Jessica Nicholls's Blog, page 6

Coffee With Morpheus

Morpheus lowered his head, staring down at his shoes padding across the pavement.  They were a silent contrast to the symphony of clacking heels, skidding sneakers and splashing boots.

The Northern English rain fell around him, yet never landed on his skin.  Looking up at the morning clouds, it was as though their grey mightiness was reminding him of his inability to experience real touch.  Like the heavens were looking back down at him with cruel indifference.

Fulfil your role Morpheus, fill the mortal’s heads with dreams.  

He looked ahead and spotted the glass exterior and door of a cafe.

A young man with scrubbed, freshly shaven skin approached.   He was wearing a black woollen coat with a green button up shirt.  The short curly hair and midnight eyes betrayed a Mediterranean background.   Slim and striking, he was what some might call a ‘pretty’ boy.   Yet his complexion, revealed a life not often spent in the sun.

The man stopped in front of the door of a cafe.  He paused and looked up at the sky, just as Morpheus had done earlier.  Morpheus watched the pale skin of his throat shifting, as his Adam’s apple bobbed.  His exotic eyes were wide as he looked down, his head moving ever so slightly to the left, tilting to inspect the inhabitants of the cafe behind the glass.  Slowly his hand reached to push the door open.

What to do with you….Morpheus thought as he stalked towards the young man, who he could see was called Adam.

Adam’s father was a swarthy Briton. His mother was a pretty, petite woman of Greek extraction.  She’d gifted her son the large espresso coloured eyes that now scanned the coffee scented crowd.

Ah…a Greek boy.  Morpheus wondered if that was why he was drawn to him.

Adam’s flat torso tensed as he entered the cafe.  Mahogany wood book cases adorned the interior walls, alongside splashes of hunter green wall paper.  The white print on the books was one of the few light colours that interrupted the dim hues.  Most people wore navy blue or black wool, dark business trousers or jeans.

Morpheus stood back against the hunter green wall paper, at the bottom of a dark wood staircase which led up to the toilets.

He watched Adam run a hand over his shorn curly hair and take deep breaths as though his lungs were somehow compromised, the air too hot.

Adam’s heart was beating fast, yet sinking as did not see what he so desperately wanted to see.

Where is she?  Has she already been?  Adam’s mind whirred with the wonder and craving.  She was like his ‘fix’.  A delight to have along with his espresso.

He’d yet to say one word to her.

Because Morpheus, could know in an instant the deepest most intimate secrets.  Adam was obsessed with a woman who frequented this particular cafe.  He checked his watch to see how much time he had before he had to go to work.  He approached the line and ordered a small espresso and a bottle of water.

Morpheus’s brows furrowed low as his own deep set eyes remained on Adam.  The god was visible to no one.

However he did notice one woman lean back in her wooden chair, her eyelids drooped and her companion started and said,

‘Are you alright love?’

The woman did her best to shake herself awake.  ‘I think I just need some air’ .

The couple grabbed their paper to go cups and headed for the door.

Morpheus smirked.   There were those who were so sensitive to him, they would all but crumble to sleep in his presence.  For a moment he thought of one particular woman, who’d been so devoted to him that she almost erased herself.  She’d driven him to distraction with her worship.

Poor Sylvia…all she’d wanted was for a morally upright deity to climb inside her soul, understand her so deeply and put her in the most languid, satisfied states.  

…too bad I’m not a morally upright deity.  

Still watching Adam, pitch black coils of anger started to coil around Morpheus’ phantom heart.

I cannot think of her now.  The god chided himself. 

Morpheus had interfered in Sylvia’s life once.  Then Nyx, the Goddess of Night had become involved.  He had been warned to steer clear of the woman, to keep his interference in the mortal world balanced, and only in dreams.  An old curse slipped from his mouth as he continued to watch his current interest.

Adam licked his lips and took a long drink of water, clutching his small espresso in the other hand.  As he drenched his parched throat, Adam’s gaze remained on the door.  He stood just at the end of the glass case filled with breakfast sandwiches, muffins and cakes.

It chimed open and Adam nearly dropped his espresso.  The relief of the crowd was palpable as cool outside air blasted over any piece of flesh not wrapped up in wool or denim.  The plastic water bottle crunched within Adam’s clutch, and some water splashed on the panelled floor.   Adam swallowed slowly and Morpheus turned his head towards the chime.

A woman with long golden hair was holding the door open for another couple.  She wore a green coat, tied at the waist and a soft cream coloured wool hat.  With her back pressed against the door she held her bag close, as though hugging a child to her belly.  Her friendly smile revealed straight teeth and the sweetest of twinkles in her eyes.

The couple thanked her profusely, the man trying to insist on holding the door.  She giggled and shook her head, ushering them forward with her hands.  ‘You go on really, I need more time to think about what I want..’  The woman’s voice was breathy, some might even wonder if she’d had a cold.  But it was due to a natural huskiness.

Morpheus narrowed his eyes.  Her hand lingered on the door as she made sure to close it quietly, as her fingers splayed and tapped on her tan coloured bag.  Her blue gaze was all over the crowd as she continued to worry the leather.

Then their eyes met.  Adam’s and Violet’s.  She wore black mascara that brought out the vivid blue of her eyes.  Eyes that glittered despite the grim Northern English Day in the bookish, sober coffee shop.

A transfixed, blue gaze that had not moved from Adam’s midnight one.  No one else noticed the still woman stood to the side of the door, and the man frozen holding a half crushed water bottle and tiny espresso cup beside the cake display.  No one apart from Morpheus, invisible and watching intently

The air vibrated with the voices talking about early business meetings, kids’ school activities, extensions on houses, varying problems with employees and superiors, accounts of mundane, disappointing encounters, etc, etc.

But the air between Violet and Adam hummed with a spell of deepest attraction.

Now, slowly Violet moved towards the end of the queue.  To order her coffee and muffin just like every morning.  She placed her bag around her shoulder and hugged her abdomen, swallowing.

Then, outside a sudden rumble of thunder came and the grey sky darkened a shade or two.

You are not to interfere with them, Morpheus.  Only in dreams.   None of your tricks.  

The warning of the gods echoed in his mind.  He knew it would be some time before they stopped watching him.

Ah.  But these two had dreamed of each other before.  The corner of Morpheus’ mouth curved up.

Violet’s stomach squeezed in on itself and she tried to look away, yet Adam was unable to pull his eyes from her.  And Vie could feel his stare, the way he was eating her up, surveying her every move.  And to her embarrassment, she was finding the greatest pleasure in it.

Ah, but the dreams…. 

Violet finally reached the front of the queue and ordered.  Adam finally looked down at his half crushed water bottle. Violet now stood at the end of the coffee bar, waiting for her drinks.  After receiving them, they found themselves at the serviette and sugar station at the same time.  Their arms were parallel to one another as they each reached for the serviettes.

So close, yet not touching, his aftershave and shower gel hit her.  Violet inhaled deeply, too loudly in fact.  When the backs of their hands were barely a centimetre away from one another over the round hole of the bin, Adam quickly dropped his small paper cup in the bin and retracted his arm.  They turned to each other.

Morpheus could now see the back of Adam’s head, his dark curls beginning to shine at the nape of his neck.  Violet’s azure eyes were wide and her chest heaved.  Inside her scrambled mind, the waist of her coat suddenly constricted her abdomen too much.  Her hands sought to loosen it.

Adam coughed and made his way through crowded tables and out the door. Violet stood for a moment, her cheeks turning red.  Her fingers trembled as they reached for her to go coffee.  And as she also waited, her eyes turned downwards now facing the bin, Morpheus heard a sniffle and saw one lonely tear drop splat onto the wooden floor.

Quickly taking a serviette alongside the little brown paper bag of muffin that she grasped, Violet made her exit quickly.

The couple she’d held the door open for bid her farewell, and Violet just managed a wave and a very forced smile as she exited the cafe, holding the tissue over her nose and mouth.

….

For the love of the gods…I am not Eros.  

Bitterness ate at him as he combed the streets that day.  The light hours in the European part of the world passed him in a haze after the frustrated loved up coffee morning.  No one noticed the god wandering the streets of the small Northern English town.   He passed through the heads of the world in a way only immortals understand.  The mind of Morpheus existed in a place where time meant nothing and the thoughts and desires of millions flowed through him, illuminating his natural godly abilities.

He could have a connection to anyone, any god on a whim.  However, he rarely came out of this haze of his sleep and dream inducing duty.  Only when something took his interest, or if…gods forbid…someone took an interest in him. 

Two hapless would be lovers, too wrapped up in their mortal weaknesses should be of no real concern to me.  Not really.  

He looked at the small collected lines of water in between the drenched grey and brown cobbles.   The water trembled slightly and Morpheus once again, looked to the skies.  He saw that Night was descending.

Nyx.  

She appeared as the sky dimmed.  Her inky hair was pinned up, and her ebony wrap dress hugged her waist and the flare of her hips.  She was the very picture of Southern European sophistication in a Grim Northern European setting.  The chill did not touch her, for powerful Nyx would never let it.

‘I can’t think why you choose to spend time up here.  You only torture yourself.’   Nyx paused to inspect her hands.  Then out of habit, she adjusted the top of her black wrap, so her chest was covered.

Shrugging, Nyx looked around and said ‘it’s so grim up here…’ then she stepped forward, her clicking heels echoing on the street.   Her mouth curved up and she spoke.

‘Is it because of her?  Sylvia?  Is that why you stay.  Just to be near?  How very sad.  You stay in a small, nearby town so that you can be close.  For couldn’t go into the city could you?  If only you could have shown love in a normal way…then perhaps you wouldn’t have resorted to such measures.’

Morpheus turned and scanned the tops of the terraced houses.  In the distance the moors were no longer visible.  Nyx had covered everything up here with her shadows.  She continued to taunt him.

‘I don’t see her as much as you think.  And I won’t tell you who she is with.  Only that they seek to discover one another’s true natures.’  Nyx’s pillowy mouth curved up on one side.   Then, she more bared her teeth than smiled.  ‘He is truly lovely.  So pretty.  I love how pretty the men are nowadays. Many of them smell so lovely.’

Morpheus arched a brow, growing bored with her arrogance.  He finally spoke.

‘Are you suddenly so interested in lovemaking, Nyx?  Your main interest is your own ego. You are not Aphrodite.’

The edges of Nyx’s mouth went even.  Her head stilled and shadows forced him to focus on her now opaque eyes.  She could swallow him in obscurity, make him meaningless.

‘No. I am not her. Though I know her well.’  her voice met the gloomy air.  ‘But such things are on your mind.  Are they not? If the daylight is too open and cruel, the silly confinements and traditions, the expectations of daily life interfere with love…then perhaps some shadow and fantasy can bring to life what the mortal world constricts?  Eros and Aphrodite would have our cooperation…the realm of night and dreams.  Would they not? Goodness knows, we don’t want to arouse the interest of Thanatos again.’

And with that, she disappeared.  But not without getting into his head once more.

Your duty…Morpheus.  

Adam and Violet.  

Morpheus made his way to the cafe.  The streets were silent, still wet from the interspacing of drizzle. The metal security shutters were down, but that would not stop him from entering.  Looking upwards, dawn was not too far away.  He entered and stared around the empty room.

The chairs and tables within a couple of hours would be bustling with people, the scent of fresh coffee and baking pastries filling the air.  For now, the only light was some emergency lighting by the stairs that led up to the toilets. The only smell now was that of disinfectant.

Morpheus sat down at one of the tables.  For now, the atmosphere was cold.  He placed his hands forward on the table, understanding how cool and smooth it would feel, yet sensing nothing.  He inhaled and saw Violet and Adam, each in their separate beds, in their separate homes.

Morpheus entered their minds and bloodstreams.  Deep, yet vividly in their subconscious, he brought them here.

He imagined, instead of the metal shutters, moonlight spilled through the exterior glass of the coffee shop.  And in a small table right by the door, right in front of the window, Adam and Violet were sat facing one another.  They each had their arms on the table, palms down, both would be lovers illuminated by the moon.

They did not wear their wintry layers.  Rather, Adam was in the white tee shirt and flannel trousers he currently slept in.  Violet wore a v necked night shirt that reached just above her knees.  The worn fabric clung to her bare, fleshy curves.

Despite the chill in the air, their skin was on fire.  Adam’s midnight coloured eyes locked with Violet’s glowing sapphire ones.  Then their lids flickered as they noticed the oddity of one another’s attire.

The table between them was tiny, yet far too large at the same time.  Adam’s lids flickered as he drank in the sight of the exposed skin above her v-neck peach tee shirt.  She was like a picture of summer heat, with her golden hair and bright eyes.

