Bored, Abused, and Disposed

 

            King Raphael III stood on his balcony enjoying the combination of sunshine and a gentle breeze, looking down upon his subjects in the courtyard below going about their daily routines, a daily grind radically different than his own. The combined responsibility of providing a stable economy for his kingdom, interacting on a friendly level with the surrounding kingdoms, and remaining approachable for any and all of his people was a considerable task to say the least.

              Though certainly not the largest or most powerful kingdom in the general area, King Raphael's congeniality labeled him as the king to invite to every discussion, debate, or threat of war, as he had an incredible ability to conjure up solutions when all others only saw failure or violence. His imposing size provided additional influence, being easily a head taller than most of the population. He stood in his light green morning robe with a remarkable abundance of chest hair crawling out from the cascading neckline.

              Satisfied with a few moments of oversight, he retreated into his inner chamber to enjoy his breakfast of fresh fruit, roasted lamb, and poached eggs, a veritable feast by anyone's standards. As the meal began, he motioned for his first assistant to gather the speakers for the day, delivering the latest news of activities within the kingdom. Listening to their delivery while he ate, he motioned them off in order to get dressed for the day and attend his first meeting with the head of the military.

              After changing into his daily attire, the sound of clopping reached his ears through the French doors through which he had just passed, triggering a reminder of the gift he had requested from the head of the stables. He made his way to the main floor, out the back entrance, and into the stables to inquire of the Arabian horse that was due to be delivered within the next day or two, if he remembered correctly. The stable master confirmed his thoughts, affirming that news had been delivered that the horse would arrive by sunset.

              He returned to his home through the kitchen to see his wife, the queen, and Princess Abigail enjoying their breakfast in the dining hall. Though he loved his daughter dearly, he had to admit that he was somewhat disappointed to not have a son to whom to pass the throne. This unfortunate gender misalignment left him with thoughts about a suitable suitor for Princess Abigail, which would certainly be a difficult arrangement to establish, as she had a reputation of being cold, calculating, manipulative, and unkind. But at the same time, making a connection via marriage to another kingdom would be advantageous to both kingdoms.

              He was tempted to inform both the queen and the princess of the soon to be arriving gift but he refrained, looking forward to making the arrival a surprise, for surprises were one of his favorite things to do. The day passed without event, with most of his time spent in his inner chamber, creating plans for road and path improvements, bridge building, and the addition of additional storage for the numerous crops that surrounded the main city.

              King Raphael managed to hold his tongue during dinner until he received word from a messenger that the surprise would be at the gates within thirty minutes, giving him time to invent an excuse to keep the queen and the princess close by without giving too much away. As he, the queen, and the princess sat in the library talking about nothing in particular, a different messenger burst into the room with an announcement that "it" had arrived.

              King Raphael took the queen and the princess by the hand and led them to the front courtyard, eliciting a squeal from the princess as he explained the expense and the difficulty he needed to overcome to have this specific horse delivered. As a skilled rider, Princess Abigail quickly mounted the glorious beast and called for the immediate announcement of a parade in her honor, thrilled at the prospect of being the center of attention. Word traveled quickly across the walled city with additional messengers sent to the nearby villages, giving Princess Abigail a few moments to prepare herself for a nauseatingly vain display of herself.

              Within thirty minutes, she began her vulgar display of self and horse to find that no one arrived to applaud her beauty and elegance, reducing her to a whining, pouting, grumpy lump of annoyance. As she rounded the final corner of the city walls, she was happy to see two little boys sitting in the mud staring at her as she passed, looking less than thrilled, and rather disappointed.

              Every day for the next month, Princess Abigail would spend an hour at lunch riding through the town, smiling and waving at anyone who would look at her, which turned out to be almost no one, most averting their eyes, repulsed at her pride and arrogance. As the summer turned to fall, she gave up her hopes of receiving adulation and praise, deciding to take the beautiful creature out for a long ride across the open fields and through the woods on the far edge of the kingdom.

