The way of the horse ---Chapter 1

Tehe, here is another super uneducated story about horses.... Don't judge my young self. :P Read, Enjoy, and Review!

I felt my whole body jolt forward once my muscles propelled me. The loud cutting machines continuously droned on behind us. I heard the frightened whinnies of the horses of my herd as the raiders danced with perfect gaits behind us trying to lead us into the shining rock gates that held such agony and pain within. Not far beyond, mist enveloped the earth. I felt my mate's black pelt brush against my own. As black pelt brushed black pelt and eyes met we shared one look and cantered into the mist with our herd, vanishing from human's eyes.

The raiders slowed to a stop, the leader’s face, filled with fury, was almost as red as the sand beneath my hooves and as thick as the mist swirling around my herd.

        "You, you imbeciles, we didn’t catch a single horse,” the lead raider ranted, “You lost them to the dang mist.”

        "Ssorry bboss," a little man on the white horse stuttered and had a look that I recognized from many of our foals who had to be taught a lesson, fear, "ththey wwere ttto ffast ffor our hhorses.

        "Well then..." the raider paused an evil smile came on his face, “If you don’t catch these wild mustangs by the end of the month I promise you I will make sure every employer in the world knows how of a fool you all are.”

        The frighten horses and men cantered in one way and the leader, the other.

        For a long time my herd was silent even the youngest foal knew how dangerous it was to make any noise at such times. So we waited and waited.

        After uncountable hours of hiding in silence my mate and leader neighed, “They are gone,”

He and I did a quick scan of the herd making sure everyone was safe. Our herd grazed and then slept, the night’s watch on high alert for raiders.

My mate always got up early for the almost dawn watch so when I woke I found him staring at me.

“What?” I neighed.

“I was just thinking how weird it would be to have a foal.”

        I sighed, “Is it that noticeable?”

        “Um........”

        “Truth,” I ordered him with a twinkle in my eye.

        “Ok the truth is um...... yes?” he said it like a question.

        “Ok how?”

        “Well you usually are the fastest in the herd, but lately you’ve been lagging,” I knew what he said was true I have been feeling like I was carrying a lot more weight than usual. “And you are usually the skinniest in the herd as well.”

“Thanks for your truthfulness.” I took a breath in and then blew it out.

        We continued to talk about our foal until the herd awoke.

        The raiders didn’t bother us for several moons so we spent that time, training and preparing our young for the time when we have to run again.

While this time was passing, the foal that I carried grew heavier and heavier, growing while twisting and turning as anxious as I was for it to get out. I could do little with it. The Medicine one told me, slow trot was the most at this stage. The older mares of the herd the ones who had given birth before, fussed over us younger ones that were new to this thing.

Sometimes I just walk by myself to ridge that overlooks our spring meadow. I think of our large herd, and then of the One who made us all. The god we believe in is actual a man god. A long time ago long before any of us or the earth we walk on was made, God made the world and everything on it like us (personally I wish God cut those biting flies from the list of what to make) and man to rule over us. Later He sent His son Jesus after the world became evil with sin. That’s the story a horse heard a long time ago and we, as horses, believe it.

One day, very close to the time in which I was to give my foal life, the raiders returned.

That day started with training the young ones, followed by gathering water and stalks of grass for the elderly who were saving their energy for the run.

By the time, I was finished with that, I was exhausted.

The older mares insisted I take a break. I was too tired to protest so I took a nap until the sun was too high to be shaded by distant trees and burned down on us with its full power.

I awoke to the sound of a warning whinny.

“RAIDERS,” called one of the lookouts.

My mate was already getting into position. This time I was in the middle where all the pregnant and nursing queens stayed during the run.

My usual spot was empty as it would be until my foal could run alongside me, matching his father’s and my pace.

I took a deep breath then let it out through my teeth making a low hissing noise, having a foal could be a pain.

The horse next to me jumped at the noise and turned toward me with a nervous jitter, “Is it coming? Should I get Leaf? Will you need protection?” Marcy, a former man horse, was about as jumpy as they come. On top of that she is a medicine horse in training.

I knew the best way to talk to an uneasy horse is to be calm. So I looked Marcy in the face and neighed, “I’m fine just thinking.”

“Thinking about going in to birth pains?”  She worried, “what if the raiders capture you?”

I took a deep breath looking over Marcy’s white coat and dappled nose. I found that the answer is difficult to tell her and once more I wish my oath said not to lie.