Now, the mascara did not bring out the sea colour of her gaze, it was the moon that illuminated it, making her mouth glow pink in its light.

Violet was lost in the longing of his stare.  Their limbs slowly slipped past each other, their finger tips edging closer to the opposite end of the table.  Like snakes gliding past one another.  It was then Adam could hear her breath, watched her mouth press together and her eyebrows furrow in frustration.

Adam’s heart hammered in his ears until a buzzing sound filled his head.  They ceased sliding their limbs, gripped the end of the table.  They began to rise from their seats, knowing yet not caring that they were right in front of the window.

Through the buzzing in his head he heard some strangled husky sound escape Violet’s throat.  It was somewhere between a groan and a gasp.

For a second, his head dipped down, his mouth opening in awe of her thinly clad beauty, Adam grunted and imagined he surged forward.  Yet his movements were maddeningly heavy.  Too slow.

The moment before their lips met, they said each others names, amazed how they knew their eyes widened in wonder and joy at the inflamed kiss they would now share.

Then, they both woke up.  In their own beds.  Adam’s name on Violet’s lips.  Violet’s name upon Adams.  Both of them confused, impassioned and vexed.

Adam sat up in bed, looked down and saw he had indeed been wearing his pyjamas in the coffee shop.  He grasped his head in his hands and rocked back and forth.  He pounded his fist down onto the sheets.  Then through gritted teeth he said, ‘Gods…Violet’,  it dawned on him that he knew her name.

As for Violet, she lay still, her hands beside her head, palms upwards.  Flicking her gaze down at her thin, peach bed shirt she swallowed, somehow knowing Adam’s eyes had been both on and beneath it.  The liquescent sensation within her abdomen clashed with her whirring mind.  She winced her eyes against the pining in her heart for a man she now knew was called…

‘Adam…’ she said out loud, opening her eyes and covering her mouth with her hand.

Staring up at the ceiling, they both lamented the cruelty of how their lips didn’t touch, even the flesh of their arms did not meet.

For only so much can happen in a dream.  Morpheus too lamented.  And with that, the Greek God of Dreams exited the cafe, leaving the Adam and Violet to their mutual yearning.  In their separate beds.

Bravo, Morpheus.

The voice of powerful Nyx, evaporated as the sun rose.  Burning on England’s horizon, showing its brazen orange face, warming and melting the iced heather moors that embraced the small town.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amor Vincit Omnia

 

Amor Vincit Omnia, literally means ‘Love Conquers All’. So it should. Love is the driving positive force in our world. It should be more powerful than anything. When Mia Darien first approached the authors with her idea for another collection of romance short stories, one of the criteria presented was that the stories have a theme of ‘beauty is only skin deep’.

This theme is fitting seeing as all author profits from this collection will benefit The National Breast Cancer Foundation (www.nationalbreastcancer.org).  I’m going to go into why. Cancer treatment, in particular breast cancer treatment for women brings forward certain sensitive body image issues. Issues that shouldn’t be there but are.

From the survivors I have read about and spoken to, their main concern has been to become themselves again. Whole and complete no matter what treatment options they went for. To regain their health and to live.   The threat of the disease coming back, and the difficulty of living with the memories of those who did not make it is hard enough. It’s important to them, during and after treatment, not to be defined by cancer. To live and to love.

Because cancer sucks.

Now…about those body image issues…

I do believe that love conquers all. But in our selfie, looks and physique obsessed culture, there is an underlying notion that worries me. This notion is that the type of fulfillment that comes from true love can somehow be replicated or sped up by having a society and marketing approved appearance.

Let’s be honest, body shaming whether it be fat shaming, slim shaming, AGE shaming, even the varying double standards about what is classed as attractive for men and women, is RIFE in our society. There is even the shaming of those who are supposedly too attractive. Really.

The media can’t get enough of it, in fact thrives off of it. These days, there will be one article or post shaming those who shame, then another one after showcasing unrealistic standards of supposed ‘ideal’ beauty.

Now, there is nothing wrong with being traditionally ‘beautiful’. It’s cool to paint your nails and have the odd facial.  For the record I love essential oils. But drilling into the public consciousness again and again and again that only a certain thing is attractive is wrong. Breaking that one down, the all too frequent message is this: That only youth in all its sexed up, newly voluptuous and toned glory is accepted as ‘hot’, appealing and worthy of romantic love.

I get that marketing is necessary, but come on media…come on. Really? Again?

I honestly think that what media and society class as ‘flaws’ are appealing. A missing body part or two? Hot. Scars? Definitely beautiful. Laugh lines? Gorgeous. Freckles are particularly pretty in my opinion. Those little shadows that live under the eyes of deep thinkers can be hauntingly beautiful. A bit of extra oomph in a lady’s posterior? Haven’t we yet learned that that is actually quite attractive? Not everyone is blessed with oomph, some of us are slimmer than we’d like to be.  It’s okay to be naturally slender.  It is graceful looking, even ethereal one might say.

Shouldn’t it be obvious that there is a great difference between self care and self obsession? It’s a GOOD thing to exercise and eat healthy. We should all do it, it will make for a happier, healthier and YES by default more attractive world.

Yet it is the first two that are the most important. Happy and healthy. The last is just a side effect. When people are happy and healthy, it shows. People glow. So, why is that the ‘attractiveness’ side effect is still the driving force for marketers and consumers? This focus feeds a weakness in our world instead of encouraging strengths.

When people are eaten up by insecurity and loneliness, it also shows. Way too many reach out to the virtual world for comfort and find the opposite. They find inadequate connection. They probably yearn for love, they want to feel desired.  Don’t we all?  Still, what they find are endless images ruthlessly designed to market products to them.

Wanna know what I hear when I see some of the ads knocking around these days?

‘Don’t get old, don’t be ugly, don’t get fat. Or no one will love you. See this wealthy famous person whose career totally rides on them being classed as hot? They use this product. So should you. Maybe someone will find you desirable. Then you will be happy.’

I appreciate what actors and pop stars do and all, I like music and films.  Famous people are real, actual people and it isn’t right to lay into them as though they have no feelings.  I can grasp that.  All the same, stay the hell out of my bathroom and gym routine, celebrities *evil glare*.

Erm, A-list celebrities? News Flash! You have enough money.

Marketing people with no soul? I feel sorry for you.

Again, I stress that taking our health seriously SHOULD be encouraged.

There is no one who doesn’t benefit from being in good health. Each day we learn more and more about what is good for our bodies and what is not. That’s great. Let’s go with that. A part of this whole fight against cancer thing involves eating and living right.

But enforced obsession with our looks is wrong.

The marketing industry’s continued bombardment of our screens with ‘perfect’ images is wrong.

Genuine true, mutual soul fulfilling love is a natural, gorgeous thing that can’t be artificially reproduced. Us human beings NEED real love.

You know why? Because only in its purest and truest form can love conquer all.

And supposedly ‘perfect’ looks have nothing to do with that.

Look out for Amor Vincit Omnia on Amazon, November 11th. Stories by Mia Darien, Angela B. Chrysler, Christi Rigby, Crystal Smith and myself Jessica Nicholls.

http://www.amazon.com/Amor-Vincit-Omnia-Anthology-Romance-ebook/dp/B016VSSOLG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1447143654&sr=1-1&keywords=Amor+Vincit+Omnia

Not Alone

I am an expat. I live in the Middle East. In a western friendly, holiday like nation. The term expat, is a word I can recall hearing and having an aversion to. I thought it meant someone who threw away their affiliation with their nation of birth. As though they didn’t care for it anymore.

I know now that this is not what it means. Certainly not in my case and not in the cases of many. It basically means that through whatever mad set of circumstances, an ‘expat’ has wound up living in a place where they are not from. I’ve since found that many expats aren’t so bad.

I moved to England at the age of nineteen. I was not from there. My husband was and is. After living there for ten years (the majority of my twenties, and thus the first decade of my adult life), I can honestly say I feel a bit from there. I understand accents that at first baffled me. I am comfortable being there, it doesn’t feel ‘foreign’.

I accepted the cultural differences, even grew to relish some of them. Granted, this wasn’t ridiculously difficult as the cultural differences between the USA and UK, though considerable, are not outrageous. The circumstances that led me to live in England were not due to any trauma in my home country.

Even now, I stand out a bit in England. I can’t erase the Midwesterner in me, nor would I want to. I am recognized as an American by the way I speak every time I head back to visit. Now, when I head back to the States, my ‘Britishness’ gets noticed.

It’s been a while since I’ve lived in the US longterm, and to be honest I never did the real ‘grown up’ thing in the USA. I associate it with my childhood and adolescence. When I go back, it’s really quite sentimental. It’s also jarring as I feel totally out of touch. But it is not ‘foreign’ to me. It never will be.

The local Arabic culture is still a relative mystery to me. It really isn’t something you become part of just like that. I recognize the flag and national dress here and I do like Arabic food. I am aware of traditions involving falcons, horses and camels.  In most of my experiences the locals come across as polite, tolerant and accommodating.

Many of the local people have travelled to Europe and the UK for vacation. The heat is intense between late April and early October. Thus if it is affordable, local folks as well as expats are keen to escape the heat of Arabia.

I am aware that there are other types of people who seek to get into Europe and it isn’t to escape the undesirable weather. It is to escape the things on the news most cannot even bear to look at.

I’ve spoken to folks back in the UK who, absolutely hating English weather feel that the upheaval of ‘expat’ life would be worth it just for a bit of sun. They are thinking of beaches in front of very fancy hotels, a certain amount of glamour.

I don’t think that I am terribly clever or cool for having spent a few years over here. I have gained as well as lost from it. I’ve gained the experience of meeting people who otherwise I would never have had the pleasure of knowing.

Yes I do have a perspective on things that is very different had I stayed in the US, or even had I stayed in the UK. In no way do I assume that this perspective is superior to the one I otherwise would have had.

I am missing someone wherever I am. I will never have all the people who are important to me in one town or one country even.

Thank goodness, in stark contrast to the desperate, forcibly displaced people on the news, I’ve never to seriously worry for the safety of my loved ones. They are just far away and I miss them. But I am not alone.

And there are times when living here isn’t easy.

I can’t imagine there is an environment anywhere where one can escape from life’s first class jerks. I’ve had a couple of unpleasant experiences involving men who thought that because I was a woman without a male escort and that because I was polite when approached, it meant I was open to some sort of seedy encounter.

I have since been told by friends here that my response of ‘no thank you, I’m married and I have children’ was inadequate. The necessary response was to ignore them, scowl deeply and tell them to go away in an angry tone. So much for diplomacy.

This situation is not unique to me. Nor does it only occur where I live. Yes it is packaged differently, but it does occur the world over. The words ‘no thank you’ and even ‘no’ are meaningless. Even in situations and in countries when the barriers of language and vast cultural differences are not an issue.

There is no nation on this earth where good and bad types exist and the good types don’t often throw their hands in the air and think ‘why on earth do you behave like this? You are giving us ALL a horrible reputation!’

But let’s be real. That situation is unpleasant. It is not horrific. It was not traumatizing. I’m sad my diplomatic reaction went unappreciated. But I am not alone, and I am alive and well.

Things the world over do not happen as they should. The significance of the words ‘No, and your behavior is quite unacceptable’ is completely ignored.

Nice, normal people from ALL NATIONS and walks of life don’t quite know how to deal with ‘the jerks’ or ‘the unpleasant ones’.

Sadly there are places where personality descriptions require more than the term ‘unpleasant’ or ‘inconsiderate’ or ‘jerks’. They are something else. It is because of this different category that hoards and hoards of desperate people seek a new life in foreign, unfamiliar places. Places they probably never imagined having to learn to exist in.

Those poor, desperate people wouldn’t choose to be ‘expats’. They aren’t bothered about the weather apart from how it relates to their literal survival.

Some folks moan about the weather being ‘too hot’ ‘too cold’. I include myself in this. I did it just this morning.

Then again, some disillusioned, lonely, alienated and very often young people fall for the false self empowerment of joining a vicious gang and committing vile acts against other human beings. They too at some point began complaining about something other than the weather.

I really can’t include myself in that one. I can’t imagine feeling so alienated. I can’t imagine the circumstances that would lead up to that. I don’t particularly want to.

A lot of people have sort of a ‘thing’ about the Middle East. Many only think of it in terms of what they see on news networks. To be fair I never knew of where I live now until my husband told me he had and likely would be working there in the future.