              She worked hard to bury her disappointment, knowing that she was despised and wanting so dearly to be loved like her father was loved, but completely oblivious as to how to make that happen. She crested a small hill as the walled city disappeared behind her, to see a massive set of antlers rise in the distance, that were attached to a massive beast, a moose, if she was thinking correctly. She slowed to a walk and approached the animal, marveling at just how large it was compared to her and her steed, triggering an idea in her mind of disposing of the horse and mounting this massive creature with its imposing stature.

              The moose simply looked at her, then turned its attention to the grass growing around it, giving her a moment to escape into the woods and dismount. She attached the reigns to a substantial tree, found as large a rock as she could lift, to shatter both of its hind legs, leaving the once glorious creature in a heap before her. She pulled off the saddle, the blanket, and the reigns, slowly carrying them out of the woods and attaching them to the moose, only then realizing just how earthy, gamey, and foul the beast smelled.

              The moose clearly did not like this new arrangement and thrashed about in an effort to loose his bindings and rider but Princess Abigail managed to direct the beast back toward the city, through the main gate and through the mass of subjects, to only receive laughter and jeers at her ridiculous situation. Finding itself in a foreign setting, surrounded by people and other creatures, the moose began to run wild in a random fashion, looking for an escape or a way to lose this ridiculous human.

              Seeing a low hanging beam, the moose ran beneath it and peeled the princess from its back, dropping her into the mud and kicking her as a final expression of its disdain. Everyone within sight merely looked at the pathetic display, laughed to themselves, and continued on with their business, completely apathetic to her plight. A number of older women sat on a bench and watched her extract herself from the filth and limp through the main entrance into her father's palace.

              The servants and hired help burst into activity in response to her sudden and unexpected arrival, half holding and half carrying her to her private room on the second floor. Knowing full well what had happened, they struggled to maintain a serious composure, for fear that laughter would result in their eviction from their roles as servants.

              An hour later, Princess Abigail sat in the library with the King and the Queen, relaying the story of what she had thought, what she had done, why she did it, but still failing to see the foolishness of her actions. Convinced of her own wisdom and power, the king could only shake his head, knowing that only a fool would be willing to marry someone as ridiculous as Princess Abigail. As he looked upon the arrogant and ignorant girl before him, visions of grandchildren disappeared from his mind, wondering what would become of his kingdom when he became too old to continue. "Adoption!" he thought. "I need to find a stable, mature, responsible, and wise young man that will take over the kingdom." He needed a guarantee that whoever this young man would be would marry someone other than Princess Abigail, as someone of her ridiculous state of mind should certainly not be raising children.

              He had never made a decision so quickly in his life, which necessitated a call to his lawyer to draw up legal documents to articulate the framework for the next steps in the identification of an heir and the future loss of power and authority of Princess Abigail.

Doing the Undone

 

            There was no sound but that of the light hum of the ceiling fan and a consistent drip from the bathroom down the hallway, and Tolsti lay on top of his sheets, drenched in sweat, ravenously hungry, and lacking the energy or motivation to do anything that required exertion. The light creeping in through the mostly closed blinds was a half-light, that weird level of semi-darkness between daylight and night, a pathetic picture of the quality of Tolsti's soul. He pulled himself up onto one elbow, wearing only his tighty-whiteys and began to root around for the television remote, now bored from the last six hours of video games he had consumed.

              He flicked on the news but could hear nothing, the remote apparently giving its last bit of energy to turn on the TV but not control the volume. A conversation started outside his bedroom window, and he pulled himself to his feet, to crack open the blinds and see his neighbor Alisa talking to another neighbor, Brad, if he remembered correctly, wearing no shirt and showing off his ridiculously carved and tan torso. Tolsti had worked up the courage once, about a month ago, to engage in conversation with Alisa and immediately saw the look of revulsion on her face as he introduced himself.

