how many thoughts I could have between her words. I thought about my thoughts. I filled the gap, not with listening, but with more words. What would Papa say; Listen with your eyes. See with your ears. But I did neither. I filled the gap with me. She talked and I dialogued with me. Papa didn’t teach me to insult others this way.

Then word five. Guilty. I can’t say I ever, or is that evv-err, heard Papa use the word guilt. I knew the Hynerian for twenty some odd years and I really don’t believe he evv-err, now she has me doing it, used that word. I had to think twice as to meaning. I wanted to hold the word in my hands and look at it as I would an unknown object. Do you ever feel guilty? That is what she asked me.

So, I fell out of character for the second time that morning. I lied to Von and now I was playing for time. I pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I knew. I knew before she ever asked. So I played for time. I put up a façade. I pretended to be something I wasn’t. What was wrong with me? Correction. What is wrong with me? Is it stress? Do I just not see it? Have I not recovered from the coma? Did Kieran do something to my mind? Well, I could dance all I wanted, but the question was on the table and Mairi was not breaking eye contact.

Yes. I do. I do feel guilt. That’s what I told her. I’m alive and most everyone I know is not. So I told her of my conversation with Von, and I relived for the second time that fateful last day, my final goodbye from Papa. And I told her what he told me: Put away your fears and worries and regrets. They will do you no good in the place you are heading and if they return, remember this. To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift that so many others will never receive. Fine words, but I was less than honest with Mairi when I told her that story. I didn’t make it up, I just wasn’t living it.

Commentary Part 1

Commentary Part 2

Commentary Part 3

Categories: Story, Kyra, Mairi, Papa

Pamarita Weekend

A toast to all my wonderful friends. Have a safe and joyful weekend. And Terry, try not to be part of the food chain. :-)

Sweetest Sunshine, you and your dad remain in my thoughts and prayers. May you find some level of peace this weekend and don't forget your promise. Poppet is watching.

Trace, congrats on the new job. I'm sure you'll be a magnificent Ms Tubey.

Leigh, get some miles in for me this weekend. I think of you on every hill I climb. I don't have the stuff for Sangrias so Pamaritas it is.

Oliviah, come watch Venus with me. We can smile and laugh together. Whenever I see her sing I think of your fabulous smile you shared with us a few weeks ago. I see so much joy in that smile.

Jenni and DJB, keep rawking on those Apo pieces. You have both surpassed my abilities ten fold. I'm enjoying the show.

Chicky, I think I'm ready for the beach and a little somthin somthin warm and enticing. Age only matters to those who believe that it does. Of course, after a few Pama's, it won't matter at all. :-)

Aggie, I've missed you posting more than you know this week. Hope and trust all is well. Thanks so much for introducing me to Venus Hum. I've got a special Pamarita mix prepared just for 10pm. See you there.

Keshi, my dear southern angel, drinks on the bridge tonight. Glad you called the hunt off. I didn't like feeling guilty. :-D

Sweetk, a toast to all things new and a toast to keeping our eyes looking forward. I miss you bbb. :-)

OB, your post on clutter hit close to home. Could be why its a time for a toast or two.

Deb, Pamaritas are great for a dry heat. And after a few, storms don't much matter anymore. :-)

Y, did you notice Pama is red? You bring the black. We won't need much more.

Helen, peace to you my friend. Join me in a toast to those who have touched our lives in ways we can never repay.

Alex, welcome back to blogland. That alone calls for a toast.

Linny, I've got beer too if you prefer a brew. Or we can just hit the Blue Bell. :-D

Liz, my dear friend, a toast to sons and a toast to friendship. I think of you often and wish I had more time for tea and cookies.

Kel, my dear philosophical babe with a heart of pure gold, join me on the deck for a toast as we watch the birds come in for evening.

Christa, a toast to bug spray. Haven't seen you since your bug report. Hope to see you around again soon and that all is well.

Jack, a toast to aliens and to Italians or was that redundant? Just kidding. All the best with your studies.

Melly, a toast to all those in harm's way. Your posting from the war has touched me in ways I don't know how to put into words. My heart is with you and Kate. I think of you both everyday and pray for peace.

Saffy, a toast to blog links. You know I was your first. :-)

Karen, Jack and I would like to invite you for a special, hands on toast, to all things wise and wonderful.

Meg, any woman who takes no shiott in the pastry shop is worth a toast or two to me. Thanks for all your wonderfully kind words.

Lisa, a toast to long comments. I do miss having you around.