So, upon hearing ‘it’s in the Middle East’, well let’s just say a part of me panicked and images from the news began flashing in my head.

THAT was a few years ago. My experiences since have been mainly positive and in no way comparable with what began flashing through my head on that fateful day.

Admitting to being prejudiced isn’t a nice thing. Admitting to be uncomfortable around certain types of people is…well uncomfortable. So much so that I can’t quite bring myself to do it.

I would never want to shun anybody. At times, this is to my detriment. I’m polite to the point where folks get the wrong idea. There IS a time to be strong and quite impolite, a time to stick to your values.

There is even a time to question your values.

This has nothing to do with accepting drinks from pushy men or getting into their cars or giving them your number or whatever. That isn’t questioning values, that is something else.

There is a lot of talk about compassion, humanity, choosing love over hate. If we are going to do that we are going to have to be a little more honest with each other. A little more accepting. A little more forgiving. A little more open to new things. A little more ‘aware’ of how we make others feel with our actions and words. This goes for ANYONE who wants to live a peaceful life.

If it does not, this whole ‘choose love’ thing just might not work.

I’m an expat. I’m an idealist. I believe love and acceptance is stronger than hate and alienation. I’m not alone.

Never Judge a Book by its Cover.

Never judge a book by its cover.  But we do it.  ALL THE TIME.

I am seeing lots of sexy covers on Twitter.   Twitter is great for writers.  It is a way to instantly draw folks to a link or a website.  A writer can flash out a rather appealing picture, to tempt romance lovers to purchase a story.

Let’s be honest.  Sex sells things.  It just does.   It lures people in a way nothing else can.  It makes people terribly uncomfortable.  It causes extreme debate as there are some VERY different beliefs out there.  It makes people angry and…sometimes very lonely and sad.

I’m talking about this because I follow a lot of romance writers.  I have written romance short stories and it is one of my favorite genres for reading.

The typical covers of romance novels aimed at straight women usually involve shirtless men, looking manly.  Exuding attractive masculinity catered to catch the eye of the lady reader.  Real, actual men perhaps role their eyes and even feel a little affronted by the image of these perfect fantasy men.  Maybe they do think ‘How the hell am I supposed to live up to THAT for my significant other?’  Maybe they really couldn’t care less.

I can relate to both the insecurity and the ambivalence of how marketing folks, writers, media people etc. portray how we all should look in order to be at our most ‘appealing’. On good days I just roll my eyes at the endless images of impossibly hot twenty something people trying to get us all to buy stuff.  On bad days…I feel like punching their stupid gorgeous faces.  I get it.  I benefit from idealized, unrealistic appeal and I suffer from it as well.   Don’t we all?

But back to the saucy covers aimed at straight ladies.

The fellow on the cover isn’t only going to take his pants off at some point in the story.  He is supposed to capture the imagination of the reader, make her giggle, make her angry, make her heart melt.  He’s supposed to be dashing yet flawed, he’s moody and wildly passionate. Perhaps on some level he is extremely successful.

That is one formula anyway.  Or perhaps he is such a good natured, sweet guy, hard-working to the core.  Maybe he doesn’t have much but he is so lovely and has a heart of gold.   A salt of the earth darling.

And yes, at one point, he will take his pants off for the lady who by default has to be worthy of him AND likable by the female readers.

So, in a way that IS more intimate and all engrossing than a few minutes spent watching explicit footage or images.   In my opinion a good romance novel beats naughty movies and reality television hands down.

But the cover aim is rather the same.  Look at this.  You know you want to.  Look at this, spend your money, download it, open it up, get involved.

I am aware of a few romance writers who are established enough that they don’t need the swoon worthy cover in order to attract readers.  To some their covers might appear rather dull, just a title in cursive with a colorful background.  But by the name you know it is probably going to be good.

I just had to point out that the insides of these covers vary.   I recently read a fantasy romance novel (fairy themed) that was pretty quality.  It wasn’t the cover on twitter that pulled me in.  It was the quote beneath it that got me.  It revealed the intensity of the couple’s feelings for one another in a unique, very intimate way.

There is no real marketing formula for that I’m afraid.  It just requires imagination and talent.  A writer either has that or they don’t.   The story I read, involved a lot of imagination and it was pretty funny as well as sensual in a psychological way.

My point is this, covers are great.  But much like us real life human beings, behind our physical appearance, no matter how glamorous it is, no matter how dull there could be a whole different world behind the lame or hot ‘cover’.

In this writing era of twitter, blogging and instant downloading onto ereaders, when it comes to the romance stuff…the words should still be louder than the covers.  That SHOULD be what still matters.

The overachievers, the best sellers…and me.

I’ve got a thing against doing blog posts where I talk about non writing related, personal things. As though I’m really special and everybody should be so interested in what I happen to be thinking about.

Thankfully I happen to be thinking about something writing related.  People who know me will be aware that I lost a huge manuscript, more than likely due to my own negligence.  I didn’t back up.  I got it checked out.  It’s gone.  But the plot remained in my head, I got it written down and I am in the process of rewriting.  Again.

The whole ‘novel length’ manuscript process is hard for me.  I doubt I will ever be able to bang out one best seller after another.  But I will never stop writing.

Now…writers.  We are of many different personality types, different genders, different perspectives.  Some of us are loving parents.  Some of us are not very family friendly.  Some of us are academic overachievers with six pack abs, various trophies and charming social attitudes.  And some of us are dream-boat or siren-like beauties AND best selling writers.  I’m…not talking about myself by the way.

Some of us are incurable introverts who find public interaction very difficult without alcohol and undergo a constant battle to avoid unhealthy, self-induced mediocrity.   I’m…kind of talking about myself there.

I am confessing the little twinge of jealousy I experience when the overachievers step out with their winning smiles, flat stomachs (in my imagination at least) and novel releases you just know will do well.  And here is me…the technologically useless dippy ‘indie writer’ lady who lost a manuscript she was almost, kind of starting to feel a little bit proud of.

I’ve never been ambitious.  I knew writing wasn’t something I sucked at from a very early age.  It was natural.  It felt good.  But I have always lacked that zesty confidence and ‘go getter’ attitude that would push a ‘winner’ to use my…erm…thing that I don’t suck at.

So really, how dare I feel jealous of the winners in life, best seller types?  Do I want to be them?  If I really look deep inside myself…I’ve got to say…no.  I want to be me.   I want to be a writer.  It’s probably the one shot I have at being kind of good at something career wise.

Okay fine.  I admit I dig running, fitness, healthy eating and all that.  I also really freaking love pizza and wine.  I also love my children and want to raise them without hired assistance.

So, I shed my tears and learned my lesson over the loss of my manuscript.  It hurt.  But it taught me a lesson.  Okay, yes it taught me that I need to back my stuff up.  It also reminded me that this is no joke to me.  I might not be the most talented (really what sort of nauseating muppet goes on about their talent?), I might not be the most prolific, I might not be the best looking, I might NEVER be a best seller,  I might JUST manage enough working out to keep my health in reasonable order, but I…

I AM good at this.  And I will not stop.  There.  I said it.  What a nauseating muppet.

Really no offense meant to over achievers and best seller types by the way.    It’s fine.  I love overachievers and best sellers, I read their stuff all the time.  No offense to muppets either….

A Promising Touch

Jason

When the shovel slid into the snow I gritted my teeth.�� My back and shoulders tensed with the combination of biting cold and old but not quite dead wounds.�� I lifted and tossed the snow to the side in one movement.�� I could feel a sheen of sweat starting to build beneath my layers.�� It was mainly due to the pain I felt, more than the exertion. Then I thought about Anna, my best friend and mental pin up.�� I grasped that the last bit wasn���t entirely healthy.�� It also wasn���t completely healthy that whilst shoveling snow I thought of the yoga positions she taught me.�� Her bendy, cat like body leaning to the side.�� Her elf like face looking peaceful mid twist.�� Just the thought of her wild hair doing battle with its clips and ties gave me a certain energy I thought could override the pain.

I was still enjoying my mental Anna-based slide show, but my lips were probably turning white. I certainly wasn���t going to get any sleep anyway.�� Seeing as it was Valentines Day soon, I thought I���d show my parents how much I appreciated them by clearing the drive way.�� I also just wanted to be outside.�� Away from my dark room where I���d started pondering if it was a good idea to request stronger pain medication.

Anna was an ace physical therapy student, working on her doctorate.�� I was only just getting stuck into my psychology course.��Granted that was because I���d been in the service.�� It still didn���t stop me from feeling like an old man while still in my twenties.�� I groaned when I sat down and stood up.�� I knew the nineteen year olds in my classes didn���t share the same weariness. �� The fresh faced, heavily muscled, full of mischief part of me had been left behind some time ago.

It would be for the best that I didn���t particularly want to interact with too many of my classmates.�� Parties and alcohol were a bad idea for me.�� Crowds I still didn���t relish. �� But the books were great.�� I loved every second of study time.�� The reality of being unable, at least yet anyway, to participate in high intensity exercise was starting to frustrate me.

Hence my hasty idea to start shoveling the snow for my folks.�� They���ve been so supportive. Which made me lucky.�� There were some guys I knew who didn���t have anything to come home to. �� Anna, had been almost like a gift I���d received practically upon arrival.�� We had taken it so slow, only meeting up once or twice a week for coffee.�� Sometimes we���d squeeze in a third and have lunch together.

That and she gave me a ride home sometimes.�� Only after I insisted she tell a friend where she was going and I told my Dad Anna was taking me home. I couldn���t drive yet.�� My chronic pain issues were unpredictable.�� I���d had a couple of flashback episodes, one of which when I was with Anna.

Then I heard the garage door going up and saw my Dad emerge. ���Hi Jason.��� ���Dad, morning����� I said through my teeth. My head hurt and there was something going on in the my shoulder blades that wasn���t making speech easy. ���It hasn���t even been A.M. for that long, son.����� He let out a sigh.�� This would be where my irrational anger came in.

What, I can���t even do a nice thing like shovel the driveway for my folks?��

I squeezed the shovel, tensing which gave the shoulder issue a voice.�� I grunted and threw the shovel down. ���Jason������ my Dad said tentatively.�� I hadn���t punched any walls. ��I may have yelled once or twice. ��But I could handle this. I let anger come in and wash out.

���What?��� If there was something to say, I���d rather he just said it. ��The��storm was still brewing in my chest.

���You know I appreciate you doing this and all, but you know that yard work and stuff is part of my exercise regime.�� If I don���t do any, I���ll get fat.���

I lifted my eyebrows and saw my dad holding his rather underdeveloped beer belly. Half of a closed mouth laugh came out and I said ���That���s nothing�������� I couldn���t think of anything funnier to say.�� But the relief that passed between us was enough.

���You have classes today?���

���Yeah.���

���A therapy session?���

���Which one?���

���The one where you talk to someone about the emotional side of things.���

���Oh, yeah.���

���Are you seeing Anna today?���

���I might meet her for coffee or something later, yeah.���

���If you don���t mention this to her or your physical therapist, then I will.���

���Dad, I tell them everything.�� That���s what I���m supposed to do.�� I talk to Anna about most stuff.���

I said this whilst looking at the snowy ground and rocking on my feet a little.�� Letting the truth out wasn���t fun. �� At all.�� I still did it though.

Dad hadn���t technically met Anna yet, only over the phone.�� She would walk me to my door, but there was this unspoken rule we had about taking things slow. �� I wanted to get rid of that unspoken rule.

���It���s Valentines Day this weekend.��� Dad said.

���Yes, I know���

���There is a movie out ya know������

I was aware of the one he was talking about.�� Possibly the most awkward date movie ever.

���Jeez, Dad���.

I took my hat off and scrubbed my hand over my head and face.�� Erotic thrillers aside, I really needed to lay down.

He laughed and said ���okay, okay.�� I don���t think I���ll take your mother to see that one either���.whew!��� he said shaking his head, chuckling and going inside.

Not before he stopped to pick up the shovel and put it back in the garage.

Well that was an ���I���m-in-the-mood-for-love��� killer if there ever was one.�� I stood breathing in and out and made my way back up to my bed.�� I removed my layers and hung them on the hook beside the door.�� I���d always worked through pain.�� It was a part of my life.�� I was getting better at admitting when it really was too much. �� Granted the past hour was not one of my finest ones.

The film my dad talked about, was causing a bit of a stir due to explicitness and being accused of making violence against women sexy.�� I really didn���t find violence sexy.�� The thought of hurting Anna in any way made me physically ill.

I shook my head, thinking about the fact that in the countries I���d seen combat in, that film would be classed as contraband. �� I spared a thought for the women who might be caught with it.

