Just for Angelia

 

I am progressing in a positive direction.

From whatever point I am experiencing life now,

I can make a positive move toward greater fulfillment.

Whatever type of person I now seem to be,

I can begin to grow into the person God or the Universe,

created me to be.

I can choose a new pattern of thinking and acting.

I can make choices to put me on the path.

This choice will bring me greater joy and inner peace.

If I am unhappy with the way I have reacted in some circumstance,

I have the power to acknowledge and change my behavior.

I have an inner spark of divinity.

The spiritual me that has been created,

In the image and likeness of God.

I wish to express in the inner-outer realms.

I turn to inner guidance to: think, speak, and act positively.

I follow a higher calling and move at a comfortable

pace in a positive direction.

 

Bunk Bed Buddies: The Walking Dead



Remember this: Sex is not the center of the Universe.

Last night I was watching The Walking Dead’s episode, “Consumed”. I also watched the Talking Dead with Chris Hardwick.

The content on both shows was interesting and thoughtful.

I was impressed by the input of Yvette Nicole Brown. She is the kind of person you can have deep intellectual conversations with because she pays attention. Life is magic when you have a listener.

I have thoughtful perspectives on this and wanted to share for whoever watches the show. I wondered if anyone shared this particular thought.

If I were the character what would I be thinking, feeling, or remembering from history I didn’t know. I was an archeologist digging into the minds of strangers based on my experiences; making up my own tales.

The online fodder revolves around Daryl being gay or hooking up with Beth or Carol, or both. I don’t particular subscribe to this potential storyline. That is the writer’s path. I do find it fascinating the way in which the writers handled this episode.

When Carol and Daryl are on the bunk bed talking, I did not get the feel of any kind of sexual chemistry. Likewise, I don’t see this with Beth either. I was reading the content writ in online conversations and between Hardwick and his panel. The posture by Daryl is of an overly protective brother.

Fathers and brothers can surrogate for the female in a non-sexual way until the female finds a mate. This is why it is important for the male role not be a violent one. This helps the female determine if the potential mate is an asshole-to-be-avoided. She will compare non-relative men to this example. If it is a poor example, God help you man that you overcome her problems if you so desire to pursue a woman that you feel is worth it.

I wondered. Why it is so important for people to see something that is not necessarily there? The viewer wants the idea to be true because it is lacking in their life or they just want to see it to fulfill some fantasy. You must always ask in the back of your mind, is it true or distorted. Is the viewer happy to see traumatized people have a happy moment; a moment in a sea of dead zombie shells. This scenario only complicates the storyline and suffering of the characters. This is great material for the writer. At the basis of this show is literature, which the visual is built upon.

What I saw on the bunk bed was a platonic surrogacy. The universe is always delivering unto its life forces things they need to get them over the hump, if recognized.

In the Walking Dead Cosmos, surrogate benefactors nurture and move the characters on. The reality they knew before is now replaced by a bastardized version of what life is at present. No one is safe. 

Carol, a domestic abuse survivor, probably has thoughts on life being more secure before the zombie apocalypse. Even if it is with an abuser. 

Was it better to be a relationship victim where escape to a normal life was possible? Or is it worse to be stuck in a hell of zombies and good people turning into less-than-human killers? Or is that humanity at its basis form? Those good people you otherwise wouldn’t kill but now have to.

I could say animals but that’s derogatory because humans are animals. There was reference to Rick’s group now being animals. Why treat humans above reproach when humans are not?

This is how I saw Daryl. Daryl at that moment was the surrogate man Carol probably wanted or needed before the apocalypse; the man that would take care of distasteful things in times of emotional and physical lows without the abuse. He’s the guy you will sleep with but not love, have him fix your car but give no thanks as you ride off into the sunset with someone else, and call to whine about your problems while treating him like an emotional dumping ground. The silver lining in the surrogate’s cosmos is he may be used temporarily, but such good karma he has built could be repaid with some gift from the universe; thus rectifying karmic debt. We all want a person or group to alleviate the begrudged burdens that are forced upon us.

When Daryl tells Carol she doesn’t have to act or make a decision in the building with the child and adult zombie, Daryl realizes Carol’s affliction. At times we don’t want to admit our problems when the closest to us see them clearly. The only way the afflicted can come to terms and acknowledge these problems is self-realization. Being told you have a problem tends to flare up the denial in the person it is issued to.

Up to this point, even though Carol is with Daryl moving through a landscape as part of a unit, Carol seems to be thinking in terms of the individual separate from Daryl; making the decision to follow through with complicated problems, not because someone asked her to but because she takes it upon herself. This could speak to Carol’s inability or lack of education on interacting in relationships and distrust of significant others. She sees herself as being more capable to deal with the situation without realizing how it drains her and that someone more capable is standing right there. Carol carries this idea there is no other option but to carry burden, is implied.

There again, another viewer may not see this because that is what I see. I am internalizing the scene in terms of my past experiences.

Daryl’s character punch comes in short bursts, which is more effective than other characters. To some degree, Daryl is unconsciously applying horse training techniques on Carol. He applies pressure on Carol as she moves away in denial.  This tactic is implied with the conversation of who Carol is from Carol’s standard versus how Daryl knows her when they are looking at a painting. Carol moves away in denial because she claims Daryl doesn’t really know her. Daryl begs to differ. Then there is Noah under the bookcase, Daryl moves away to Carol’s panic. Carol goes in and acts to stop the zombie.

How do you get someone to make the right choices with the right pressure without traumatizing them further into mistrust or detachment?

I began to realize there was this pressure from the masses for Daryl to have sex with someone or something. I became aggravated that the character of Daryl couldn’t just develop at his own pace but now was being poked and prodded by unknown assailants that wanted him to bed the older woman, the younger woman, etc.

Carol is the semi-mature, older woman with what some would consider fading beauty or beauty with age and wisdom. Being close to his age would be more socially appropriate. She appears more of a motherly type.