“Yes Marcy I am thinking about that.” I paused, “as for the raiders, I don’t know, I really don’t know...”

“Raiders approach,” called a lookout.

“Run,” I heard my mate whisper to everyone that surrounded him. Within seconds, the whole pack was running full speed.

I, unfortunately, felt myself lagging. Gravity took its cruel grip on my body, making me want to fall into its dust.

The farther I lagged the more the ground looked so nice, I wanted to just lay on it and sleep, but then an image of the raiders and my foal being raised up in those evil rock gates come into my mind. I forced my body to keep moving, but I started to lose hope. The raider were so close I could smell the scent of tanned cow hides.

I looked forward, and saw the mist.

 I can make it! I thought. Then I saw the foal.

It was a young foal with its mother. The mother was bucking and biting, so it was all the raiders could do to keep them going toward the rock gates. Those who had pursued me now turned to help the others.

I could still make it, but I would never live with myself if I knew I had had the ability to save someone, but refused. I trotted over to them, a plan in mind.

I kicked the nearest raider in the head, and that got their attention. I turn toward another. I tried to lift a hoof, but I couldn’t my body was too tired from running all that way.

 The raiders chose the easier target and pursued me, leaving the foal and the mare to escape.

The raiders easily chased me into the pen, and then loaded me into this large rumbling rock thing, and whisked me into a new horrifying world. As the stone thing rumbled its way along, I finally fell into a deep sleep.

Demons or Murderers

Read, enjoy, and comment!! :)


Kayla screamed in agony as she fell to the floor.
"I'm dying!!" she wailed.

No, I thought. My eyes opened wider in trying to suck up the scene.

Blood trickled out of her many wounds. She screamed, this time weaker. Her life poured out in front of her in a waterfall of sticky red. Every second made her life drain away. Her eyes closed gently for the very last time. Finally at peace.

NO! NOT KAYLA!

I slammed the cover of the book hard against my left hand and found myself glaring at the person who killed Kayla.

Mary Thomas was pretty. With blue eyes, elegant curls, and a small mouth she was perfect. Too perfect. I learned from The Demons that if a person was perfect they were usually a demon.  She seemed demonic. Her elegant smile turned somewhat evil and calculating like she was contemplating my second favorite character, Jean, 's death.

I threw my copy of Demons across the room. It hit my desk with a resounding clunk that sent all my school papers skittering away like terrified animals.

My blanket remained crumpled on my bed from when I had gripped it in excitement because Kayla and Ben were finally getting together.

That thought made me sad.

What's Ben going to do?

I shoved my head under the blanket, and effectively curled my body into the rest of my blanket.

Poor Ben.



I was in a house.

That was all I knew for certain.

I was pretty sure I was running from someone.

I could hear faint boot steps behind me.

I was pretty sure that the house was from Demons

But it was not how I had imagined the mansion looking at all.

I was pretty sure I was dreaming.

Okay, I thought as I passed an open door that went into an airfield, I'm definitely dreaming. That was where I went on Friday to pick up Aunt Lae.

A few seconds later it was confirmed when my dream suddenly changed.

I was in a darkened room. The only light was sun shinning through a tiny window. The light directly fell on a large dressing room mirror.

I think I am suppose to go there.

My legs swallowed the space between me and the mirror.

I stopped in front of the mirror, unsure what I was suppose to do now.

Then I looked at the mirror. Or rather the reflection it gave off.

Blue eyes stared back. Delicate skin around the eyes crinkled in confusion. It was unmistakably Mary Thomas, the author of Demons.

I was her.

I didn't have time to process this new development in my dream before someone tackled me.

I fell on the mirror, the shattering noise echoing softly.

I barely had time to think, "I wonder if I'll get seven years of bad luck for mirror braking in my dream." before the figure attacked me again.

They had managed to sit up and raise an object in their hand. The light from the window cast upon the figure's face.

I stopped struggling.

It... It was me! The short black hair was recognizable, but my features were scrunched in a look of pure fury that I had never seen on myself before.

Angry me had a giant knife in hand and sat on me triumphantly.

"Now, you'll pay for what you did to Kayla." Angry me stabbed downward in a arc. The knife fell in slow motion.

I waited for the pain. The last seconds that Kayla had been alive she had been in overwhelming pain. I waited to feel what she did.

But it never came.

I forgot. It was only a dream.