I wanted to hold Anna, feel her arms around me.�� I wanted to bury my face in her hair.

I took one of the non opiate pain killers I���d been prescribed.�� I lay down on my bed and placed my head and back in a way that the physical therapist taught me.�� Anna always talked about alining my spine.�� I smiled to myself.�� It felt so good.�� Just thinking about how amazing she was when she went into ���clinical mode.����� She really was going to be great at what she did. But as I closed my eyes, evil dark fear threatened to turn me into nothing.�� I really didn���t want another nightmare.�� Not one of those. ��

I tried to focus on one muscle group at a time.�� Slowly relaxing my body piece by piece.�� Maybe it wasn���t healthy, but I focused on Anna.�� Her delicate but oh so deft finger pads pressed lightly into certain points in my back.�� She would go up to my neck and back down again. My phone chimed and I looked.

Five am. I���m busy getting ready to head out, but I would LOVE to meet up later and I���d be happy to give you a ride back?�� :) :) – Anna��

I grinned in the dark.�� It was uncontrollable.�� I couldn���t not feel the happiness.�� This was big for me.�� I replied to her and put my phone down. Then that movie popped into my brain and I recalled that Anna and I hadn���t even kissed yet.�� There was no written law that said we had to go see it if we were anything like a ���hot couple��� or whatever. �� There were as many incredibly annoying, pushy people insisting that it would unleash a world of erotic delights for repressed couples as there were folks who found it disgusting and degrading.�� And millions who shrugged and went to do something else.

God Bless America. ��

���.and Anna.��

I thought of her when I prayed too.

Anna��

It would be Valentines Day soon.�� We really had been taking it slow.�� We hadn���t declared ourselves a couple.�� I didn���t say in front of him, my boyfriend.�� He didn���t call me his girlfriend. ��I had been asked out a couple of times this year. �� When the guys asked if I had a boyfriend I just smiled.�� Jason���s all too rare grin and stunning blue eyes flashed in my head and I was rendered speechless.

���I���m seeing someone.����� That���s what I would say eventually, almost too quietly.�� I couldn���t pressure Jason. �� I just couldn���t.�� Not after all that he���d been through.�� Not when what he had been through wasn���t something I could relate to.�� I had the honor of helping him with his pain issues and he seemed to want my company as much as I wanted his. �� Even if the verbal expression of his emotions was��far too evasive for both of us.

We communicated best through touch and eye contact.�� It was effortless.�� It was relaxing and inspiring.�� We hadn���t even kissed. �� It didn���t matter to me.�� I still wanted to respond to the guys who asked me out with ���Yes, I have a boyfriend.�� He���s amazing.�� He���s studious and fun.�� At the same time he���s an honored soldier who served bravely in his time overseas.�� He���s also incredibly funny.��� I freaking adore the guy. �� I so want to scream out to everyone that he is my boyfriend. ��

I knew it wasn���t right to put him on a pedestal in a way that made him feel he had something to live up to.�� He really didn���t. �� What he was doing now was carrying on fighting a battle with Post Traumatic Stress and Chronic Pain.�� He helped me a lot in my research.�� I was focusing on alternative fitness regimes for others like him.

Jason��wasn���t a huge guy, but he���d always been muscled.�� Not being able to use brute force frustrated him. He missed the release of it.�� His will power was astounding regarding nutrition and dedication to trying different things like yoga. The day I showed him some positions at the gym was a pretty good day. �� He smiled and laughed a lot.�� He also watched me in a way that went beyond studious.

���I can���t do that spinal twist thing.�� But I like sitting in this position.���

Then, in the his low, serious voice he said, �����You go ahead and do that cat thing. I���ll wait.���

I cracked up.�� People stared.�� Neither of us cared. �� I really dug him admitting his attraction to me.

Outside of therapy, when we embraced, when he held my hand, the atmosphere was never subtle.�� We meant it when we touched.

I made my way through classes, ��pondering that I might have to change my clinic timings if we made our relationship official. ��It didn’t mean I couldn’t still help him though.

He���d replied to my invitation to meet up by saying, I���ll be at the coffee shop at around six :) – Jason

It was too short. �� So was I, according to him.�� Hence his nickname for me.

The cold bit into my legs through my skinny jeans.�� My booted feet skipped down the sidewalk.�� I pushed my shoulders up to my ears so my face went down into my scarf.�� Otherwise people would notice me grinning like an idiot.

I finally reached the cafe and scanned behind the window.�� He wasn���t there.�� My face fell as I reached for the door.�� It was pulled away from me and I lost my balance for a second, letting out a little ���oh���.

Jason���s voice was in my ear saying ���Hi, Hobbit.��� and his hand grasped my elbow.

We locked eyes.�� One corner of his mouth was lifted.�� He hadn���t shaved that day, but it suited him.�� We were so physically close I could smell the masculine deodorant wafting from beneath his shirt and heavy coat.�� We moved in synch together towards the line.�� He didn���t let go of my elbow.�� My arm was completely his for all I cared.

The intensity died down and I laughed.�� I couldn���t wait to start talking.�� He let out a little chuckle and said, ���oh, sorry.��� then let go of my elbow.�� We now stood in the middle of the glass case displaying cheese cakes and muffins.

I sighed and said ���Oh, you didn���t have to let go.�� I was really enjoying that.����� Then I widened my eyes. Idiot. ��

He actually laughed.�� Like a proper one.�� I shrugged and smiled in response.�� Whew. ��

���How are you?����� I said.

���I���m good.’ He replied. �� But I could see the shadows underneath his eyes were particularly dark.

���I tried to shovel some snow for my folks. It didn���t go well.����� He said.

I bit my lip and stared at a piece of lemon cheesecake before responding.�� ���I���m really determined to come up with something better that will satisfy your need to push and exert yourself.�� But it was really nice of you to want to do that.���

���Yeah.��� he went quiet.

We ordered, took our coffee to the seats. I bit my lip, and talked about physical exertion.�� Ugh���

I had read the stories that were the basis of a certain Valentines Day film release.�� Some ladies at the clinic wouldn���t stop asking me to read them.�� Which is a poor excuse, but it was a mildly amusing (if disappointing and kind of disturbing) break from constant academic reading. I didn���t think Jason would read books like that.

He was far more likely to read Ernest Hemingway and Sylvia Plath.�� Next to that he loved high fantasy like Tolkien.�� I hoped he hadn���t read the books as I didn���t want him to think my lip biting was a lame attempt at being sexy. The more I thought about it, the more I actually bit my lip.�� Then I would purse them, stomp one foot and inwardly chastise myself.�� Idiot.�� Then I bit my lip again.

He watched me the whole time.�� His eyes were a shade of blue I hadn���t seen in the sky for months.�� Screw it.��

I winked at him and he tilted his head at me and pressed his lips together.

Ruthless film marketers and snarky critics could go and swivel.��This was my time with Jason.�� I was damn well going to enjoy it.

���Are you tempted at all?��� he suddenly said tilting his head towards all the fluffy, creamy, powdered sugar dusted baked goods.

We were both into healthy eating. ���Nope��� then I took a big swig of my latte before saying ���How���s school?���

���Great.�� I feel really old and out of place amongst people.�� But���with the books and my lecturers.�� It���s���it���s just great.��� �� Then he spoke about his current coursework, where he imagined it was going to take him.�� Being such an avid reader, Jason had, before his deployment taken classes in English lit.�� He had a naturally analytical mind. Yet he was creative and innovative about where he imagined his study of psychology would take him.

When he���d finished he said ���I know I must sound really stupid to you.�� You are already on your postgrad work������.

���Jason, I think the way you view your coursework and the passion you have for it is awesome.�� It���s a million times removed from the ambivalent way some of the kids in your class will be.�� A lot of them will just want to party.���

���I like to party.����� he said in a childish voice.

I laughed, saying ���I know��� and shared with him some new ways patients with joint pain were able to experience the benefits of cardiovascular activities.�� We were both genuinely interested in each other���s field of study.

Then the barrista dropped a load of cups behind the counter.�� I saw Jason���s eyes slowly close and his face pale.�� He insisted on meeting at the cafe, always said he wanted to just feel normal.�� But crowds where loud noises were a possibility could be an issue for him. I reached over and placed my hand on his leg.

���Jason�������� I said in a voice intended to cut through the surrounding noise but still remain unnoticed.

He opened his eyes and his breathing was shaky. ���The barrista just dropped a load of mugs.����� he said quietly, but I could tell he wasn���t completely free of whatever was creeping up on him.

���Why don���t you let me take you home? Jason?�� Can I take you home?��� �� I placed my hands on his knees.

���Yes.���

When we���d only just met, we left this very same cafe and a truck backfired.�� He���d had a full on flashback then.

As we were leaving I saw a newspaper with a picture of a smiling, happy human being.�� Someone who was now lost to this world. �� My heart ached for that family. �� I thought of how easily it could have been Jason.�� Once we were outside I firmly rubbed my hand over his shoulder blades.�� His breaths grew less shaky.�� I leaned into him and wrapped my arm around his waist, pulling him to me.�� He looked down at me and I looked up.�� He knew where he was. It was like we were completely alone together.�� It was such a gift.

Jason

I did my best not to look, for any great length of time, at the news.�� Most of it was biased in one way or another.�� It was important to grasp that before attempting to download information. I���m an analytical guy, yes I love to read, yes some very serious things happened to me and I���m living a different life now.

I knew why Anna drew me so close.�� I saw the paper too.�� She valued me.�� A lot.�� I found so much pleasure in that knowledge that I could have basked in that one little fact forever. There was so much, so much to be gained from understanding each other better.�� By that I mean humans generally.�� But with Anna, I really didn���t think I���d ever get enough of her.

It still didn���t stop me from feeling inadequate.�� Like I couldn���t hack it as a warrior.�� That���s why my body shut down and refused to heal quickly.�� That���s why my brain and senses got hijacked by memories I wished I didn���t have.

Jason, you are a warrior. You always will be. They don���t give out medals like candy.�� You earned them.�� Your highly intelligent, highly tuned systems are letting you know that you need to navigate your life in a different way.�� Only people who have been asked to dig very��deep for courage have to do this.�� You are extremely valuable to society. ��

That���s what my therapist had said today.�� I didn���t completely swallow it at the time.�� But I listened.�� Always.�� I always listen. I sure as hell wasn���t valuable by monetary standards.�� I really hoped Anna didn���t have a ���thing��� for billionaires.�� If that was the case I was screwed.

I had thought about doing some tutoring.�� One on one interaction in quiet environments wasn���t a problem for me, and my English lit credits might help me out.�� I knew I would be ���alright��� in that area one day.�� But it was unlikely I would be a rich man.

That was the farthest thing from my mind though when Anna wrapped her arm around my waist and pulled me close to her.�� Her body was right up against mine.�� She had a way of pressing her arm against my spine that adjusted my posture and eased my back. Her coppery eye brows glinted even in the winter evening air. �� Her lids went over her hazel eyes just a bit when I looked down at her.�� This would be a perfect moment for a kiss.

But I���ll be honest, crowds still made me uneasy and I just wanted to be alone in the car with her.�� That might sound creepy but I relied on solitude or at least quieter environments to gather myself.

She opened the door for me and I said ���I���m supposed to do that for you.����� My voice was croaky, like it had gone somewhere far far away.

���One day, you���ll give me a ride and you can be all gentlemanly, and stuff.��� �� She said.

I still hated that she opened the door for me and she huffed and continued, ���Come on, Jason.�� Give me something to look forward to.���

I kept my eyes on her as I got in the car.�� Unfortunately, the need to grit my teeth was still there and I positioned my arms quickly to avoid the pain of motion.

Then, after she���d shut the door I saw a huge guy approach Anna. �� I���d recognize him anywhere as a football player.�� He was bigger than me, likely a little younger and he had that fresh-faced, healthy college boy glow. �� He probably had a legion of admirers.

Get the hell away from Anna. ��

I watched her mouth spread into that pretty smile.�� Hell, okay she was unbelievably sexy.�� I was a particular fan of the way her hips curved.�� It was the crazy hair that did it too.�� It matched her emotional personality. �� Naturally, uncontrollably vibrant.�� She wasn���t wild or stupid.�� Some girls mistook recklessness for being a free spirit.�� Her movements were sensual.�� Every single touch meant something to her.�� Obviously not always erotic.�� Just always meaningful. �� If they were always erotic that would be inappropriate and physical therapy wouldn���t be the career for her.