              He shuffled to the bathroom to take a cold shower to cool himself off in this ridiculous heat and to calm himself after seeing Alisa in her barely there outfit. He stood dripping on the tile floor and made the mistake of critically looking at himself in the mirror, truly appreciating and understanding Alisa's response to his appearance. It had been so long since he weighed himself that he could only venture a guess that he easily topped four hundred pounds and unable to see his own feet. "I couldn't cut my own toenails even if I want to," he thought.

              Looking out the window a second time, he could feel jealousy and disappointment welling up within him, wondering if he could do something, anything to work his way down to at least a thin body and hopefully a muscled one. Fifteen minutes on the internet gave him enough ideas to get started on paring down his weight, a first step of what would likely be a long and uncomfortable journey. Since he had no scale, he figured measurement in inches around his waist would be the most obvious measure of his progress.

              While the experts recommended losing no more than two pounds a week, Tolsti did not have the patience for that slow of a pace, choosing instead to aim for at least four pounds or one inch from his waistline. Waiting until dusk arrived, he found the one pair of shorts that actually fit him and figured that walking around one block would be a good start for the first week, to increase to two blocks each following week.

              Six weeks had passed, and he found the need to put a rubber band around the excess fabric of his shorts to keep them from falling down as he walked. He reached the limit of walking city blocks in which he felt safe, making the choice to walk toward and into the foothills and take advantage of hills and valleys to push himself even harder. Another six weeks passed, and his shorts now hung on him in a ridiculous manner, his shirt as well making him look like a child in adult clothing. Chuckling at himself in the mirror, he made a trip to the local super center for new clothes and a scale.

              He arrived home, stripped down to his underwear, and was thrilled to see that he had dropped just below 300 pounds, the upper limit of the scale. Feeling as if he had conquered the foothills just outside the city, he began further research for bigger hills, steeper inclines, and a more rigorous workout, determined to drop another hundred pounds, his lungs feeling stronger than ever before, as well his sleep improving.

              Each Sunday afternoon he would weight himself, pleased with the results of his uphill running, as well as the pushups, sit ups, and chin ups that began to carve some shape into his once flaccid and flabby body. Feeling stronger and more energetic each day, he met Alisa on the stairwell to receive genuine attention and a brief conversation, initiated by her, which was thrilling but also somewhat rubbed him the wrong way, wondering if this is how people actually lived and thought.

              The overwhelming summer heat had passed, bleeding into mild autumn weather, which now required a sweatshirt for his runs, not allowing the occasional rainfall to stop his progress. Slowly adjusting his diet over the past two months improved his overall feeling of wellness as he watched his weight drop to two-twenty, which of course required an update in his wardrobe.

              Dusk began to fall on a Monday morning, and he jogged down the hallway of his apartment building to meet Alisa on the stairs going out the front door. "Hey, do you want some company?" she asked. "I really should start jogging again. It would be nice to have someone challenge me."

              "Sure, that would be great," he answered. "Just try to be quick as it's starting to get dark out. We don't want to be running in the dark, especially in the hills."

              Tolsti walked with Alisa the six blocks out of town and into the foothills to reach his starting point, with Mt. Seraphim staring down at them, almost offering a challenge to try to conquer it. They reached the four-mile mark and Alisa was gasping and tapping him on the arm. "Hold up, hold up," she said. "How much further were you planning on going, because I'm pretty much spent."

              "We can stop here if you want," he said. "Running down hill is much easier. I wouldn't want to leave you here so we can go back now if you want."

              Disappointed that he needed to cut himself short, the two slowly jogged downhill and back to the apartment. He walked her to her door and not feeling like returning to the hills, he doubled his workout at home to make up for what he had lost in the hills. Presuming that Alisa wouldn't ask again to accompany him on his run, he increased his run time the next day, leaving a little earlier than normal to avoid being in the dark, alone, in the forest, being watched by who knows what creatures or gang activity once he re-entered the city.

              The next day as he left, he received and gave a wave from the sidewalk as Alisa watched him depart, looking somewhat guilty for not joining him a second time, a decision for which he was thankful.