A Horse's Word

This story, I wrote a year or two ago following my ownership of my first horse. (Yes, I have had two and believe me it is not a story you want to get into). So at this point in time I had gained a bit more insight into a horse's brain. And just fyi it may not seem complete because it isn't. Younger me did not finish it, and I did not want to  mess up the younger me vibe of it. This is A Horse's Word.

Please.... read, enjoy and comment!!!

I galloped across the prairie. The wind whistled past my ears and ran it silky touch through my mane. Trying to make me cold, but unable to penetrate my thick blond coat. I felt slight slacken in my reins as my person let out a shout of joy. Picking up on her excitement, I let out a whinny and a playful buck.

She tensed and pulled back on the reins. Unwillingly, I lowered my gait to bouncy trot.

Why? I wondered angrily Whenever, I’m starting to enjoy myself, she stops.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked the anger as evident in her voice as oats in a bucket.

Much to my dismay she made me stop completely.

Because I’m happy or at least I was… I thought picking up on her anger.

I mean don’t get me wrong I LOVE my human, but I mean sometimes she can’t see what’s right in front of her face. She always talks about how she wishes I could talk, but we actually do. Just not in the way she wishes us, too. We can’t form words as humans do, but we find cracks and holes in the language/no language barrier. We use this thing called body-language. Which apparently humans have never even heard of. Well, I mean we do nicker and whinny, but that’s more of like alerting other horses that can’t see us of our presence. We rely mostly on our ears, eyes, and well basically our whole body to communicate. Which is why it’s really annoying when humans don’t understand what we are saying.

My person hopped off and started checking my tack as if trying to reassure herself that I didn’t do that out of choice.

Guess what? I did! I thought to myself with a snort.

“Hey!” my person said indigent, “You are just a little brat, today!”

I really hope you’re joking I’M HAVING FUN!!! I felt like kicking, but resisted the urge for it would only make things worse. She pulled the reins over my head and held my head in the way I hate. In the way where I can’t get away with anything. I was planning on walking really fast so my person has to run to catch up. It’s extremely amusing to watch them stumble along like a newborn foal trying to keep up with his mother. She of course gets mad and starts yelling.

How to train a human

So here's the deal. I am a major horse person. Specifically western horses. When my friend and I were little, we would pretend that we were rescuing horses from the evil English-riding people. We pretended that they used whips that were embedded with pieces of metal. Of course, now I know that is completely and utterly incorrect. While there are some people in the English riding industry that I dislike, I know that they are not all evil and torture their animals. And there are some Western riding people who are like that.

Any way, the point I am getting to is this story might be a bit against English riding people. (Remember small me had a very vivid imagination, that was very incorrect about most things). The only reason I decided to post this to honor where I have been. Hopefully, I have improved in writing since this was created.

Also, somethings may not be accurate because this was written when my horse experience was very limited.

So.... please...

Read, Enjoy, and Comment!!!

Darkness, followed by more darkness ever since the tall lady in tight leggings and her very suspicious whip came to examine me, I had been locked in this bouncy, loud machine. When she examined me she often said things like “Beautiful stallion, but he’ll need some work on his teeth and his bathing.” and “He smells like a horse!” My poor sweet owner could barely contain her laughter, it came out in hiccups instead.

I sigh, remembering my old owner as she took me on long trail rides or as she trustfully put young riders on my back for me and her to train together. It only happened recently that she had to close the farm due to something humans go nuts over, they call it money. I call it a bunch of useless green things that stood between me and my true owner.

Finally, the black box stopped bouncing and silence filled the air like oats does a trough. Mm……. oooooaaaaatssss. I could almost taste the delicious yet simple grain that will bring horses to their knees begging for the stuff. Oh what I wouldn’t give for oats right now…….

BAM!!!!!! Light streamed in, nearly blinding me.

The tall lady grabbed my halter yanking me towards the light.

“C’mon, horse,” she said the word “horse” like it was the worse insult in the world.

“Nooooooooooooooooooo!!!!” I screamed, bucking and kicking, “I don’t want to die!!!” “I won’t go into the light with Whip Lady!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Whip Lady as I decide to dub her, took her trademark whip and slapped it down on my muzzle. Hard. It stung worst then a biting fly (and that’s saying a lot). I reared again refusing to let Whip Lady win.

She hit me again and slammed my muzzle against the hard ground. I looked in front of me, the light was less blinding now and seemed like better idea than hanging out with Whip Lady. On my way out I gave Whip Lady a good kick.

“Haha,” I laughed at her as I exited the strange box. She turned to looked at me clenched in pain, even though it wasn’t that hard of a kick, murder in her eyes. 