Beth is the nubile youth growing into a woman through brutal acts and situations. On some level, Beth is mentored by Daryl but some viewers want this dynamic to turn into a sexual relationship. This is seen a lot in movies where older men are connected physically with younger women.

I am dwelling more on Daryl’s character here. He is the center of that particular universe through manipulation. He seems to be making or not making the decisions on his ethic where women, age, and who gives a shit comes into play. His character might feel he doesn’t have time for that or doesn’t need it.  Beth and Carol are fruit on a tree and he just has to decide which one to eat. What if Daryl were picked by someone? Someone he wasn’t particularly enamored with immediately; maybe enamored but in denial or just doesn’t notice because anxiety, deranged people, his standing on a constant ledge of madness and mayhem daily leaves him with the decision to not go there. Should Daryl be suspended in emotional animation or moved along into some fate worse than death, love or hate of a particular nature? Why is this so important?

The reactions of the world made room for puzzling over this. Do people really want happy-endings for favorite characters? Are viewers more concerned with who is hooking up with who? Should this be denied to the public or handed over? When you spend time watching a show to see who hooks up, you don’t get the sublime messages that are more meaningful. It is overshadowed by the potential for sex.

Shifting your mentality to what really matters when dealing with people that is not sex driven is where you truly connect to people and yourself. Emotionally developed characters can exist even while occupying a tragic landscape.

Daryl, Carol, and Beth can separately develop while being together and not in a sexual way. The sexual component lessens the family dynamic being built yet chess pieces can move into positions previously not occupied, but at what cost?

Relationship changes are not always for the best on the board. Connecting on the familial level is more important because sex is not the glue to relationships. If it is, the glue can wear away and the relationship shows the hallow emptiness of what was only a voyeur’s desire to see sex. This sex could be a lowering of the character and the spirit surrounding them. The characters are not barflies, getting drunk, and looking for love in all the wrong places while stabbing zombies in the head. Relationships are important components because even the characters walk along stabbing zombies in the head with no second thought to it. Killing the zombies is white noise to the viewer. This hook-up attitude can indicate a degrading of the character.

Daryl is the male sacrificial virgin. He has wings on his back and people want to see the character that has been elevated to archangel status fall to Earth by the hand of a love interest. This only works when it is the right person. Anything less would not get the same effect. It has to be quietly epic. Maybe people want to vicariously experience a perceived supernatural biblical moment. The fallen angel has to burn or become the thing it was before the fall. Do viewers want to see a sullying of characters to make them more sinful, more human, or average in terms of human nature? Handled right it could be the most beautiful thing but always potentially tragic.

After watching so many shows where sex is carnal and debasing to the character but conveyed or interpreted as empowering, I would just like to see a character find their way without being molested for viewers satisfaction on the character’s terms via the writer; not always the helpless badass blowing in the breeze.  

When you like characters equally in these potential hook-ups there is going to be a loser. People want connection but there isn’t thought put into the type of connection or where it is headed. Making sound decisions towards relationships tell you whether they will work out or not.

On-the-fly relationships could develop into meaningful things but only with work.

I began to think in terms of Carol, Beth, and Daryl as an outsider making decisions on what they needed, not what they wanted. Funny, how the outsider always sees something etched on the outer and inner shell of the person. Sometimes that interference from the outside world puts the character on the path or diverts the character off. It could also be a manifestation of the inner self’s development into the end product.

I wondered what kind of character, if any, would best be applied to the character of Daryl. I didn’t necessarily think it was Beth or Carol long term.

To best torture the character of Daryl the opposing character would have to be a sort of wild animal in the form of a devil combined with an angel, which is what Daryl is so the character would be reflective. The character would have to have the ability to kill, save, love, or hate Daryl, who would mutually be tortured by this dynamic yet not want to live with or without the other.  Again, it could be as in real life; nothing, finding no one ever, and dying all alone wondering why you weren’t good enough or chosen.

I refer back to those famous wings. In the strata of God and the Devil, the ultimate reconciliation would be this particular relationship. God must merge with the Devil, as one. This function would be Daryl with Daryl; Daryl with another person(s). There would be no moving on into other relationships without the malice of disappointing failure.  The common denominator is to be right with one's self before being right for another.

As humans we rush in blindly to complicated, torturous unmaintainable love-hate-sex-empty relationships. We even attach ourselves to people out of security and familiarity but does it ever make us feel the way we should? What exactly is that feeling and will we know it or do outside things distract us such as who Daryl will have sex with. Do we just want another image to add to the sex fantasy reel of Daryl doing it with someone regardless of the female face attached? Viewers can transpose their face onto Carol’s or Beth’s and be the one Daryl is with. What does Daryl represent as the male character?    

I really enjoyed this episode and could talk on it more. I’ll just sit here on my perch and read online fodder which tickles me on occasion; people and their online comments.

People do watch the show loyally so it is not just Daryl getting laid. If that ever came out I am sure people would have Hurricane-type parties where they pile on a couch just to see poor Norman Reedus giving it all he’s got. The expectation has got to be either crushing him or challenging him. I would hide on the Mothership to if everyone was peer pressuring me to death with sex. Maybe he just wants a motorcycle ride and a cold Slurpee?

Sex is never the long-term answer. This little monster wears away and you start seeing the real person you are sleeping with. Some poor souls don’t get to sleep in the bed overnight. They get kicked out where the cat stares from the warm cozy window at them out in the snow.  

Sex is a smaller facet of a bigger jewel. Feeding a voyeuristic need to spy on a character solely for the satisfaction of watching a character’s sex act seems to me a slap in the face to the character, especially when the character is being developed into a person with a life of its own. I asked myself this question: If it were my lover or husband would I want to share them, in that way, with the world? Or would I want to keep some things sacred? Would I want them to feel like I put them on the sacred pedestal, protected from grabbing, unloving hands?