All the same, her innate sensuality could not have gone unnoticed by the massive fellow talking to her while I sat helplessly and uncomfortably in her car.�� I could get out and take his feet out from underneath him. ��I grasped that that would be unreasonable.

I missed running hard and lifting the way he probably did every day.�� I did not care for the way he smiled at her.

Before my thoughts started to go somewhere much bloodier I listened to their conversation.

���Well, listen..��� he said.�� ���I just wanted to say thanks.�� I appreciated the advice you gave me.�� You think you���ll ever work in sports medicine?���

Anna said �����I���ll probably always work with athletes on and off.�� But I���m trying to get as much experience as I can with different conditions.’ �� She was in ‘clinical mode’. ��Completely focused. ��I didn’t think he appreciated her clinical mode the way I did.

I could see storm clouds rolling in.�� Unreasonable, irrational storm clouds bringing certain death to fresh faced, six-pack abs endowed college boys who went anywhere near Anna.

Then she promptly said ���Well, listen I���ve got to go.�� Good luck!���

He said ���Yeah, thanks again.��� then in a lower voice ���Is that your boyfriend?���

Crap.��

Anna turned towards me.�� Whether or not she realized I could hear her through the glass I wasn���t sure. She pushed her fingers into her hair and beamed her irrepressible smile.�� The type she couldn���t stop if she���d wanted to.

���I wish���.��� Anna breathed out, looking like a hot fairy in jeans.

I made eye contact with the football player.�� He nodded and made his final farewell pretty quickly.

Anna��

I can���t believe I just let that out.�� ���I wish������ like a ditzy school girl.

He was one of the guys who had asked me out before.�� Nice guy, but I had no connection with him other than wanting to give him advice about avoiding injury.

Whereas when Jason was near me, every single nerve ending inside lit up. �� Eye contact with him made the world disappear. �� ���Sorry.��� I said when I got in the car and started the ignition.

We had a full half an hour before we would be at his folk���s place. �� He was silent for a minute.

Then he said, ���It���s really okay.�� I like it when you let your emotions loose. �� I think it���s pretty obvious we like each other.���

���Yes, but, I don���t mean to pressure you.�� I know you���ve got stuff going on I can���t relate to, and I can���t help you with everything.���

���Anna, you just seriously helped me out back there and it was ���okay��� for me.�� I needed to leave the cafe.�� It���it really isn���t easy being a guy and accepting help from a girl.�� I���m sorry for how that sounds but at the same time, I find trusting you easy.���

I could feel something about to spill out of my mouth that he might think was weird.

���You like when I touch you and you are always watching me so close.�� I love it.�� I freaking love it.��� �� Ooops. ��

We came to a red light and I snuck a peek at him.�� He was indeed watching me.�� The red light glowing in the car gave my front seat a shockingly sensual atmosphere.�� I looked him up and down.�� I watched the way he still held his body in a way that eased discomfort.�� I was proud of how quickly he���d mastered the yoga positions that were appropriate for him. Despite the damage he had suffered, he was still very body aware and well, good at manipulating himself.�� He was easy with movement for someone with his condition.

When I���d been present at his therapy sessions and touched him, warmth flooded me and I was��utterly connected to him. Right now, I wanted to wrap my arms around him. ��He looked so good.

I managed to focus on the road and was relieved when the expanse of sparkly snow covered fields surrounded us. ���It���s so peaceful.����� he spoke so quietly.

I could hear the tremor in his breath though.

���You are still in pain.����� I said.

���Yeah. ��� he said sadly.

Then he commented ���You know, Anna���it���s very likely that I will always have my issues, and if you are going to carry on being around me, I feel bad that you have to deal with me.���

There it was again.�� The overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around him.�� I gripped the steering wheel and took a deep breath.

���I choose to be with you Jason.�� But I won���t force you to be with me if you don���t want to.��� I heard him sigh. It was silent most of the way back.�� The moon lit up the blanket of snow in a million sparkles.�� I���d always loved that.�� The sight of snow at night was so��romantic.�� A cozy warm house on its own amongst the snow was a perfect setting for lovers.�� In my humble opinion. �� A total retreat of closeness.�� Complete intimacy.�� I really wanted to head down that road with Jason. �� The reality that he might stop this before it really got going overwhelmed me with misery.

Then his voice came out of the darkness ���It���s Valentines weekend.���

���I know.���

I glanced at him and saw him staring at the snow as well.

���Would you like to get together?���

���I would love that.�� I don���t want to go to the movies though.����� I said.

He laughed and said ���okay okay, no movies.�� I prefer watching you anyway.���

My heart started to pound against my coat.�� ���The feeling is exceptionally mutual.���

���Anna?���

���Yeah?���

���I really can���t imagine hurting you.�� That, would not be my ummm������thing.������ He cleared his throat.

���Whew!��� I said.�� ���I���m glad we established that one too.���

We were getting close to his house.�� I pulled into his driveway. �� I could see it had been fully cleared.�� I winced when I thought of Jason stubbornly pushing himself too hard with the shovel. The lights were on and his parents were home.�� I turned the ignition off and turned towards him.�� �� I don���t know why I hesitated.�� I looked him in the eyes.�� I wanted to ask permission.

He must have guessed my desire when he whispered,

���Anna, it���s okay���you can kiss me.�� Come here.���

���Oh, thank God.��� I let out.�� Then I kissed the beginnings of his grin.

Jason��

When her lips met mine I didn���t want her to move.�� I just wanted her to stay there.�� Just like that.�� Lips to lips, her face against mine.�� Her skin as close to mine as it ever had been. Anna had incredibly strong core strength.�� She held herself so carefully, so as not to lean on me too hard when her hands held onto my shoulders. �� I wanted to savor every millisecond. �� I could smell her actual skin. Not any particular product, but a combination of them plus her own chemistry.

I reached out and touched her hair.�� The thick, kinky waves were so soft.�� I wanted to just hold her in my arms and stroke her beautiful body. �� It was starting to feel like we were a part of each other.

I cursed myself for over doing it with the shovel in the wee hours of this morning.�� Then she pulled away and said ���Now, we���ve established something.����� with a proud smile.

���We can do better than that.����� I said, watching her eyes widen as she collapsed back against the drivers seat.

���Jason, I.�������� I���d never heard her breath so shaky before.

���Relax, Hobbit.�� I mean, would you like to meet my parents?�� Like in person?���

���I would love to.��� she said in the most polite voice I���d ever heard. ���Don���t you dare move.��� I said.

Before she could get out of the car, I grimaced and opened my own door and got out myself.�� I walked around the car, taking care with each step and I held the door open for her. It was ‘okay.’

She looked up at me in a way that I knew meant she wished I had let her open the door. ���Just let me do this okay?����� I said.

Then we walked towards the door, arm in arm. Well, Anna slid her arm around my waist and pulled me to her again.�� God it felt good when she did that.�� With the side of her body against mine,�� she moved her hip against me in the most lithe of motions.

Then she promptly removed her body from mine and placed her hand neatly in my elbow.

���Damn.��� I said.

���Parents.�� I don���t want them to think I don���t know how to behave in these situations.����� she explained.

I smiled and said ���Don���t worry, I���m sure you will do great.���

We walked into the house and removed our boots. I tried to keep from making a face when I removed my layers.

���Jason? Is that you?����� I heard my mom call.�� She came quickly to the door. ���Oh, you brought a friend.����� The grin on my mother���s face was downright embarrassing. Then my Dad appeared around the corner. �� This is it. ��

Anna stepped forward towards my mother with her hand extended.�� ���Hi���I���m Anna.���

Then my Dad said ���Well, it���s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.�� He talked about how smart you are, how helpful you���ve been.�� He sure didn’t mention how beautiful.���

���No, he didn���t.�� And you really are.����� Mom said.

���Oh������Anna shook her head and blushed, saying ���Thank you.��� �� I never saw her blush like that.

She looked at me and I looked at my parents. ���Well, Mom and Dad?�� This is Anna.�� My beautiful girlfriend.��� �� I smiled.�� A genuine beam of happiness that extended right down to my toes.

Anna���s shoulders went up and her grin widened with glee. We both had a long journey ahead of us, of education and careers.�� Mine was longer and involved more healing. �� It wasn���t going to be easy.�� But our journey was definitely going to involve each other. The little moment of heaven we shared in that kiss held a promise of love and extreme closeness.�� A tender, sensual familiarity that we knew would come roaring to life in our future.

Later than night, after we watched some television with my folks (including an embarrassing preview for the film about the billionaire who loved spanking), I lay in the dark focusing on Anna again. �� I figured she would be almost home by now.

I was kind of worried about meeting her parents.�� It probably would be better if I was some sort of billionaire.�� That so wasn���t me.�� I wondered if Anna would find it hot if I had more money.

Then my phone chimed.

I���m home, thank you for introducing me to your folks.�� I can���t wait to introduce my handsome boyfriend to mine :)�� Oh, and by the way, you know what I find incredibly hot?�� A real life, flesh and blood hero who is brave enough to be explicit with his feelings.�� You. You. You.��

I replied.

The thought of being as physically close to you as possible fills me with an unbearable amount of joy.�� One day, my love. I promise you.

You make me swoon and melt just like in stories.�� Only it���s so much better!�� My heart so belongs to you.�� Good night, Jason. :)��

Good night, Hobbit :) :)��

I made Anna swoon. I have her heart.��

I lay down and turned towards the window, towards the moonlit blanket of snow.�� I knew she would be looking at it too, finding it romantic.�� I knew she would be craving my embrace as much as I craved hers.�� My pain was present, just like always, but it was secondary to the joy in my heart. Our connection had become undeniable, irrefutable.�� The pleasure in declaring it was greater than that of any rushed or forced intimacy. �� It didn���t cost anything, it didn���t require any extravagant, sexed-up platform.�� It was priceless and true.�� I loved Anna.�� I looked forward to showing her just how much I loved her every day.

The End

The Nature of Christmas

Mira

Loneliness is a beautiful thing. I think anyway. But the outside world has a way of invading your space. Especially this time of year. It’s all about being with people. Indulging people with your company. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to donate money to worthy causes. And I do. But to be around people on a frequent basis? I don’t know how else to put it except it just isn’t in my nature. Bah humbug.

Even with those whose company I desire. I thought sadly.

I’d finished my last hour of sourcing winter running shoes in the dark of my upstairs office. Business had really picked up over the holiday season, but tonight was the night when everything went quiet. Christmas Eve.

Night fell a couple of hours ago. Switching off the screen I closed my eyes and inhaled the cold winter air. I had an unusual tolerance for cold. Mainly due to the fact that my ‘inner animal’ is a mountain lion. I still can’t say cougar shifter in my mind. It makes me giggle. Not that I have any issues with age gap relationships. Some people might assume that I despise relationships period. It’s not true.

I just don’t want to give up those moments that are mine. Like now, I am one with my new environment. I’ve got acres all to myself. Just how I like it. I only moved here a few months ago.

Suddenly, my limbs got all restless and I had the urge to change. I couldn’t do it. Not now. Staying away from others for now would be doing other living creatures a favor. To say I’m moody being cooped up like this would be an understatement.

The wind howled outside. I could smell the fresh blanket of snow as well as sense the brightness of it beneath the moon. From my office chair I knew how beautiful it was. I ached, more than anything to make fresh prints in the snow. But it was too dangerous. Especially on my own. I shook my head.

I had no choice but to leave my last residence in rural Northern Wisconsin. Of course word got around about the ‘incident with the mountain lion’ on my front lawn over a year ago. After it all died down the hunters started turning up.

I came out and did the ‘do you think you will catch it?’ thing. I even put my hand over my mouth and did my best worried face. But it was time to leave. It wasn’t natural to hibernate but let’s just say I’ve been less active.

Maybe another couple of months and I will get the opportunity to go after my favorite prey. I did enjoy finding them. Just thinking about it made me hungry. My mouth started to water and that experience made me think of the only other living creature whose company I relished.

Daniel. I hadn’t seen him since I’d moved. We weren’t together every week or even every month. In fact, he had been quiet since the last time I saw him at my old place. I didn’t tell him about my decision to move of course. Then, I didn’t have to. If he wanted to find me, he could. And I would let him. It had become like that between us.

I grabbed a box of matches and shook them gently as I walked down the stairs in the dark. I did get one festive item since December hit. A big red cinnamon scented candle. Right in the middle of the, now that I think about it, rather barren looking table. Striking the match and inhaling the spicy scent, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again I had a perfect view of fresh prints in the snow. The cinnamon mixed with another fragrance now.