Innocent

So, I think I have accidentally started on the path of super sad stories because here's another sad one... Well... I guess it's only really sad at the end. The rest is kind of... well I don't know exactly... strange? Yep, I'll go with that. And on that note, Read, enjoy, and review!

She crashed through the doors of the police station and slammed her hands against the steel counter.

“Give me back my daughter!”

The receptionist glanced up at the tall woman leering down at her, “Can I help you?”

“Give me back my daughter!” the blond woman raged.

The receptionist stopped typing for a minute. With a tired hand, she rubbed her eyes. It was bad enough that today she had to stop her writing to fingerprint seven suspects, but now she had to deal with the crazies as well.

“Ma’am, if we are holding your daughter for any reason I am sure our detectives have probably cause,” the secretary attempted to assure the woman.

“My daughter is an innocent,” the woman shrieked back.

“Then she should have nothing to worry about,” the receptionist replied, not fazed. Inwardly, the receptionist smirked. She dealt with this sort of thing on a regular basis. If she was deterred by one woman shouting and screaming, she might as well quit now.

The hysterical woman, now seeing she was getting nowhere with the secretary, screamed, “Someone help! They’ve taken my innocent daughter!”

Down the hall, a door opened and a handsome man with a clean shaved face stuck his head out, “Stanton, McKenn can you calm that woman down?”

The two officers replied in trained unison, “Yes, sir.”

The man gave a relieved nod. He did not like having crazies in his police station, especially not when he was talking with the mayor.

They made their way toward the woman.

The woman was terrified to see the two tall and armed men walking toward her. In her mind, she saw demons growing and stretching with every step. Their eyes glowing blood red. Their claws ready to echo that color with her blood. There was screaming now. The screams of their victims, the woman thought.

This lady, Stanton decided, is completely off her rocker.

He and his partner were trying to contain the senseless woman, but having little luck. Her brown eyes had a wild look to them that did not seem to correspond with the dark grey pantsuit and her spiky black pumps. Her blond hair once pulled back in a tight ponytail now hung like a punished puppy. Various pieces of her golden hair were hanging out of her ponytail and were plastered against her sweating and pale skin.

The screaming the woman had thought was the screams of the demon’s victims, was actually her own. Her mouth was open farther then should have been possible and she was wailing. The sound itself was so disheartening, it made even the hard-heartened chief of police wince while on the phone with the mayor.

McKenn finally managed to place a hand on the woman’s mouth, effectively muffling the sound.

The woman’s eyes were terrified. Her hands wildly tried to tear the officer’s hand away from her mouth, but failed to succeed. She tried clamping her jaw down on the officer’s hand. To the man’s credit, he only winced and did not let go.

Stanton was trying a different tactic, “Ma’am, I need you to calm down. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. The only reason Officer McKenn here is restaining you is because he feels that you will do damage to yourself if he does not. We are just trying to help.”

It did nothing to calm the woman. She continued to scream through McKenn’s hand, bite, kick, and sometimes even punch.

Stanton remembered the woman mentioning her daughter when she came in. “Ma’am, think about your daughter. We won’t be able to let you see her until you’ve calmed down.”

That did the trick. The woman stopped her screaming and simply froze. McKenn removed his hand from her mouth.

“C- Carly?” she croaked with raw vocal cords.

Stanton smiled, “Yes. I’ll take you to her, if you will follow me.”

The business woman, now more docile than a dove, followed him.

McKenn just stared at her transformation.

Stanton was nervous, he had no idea who the daughter was exactly --other than the fact that her name was Carly. He was unsure of how the woman would react when she discovered there was no Carly.

Wait, Carly. His brain did a double take. Carly Degrey. Stanton knew exactly who this woman’s daughter was and what happened to her.

McKenn caught up to his partner, “Stanton, we have no Carly in our holding areas.”

Stanton glanced back at the woman. She bending over to pluck a discarded candy wrapper off the floor.

“I know,” Stanton replied, “It was the only way to keep her calm.”

“So, how do we keep her calm after she discovered we aren’t holding her daughter,” McKenn asked.

Stanton didn’t have an answer for his younger partner.

They already reached the holding area.

Stanton entered first and the woman followed. She circled her head in wonder as though the whitewashed walls with a metal chair and table were something glorious.

Stanton directed the woman toward the chair.

“When will you bring Carly in?” the woman asked.

“She’ll be in shortly,” Stanton lied.