It’s like saying to the character, “I don’t care about you. You are just here for my jollies.” I can warrant this attitude in people’s real lives as viewers.

I am not a prude but when did the happy ending stop at the moment two people have sex? Do people live for that magical moment solely and not the millions of moments thereafter with the person? Why in my mind do I feel this empty space of self-induced amnesia or dementia when I hear people talking about “the moment” and nothing of substance follows?

It’s bad enough when you are a teenager going through puberty that your friends pressure you into sex, your relatives constantly ask you if you’ve found someone, or you avoid going out because you don’t want to feel the rejection. The other side of this seedy coin is finding out the other person fragrantly lied to you thus making you a fool and they, a tart.

The ones you were interested in didn’t like you back, making you feel unsexy. Ergo I say this, but you aren’t psychic and maybe they did but your mind talked you out of it.

God help those unwed, deep in their thirties, forties and beyond. People eyeball and whisper they will never get married then give up on them; like you have to make those people with judgey eyes happy.  

I am laughing at myself for saying that but oh well.

Written by: Angelia Y Larrimore

~Courtesy of the AOFH~



Serviceman, Fisherman, and Always Suave

 

 

 

Remember this: Everyone has lost someone at some point to War.

 

This is my grandfather, Harry. I never knew him. He died in an automobile accident before I was born.  He served in the military and fought in WWII. His guilty pleasure was German made riding boots. By the way, I come from horse people. An avid fisherman, more so than a hunter, he was a colorful character with cigarette in hand.

 

A couple of days ago there were numerous posts on the internet regarding service men and women. I wanted to post a short piece on people in my family that were in the service. It would seem my family likes to fight. My brother was in the Air Force. Both my cousins were in the Marines. My other relatives were in the Vietnam Conflict but passed away. One North Carolina relative was in the military in WWII as well but at 80 he was still doing chin-ups like a boss. I had relatives in fights all over Early America and in other countries and sea.

 

I usually do not like to glorify war but think veterans deserve their due for fighting no matter what side they are on. I also believe veterans are not treated appropriately for the PTSD they suffer from, the lifelong disability, and being cut loose with no foundation to attach to and drifting on the four winds.

I believe when countries have to resort to war or shooting the random missile at another country then someone in the politics or dissension does not have the capacity to act as a leader, show diplomacy, have communication skills, problem-solving, and the ability to bring people together instead of rip world communities apart. War is an indicator of gross dysfunction on many levels.

I also try to be somewhat sensitive to other countries because from their side they probably feel justified in fighting even if on the losing side. What side ever wins?

When governments see so many of their constituents dying and being mauled a person would think the politicians would go to greater lengths to avoid sending people on a death mission. Those same politicians are not going to leave their seat, jump a plane and dive out to help do the ground work. They are sitting in air-condition.

 

I don't see the point in taking a healthy individual and send them to a place that incapacitates the soldier for the rest of their life, if they live through it. But enough about this.

I wish I had known my grandfather.

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

The Wisdom of Baby Cougars

Remember this: You never know when you will come across a thing at a distance, then that thing appears on your doorstep.

 

I was three years out of high school and attending the local university when one day I saw something on my drive home. There was a fireworks store the owner wanted to develop into a roadside zoo. I never stopped to view or inquire because the owner of the store had a bad reputation and in constant trouble with the law.

I looked over and saw a cougar with a logging chain attached to its neck, wrapped in a water hose spewing water. I thought to myself that scene looked very out-of-place and wrong. I wondered why the store owner was even allowed to have a roadside attraction less than fifty feet from a major highway with nothing more than a dog kennel fence and a chain holding it in. I cringed and moved along.

I don’t remember if I called someone because it was so long ago. Later, I would learn through the ever-active community grapevine that one of the tigers had escaped. It was hunted down and shot. I highlight community grapevine here but several people seemed to be aware of this right before the store owner and his son were charged with drug sales and trafficking.

Several weeks later a blonde man with curly hair came to our house. I thought he looked like some kind of Greek demi-god. I don’t remember his name. In tow, he brought baby cougars in the house. I was called into the kitchen and across the floor walked these three baby cougars. I asked how he came to have possession of these baby cougars.

The store owners were on the cusp of being busted and gave them away to whoever would take them. I can’t remember if this was one of those moments where the cubs were passed on to someone who was administering temporary care until a more suitable arrangement could be found. I don’t think this was the case. The man wanted to pass them on to my family but my parents were against this. The cubs were orphaned, removed from the wild at the onset of life, and as they grew bigger the financial care and maintenance would increase. The anxiety of potential escape and the responsibility of someone getting hurt loomed on the horizon.

These babies deserved to be put into a rehabilitation and release center. The only wild they knew was the concrete back lot of a fireworks store.

Years later, I asked my parents did they know what became of the cubs. Two of the cubs died from distemper. The third the man kept and named it Baby. I was told when the cub was big enough to be a threat to his toddlers he drove to North Carolina and released it in the late 90s. I do not know if someone shot the animal, it moved on to another state, or if it died through disease or misadventure. I was a teenager, what did I know?

I look back on this as one of those moments when the universe opens up and things land in your lap. I find it interesting one of the cubs crawled in my lap, put its paw on my chest then tapped me on my cheek. I knew these were wild animals and not pets. No matter what, all babies are beautiful unless you have no heart at all. This is the case with some people. There are hunters who chose to hunt these animals and kill them as part of their tick list. I am not one of those people and hope never to be one. I don’t fault hunters who do but this is not part of my ethos.

This is one of those times where I will write something and show you a picture to the truth of it. There are probably people with better stories but I tried to see what this could be applied to.

The tragedy of this story was the mother coming into the possession of drug dealers and the subsequent birth of her babies, whom were given away like hand-me-down clothes.