              A full year had passed and after his shower, he looked at himself in the mirror, to then compare himself to the photos he had been taking since the beginning, amazed that the flabby blob that stared at him from the photos was actually the same person he saw in the mirror. Finally taking a moment to document his total miles, he came to realize that his eight miles a day through the foothills and mountains easily surpassed fifty miles a week, just over the length of two marathons and the sense of accomplishment, the sense of victory, and the sense of power he now swam in made him a completely different person.

              He began to observe his fellow apartment dwellers, the people at the super mart, the people at the grocery store, and the people on the street, and came to understand that he was radically different than everyone, no one seeming to care about the state of their overall wellbeing, their minds like mush, their motivation at nearly zero, and living lives that were  nothing more than empty entertainment, empty calories, and instant pleasure.

              It was in that moment that he came to understand that the path he now tread had no end to it, as he could always push harder, accomplish more, and continue to grow, to improve, and become a better person. He had always been an intelligent person but failed to make good use of that sharp intellect, which he was motivated to enhance now that his body was in nearly perfect condition.

              The quality of his inner state needed to be addressed and refined, just as he had spent the last year and a half improving his physical state. He saw the yoga classes, he read about the meditation techniques, and the opening and controlling of his chakras but the question that always remained in his heart and mind was the lack of foundation to any of it. He thought back to his childhood, attending the Southern Baptist church with his grandmother but even that seemed random, arbitrary, and relatively new compared so many other options. He merely needed to research better, understand better, and find the one thing that was true, for there could only be one truth. Either everyone was wrong, or only one of them was right and he was now driven to find the answer.

Shaped

 

            Nicolai woke that morning mere moments before his alarm, knowing what the day would contain, knowing that an overly sweet, heavily frosted sheet cake would be waiting for him at a two o'clock coffee break for the entire office. Other than the pending ten-year anniversary party, the day otherwise felt normal, and he opted for plain oatmeal, knowing that a piece of cake would infuse far too much sugar into his system, easily for the day and probably for the week.

              It was an uneventful trip on the bus, aside from the numberless beggars, the overpowering stench of urine, and a very old man wearing no pants and standing much too close to him. Praying that the stench and the ick of his travel would clear out before he entered the office, he walked into the building to see a massive banner overtop the elevator, congratulating him on his anniversary. He stepped out from behind the sliding doors to receive a steaming white chocolate mocha from the receptionist, to greet nearly everyone in the office before he escaped to his own private office.

              The day progressed like any other day, the standard twenty minutes of preparation before the first meeting, a brief overview of what the week would hold, to be followed by three phone calls, one after the other, from his three largest customers. Twelve o'clock clicked by and he accepted a lunch offer from the VP of Operations, a lunch of sushi that he could not turn down. As he passed by marketing department, he caught sight of a new face, a girl possibly two or three years younger than he, smiling and pretty, offering him a quick but subtle wave.

              Partway through the lunch, Nicolai asked about the new girl to learn that she had been hired over the weekend and would be taking on the role of assistant manager of marketing. The bubbly and friendly Leslie had graduated at the top of her class and spent the last five years working her way up to greater and greater heights in marketing for the US branch of a French perfume manufacturer. Nicolai stored this information in his memory banks, as well as the girl's friendly demeanor and beautiful face.

              At exactly 2:01 he hung up the phone and hurried down the hallway to the conference room already filled with his co-workers, offering words of congratulation and an incredibly large piece of cake. He took a seat directly across from Leslie to engage in conversation, wanting to learn about her transition from what was clearly a successful role, to their company, a relatively boring and low-profile cardboard manufacturer. The two immediately connected, stirring up feelings in his heart and stomach, the type of which he had not felt since his last girlfriend in college.