Another shifter…

The carpet barely had time to flatten beneath my feet before I was at the door. The golden handle was cold, the chill of the snow was welcome on my bare feet. There was this grunt as I grabbed a handful of blonde hair, a couple of slender limbs and pulled the female shifter into the house.

I dragged her letting her know who was boss before I assessed who she might be. Shoving the woman’s body onto the floor in front of the table my heart dropped into my stomach. Then I dropped to my knees in front of her.

‘Diann?’ I said.

She was crying. I suppose I might cry too. Well, maybe not but I still felt bad. The last time I saw this young lady, (my on and off companion’s niece of all people!), I was in Florida. She had a sense of what I was, and singled me out.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I…didn’t know where else to go.’ she said.

‘Where is your Uncle Daniel?’ I asked, this new level of concern and feeling of connection was freaking me out. Strangely enough instinct was telling me to relax and go with it.

‘My grandparents died. Natural causes.’ she held up her hand in response to my open mouth after the word ‘died’. ‘I mean…they were almost all I had, even though we didn’t spend every waking second together. I kept an eye on them. Uncle Daniel was alright, he said it was just their time. But I was the one who found them. In each other’s arms. It was…’

Then Diann winced and shook her head, like she was in some sort of agony. I felt a piece of it too, and placed my hand on her shoulder.

Then, her arms were around my neck and she sobbed against me. This really wasn’t what I expected doing on Christmas Eve. Not that I had any particular expectations at all. But if I did this certainly wasn’t one of them. Comforting a weeping young lady who I’d just roughed up, having mistaken for an intruder.

The human part of me was a piece of crap. Wouldn’t it have been nice if, just for one night she could have walked into a warm house lit up with decorations, a nice meal and…oh Mira you old Scrooge…



‘Shhh’ I said, stroking her hair. ‘You…’ I paused and inwardly chastised myself before continuing ‘You can stay here for as long as you want. It’s okay.’

‘Thanks. I picked up your scent and…I really don’t want to stay more than a day or two. It’s just…you know…tonight. And Uncle Daniel is great it’s just I don’t know…I wanted to see you again. I really don’t know any other adult female shifters. I don’t trust many who are my age. And as for the males well…’ she made a gagging motion.

I totally understood her. I used to make that gagging gesture (inwardly at least) about most males until I met Daniel. I never really trusted, or wanted to be with anybody. But looking at her, we really got each other. I was at least fifteen years older, so I could technically have been her mother. In this strange sort of way, I wanted to be. You know, I wanted to care for her.

‘I like your candle.’ she sniffed and wiped her nose with her dirty sleeve.

‘Thanks. How long have you been on the road?’

‘They passed just after Thanksgiving. So, since then. Uncle Daniel tried to find me a couple of times but…I just didn’t want to talk yet.’

She actually sought me out. Because she valued my companionship above others. Wow.

If she were any normal younger female creature I’d be chastising her for going out on her own like that. But Diann wasn’t normal.

Then both of our heads snapped in the direction of the door, which I’d left unlocked.

There he was, and he didn’t look happy. He’d be in for a shock if he thought he was going to get away with any aggression. I wondered if he’d lost his temper with Diann at any point, and if that was why she avoided him. I stood in front of her, my body ready for anything as I looked at him.

‘Merry Christmas, Daniel.’ I said, arms braced.

You might be bigger but I’ve handled much meaner bastards than you. I smiled and well, I couldn’t help it when my eyes lingered on his jugular. He really was beautiful. And he smelled nice even when he was angry.

Daniel

‘Merry Christmas.’ I replied through gritted teeth. I was fuming. Diann, my only niece runs off after my folks die, giving me something else to worry about while I sorted out their affairs. Poor kid, she took it hard. We aren’t exactly all close. But she didn’t want to admit, not to anyone, not even herself how she felt. So, she did the adolescent thing (fair enough seeing as there was still a teen at the end of her age) and ran off. She wanted to deal with her pain alone. And despite that being in our nature, sometimes it wasn’t the healthiest course of action. I sighed. These two ladies in front of me had a lot in common.

Then, in between work and trying to find Diann I was trying to track where Mira went. I missed her, and that wasn’t easy for a guy like me to admit. I missed her smell, the sight of her tawny, brown and golden hues. I missed her limbs being wrapped around me, the vibration of her voice through her body and just..everything. I gave her my everything. My respect, my knowledge and my love. I’d been like a lovesick cub since she left. I felt used.

So when I stumbled across not one but two female scents, part of me wanted to just go in there and tear the place apart. How could they do that to me? Yes, I could track them but why not just tell me something? But then Mira’s look reminded me of something.

Given the common culture of our kind, she wouldn’t have exactly been waiting around for me to get down on one knee and present her with a ring. And we had talked about how wherever she went, I would find her. I remember the conversation well.

‘So…would you let me come to you, wherever you are? You would let me be welcome with you?’ I’d finally gotten to run my fingers through her gorgeous golden brown hair. If mountain lions purred, she would have.

‘Yes. Track me, find me. Wherever I am. Because I won’t always stay in the same place’. She’d said. And I knew it was the truth. In a way, that was as good as her saying, I am yours. I mean, that got into my bones.

So, messed up as this all is, I shouldn’t have been surprised when she moved and didn’t tell me. Still, it hurt. Really hurt. In a vulnerable, achey and miserable human way. The price of connection is that when someone denies you that connection, you…feel like brutally killing something and screaming out into the night thus terrifying the local population. It’s a special type of pain.

Now, seeing her in front of Diann in a protective stance, ready to fight me off if need be, my anger subsided. My need to connect to her in the most human way possible intensified.

‘Relax. I said, breathing out, surprised at the relief. ‘You, young lady could have talked to me. I am here for you, and I wouldn’t laugh or find your emotions anything but natural.’ I said to Diann.

‘You help me with the cat side of things but…not the human one.’ she replied. ‘I wanted to talk to someone else okay? Anyway I found her this time before you did.’ Diann crossed her arms and looked up at me. I have to admit, her tracking of Diann was pretty cool. I blame my failure on the distraction of having to track not one but two.

‘And you…’ I said, looking at Mira who kept turning her body so that I had no chance of being behind her.

I swallowed. Did she have to stare at my neck like that? I knew what she was capable of.

‘I guess the man in me wanted you to tell me about the move.’ Mira’s stance relaxed before she spoke.

‘I know. I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m also so sorry to hear about your parents. I wish you would have found me and told me when that happened.’

I kept my eyes on hers. It did suck when they passed. I had a lot of respect for my folks. Not that I’d spent tons of time with them, but still. We shared a familial connection of a sort.

Then before I knew it, Mira’s arms were around my neck and she was kissing my face, squeezing me, breathing my scent in and stopping the embrace milliseconds before Diann would begin making her gagging face.

Mira stood back. Even from that small embrace (compared to others we’ve shared) and those tiny kisses, I could still smell her woodsy fragrance on my skin. That and her cinnamon candle.

‘Wow, you’ve really gone all out for Christmas haven’t you?’ I said, looking around her barren save for the one flickering flame apartment.

Mira laughed and so did Diann.

‘I’m hungry.’ I said. Only a statement, but I meant it, I’d hardly eaten for a month worrying about and tracking these two.

Then her lips were on mine for way too short of a time. Mira took my hand and led me to the fridge. When she opened it, I smiled. Enough steak for one extremely large person for a week. Enough for us for tonight. A little bit of salad, and loads of meat. And bottles of water. Mira did love undercooked beef.

Diann sighed and without even seeing the contents of the fridge, commented ’I’ll take mine as rare as possible please. I’m going up to take a shower if you guys don’t mind.’ And the girl disappeared up the stairs.

Mira and I waited for the door to close and the shower to run before our lips found each other. My fingers were in her hair, my arm around her waist, pinning her to me. Oh Mira….

Then her hands were in my pocket. I grinned at her. I’d almost forgotten what I put in there. Last time I wore these pants I’d just been with her, and the contents inside remained. That seemed like ages ago now.

‘Ow’ Mira said through her breaths when she found the spiky green leaves.

‘Mistletoe.’ She beamed from ear to ear. I’d found it during my travels after just leaving her old place.

‘Well, that’s the only Christmas decoration I’m interested in.’ I said.

We made a promise to each other with our eyes before she began preparing the meal. That mistletoe was going to help me make up for some lost time.

‘Merry Christmas, Mira.’

‘Merry Christmas, Daniel.’ she replied. I couldn’t have felt happier.

Mira

As soon as the words left my mouth a feeling of shame welled up inside me. I was quite prepared to spend Christmas alone and just see Daniel or Diann whenever was convenient.

I carried on laying out the plates.

The more Daniel followed my movements and did his best to help out, the sadder I felt. I had to say it. Out loud.

‘Daniel, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I moved…or when. And I feel that…I should have taken more of an interest in Diann. Even though she isn’t mine I…’ Then I don’t know I just choked up a little. Crying wasn’t really my thing so this was hard.

‘Mira, it’s okay.’ he replied. ‘I know what you are like. I know what, we are like. Diann wasn’t your responsibility. But, I think she sought you out because…’ Then Daniel paused.

‘She wants to be part of another female’s life. Someone she can talk to. My parents died as humans, bonded together. Something about the sight haunted her.’

I nodded. Who wouldn’t have felt sorrowful over discovering loved ones having departed this world forever? I felt a little better, but looking around my new place, at my sad lack of decorations. I said, ‘I feel so awful I don’t have any presents. Ummm…I can get you guys some killer running shoes?’

Expecting a chuckle and acceptance of the offer, I turned to see a very serious Daniel. He moved towards me. I didn’t alter my movements to counter him, which surprised me. I knew what he was doing. I had to trust him. The smell of cinnamon and barely cooked thick chunks of beef was in my nose.

I placed the bloody meat onto a plate to rest a little. The foil crinkled below my fingers as I covered it loosely. I felt Daniel at my back and no alarm bells rang. His lips were at my ear, his big hands squeezing the sides of my shoulders.

‘I think the biggest present for all of us is going to be waking up in the same house together. Tomorrow of all mornings.’ he whispered.

‘You were working last year.’ I barely managed to say.

‘You were hunting.’ he replied.

‘It doesn’t mean that I don’t…’

‘I know, I love you too.’ He finished my sentence. My knees were weak. We embraced until we were no longer alone in the kitchen. We were silent for those moments, but euphoria swam inside me.

Diann came down, her hair wrapped in a towel, having taken full advantage of all my toiletries. We all ate together. I’d never seen another female eat as much steak as I could. She was so amusing. I’d never laughed so much in my life. Okay, there were no decorations, no presents, no distinctively festive foods. But we were together. It didn’t feel suffocating or demanding. Just natural and magical.

It was the highlight of my year. Looking into Daniel’s twinkling green eyes and smelling the mistletoe and cinnamon, my heart fluttered. Looking at Diann’s smile, seeing her contentment after weeks locked in lonely grief, I wanted to give her everything I could. I wanted to make sure she never again endured such pain alone.

The snow and the woods were still out there and Daniel and Diann were here, inside with me. It had cost nothing, yet I still didn’t deserve it. But as of tonight I would make sure I did. Because it was the best gift ever.

Merry Christmas

Amber (for Halloween)

My first night in my new house! It’s only small, in the middle of nowhere, and a bit old. I can hardly believe it. I look across the sunny field to the swaying brown and gold trees in the distance. I open the window in front of the kitchen sink and let the breeze blow through the screen. It’s a little too chilly now that it’s October, but I don’t care.

All Hallow’s Eve is only a couple of nights away. I make a note to go to the store and grab a pumpkin. It’s important to keep the spirits away. My friend promised she would stay with me on Halloween. I will carve a pumpkin on the day she comes. She was going to stay in case any trick or treaters or naughty teenagers up to no good came on the traditional night of mischief.

Halloween is the night when the doorway between the living and the dead, is thought to be open. In ancient Ireland, the Druids believed it was the time of year most likely that you would be visited by spirits. I’ve got two more nights left though.

Till then, I have furniture deliveries and other things to take care of.

It’s only a two bedroom small white wooden house, a remnant of what was once a busy Midwestern farm community. Now, most of the population has moved East, towards the larger towns. Hence the fantastic price. It has this sweet wooden porch that was made for one of those old fashioned swings.

This is so Little House on the Prairie. Or even a little older, like something out of a Willa Cather novel. I can just imagine the romantic notions of the immigrants who came to farm this land. How excited they must have been! Of course it’s the twenty first century, but I can feel their energy still here. I wanted a doorway into their simpler ways of life. And here I found it. I even fixed the hinges!