Here you had intentionally orphaned cubs taken from their mother, cheated of a natural life in the wild, shuttled back and forth unvaccinated to different people’s homes, and no guarantee to the outcome of their lives. Only one made it to adulthood, unceremoniously released, and then found itself back at the same moment of having a life in question to the outcome. All the decisions made by people determined the outcome of this cub that was at the mercy of the decision-makers.

I thought of how this applied in my life. I will say now the reason for my relating this tale of woe is in the hopes that if a parent is reading this and your child becomes compromised do not be afraid to rectify a wrong done against your child or relative. They may have to live with a physical wound and scar the rest of their life. People deserve their dignity, self-respect, and the positive outlook that people will do right by them and not wrong them at every turn. Your children look to you for support when they don’t know what to do.

I will also say that if you think I am a loser you are entitled to your opinion but that doesn’t make it true.

As for companies, institutions, or just individuals, if you lead someone into a ditch and they get hurt, man up and do right by the person. Doing wrong by them will only make your issue seem more the blight if you think you are not going to have to come to terms with what you have done.

I was attending the local University paying my way through school when jobs and money would allow. For a long time I didn’t use student loans. To get the aid I had to disclose parts of my life to the financial aid office that was embarrassing to me along with being semi-homeless and having to drop all my classes due to pregnancy. Someone asked me about aborting my baby. I decided that wasn’t prudent for me and became the responsible one. Years later after my child was born I decided I could go back and work toward finishing my hours for my Biology degree.

This is the story people like to hear; single mother overcomes odds and gets a degree while single-handedly supporting the child or children because somehow she is superhuman and has special powers that other people can’t tap. The whole time she is drinking from the Kryptonite Sippy cup.

I was taking an ecology class and the requirement by the university was you had to sign a release or you couldn’t take the class. The class was a requirement for your degree so you were coerced into signing to get what you needed.

We went to this place called Forty Acre Rock because there was something special that bloomed near the pools and nowhere else. It could have been Table Rock because we went to different places.

Everything was fine until the professor decided she wanted us to go down this steep incline to see a water fall. Everyone started down the hill dubiously because it recently rained. We headed down the hill and I stepped on this one place that was covered with leaves and moss. I slipped and fell back on my leg. I slide down the incline and slammed into a boulder. The boulder stopped me but I broke my left leg and didn’t know it. I was sitting on my leg in shock and the professor came over and scowled at me. After much discussion over me, the decision was made to take the students on to see this small waterfall. I guess it didn’t occur to her after this that maybe the conditions were conducive to accidents.

I sat there and watched them walk off and leave me. The professor’s husband, the university librarian, a couple of students and another person were standing over me trying to figure out what to do with me. I tried to stand up at their encouragement but almost passed out again to tumble down the mountain. I relayed I couldn’t stand or walk. There was a male African-American student who tried to break a ruler and splint my leg but I had on my mud boots. This didn’t work. The only option I had was to crawl on my hands and knees up this hill. The others walked up ahead as I slowly made my way. When I got to the top of the hill they wanted me to walk to the school van but once again I almost passed out from the pain. Someone went to get the vehicle after I insisted I couldn’t do it. I told them the only way I was going to get to where the van was parked was if I crawled. They were going to make me crawl.

The same guy that tried to splint my leg started to look angry. He stood over me and then looked at the others and said, “You are not going to make her crawl one more inch.” He squatted on the ground like he was in a football line up but lower. He looked at me and said, “I want you to crawl up on my back.”

I told him I would try and once I got my leg still, crawled up on his back. This reminded me of the painting of the Good Samaritan. He carried me to the van and put me inside. I waited forty-five minutes to an hour for the professor and class to return. Once we were on the way, I wasn’t paying attention because I knew my leg was broken. The Professor spoke up after we were ten minutes past a hospital and asked me did I want them to turn around to go to the emergency room. I rolled my eyes because they weren’t going to stop and wait for me to sit in an emergency room for a cast application. I was eventually given a phone to call my parents who picked me up four hours or so later at the university.

What came next was not to be believed. I was stuck with the emergency room bill. The professor filed an accident form. I was almost fired from my job because I broke my leg outside of work during classes. I was ejected by the university and immediately barred from classes. This was after I was assured by the main office the institution would delay my last tuition installment because the accident impeded my ability to work my job.

I remember walking out of the Biology building on crutches, crying and completely devastated and betrayed. Here strangers were making the decisions affecting my life and I was at their dismissive mercy like a small wayward child.

The professor had a moment of conscience because she went and paid the money out her pocket to have me reinstated. I felt compelled to pay her back because everyone made me feel like it was my fault. My father was furious and after that did not pay another dime on my university fees. He saw this as a sign of weakness. I didn’t know what to do.  

The students in the class were telling me to quit and go home. One student went so far as to tell the professor I was a burden and getting a grade without doing any work because of my broken leg. It was humiliating. I said screw it and kept going. I even walked my crutches down into a swamp. The professor even encouraged that. I began to think the woman didn’t have common sense and developed this rank distrust of teachers and their lack of common sense regardless of degrees. I felt like if I didn’t go I would fail and the money to pay for the class would be wasted. I would be further behind on my hours and no closer to my degree. The rest of the ecology class I wished I were elsewhere.

I wanted to do the right thing but the right thing wasn’t done by me. I guess I should have sued them. I now walk with a limp on my left leg that will always remind me of the crawling, the begging, and the mistreatment. It will always remind me of the bad in a group of people but the redemption in one student of African-American descent. I saw him years later and thank him again.

I went back to school several times but I was resentful of the memory. I tried to overcome it. Several months ago, I called Francis Marion University and asked the head of the Biology department if she could waive the one class that I took and failed that was required. I failed that one class and I can own it too. I explained my situation. She said she would get back to me. A month or so later I called again. She said I could take it elsewhere. I told her I had no more money. She wasn’t very helpful.