David, a toast to introspection, to music, to gardens and to love. I'm still working on how to articulate the sound of silence. :-)

Jar, a toast to old friends. I can't listen to Sarah without thinking of you my friend.

Sherri, put on that cottontail and bring your toothbrush. Backstage pass awaits and plenty of carrots. Or at least one. Do you really need more? :-)

Super J, a toast to margarita machines! What would a Pamarita be without one. Stay safe, my friend, as the Hurricane season approaches.

Olaf, hell of a pic you put up today. That alone deserves a toast. An another for the lass.

And a toast to all those who lurk here. Comments are always welcomed but I say, to each their own. I'm just flattered that you guys stop by on a regular basis.

And last but not least, a toast to the poor souls that should be on my list that I've left off. No harm intended. Promise. Mean it. :-)

136. Embrace the Light

Kyra, open your eyes. Let the light in so that it might bathe your soul in the joy of truth.

Papa always was a bit dramatic with his wordplay reminisced Kyra, as the memories of those last days came flooding back. She wondered what he would say now.
_______

Journal Entry: 07:283:005 M24

I made my normal rounds, snizzle in hand. Goldie came with me with her customary tray of small blue onyx cups, made by Papa of course. Each one filled three quarters full with brew and mixed to individual taste. Von liked his black as did Rog. Yul and Emy both preferred a dollop of Kawai butter, which gave snizzle a smooth and slightly sweet flavor. Trev abstained from snizzle altogether. Just another reason to be suspicious of him (ed note: Kyra’s sense of humor).

Everyone elected to stay in their own quarters even though it seemed kind of silly to be in a room in a ship that was in a ship. We thanked Taren for his hospitality. The rooms he offered us were much nicer than our own, but Bravo-Four-Zero was home and with all the uncertainty, our blanket of the known. He nodded his understanding after profusely apologizing for the detail storming Mairi’s quarters only to find her half-naked and alone. I smiled and accepted his apology. I knew they would find nothing.

We saw Rog and Yul and then Emy before Trev. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits although a bit anxious as to where we were being taken. Then we made our way to Von’s quarters.

“Morning Von. Snizzle, black, for a few minutes of your time?” I asked. Von looked like he had been up for a while, his reading glasses half way down his long regal nose offsetting his immaculately groomed salt and pepper mustache and beard. Von was Zing Tao to the bone and time had not soften the edges of the discipline honed from many years in service. I tried not to stare at the scar on his right cheek, a wound, Rog told me, he suffered at the hands of the Javalinas.

“You must be a mind reader. Please come in Kyra," he responded, taking his cup from Goldie's tray as if there was nothing more important in the world. I watched as Von unconsciously scratched his head and wondered if the neural trace, or the vestiges of it, still tortured him or whether he scratched his head out of habit. Or maybe he just had an itch. I suppose a few less assumptions would serve me well.

“How did you sleep last night?” he asked. I wasn’t sure if it was the tone in his voice or the look in his eye that made the question more than a simple pleasantry. Fact of the matter, I didn’t sleep at all, which made me wonder if I looked that bad. Was I assuming again, reading into a look something that wasn’t there? Was he just commenting out of concern because I looked exhausted?

“Just fine.” I lied. And he knew it and he knew that I knew that he knew. How can a look and a smile say so much. Sometimes I felt Von could carry on a whole conversation without ever saying a word. And why did I lie to him. What façade was I trying to protect? What vanity?

“I’m sorry Von. I didn’t sleep at all. Either that, or I haven’t woke yet. Is this a dream? Are you really there?”

Von laughed. “If this is a dream then that damn neural trace has followed me. Goldie, may I have another please. Start from the beginning Kyra. Tell me what you saw,” said Von, sounding more like Papa than I cared to admit.

I’m not sure how long we talked. Words flowed on the back of so much pent up emotion. Von just sat and listened, listened with his eyes in a way that communicated pure attention. I told him everything. I asked him everything but he refused to engage me until I had no more words, until the retelling had wrung every last bit of emotion from me. I sat across from him, utterly exhausted, drained, yet relieved as only deep listening can do. “Please Von. Say something.”

He looked like he was carefully choosing his words. “You make too many assumptions. Clouds the mind and confuses the heart,” he said.

“Give me an example?” I asked.

“Papa.”

“What?”

“You asked why if someone were to return from beyond to visit you that it would be Kieran and not Papa.”

“And your point?”

“You assume.”

“Assume what Von?”

“You assume that your Papa is no more of this world.”

“But—“

“Stop for a minute Kyra. Do you know for a fact that he died on Hyneria?”