              Thanking everyone for their kind words and joy at his ten-year anniversary, he choked down the last bite of cake, to be chased by a large swallow of black coffee to counter the sugar coursing through his veins. Days and weeks followed until Nicolai mustered up enough courage to ask Leslie out for dinner on the coming weekend. They finally exchanged phone numbers and he felt like a college boy again, marveling at the brightness and joy in her eyes each time they engaged. He had never known someone so abundant in happiness and life and after three dates on three consecutive weekends, they agreed to maintain their relationship at work on a professional level but spend as much time together outside of the office.

              Their relationship was a known fact throughout the entire company, and he couldn't help himself to cross that line from co-worker to girlfriend, nearly getting caught together in the copy room by a younger male co-worker who promised to keep the obvious indiscretion to himself, giving Nicolai a subtle wink and nod.

              Nicolai and Leslie's relationship continued to mature, and he began a special bank account to save up for an engagement ring, planning to pop the question the week before Thanksgiving. Three months before the preplanned date, he noticed a distinct change in Leslie's demeanor. She began to withdraw, to look tired and irritated, and distracted by something which he couldn't quite pin down. Their interaction in the office took an odd turn as she seemed to be avoiding him at every opportunity, even going out of her way to not engage in dialog or eye contact.

              Her bright, friendly, charming personality had taken a turn into darkness, along with her choice of apparel, wearing more black, more gray, and more provocative, seeming to intentionally seek out attention from other male co-workers until finally she declined his plans for dinner for the coming weekend.

              Nicolai closed and locked his office door, rested his forehead on his desk and tried to understand what was happening, but he could identify nothing that he had done that would trigger such behavior in her. At the end of the day, he walked past the storage closet to hear a sound of thumping and heavy breathing, which caused him to pause and open the door to see Leslie with her mini skirt hiked up around her waist and his co-worker Alan directly behind her.

              The two of them locked eyes and he quickly shut the door, took the elevator to the parking lot, and sat for a few moments in silence, trembling and sick to his stomach, trying unsuccessfully to drive the image from his mind. "Well, I guess that's it, it's done for," he thought, "there's nothing else to do at this point."

              That evening he called the office manager to request a full week a vacation, for personal reasons, he said, needing time to piece together a modified new reality that did not include Leslie. He rented a car the next morning, drove to Palm Springs, rented a room, and tried to interact with as many people as possible, to cover up, obscure, and erase the pain of a loss that he never saw coming. He managed to burn through the money he had saved up for the engagement ring, thrilled at the new interactions in a new place with complete strangers, a vacation that he didn't know that he needed.

              After the third day away, his phone began to ring incessantly, a number he immediately recognized as Leslie's, wondering what kind of story she would concoct and fabricate, assuming that she would blame him for her behavior. He let them all go to voicemail, figuring that by the end of the week, if he felt so motivated, he would take the time to hear her out.

              The messages started out reasonably enough but grew longer and more pitiful, as she eventually began begging him to forgive her, that she was going through a rough time, and she wanted to make it right. The last message consisted of her crying and trying to talk, most of her words incoherent and worthy of pity. He knew he had two more days before he would return to the office, with the impossible task of trying to avoid seeing and interacting with her.

              He spent the next two evenings at home, re-establishing his routine, his diet, and his exercise regiment, feeling rested when he woke on Monday morning, still uncertain how he was going to react seeing Leslie for the first time in over a week. He took a slightly earlier bus that morning, picked up a coffee on the way to the office, and arrived before almost everyone else, keeping an eye on who exited the elevator until the clock reached 7:59, to watch Leslie hurry past his office, dressed as she had before her horrific decline.

              He could see that she was trying hard to look and act normal, but the brightness in her eyes was gone and she looked dead inside, stirring up feelings of sorrow and pity for her, still wondering how to proceed. He intentionally avoided her for the whole week, until a gaggle of female co-workers cornered him near the coffee machine, demanding that he forget what had happened and give Leslie another chance.

              The weekend passed as he binge watched the latest show on his favorite streaming service, to bring Monday morning into his lap far too soon. As he arrived at the office, he decided to ease his way into interaction with her, still feeling connected with her but feeling sad as well. Each day felt a little bit better, and he could see the brightness coming back into her eyes, as they briefly interacted each day, a little longer each time, until they met for lunch on Friday.