I called the main office and told them the situation. The worker there told me I could not take the class elsewhere. I had to take it at FMU and she was misinforming me. I was irate to say the least. Once again, here I was at the mercy of strangers that could care less if they helped me and the only thing standing between me and my degree was one class. I couldn’t think of a worse punishment.

I thought back on the attitude of the professors. The attitude coming down the pipe was this: We are here to take your money and fail you. We are not in the business of giving students value for their money and education or above taking financial aid funds while giving you the worse learning experience in your life.

Here I realized the student is paying the university and enabling professors and administration to have a regular paycheck, yet the student is held in contempt and being mistreated. In varying degrees the students going to universities are being victimized by the institutions through false promises. First class educations are traded for inadequate teaching practices of professors and maltreatment by administration.

After students pour money into these institutions, you are treated like garbage that is set down by the curb for someone else to pick up. I call to mind the Chair on the Graham Norton Show.

When you read this you have to start coming to the realization this might be the reason we still refer to some countries as Third World toilets or developing countries. This might be why we have people cracked out on student loans with no degrees, working menial jobs or digging through the trash for a meal. Maybe this is why the smartest or the most savvy at cheating or cutting corners end up as soulless doctors doling out prescription meds to support pharmacies and getting kickbacks on those prescriptions; all while doing baseless diagnosis and sue-worthy malpractice cases. Maybe the attitude and practices of administration and professors in Higher Learning is hindering those people that could be on the cusp of discovering things that can make life on Earth more livable and sustainable. We as a planet are being screw out of the genius potential.

My bigger question is when did it become a real thing that a second rate professor, that can’t get employed at a major laboratory, get stuck at a university then decide one of his students isn’t worthy of a bright idea or discovery based on outdated tests from more than ten years ago?  My second question to that is what university puts its professors up to telling students, after they have foot more than $6000 in tuition while living off campus that they will be failed intentionally without providing a learning environment towards degree? If a professor doesn’t like teaching the students and finding achievement in watching students succeed through professor mentorship, maybe that professor needs to find another job.

The more I look at things the more I see this ever throbbing vein of people keeping silent at maltreatment for the greater good of their dreams, and the hope no one will punish or blackball then for raging against the wrongs put upon them. You are just being taken advantage of at your expense and on the government dime.

This is what I learned from the wisdom of baby cougars. You are one among many that is born into this world with no promises; not all make it. Some are harder to kill than others such as myself. The one that does survive and thrive has a limited time on this Earth. Tragedy can strike at the beginning, middle, or end of your life. If this occurs don’t cry about it. It is bound to happen. No one is spared this trauma. Along the way you might come across a person(s) who makes decisions that affect your life negatively or positively. Your dreams will be dismissed, blocked, or mangled yet you will and can go on without such a thing. Then again all your dreams and goals can be realized while others around you fall like burning angels from the sky. You might not like it but you will move forward hopefully with the positive energy inside of you. You will cry, hate, resent, and finally come to terms with things much like one does after a death. Grief will come and go but finally fade away. A path is a path, be it mineral, animal, or human. I am a firm believer in people getting their come-uppance when they mistreat people. You will be around to see this, if not, hopefully somewhere nice. No matter what, you believe there is something else around the corner even if there is not. You have to believe life will change even if you are still stuck in the same rut you were pushed or jumped into. Believe in the idea that someone will look down at you and say, “You will not crawl one more minute”, because there are people out there capable of this. It does happen. Not everyone wants to intentionally make you fail. Eventually you will have nothing to lose and they can take nothing from you because everything is already gone. This is when you reach the Devil’s Crossroads and fear no Death.

 

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

 ~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part IV

Mich sat inside the speakeasy drowning his conscious in the rotgut booze made out back by Frank Delano. He was listening to the songstress belting out rhythm and blues while begging the Lord for mercy because of her devious ways. He stared at her. Her pecan skin and plumb lips quivers as she sang, “I need forgiveness from you”, while hitting the high note. When the song ended, Mich walked up and put five one-hundred dollar bills into the jar labeled Inaskye's Swear Jar. Inaskye looked at the jar now full of money and picked it up. “Hey Candy Man.” She gestured with the jar. “You need forgiveness?” She picked up a lace shawl and put it around her shoulders.

He looked at the woman and she walked off while looking back. “Come on then.” He followed her to a backroom.

The dark shape followed the woman back to her SUV and stood in the shadows. The dark shape was watching and waiting. Waiting for opportunity. The dark shape's need to expose and destroy the woman grew inside with each glance of her. No one would have her.

The shape never saw it coming. The ghost appeared from behind and began to merge into the dark shape's physical being, holding still the dark shape's form. The apparition encircled her arms around the dark shape and began to squeeze. The ghost let go and the dark shape was flung through the air near the clapboard house it was standing next to. The dark shape could feel its soul being ripped from its body. The mouth harboring the last scream, began to crack and the eyes bulge. There was a thud to the body. The dark shape was impaled into the boards of the house by the straggled breathing of a stag, pushing the dark shape deeper into the wood until the wood bowed. There were gurgles as the stag pulled itself away with the dark shape hanging from its horns. Shaking the dark shape like a rag doll, the dark shape slipped free to bleed out on the ground. The ghost hovered above. The ghost turned and moved to where the dark shape stood to see the woman safely get into her SUV and drive away.

Inside the clapboard house, Minnie Miller could hear noises outside. Burglars again. She picked up her 38 revolver from the place she shoved it between her knitting needles and yarn. She slipped on her fuzzy house shoes. She took a first glance outside the window. She didn't see the body lying underneath the window. She went outside onto the porch and walked to the end where she heard the noise. She saw a body under he window, took aim and let a bullet fly.

“If you're not dead. You are now!” Wait until all her friends down at the local Senior's club learn how she thwarted a burglar or worse yet, a rapist caught in the act. She waited to see if it moved. Minnie walked back into the house and dialed 911.

The 911 operator came onto the line. “Hello, 911. What is your emergency?”