I have this wonderful feeling of ownership over my own domain. I paid for it, I cleaned it, I painted it, it’s mine. I run the mop one more time over the wooden floor where the delivery men will place my couch. I take a big whiff of the orange scented oil soap. Before every stroke of the brush, before every nail hammered into the wall I placed my fingers on the old walls or floors. I’m taking care of you.

Even as the wet mop sweeps over the temporarily empty space, I think you are mine. I’m like an overprotective mother with this place.

There is a slow knock on the door, one two three. It must be the delivery men. There is nobody. The wind blows my hair away from my face and it whips behind me. My skin freezes and my eyes sting. Hugging myself I look down and see something. A green velvet box. I pick it up and bring it inside, warmth spreading through me as I step back in.

That autumn chill just pierced me like little needles, it had been so pleasant before in the kitchen. I open the small box and am nearly undone by what’s inside. It is a necklace, a collection of flat, amber beads, some with flecks of green inside them. The tissue inside the dark, leaf hued box is of a golden color.

There is a little note in cursive that says ‘Welcome to your new home. If you wish to know me better, wear this.’ I smile. This seems like a fun game. It doesn’t escape me that someone has given me a necklace made of my namesake stone. This is probably from Fiona, the real estate agent. I run my finger pads over the stones and lift the necklace up and down in my hands a few times. It’s so light!

At exactly the same moment the phone rings, the necklace slips out of my fingers and a jolt runs through my system, like I’ve been rudely interrupted.

‘Hello, Amber speaking.’ I answer, doing my best to ignore the sensation of being broken away from something extremely important.

‘Hi Amber, I am so sorry. I cannot believe what just happened….’ The land line, which my parents insisted was installed isn’t working very well. It is Fiona.

A hard rain has started to fall, I can hear it splattering onto my roof. The sky has broken out in patches of very dark grey, and a bolt of lightning shoots across it. It seems odd to have such a heavy thunder storm in the middle of the day. I wince when hail stones start to pummel the house.

‘What happened, Fiona?’ I ask and in the wrongest way, I’m irritated by the panic in her voice.

‘Oh my goodness, you haven’t heard! There has just been a fatal accident, and it could only be the van of delivery men on their way to your place. I just saw it on the news. The van skidded, It was a total freak accident! There is only one residence in the direction it was going….’

After this, I hear her voice in between the static, but it is impossible to tell what she is saying. Fiona wasn’t what I expected of a real estate agent. She was really good at showing me every little detail about the house, how good the pipes were and that the wiring was in good condition. She had been ringing me every day since handing over the keys, asking if I was still happy with the purchase. ‘Have you slept in the house yet?’ she would ask.

‘Fiona? My voice cracks along with the line. ‘Did you send me a gift? I…’ I stop and stare for a moment at the velvet box, at the golden tissue spilling out over the sides. ‘I received this ummm…gift..’ I can’t say the word necklace. As though it’s really private, really personal. Only I can know about it.

‘Has anybody been to the house? Any visitors?’ Fiona says, and then the line goes dead. My arms are trembling as I look at my cell phone. Of course there is no signal.

I’ve yet to get any television or internet organized. The thud of my phone slipping to the counter, is followed by the sound of my own footsteps. The necklace is waiting for me.

My main concern about the house has been getting it cleaned and painted, protecting the wooden floor, and getting my bedroom ready so that at least I could sleep somewhere comfortably. I paid a lot for new locks, windows and the roof. It would be very hard for anyone to get in.

I don’t want anyone to get in. I’ve had some help, but nobody stuck around very long. They looked at me like I was nuts when I talked about how special this place would have been to the immigrant farmers who came here. I preferred being alone in the house. I could never wait to get away from work to get back to the place and get more preparation done.

I stare down at my gift, touching the sides of the box. There’s a ringing in my ears. Out of the corner of my eye there is something, a movement. I flatten my hands over the box and turn my head out towards the kitchen window.

A man in overalls. Quickly he steps to the side of the house. Could that have been one of the delivery men?

‘…a fatal accident.’ I pick up the box, hold it to my chest and go to ensure everywhere is locked. My heart is beating against the velvet. Its contents need to be closer to me. Running up the stairs, I go to the one room that is almost completely furnished. My bedroom.

There is an antique vanity table with a mirror and seat in front of my bed. I picked a red and white patched quilt with two wooden bed side tables. I had already put up white curtains with a black out blind. I crouch down and crawl over to the window, still grasping the gift. The man is still there.

He is just staring, looking up at the window. His eyebrows are drawn together, his arms at his sides. He is wearing a cap. Lightning flashes and his arms look white. He is standing in the pouring rain, but it does not effect him. Whether or not he sees me, I’m unsure.

It’s a ghost, a confused soul. I recall what time of year it is. The door is open. I so wish I had a pumpkin for the night. The house feels cold and barren without the orange glowing fruit. My racing pulse and rushing blood zap all my strength though I’ve barely moved. Suppressing the urge to sob, I press myself down to the varnished floor I’d worked so hard on.

‘Come on Amber. Ghosts can’t hurt you. He only thinks he needs to deliver the furniture.’ I whisper, trying in vain to find some humor. I sit up and open the box, pulling out the beads as the tissue paper rustles. As soon as my fingers touch the necklace I am comforted. It warms to me. I want to see myself with it on.

Still avoiding the window, I make my way to the vanity table and sit down. I examine the clasps and bring the necklace up, pulling back the mechanism that opens the circle. Easily sliding one hoop through the open circle, there is the tiniest of clicks as the airy stones land against the bottom of my throat. In a split second, they heat to my skin temperature, as though they know me.

It’s like whatever long solidified liquid inside the amber has multiplied and infused, rolling down my body. It’s so beautiful, seeing it against my skin. Then the mirror looks foggy, there is a motion in the reflection that isn’t mine.

The fear comes creeping back with such intensity and my head throbs. It’s foreign this fear, it shouldn’t bother me. A voice says. I stroke the amber and a feeling of protection overwhelms me in an invisible embrace. The storm has stopped, and it is dark within the room. I cannot recall closing the black out blind. Glancing at the window, it is apparently night now. I turn back to the mirror.

Then a man is staring directly at me from within the mirror, which has cleared of the mist. He has a dark beard and light eyes, but I can’t tell which shade. It’s like he is from old film footage. He is wearing a grey shirt, made of coarse looking fabric.

‘Hello.’ I say, still touching the amber. Then his face becomes clearer as he smiles I see his teeth are slightly spaced apart. ‘Hello’ he says in return and the whole house vibrates with his presence.

Outside there are voices….’Amber! Amber!’ I hear men shouting and a woman, but their voices frighten me. What could they want? I can see now that his hair is brown and his eyes are green.

‘Amber’ he says in his pulsing voice. ‘Where I come from, we have very beautiful amber.’ I’m dizzy and suddenly, I am in the kitchen.

‘I thought it more proper that we should speak here.’ The logic of my emotions escapes me. There are ghosts outside. They are calling me. I want to move closer to him, I want to know what his beard would feel like if I wrapped my arms around him. The voices outside fill me with dread.

‘You wish to embrace me.’ He says in a breathless voice. His dark trousers are held up by suspenders. He has an accent. Eastern European is the only way I can place it, but whether Russian or some other more southernly place, I truly wouldn’t know. Then I see images of a village that could only be in some long forgotten part of Europe. It wouldn’t be like that now. Sorrow that doesn’t belong to me makes my eyes fill with tears.

‘Why….how..’ I say through my need to weep.

‘When you wear that.’ His eyes fall to my necklace, ‘We are connected.’

‘Oh…’ I say touching it again. My head is fuzzy when I look at him.

‘Please, wear it. It’s yours. It was meant for you.’ He is tall and slender, he has an Old World, long gone elegance about him. From some time and place long since crushed by war. He addresses me again, and I have an urge to move closer.

‘I love how you have cared for my home. You truly cared for it. You’ve brought it to life.’ As he leans against the counter, I see flashes of the original kitchen, an old stove appears where my modern cooker should be. I shake my head and look back into his eyes.

‘AMBER!!’ The shouting is so loud. It’s like they are right outside the window. Perhaps they want my necklace! What if they try and hurt us? I mustn’t let them in.

‘Come.’ He says and moves towards me in graceful strides. His beard smells like soap. His hand is upon the back of my shoulder and he moves me towards the glass of the kitchen window. But the glass is no longer there.

‘You see? This is how my world was…’ And indeed the trees, the little wood I looked at before is denser, darker and even closer. The trees cover what was the long cleared field. Now it is a true forest.

The breeze hits my face. It is like something ancient and at the same time the air is fresher and more full of life. The memory of the wind I’d let in this afternoon is dusty in comparison. I gulp oxygen through the screen less window. It’s like I’ve been starved of air for over a century. I look up and smile at him. He smiles in return. I should imagine, most consider him a fine healthy man with a strong set of teeth.

The world outside is silent now, it is only us. ‘When I moved here from what was my country, I wanted to make this my home. I longed for a wife to stay with me, keep me company. We would claim this space together. But she never arrived.’ Then I can see behind his brown hair, behind his pale skin, his adams apple goes up and down. His eyes fill with water, before he lets out a breath and looks down at me again.

‘When I saw you…I wanted to make the offer.’ He does not touch my hair, but I sense his massive hand behind my head. Instead, he reaches around and takes my hand in his. He kisses it. The stones become warmer.

There is a loud bang at the door. I hear footsteps. Like someone is running. I cannot help it anymore! I am in his arms, he encloses me, swallows me with his body. We are one. I’m shaking like a leaf, he strokes me up and down. This is madness, but I love him. He is everything I would need in this wild new world. This place that is nothing like my old home.

My old home?

There is something I was supposed to remember. I cannot. There’s only the warmth of the amber connecting us. There’s only his arms and his eyes. There is only this house, this new place that we have come to to make our way in the world. This place where we left the horrors of our Old World behind. Together. Forever.

There is a flash outside. The thunder is back. His arms tense around me and I look up at him. His bright gaze is lit up by lightning. He looks terrified, as though he will be struck down by the storm. As though death will rip us apart, his caresses cease and he grips me until I can hardly breathe.

I sit straight up gasping, covered in sweat. It’s morning. I touch my throat and upper chest, naked and lost without the necklace. I cannot see the box anywhere.

Wincing my eyes for a second, I swallow and run out of the bedroom, down the stairs through the empty living room, grabbing my keys off the hook before dashing out the front door.

The keys jingle in my trembling hands as I start the car and tear down the gravel drive.

This is my house. I will go to the store to get a pumpkin. I will get the brightest orange one, and carve a jagged smile into the fruit, creating a wild eyed demon. That oughta do it. You cannot cross over to trick me. You cannot make me forget who I am. A hysterical laugh escapes my throat before it is stopped by a vision to my left.

My heart sinks as I see a ditch with yellow police tape around it and orange traffic cones. One lane is closed and I have to go around it.

I can’t help but look. I see another man, wearing overalls and looking at the ditch with his hand on his head. He’s lost, but I am too frightened to stop. The man looks up and then his eyes catch mine. They are green, flecks of green and amber. Now, more amber than before.

Suddenly there is a string of ice around my neck. It is so cold that it burns and I cry out. The necklace! How did it get there? I reach to take it off but there is nothing there. I even look down and my neck is bare. My skin freezes as though pressed by frigid rocks unearthed from some tundra.

When I look back up I scream at the sight of a farm truck with a load of orange pumpkins. For a moment I’m comforted. Pumpkins… Then the sound of screeching breaks is accompanied by rolling pumpkins, banging on my vehicle. I cannot swerve fast enough and the impact of the collision is inescapable.

The smashing sound accompanies my body being pressed and pierced by jagged, bent things. My breath is stolen and I choke, tasting blood. The worst part of the agony is the vision of the splattered pumpkins. The guts spilling from the flesh. My shrieking nerve endings and shattered bones empathize with the broken fruit.

My horror didn’t go on very long. It was stopped by his amber and green eyes inches from mine and the smell of his beard.

‘My love…a thousand pumpkins could not have kept me from you.’ he whispers in his Old World bass voice.

‘All Hallows Eve…is two days away….’ As the words leave me, so does my very last breath and the memory of orange and black, of sweaty plastic masks and cartoon character pillow cases full of candy. His hands are near me. I hear a little click. The phantom necklace, now changes temperature one last time.

It is mine. A gift from the Old World to go along with my New World home.

Now I know that I no longer live in a foreign place. I’m an American woman. The smell of split pumpkin reminds me of this new country I’ve come to. It’s overflowing abundance.

My love’s bearded face splits into a triumphant grin. I take his hand and climb through the doorway.