“I saw him wave goodbye from the dock as our ship pulled away. He told me his duty was to stay, to help maintain order in the chaos since not everyone would have the opportunity to escape. He would have followed his duty, gone down with the planet,” I responded, somewhat defensive of letting the emotions he was stirring come back to life. It was too late. Images of the last day, images I had locked away, came back with force, like a slap from a cold boney hand.

“We each have our own destiny,” he said, as if words could provide comfort. Words were just words and he must have known from the cold distant look in my eyes that I needed something more. I fought hard to keep the tears from flowing. They came anyway.

“This is not right Papa. You cannot save the planet. A Hynerian such as yourself will be needed to lead these vessels to our new home,” I pleaded, the words branded into my memory. Not just words but the cold wind and steely smell and cacophony of the dock. I couldn’t separate the day and the words. To think them was to feel them, to see them, to hear them, to taste the salty tears flowing down my cheeks.

Papa’s cloak fluttered and flapped in the strong winds issuing forth whip like sounds as if to express its own dismay. My ship, Bravo-Four-Zero, creaked and groaned against its mooring, the anti-grav modules unable to maintain equilibrium in the storm. Wolf-like hurricanes were devouring the planet. The ferocity of the winds whipped us as we stood on the dock, prolonging the inevitable. I was leaving. He was not.

“You look magnificent with your clear crystal blue eyes,” he said as I noticed for the first time his own eyes began to water. “You have the eyes of a leader,” his thumb rubbing the tears from my cheeks as his eyes darted from left to right and back again across the expanse of my brow. “And you are needed for the next generation. This one, here, is mine. You do your duty Kyra. And I’ll do mine.”

How does one respond to that? I just cried some more because I knew he had made up his mind and I knew it was the right thing for him to do. Yet, still, in a small part of my heart, I couldn’t help but wonder why he had to choose between his duty to Hyneria and me. I couldn’t help but wonder why not me.

I thanked Von for his time and excused myself to go check on Mairi. Could I really be such a selfish beotch? I had a ticket out of hell and most did not and all I could think about was having a little bit more, having my Papa come with me. Where did having just a little bit more end? And why was Von playing games with my mind by suggesting Papa might be alive? Assumptions. Why do I make so many. Maybe Von knows something I don't. He is right. I don't know with absolute certainty.

Categories: Story, Kyra, Papa, Von, Goldie, Hyneria, Paintings

135. The Return

Mairi felt it. So did Kyra.
















Categories: Story, Mairi, Kieran, Kyra, Paintings

134. Meditation

Mairi overheard Taren on the bridge. "I wouldn't want to be her," he said. Wasn't the first time she had heard that. Really didn't bother her anymore, at least that's what she kept telling herself. Still, what choice did she have. Who else could she be? Where could she go to escape herself? She knew the answer. She knew the answer because she had asked herself the question a thousand times and the answer was always the same.

"Shen, you look troubled. Do you sense the Vollmonds? Have they picked up our trail?" asked Taren.

"No, something else. Something much closer to home. I can't put my mind on it, but all is not as it should be," replied Shen.

"Danger?"

"Not sure. But something is moving. Could be the female. I sense activity near her quarters, but the energy signature does not match," said Shen.

Mairi turned toward her holographic wall. "Springtime, mid-morning please," said Mairi. As the colors of the wall came to life, Mairi stepped out of her normal bodysuit. Reaching beside her bed she picked up her prized Jasperian cloak. The garment's lush softness against her smooth bare skin eased the stresses of the body, which in turn calmed her mind.

"What do you mean the energy signature does not match?" asked Taren.

"I mean, the energy pattern does not match any of the Hynerians," responded Shen, half paying attention to his young pupil and half floating on the aura of this unknown visitor.

"Kulmyk?"

"No. That is clear."

Mairi reached out with her hands as they appeared to melt into the holograph. The warm light, morning springtime sun, made her a bit sleepy but perfect for sliding into a deeper meditation. She closed her eyes and allowed the sound of the breeze to lift her mind on its gentle currents. She could feel her heartrate start to slow. So too the flood of thoughts begin to abate or so it seemed.

"If its not Kulmyk and not the Hynerians--"

"Taren, I've never felt a force like this before. Focus. Do you feel it?" said Shen, trying hard to conceal the excitement in his voice. Mairi was the find, but this, whatever this was, was an order higher. Intoxicating in the possibilities.

"Too far away for my abilities," said Taren.

"One thing concerns me," said Shen, ignoring Taren's disappointment. "Whatever it is, its moving toward Mairi. Get a detail to her quarters now!"


Categories: Story, Mairi, Taren, Shen, Paintings