Minnie Miller straightened her flora printed moo-moo. “I would like to report a dead body. At least I think it's a dead body. Right outside under my window.”

Eli returned to the area where Hugh took a spill out the deer stand. Night occluded the day and the sounds of the woods began to make their mark on the silence. He wanted to know what was going on. He asked Mich to meet him but Mich had a prior engagement. He wondered why Correlia had not returned his call. He called her twenty times so far. He was beginning to worry.

Eli knew Correlia's stand was not to far behind her father's house which abutted the area the three men had hunted days earlier. He always liked to be close by so if she shot something he and the boys could help her load it up. He walked through the woods to see if he could find her stand. When he got to the lean-to he pushed the nylon screen aside and scooted inside. He sat down and found a journal scrapbook. He wondered should he do some investigative work and spy on what she was into. He thought not to but curiosity got the better of him. He opened the journal and found deeply personal information written in its pages. Some of it disturbed him. He found the entry from days ago to find some photos of Correlia and Hugh trying on wedding dresses and tuxedos. Eli snorted and thought those two. Why would she leave this behind? Eli sat there for a moment then began to feel a little worried. No, this wasn't right. Something wasn't right here. He got up and crawled out. He looked in different directions. He saw a light off in the distance and began walking towards it. He lost track of the time, but walked a short distance through the woods. As he got closer to the edge of the woods, he could see the shape standing. As he stopped, the time it took for the apparition to transverse the distance knocked Eli down as the ghost screamed the wail of a Banshee. He yelled and got up to run but no matter where he went it was there. It growled and moved back to the edge of the woods then disappeared.

Eli recovering his composure crawled across the ground to stare down the path leading to the open area. Woman's things were hanging from tobacco string in the limbs of the trees. Puzzled yet oddly pulled, he got up and walked to the edge of woods to see Old Man Pierce out in his back yard hanging his daughter's things in the trees. It was strange behavior. Eli saw something flutter from the clothes line. It was lace of some kind. He then began to wonder if Old Man Pierce had gotten wind of what his daughter was planning?

Rachel Gray Owl lay on the porch soaking up the night air. The sounds of frogs interrupted what would otherwise be a quiet night. Her Auntie Mallory sat beside her in a white wicker rocking chair. She pulled the Peruvian blanket over her feet. The blanket was one her Aunt had given her after purchasing it at a local pau wau. Red Threads were woven as a background with the image of white fish swimming in a blue and yellow geometrical shape. The borders reached out to the edge. It brought her comfort.

Her Auntie Mallory stared out into the night sky.

“Rachel, do you think you need to go to the Elders? Talk to them about your troubles? I think it might help you.”

Aunt Mallory picked up her glass of sweet tea before removing a magazine from the small porch table. She was thankful for these quiet, cool nights. The mosquitoes were gone and she could engage herself in the sounds of nature while perusing the latest bird and flower magazines. Spring was going to be there soon enough and she had to prepare for the planting. Bulbs, yes that would be nice she thought, some real Dutch bulb from Holland.

Rachel was silent inside her blanket. She thought about the course her life was taking. She didn't like it. She use to believe activism was for the greater good yet she ended up fighting with everyone that had a difference of opinion. Was life suppose to be this way? The constant case of battling with everyone while no one solved the problem. Her Aunt Mallory discarded the current magazine for a fashion magazine.

“Auntie Mallory, I have never tried to be pretensions on my attitude. It is what it is. People want to judge me. I am trying to do good in the world. If it weren't for Correlia Pierce, I would have no problem. She is more of a problem for me with her killing animals and posting her images online. Who does she think she is?”

Auntie Mallory looked away from her scrutiny of the latest runway fashion.

“Rachel dear, you can't help what you feel passionate about. I would tell you that when questing after anything there are going to be obstacles. You have to fight the good fight. Not everyone is your enemy. Stop looking for people to validate your suspicions of them and pushing them away. Just take this investigation to find your half-sister who was adopted out at birth. You haven't given up on that. I hope it doesn't disappoint you.”

A wine colored SUV slowly made its way down the woodland path to the Gray Owl Residence. Amber Jennerett flipped on her high beams as she coasted slowly between pine trees and oaks on the lonely drive. She could see the light of the porch up ahead. She hoped Rachel was ready to hear the results of her investigation. She lived in town and knew the Gray Owl's well. She could see Rachel's Aunt Mallory and Rachel on the porch. She sucked in her breath and took a drink of her soda. Amber pulled up into the yard, parked the SUV and got out. She walked to the other side and opened the door to retrieve a manilla envelope. She shut the door. As she was walking up the drive she waved and called out, “Hello Miss Mallory.”

Rachel Gray Owl motioned for Amber to take a seat in one of the wicker chairs. Her anxiety and excitement began to mount the moment she saw Amber get out her vehicle. She felt a chill in the air.

The ghost was standing in the center of Rachel, Aunt Mallory, and Amber. She wasn't sure why she was here but felt it important.

Amber sat down and looked at Rachel.

“Rachel, when you first asked me to investigate this missing half-sister I wasn't sure if I would find her. I did find her and I hope you will understand that things don't always turn out the way we would like. Not that I am saying this is bad but I want you to keep an open mind.”

Rachel didn't like the sound of where this was heading. “Oh God, is it bad?”

Amber looked Rachel in her eyes. “It will be a bit of a surprise to you.”

Rachel glanced at her Aunt Mallory. “I am a big girl. I can take it.”

Amber opened the envelope and pulled out some documents and a photo. She handed the photo to Rachel. “This is your sister.”

Rachel looked at the photo. Upon looking at it, she realized who it was and put her hand over her mouth to stop from crying out. “No this can't be...”

Her Aunt Mallory got up and looked over Rachel's shoulder. The suspense was killing her. When she saw the photo she even looked at Amber in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

Amber flipped through the papers to find the birth certificate. “Yes. This document confirms it. This little girl was taken from the hospital and raise not to far from here. She never knew who her family was. She thought her father was all the family she had. He was a bad man from what I hear around town.”