He closed the door gently behind him and followed his partner to the viewing room.

McKenn was staring at the woman through the one-sided glass, his face expressionless.

“You going to tell me about Carly?” McKenn asked.

Stanton ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. “Carly Degrey was an officer of the law. Not unlike you and me. She was eager to please and a rule follower through and through.”

“One day, a robbery went south. It began to turn into a hostage situation, but before we could call in S.W.A.T. the gunman shot off his gun. With in seconds, bullets were flying left and right. The sound was deafening.”

Stanton stared at the mother who watched the door with an eager expression, “Carly --Officer Degrey crept into the bank around the gunman and was herding the terrified hostages out when the gunman saw her. She was dead before she even hit the ground.”

Stanton leaned an arm against the glass, “She was innocent and she died a hero.”

“Is today the anniversary of her death?” McKenn asked.

Stanton nodded, “The fifth.”

McKenn stared at the woman, a whole new level of understanding in his eyes.

Stanton straightened, “I have to tell her. The poor woman may not be in her right mind to forget something like her daughter’s death, but…”

“--she needs to know.” McKenn cut in.

Stanton walked out, his steps stiff and harsh.

McKenn watched as Stanton told the mother of her daughter’s death. He watched the woman dissolve into tears, and watched as his partner gave comfort to the other grieving over the death of her daughter.

Of her heroic daughter.

Her completely innocent, but heroic daughter.

Zita and Zora

Be forewarned, when I was writing this I listened to really sad music. To be fair, I did not intend for it to be sad at the beginning. I just turned on instrumental music and could only find really depressing music. So I did what anyone would've done. I made a story about two identical twins, one of whom gets cancer! Heh, yeah I'm weird... so any way! Read, enjoy, and review!

My plan for Monday was to go to Zita and Zora’s birthday party, but of course, things didn’t go as planned.

That happened often with me. Too often, for my liking. I would make a plan for a certain day, then my brother would break his arm or my work would call saying that someone got sick. Next thing I know it’s the next day and I got nothing done. So it was only natural that it should happen to me on my first big event of the year.

When Zita, Zora, and I were in elementary school, we lived next door to one another. Naturally, we became fast friends. They would call me Zelma, saying it was a diminutive of my name --whatever that meant. I would constantly mix their names up. No, the one who I thought was Zita would say, that’s Zora. Sometimes I wondered if they were actually tricking me, but it was impossible to tell. I would memorize what they were wearing, but when the next day rolled around I had to remember that Zita was wearing the pink skirt.

It took almost three years until I finally got it right.

On the summer of sixth grade year, Zita came over her hand hanging low. Her blond curly hair was looking alarmingly flat.

Zora is sick, she had sobbed, They are going to take her to hospital in New York.

I had never felt more sick to my stomach then when I heard that news. It seemed as though my whole world had turned upside down.

Within a week, my best friends had moved to New York. I was left alone.

Later, I got more new. Zora had a tumor on her arm. They were doing Chemotherapy to reduce its size.

I was scared for my best friend. Every night, I would pray. God, don’t take her away from us. Don’t take her away from Zita.

Considering what I went through in the five years that it took for Zora to recover, I could only imagine how Zita must have felt.

She and I had talked every so often. But after the first year, it was less and less. Everytime, she called her voice was more and more distant. I spoke to Zora, upon occasion but it was especially difficult to ignore the elephant in the room.

Now in the summer of my eleventh grade year, my two best friends were moving back.

I would see them for the first time in five years that night at eight.

I couldn’t help, but feel nervous.

My feet were moving so quickly against the padded floor that they looked like a fan when you turn it on high.

There was a knock on my door.

“Anselma? You dressed?”

“Yeah.” I replied, continuing my pacing.

“Good,” my brother opened the door.

He scratched his head, nervously.

“So here’s the thing…” he started

I stopped pacing, “I swear if you tell me we can’t go because you need the car for one of your stupid gigs I will rip off your arms and feed them to cat.”

“Woah, someone’s on edge.” my brother said, not the least bit scared by my threat.

“No, the thing is…” he stared into the wall, “I kind of lost your invitation…”

I shrugged, “I already memorized everything I need to know.”

Sometimes, it pays to have a photographic memory.

“No, but it’s at one of those places you have to show your invitation to get in.”

My eyes widened, understanding what he was saying, “Shoot. We really got to find that invitation.”

“That’s what I was saying!” my brother blurted out.

I ignored him.

“Let’s find that thing…”

He started out the door, “And Keon?”