              As they sat together eating ramen, he could see her anguish and shame, he could see her internally struggling, her right hand tempting her to reach out and touch his left hand. He knew that he had not been the best person in the world, so he crossed the space and took hold of her hand before she could act. The simple act of humility on his part sent a wave of relief and relaxation across her, it was as if she had just slightly melted, and he could see tears well up in her eyes.

              The next several months were a replay of their original relationship after meeting for the first time, and he was thrilled to once again begin saving money, urging her to talk to him, to share her concerns, her fears, and whatever struggles she was having, knowing that communication would be the key that would prevent their relationship from following the path it had previously taken.

              The next Monday, he arrived early to be embraced by four different women in the office, each of them thanking him for being a good person, for giving Leslie a chance, and asking him if he needed them to do anything. He thanked them for their encouragement and told each one that he needed them to watch out for her, to help her avoid falling down again, and alert him to anything dark going on in her life.

               The joy returned to his days, and eventually the brightness, the life, and the happiness resurfaced in Leslie, which further amplified the joy he was already feeling.

The Other

 

            Gligor rose early that morning for the purpose of being prepared when the herd of antelope passed through the open plain just beyond his clan's cave. It was a dangerous trip from the cave through the woods, traveling alone in the dark and upon his arrival to the edge of the forest meeting the open plain, he climbed the furthest tree, taking a seat in the blind about twelve feet off of the ground. The darkness through which he had just passed slowly transitioned into dawn, creating visibility across the open plain.

              The rising of the sun always made him smile and he could feel the excitement of the coming hunt building within his chest. Now that sunlight had crept into all corners of the forest and punched through the canopy, he lowered himself to the forest floor, readied his spear and remained at the back side of the tree waiting for the sounds of the soon to be approaching herd.

              After taking several deep breaths, he rotated all of his limbs, warmed himself up for the action that would soon take place, and a distant gentle rumble let him know that the time had come. The first two antelope leapt into the plain to be almost immediately followed by at least two dozen others running at full speed. He locked his attention upon one in the middle and released his spear, driving the stone tip directly into the animal's heart, dropping it to the ground to bleed out.

              The rest of the herd continued on, leaping past their fallen comrade, to disappear further down the plain, giving Gligor open space to skin and butcher the animal. He rolled the hide into a tube shape that rested over his shoulder, the meat was cut into medium size pieces, and the bones and organs were left in a pile to be scavenged by the wild animals. With the additional weight of the kill, he needed to follow the stream to a bridge further down, requiring him to pass by another clan with whom he and his had a less than amicable relationship.

              His pathway and steps were cautious and silent, for the last thing he needed was to encounter a scouting party who would certainly take the hide and meat from him. Before revealing his presence, he stayed at the edge of the tree line to scan for any signs of activity. Searching every possible space, he double and triple checked the land before him and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw no activity.

              Keeping his body low and walking at the edge of the steam to avoid splashing water and the crackling of branches or swishing grass, he kept his sight and hearing on anything that gave any hint of exposure. The sound of a single voice gently humming caught his attention and he lay himself flat in the short grass, trying to triangulate the source of the sound. Deciding that it came from the water's edge about thirty feet ahead of him, he rose to his hands and knees to see a young woman performing a morning cleansing ritual.

              He took one step forward to unfortunately step on a small branch, releasing a small snap, causing the girl to turn and look at him, to give a smile and a subtle wave. He held his finger in front of his lips, begging her to remain silent as he passed by. She nodded, acknowledging his request, and slowly moved out of the water as he approached. Feeling somewhat awkward, the girl was completely disrobed and embraced him, whispering for him to take her with him.

              He motioned toward her pile of clothes that sat at the edge of the grass, and she hurried toward them to clothe herself, then returned to take his hand, pulling him toward the bridge that sat another hundred yards downstream. They moved in silence downstream, crossed the bridge, and he could feel her eyes upon him, and her hand in his. As they descended into a valley to disappear from view from the small village of her clan, she finally spoke, introducing herself and thanking him for helping her escape.