Rachel got up and walked off the porch. She couldn't digest this. She could hear her Aunt's worried voice calling to her, “Rachel dear!” The air was getting colder as Rach walked inside of the woods. She began to cry erratically before falling to her knees and burying her face in the leaves. The ghost kneeled down and showed herself to Rachel.

Rachel opened her eyes to see the angry face of the ghost dressed in lace. She screamed, fell back, and began to scramble into a tree. She could hear her Aunt Mallory and Amber calling for her. The ghost blazed. The eyes were the most angry she had ever seen. Eyes of revenge, retribution and fury. The ghost took a step then as if realizing slowly back away evaporating into sparks that resembled fireflies. Rachel turned her head into the tree. She didn't want to look up not even when her Aunt Mallory began to pull on her shoulder.

“What is wrong with you child? What did you see?”

Eli sat in his truck with his bottle of bourbon. He was crying while smoking a cigar. The CD player came on. Ty Herndon's voice came from the speakers. He looked up out of the front window. Coming through the woods was the glow of a light, the ghostly woman.

The radio was blaring the voice of Ty Herndon's bridge:

     Ashes to Ashes dust to dust

     I'll lay beside you forever in love

Eli got out of the truck. He walked toward the visage. He started to run towards it. The glow stopped.

The music from the truck waif through the woods as it changed songs. Eli stopped in front of the specter. She lifted her veil and let it fall away. The ghost of Correlia stood before him. She put her hands out and started to sing with the voice on the radio:

    they say for everyone,

    there's that certain one

    Out there, somewhere......

Eli  walked towards her. She was dead, wasn't she? He thought about it for a second but decided he didn't care. He walked right into her arms.

Correlia murmured. “I want you to come with me.”

Eli pulled away. “I am not dead.”

Correlia laughed and pointed to the truck. Inside was Eli, dead with a burning cigar in his fingers.

Eli looked at the truck in his usual realistic philosophy.

“I guess that solves it then. Can't say I'll miss it.”

Correlia softly laughed. “You are as tart in death as you were in life.”

Eli grabbed her again and kissed her dead lips. “Like I say, to be continued.....”

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part III

Two Days Prior:

Correlia Pierce put on her boots and reached into the gun cabinet to pull out a box of 30-30 rifle shells. She pulled three bullets out and slipped them into the camouflaged pouch. She wanted to keep some handy while she was in the woods. Correlia was sure there were already bullets in her gun. She liked to be prepared. She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Pulling her backpack open, she slipped the bottled water and pouch into the bag along with her flashlight and a scrapbook journal. As she was unhooking her cell phone, she heard a horn blow out in the front yard. She peered out the window.

“What is she doing here?”

She walked over to the door with her backpack, opened it and walked outside on the front porch.

“Rachel Grey Owl. What do I owe the pleasure?” Correlia knew this wasn't a good thing. Wherever Rachel Grey Owl appeared, trouble followed.

Rachel Grey Owl opened the door to her sedan and walked up to Correlia. She stared brazenly at her in contempt.

“I know about you and Mich.”

“You do now.” Correlia laughed.

Rachel pulled a photograph out of her pocket. The photograph showed Correlia and Mich in an embrace, kissing. Correlia took the photo from Rachel and looked at it.

“This is nothing. It is an innocent picture of me and Mich. Nothing more.”

Enraged Rachel fumed.

“How can you say that? You and Mich are clearly lovers. How long has this been going on? I demand an answer.”

“Why don't you go ask Mich?” At this point, Rachel was just pissing Correlia off. “He seems to like it by the picture.”

Correlia turned to walk toward the woods. She didn't have time for this. She stopped and turned around in case Crazy Rachel wanted to attack her. “I don't understand you. You are all over the place acting crazy. Did you ever think that might be the reason why Mich broke it off with you? Or can you not get that into that vain head of yours?” She turned back to walk off into the woods.

Rachel Grey Owl glared at Correlia as she disappeared into the woods. She turned around to see the wind had picked up. On the clothes line behind her, blowing in the breeze were curtains and lace bedding drying in the sun.

Rachel Grey Owl thought of all the time logged tracking Correlia's movements online. She followed her from her job and to the laundry; sat outside to watch her fold her clothes. She tried to tamper with her car but someone walked up on her outside of the bar. Someone needed to teach Correlia a lesson.

Correlia walked down the path. Her cell phone began to ring. Hugh's number showed up on the caller id. She answered.

“What are you doing?” She laughed.

Hugh's voice came over the line. “I have the package. I picked it up this morning after I bought groceries. Are you going to be at home later?”

“Yes,but I am in the woods right now. I don't want it left on the porch. I'll come by later and pick it up. Dad is not suppose to be here this evening. I think he is going on an overnight fishing trip down at Lake Mead.”

“Okay Correlia. Just come by after you finish.”

“Okay Hugh. Thanks again.”

Correlia ended the call and put the cell phone in her pocket. Everything was going to be okay. It just had to be.

There was a snapping of limbs. Startled Correlia saw Eli walk out of the bushes.

“Did I scare you?” He began to laugh. “You should have seen the look on your face. It was priceless.” He walked over to Correlia and pulled her close to kiss her. She pushed back.

“Stop being a douche.” Correlia was a bird with fluffed feathers.

“You keep acting like that I am going to cut off the loving.”

“You are not suppose to see me.”

Eli chuckled. “Girl, I have seen you naked haven't I? What else is there?”

“Eli, this has to stop.” She pulled off her backpack and took a swing at him.

“Noooo, it must continue.” Eli grabbed Correlia and pulled her down to the ground.

Mich Blake pulled into the drive of the little, white, wooden church nestled just inside some oaks with flowing Spanish moss. He had been crying for some time. Things were not going as he would have liked. He got out of the truck and walked to the back door of the parsonage and knocked on the door. Reverend Summers answered the door.