He turned back toward me, “You will be yelled at later.”

My brother grinned, “Didn’t expect anything different.”

It took us almost two hours to locate the missing invitation. It was hidden in a closet along with random enveloped and shredded paper.

How it got there I had no idea. All I knew was that I was almost a half an hour late.

It didn’t take a guilt trip for my brother to drive me. He was already feeling terrible I could tell.

Keon knew how important this party was to me.

When I arrived, it turned out I didn’t even need my invitation. The man just let me in.

The first person I saw was Zora. She was sitting next to her mom. She looked pale, tired, and very different. She had grown several inches. Zora looked much thinner than she had before. Cheek bones were heavily defined, but her eyes were bright. A smile graced her pale face. She laughed at something a friend had said and it was like a wave throughout the wave throughout the room. Everyone relaxed, as if all their fears about what could happen to her had vanished.

A huge weight seemed to have been lifted of my shoulders. She was alive. She was well.

“Thank you, God.” I whispered.

I searched the room for Zita, and was shocked at what I found.

She sat in a corner booth all on her own. Her eyes heavily strung with darkened bags and she looked just as thin as her sister. It seemed like the cancer had took more of a tole on Zita than Zora, even though Zora had been the one with a tumor.

I barely felt the floor against my feet as I walked toward her.

“Zita,” I greeted her.

Zita looked up with tired smile, “Hi, Zelma.”

I wanted to sob, “You are the first to call me that in a long time.”

She looked so bedraggled, so unlike the Zita I knew.

I couldn’t stand it any longer, I knelt down next to her and hugged my best friend.

“How have you been?” I asked barely able to control my own tears.

“Don’t you mean how has Zora been?” she asked, breaking away from our embrace.

I sat down across from her in the booth, “No, Zora is fine. I want to know how you have been.”

Then Zita talked. She told me everything. Every thought that went through her mind during the time we had been apart. Every trip to the hospital, every surgery. While I listened to her, Zita spilled every detail. She cried sometimes. But it was a cry of relief.

It was over.
My best friends will be okay.

Mystery Cookie

What's so mysterious about a cookie? Hehe, I am not going to tell you... right now any way. You will find out in about four seconds... After I say... Read, Enjoy, and Comment!!

I’ll admit. At first I was a little creeped out.

Who wouldn’t be though. I live alone in a small one-story house in the middle of a run down old neighborhood. Not exactly the type of place someone breaks into.

But someone must have, because I cannot make cookies that good.

One day I got up looking for a good healthy breakfast and there it is --a warm gooey chocolate chip cookie.

I ate it, of course (because who could resist?). The next day, there was another one. And another, the day after.

For sixty days, this routine continued. Every day, the questions grew in numbers.

Who was leaving these behind? Why are they leaving them behind? How are they getting into my house? And so on.

It wasn’t until the sixty-first day, that I got an answer.

I stayed up late that night. I had a plan in my head, pretend to sleep on the couch while waiting for the cookie-giver to show up.

Of course, it was much harder to stay awake then I thought. My mind went on an endless path of go to sleep, go to sleep, no stay awake, sleep. My body wanted to obey, of course, but I managed to stay awake until the culprit arrived.

I leaped up at the flash of blue light, and pulled out my concealed flashlight.

With a push of a button, the flashlight was on.

“Hey! Hold it right there!” I shouted.

The figure was dressed in dark clothes with various metal zippers that glinted in the light of my flashlight.

The person turned very slowly.

It was a woman.

But more then that, it was someone who should’ve been dead.

With a poof of blue smoke, the person vanished.

I stared at the empty counter space that they had left behind.

--But wait… It wasn’t empty.

A note sat flat against the marble counter my name printed across it in a flowery script.

I approached the counter, my hands trembling. I picked it up carefully, afraid it would combust or something. I opened it.

Nara,

I’ve missed you. Every day, I left a cookie I had hoped you would figure it out. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when you only ate it with no recollection of the past. That was my fault, I suppose. Since I volunteered for the experiment when you were only three. I am writing this note to say that the experiment to send someone into the time stream worked! The problem is I can only stay in one place for so long. For twenty years, I was thrown around --going from the middle ages to the 3400’s in a matter of seconds. Eventually, I gained control. And I have learned the rules. One of them is that if my presence becomes known in a certain time period, I cannot go there. I still had to let you know, Nara. I had to see you. I did, and you are beautiful. You are my beautiful baby girl. I love you so much.

Mom