Greek mythology? I’d like you to meet my Dark Urban Fantasy

The Masquerade Crew Book Tour for Into the Arms of Morpheus is soon to begin! What this means is that my story, Into the Arms of Morpheus will feature on varying book review blogs/websites between Monday, September 29th and Friday October 3rd.

In honor of this, I thought I would pay tribute to the gods and goddess I used in my story.

This is how it’s going to go down. I’m going to give you the info that I found on the net about them and how I used it to create my characters.

Info and stories were minimal but here are some bits I picked up from http://www.theoi.com and of course, good old wikipedia.com. I poked around quite a bit to be honest. However I tended to stick with sources that used direct quotes from major works involving Greek mythology and reputable dictionaries.

Don’t get me wrong, I would LOVE to spend a lot more time reading about and searching for these guys but since I was working on a fantasy story I only needed the commonly known information.

So, here we go…Greek Mythology? I would like you to meet my Dark Urban Fantasy :).

Morpheus – the God of Dreams.

(Greek Mythology). Morpheus is not to be confused with Hypnos, who is the God of Sleep. According to theoi.com Morpheus is the son of Hypnos. Morpheus is the leader of the Oneroi, the gods or spirits of dreams. He is the head because he was responsible for taking on the likenesses of mortals. The other two were Phobetor (who forms the shapes of beasts, snakes, etc.) and Phantasos (who takes the form of rocks, rivers and other inanimate things).

I’ve seen other sources stating that Morpheus is the son of Nyx and one of the many brothers of Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death), BUT theoi.com uses direct quotes from Homer and Ovid. I’d go with those guys, who said he is one of the Oneroi who spawned from Hypnos who spawned from Nyx.

Morpheus appears in Ovid’s Metamorphoses where he takes the form of Ceyx (the son of the king of Thessaly) in the dream of Ceyx’s wife, Alcyone. Morpheus makes himself appear sodden and grey with a dripping beard to inform Alcyone of his drowning. After hearing this, Alcyone becomes mad with grief and flings herself into the sea. Zeus changes them into halcyon birds (part of that whole metamorphoses theme, everybody becomes something else). Before he assuming the form of Alcyone husband, Morpheus flew to her on ‘noiseless wings’. It seems he usually took on jobs for the gods of appearing as anyone within a dream (usually the dreams of kings or rulers).

(My Dark Urban Fantasy). Morpheus is certainly a god in his own right. It just so happens that his domain is dreams. To me, (though I’m no expert but I think Ovid would agree), Morpheus is rather like an awesome actor. He is ghost-like, but a master of convincing dreamers he is who he tells us he is. It’s important to remember that his expertise isn’t just in appearing as someone else, but he can get right into the human psyche, right into our deepest and darkest thoughts. So, as far as the dreamer is concerned, Morpheus is that person.

Another part of his role in my story is that he gets into the dreamers blood as well. Morpheus is where the name of the drug morphine comes from – that ultimate narcotic. He has a sedative, and hallucinogenic effect. So as far as my story is concerned Morpheus can make things all dreamy and fuzzy, but he can also make illusions and fantasy vivid. He can mess with your mind in a way that no one else could.

Morpheus rather likes being ‘worshipped’ by lovely young Sylvia. It’s ironic that the title makes use of that beautiful phrase ‘I’m going to fall Into the Arms of Morpheus’ because as much as Sylvia might want to literally feel his arms wrapped around her, that is completely and utterly impossible. He can make things so lucid the dreamer can be convinced it’s all real. Let’s face it we do have physical reactions to mental things. But Morpheus does not know physical touch. He cannot lay so much as a finger on anybody. All the same, he can get you.

Nyx – the Goddess of Night.

(Greek Mythology). Nyx is basically night, personified. She is the bringer of darkness and shadow to the world. She is a direct daughter of Chaos who is pretty much the beginning of everything. So, Nyx is one of the first created beings. She’s all over the place in small patches mentioned here and there in mythology but never for very long. She is the mother (apparently without use of a guy) of Thanatos (Death) and Hypnos (Sleep). Thanatos and Hypnos are sometimes depicted as twins. It’s more consistent to say the Onerei came from Hypnos. So, Nyx is Morpheus’ grandmother…technically.

I found one interesting and another very interesting bit of information about her. The first is that though she was often in the backgrounds of other cults in ancient Greece, she did have her own set of worshippers at one point.

The other is that Zeus is scared of Nyx. Zeus was angered by Hypnos on one occasion for conspiring with Hera to let him put the big Olympian to sleep but Hypnos pretty much went to his mother for protection (Nyx). When Zeus realized Nyx’s wrath was a possibility, he backed down. Homer called her ‘a subduer of gods and men.’

(My Dark Urban Fantasy). I don’t think I stray too far away from who she really is. BUT I’d say I present her in a slightly more vulnerable way at first. Mainly due to her little obsession with Poseidon. Really, she is too strong of a female for the sea god’s liking (he likes his cute little nymphs…which is in keeping with mythology).

However, she is at a point where after thousands upon thousands of years of just being this giant silently powerful entity, she is ready to be part in the mortal world, for at least a short while. Her feelings for Poseidon are the most ‘human’ feelings she can conjure. So, I found it the best place to start with her. In my humble opinion, feelings of romantic love and desire can bring the mightiest down to their knees.

I’m also distancing my gods and goddess from their family connections. I don’t mention who is related to who. It’s not necessary or needed in my story.

Major Disclaimer! I’m not going to lie…if Nyx were to request Morpheus, (who is technically according to Greek myth her grandson), to pretend to be Poseidon in a dream that would be wrong and very gross. Stop! Remember that Morpheus can be omnipresent and project illusions and images. He doesn’t have to personally perform them or be involved. He gets personal with Sylvia. Not with Nyx. So, lets make this clear. No poor little dream gods are being manipulated and abused by their grandmothers. It’s more like this…eh hem…

Nyx: ’Give me a shot of that stuff I know you have what makes me see that stuff I like.’

Morpheus: ’Okay, there you go. I’m off over here anyway.’

(Morpheus goes off on his way to see what Sylvia is thinking about, probably him!)

I like to think I did a better job of describing it than that though ;).

In contrast to Morpheus, Nyx can take mortal form and interact on a tangible basis. She usually calls herself Nina, whilst ‘playing mortal’. Even when in this form she is dominating. I honestly believe that only Nyx, the Night Goddess herself could override Sylvia’s need for Morpheus. Only Nyx, could override Sylvia’s issues with physical contact.

She is indeed a subduer of gods and men. She can render any god or mortal unable to see or have any sense of where they are or who they are. At one point in my story she blinds Death. I think Nyx’s greatest weapon is the ability to make you feel so utterly alone. She can override all the gods and strike terror in the heart of hardened warriors. There is a possibility of her being an ally more fierce than any in existence.

I sometimes think of Nyx, protecting people on secret missions in her shadows. I also think of the evil that resides in her murky recesses. She is horror, heroics and sensuality all in one. The night goddess has been there, though all of man’s existence, lurking and knowing. I would really rather be on her good side. I freaking love you, Nyx.

Death (Thanatos)

(Greek Mythology) – Thanatos (Death) is the son of Nyx and brother of Hypnos, some saying even his twin. He is associated with gentle, non-violent death. Apparently it is his sisters the psychotic Keres who are associated with violent bloody deaths. Thanatos is not to be confused with Hades, who runs the underworld. Thanatos doesn’t really run anything. He just kills people.

The Greek poet Hesiod confirms him as being the brother of Hypnos. There is a quote describing that whoever Thanatos gets a hold of will never escape his grasp. He is without passion or mercy and described as hateful towards mortals and ‘deathless’ gods. With Thanatos, there is nothing, only death. The good news is it won’t hurt.

Again, there are many mentions of him but not a lot of detail. Homer describes the twins Thanatos and Hypnos as having the job of carrying a slain hero to his homeland. I assume that this is to do with a painless, swift delivery from the battlefield.

(My Dark Urban Fantasy) – Death is not the main character in my story, but he does play a part as there is literally a ‘killer’ on the loose in Into the Arms of Morpheus. I don’t refer to him as Thanatos (which is literally Greek for ‘death’), only ‘Death’.

I focus on his cold quality. The Killer puts him up on a pedestal because Death is unmoved by love, passion, romance or tenderness. Mortal weaknesses such as a love of pleasure or attention are reviled. To the wannabe murderer it is a rare glory to rise above such things. In the Killer’s eyes, Death really doesn’t give a *cough* about that.

This god just can’t relate to feelings. It’s his lack of relating to feelings that probably give him anything like, well…feelings. He becomes irritated by mighty Nix daring to show vulnerability. She should be above such things. At no point does he call her mother.

It did occur to me whilst writing Into the Arms of Morpheus, that Death is a pitiable character. Even though they are dark and lesser known, it is possible to really desire and want Nyx and Morpheus. Hypnos? Of course, we all just need to zonk out sometimes.

Death? No. No one wants him. Not really. Not him as he is. Maybe some fantastical totally invented version of him, maybe some badly informed gothic type who confuses him with Hades. But not Thanatos.

Of course, you would want a quick and painless death as opposed to the psycho Keres sisters. But even in that case, you want an instant, blink and you miss it millisecond with him, and you will never even remember him afterwards. No wonder he is a hateful sort. He doesn’t really get any recognition.

But when he gets near, there is a palpable sense of the inescapable. Unlike Morpheus, he can touch you. When he does, you’ll never get away. It’s over. Goodbye.

So, there you go! Thank you wikipedia.com and theoi.com :)

I hope you will take the time to get to know Morpheus, Nyx and Death in my story, Into the Arms of Morpheus.

You don’t have to be American to be awesome….

Now, you don’t have to be American to be awesome (or a total bastard)…but it sure helps!

I did the ice bucket challenge and donated to ALS http://www.alsa.org/about-als/what-is-als.html I am an American. I love red meat and dislike fish. I don’t go to church. I drink a little too much. I’m going to be honest, I feel a little bad about most of these things. Apart from being an American.

I also don’t feel bad about donating to ALS. Feeling rather ashamed about my bucket challenge (water wasting) enthusiasm, I did donate to The Water Project – http://thewaterproject.org/bucket-challenge-for-clean-water.

I can’t help but notice on social websites, folks who are doing the ice bucket challenge, and those who refuse in adamant disgust.

It’s taking off in the UK (they like to have a bit of fun too…well most of them). It is initially an American craze, an American charity and U.S. folk are known for being a little ‘over the top’ at times.

Granted, even some Americans have refused to do it on the grounds of not wanting to waste water. But what some folks (like the ones at the water project) have done is find an alternative. Alternatives can be both clever and awesome.

I’m not insanely irrationally patriotic. I wouldn’t dare defend every cultural craze, every foriegn policy decision, every bomb, every shady bit of history, every shot that the country I come from is responsible for. But that does not mean I don’t have a lot of love in my heart for the place.

I still would offer my respect to ANYONE who is willing to put themselves in harm’s way in order to protect those who are vulnerable. Hence my contribution to the Bellator and Reaching Out Anthologies (two short story collections one for The Wounded Warrior Project, one for the Red Cross).

I don’t LOVE it when the marketing crazy, commercial/advert saturated madness goes a little too far. But I’m a self-published writer…I have to freaking market a little!

I’ve been living abroad for a long time, and I’ve learned to just brush it off when certain people (usually those who have never spent any significant time in the US) go on about the evils/ignorance/general distastefulness of the US at me as though I am personally responsible for it all and I should be ashamed to come from the place. Whatever.

People are suffering right now as a direct result of wasteful practices and general greed. Even within supposedly ‘rich’ countries there are huge gaps between the haves and have nots.

Then there are the parts of this earth that contain such extreme suffering, it boggles the western, well fed mind that such conditions still even exist.

Then there are the things we don’t even know about. Things there isn’t a charity for. Words are words. No doubt any of us would fall to our knees at the sight of a child suffering, going without the things we take for granted every day.

Let’s be honest, most of us don’t see real, actual, proper suffering. We just see facebook and twitter posts, and we get a little annoyed about them….*sheepish look*.

Because ALL of us, no matter where we come from, should all be aware of our actions, how every little thing we do has an affect on someone, somewhere. From how we do the dishes/washing up, how we treat our bodies, to how we interact with other people face to face. We’re never going to be perfect, we’re never going to get it exactly right.

Still, we should put a smile on our face, and fill our hearts with love instead of hate and self-righteousness. We should look around at how even just our words can affect others, let alone our actions. The more barriers that go up, the more ‘us and them’ attitude people take, the less peaceful the world gets. And THAT is something I do not want to take part in.