“Mich, come in. I wasn't expecting anyone until about 6 pm.”

Mich walked inside the cozy sitting room. He sat down and looked at Reverend Summers.

“I would like to confess a sin.”

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~

Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part II

The Next Day:

The next morning, Roger Maldonado walked into Hugh Lorimer’s hospital room. His sharp cut suit was the current bespoke style. He dropped his coat on the faux leather recliner and sat on the bed.

Hugh awoke with a start.

“Hello honey. I just got back from the pastoral conference. Just as soon as you contacted me I hopped the first plane to get here.”

Roger leaned over and kissed Hugh on the lips.

“You are always getting yourself into trouble. When is this going to stop?” He laughed at the grimace on Hugh’s face.

“Now Roger, you know I like to hunt. I simply slipped. I had my gear on to keep me from falling but when I started to get down from the tree I lost my footing.” Hugh picked up a small plastic cup to sip some water.

Roger looked sternly at Hugh.

“At least take some precautions with those ladder rungs. You could have been killed and where would I be then?” Roger started to wipe the creases out of the bed comforter.

Hugh looked out the window like a guilty man. He stayed silent.

“I saw something; out there at the stand.”

Roger looked at Hugh. “What was it?”

Hugh began to tremble. “I think it was a ghost.”

Roger began to laugh. He stopped when he saw the look of worry on Hugh’s face. “Come on now. You want me to believe you saw a ghost?”

Roger was about to respond when the food tray for lunch arrived. He thought it best to question Hugh later. The pain killers must be affecting his mind. Hugh began to eat and changed the channel on the television.

“I did Roger.” Hugh picked at his food in silent contemplation.

Eli checked his cell phone messages. Correlia had not returned his phone call yet. He knew she left town yesterday to visit her Aunt to tell her the good news. It was good news to him but he was sure others wouldn’t think so. He hoped Mich Blake had not gotten wind of the news.

Mich Blake spent the better part of the morning calling local taxidermists to price head mounts for Hugh. Everyone in town doing the work was overrun with pieces not finished on time. One of the taxidermists suggest he call Tim's Taxidermy. The taxidermist did refer to him a Nick the Necrophiliac. Mich thought it was because of the kind of work they were in, mounting dead things and all. He didn't care what the dude was into as long as the price and the work were right.

Mich pulled the head from the refrigerator and walked out the house to put it in his cooler. A gray sedan pulled up behind his truck. Rachel Grey Owl jumped from the car and began to accost Mich verbally.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Mich eyeballed Rachel. “Don't come here bothering me. I got errands to run. Why are you here anyway?”

Rachel Grey Owl pulled out a photo of Correlia Pierce.

“I know this is the tramp you have been sneaking around with in the woods. Did you not think I wouldn't find out?”

Rachel took a swipe at Mich with her hand. Mich sidestepped the blow which landed on his chest.

“So help me God Mich, you and she will pay for this.”

Mich took a step back. Mich thought this sounded like a threat. He didn't know Rachel that well because the relationship started out as a drunk one night stand that developed into a crack habit. She reminded him of the song Jessie's Girl but he wanted to give her back.

“Usually I put up with your jealous crap but not today. I broke it off with you and I mean it. You need to get back in your paddy wagon and head back where you come from.”

Mich crossed his arms over his chest. He had enough of Rachel's melodramatics. It was not like he couldn't find him another woman. He liked Rachel for her activism but when she turned it on him in a conversation right after sex, he figured the relationship was dead in the water.

“I don't know why you came to my yard waving a picture of Correlia Pierce. I can only think you want to fight with her as you do the rest of us. Correlia is a friend. I think maybe you should go.”

The fury in Rachel Grey Owl's eyes burned. “A friend? Is that what you call it. You go down into the woods with her and make biscuits then come to my house to do the same thing. I hope you get and STD.”

Rachel got back into her sedan, lit the ignition and tried to pull over onto Mich's foot as she sped away.

“Screw you and her.”

Mich watched as the sedan tore down the road vicariously. His mailbox suffered the consequences.

“Crazy biotch.”

He opened the door to his truck, hoping she wouldn't come back. He knew it wasn't that Rachel was an animal activist but a deeply disturbed woman. It would seem that was the kind he liked; volatile and nutty.

Mich Blake drove down the dirt road to the small white building beside Yadkin's cemetery. He pulled his truck into the unassuming parking lot to the taxidermy building. A non-descript sign with a duck and deer silhouette in black hung by the mail box. The yard looked a mess with bits and pieces thrown around. This made Mich believe there was no woman caring for the place. He rung the door bell. There was no answer. He wrung the door bell again before trying the door. He turned the knob and walked inside. A radio was playing loudly as a man was doing some work on a deer head.

Mich yelled. “Hey guy! I am here to drop off a friend's deer mount.”

Tim Nicholson jumped as Mich tossed something at him to get his attention. He looked up.

“What can I do you for?” Tim stopped what he was doing.

“My name is Mich Blake. One of my friends said you had the best price for doing a deer mount. I brought my buddy Hugh's head by to see if you could pencil it in.”

“Sure. I am just about caught up with everything here. Go get it and I'll write up a ticket. I do require a one hundred dollar deposit. No refunds.”

Mich moved for the door. “I'll be right back.”

Mich walked back out the door to the truck to retrieve the head. When he returned he set the black plastic bag on the wooden work bench. Tim was nowhere in sight. He saw a door then walked over to it because it was partially cracked and pushed it open with his fingers.

Inside of the room was a bed. On the bed was what appeared to be a woman or what use to be a woman. The room smelled of preservatives. The ghastly face stared back at Mich. Mich was startled when Tim walked beside him and pulled the door closed.

“What is that?”

Tim stared Mich in the eyes.

“A man is entitled to the love of his life.”

(To be Continued)

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~