              "I am so thankful that you arrived when you did," she said, "I have been looking for a chance to get away from them, for my father was planning on trading me to the military leader of our clan for his commitment to help my father retain his position of power."

              Gligor listened to her story and thought she was pretty, and kind, and was happy to know that he helped someone escape from a bad situation. A young girl as payment for something like this just seemed wrong to him. The two of them spoke for the remainder of the walk back to his clan, but he spoke with caution as he couldn't be too careful when dealing with someone from this other clan, who were known for their hostility and deception.

              They rose from the valley and approached the collection of caves to find that clan activity was fully engaged. Gligor led the girl to the clan mothers who stood around the campfire, and he explained what had happened on the other side of the stream. The girl was far too young for marriage, so he hoped that she could be assimilated into the clan for her own protection. He unwrapped the meat from the antelope and presented it to the women for preparation, to then bring the hide to the older men for cleaning and tanning.

              He and the clan leaders sat around a second, smaller fire and he talked through the details of his hunting victory, his return to the stream, his finding the girl, and the long walk back home. Strong words of warning and caution was the response he expected, as the clan chief spoke of this young girl probably being a distraction, to give them a reason to attack them and rescue the girl. Gligor understood the concern but truly wanted to believe that he had done something good in getting the girl away from them.

              The first day passed, then a week, and then a month, which encouraged Gligor that he had done something good in helping her. The girl seemed to become part of the clan, befriending the other girls around her age, and regularly interacting with him, frequently dropping comments and hints that they should one day be married. By this time, he had just turned seventeen and she was clearly a couple years younger, and in his opinion, too young to marry, and he had much to learn before he became an active part of the leadership of the clan.

              A full year passed, and they saw nothing of the other clan that hinted at a hostile response to the girl's disappearance. A second year passed, and the clan mothers began planning for the marriage between them, a traditional practice that had nothing to do with romance or personal interest. As the year drew to its end, just before the autumn rains began to fall, the marriage ceremony took place and was consummated in the presence of the clan mothers, with the goal of adding a new child to the clan.

              The impregnation did not take place but the following spring they succeeded in their efforts. Over the next ten years, four children were born from them, yet Gligor could sense that something was wrong, as the girl seemed to be pulling further and further away from him, spending more time with other young mothers, the clan mothers, and focusing on her children.

              Gligor remained faithful and focused, fulfilling his role as husband, father, provider, and an active part of the clan leadership, wondering what exactly was happening and what he could do to change the course she seemed to be taking. Her general lack of interest in him turned into a disdain and eventually into hostility until he felt everything drop away, leaving a hollow, empty, dead feeling inside.

              He maintained his faithfulness and love toward her and their children, but nothing he did seemed to change anything, make anything better, or move her in any positive way. He felt like he was running into a stone wall, making no progress, and making no substantial change to the situation except for the damage to himself. Her hatred was shocking, and he could make no sense of its origin or goal, as if she deliberately and specifically wished to destroy him, their family, and all of the good he had poured into them.

              The kindness and love only continued to come from him and he could see no other path or progress to follow that would change anything. More than several times, he walked in on her while she was with another man, either in their cave, out in the woods, and even once out in an open prairie, each time an excuse was given, words were twisted, and he ended up being the one to blame for her unhappiness and infidelity.

              The light in his soul only continued to dim, and the emptiness in his heart grew larger with each day after the seventh encounter of her infidelity. Eventually, he packed a small bag and walked away from the clan, giving the girl the opportunity to make a decision and act on it. A full week had passed when he returned to the clan to find that she and the children had departed to rejoin her clan on the other side of the stream.

              He arrived at the caves very early that morning and sat before the cold and inactive campfire, feeling lost and confused, empty and hopeless, wondering where it had all gone wrong. It seemed as if the warning from the clan leaders had been the reverse of what was feared. She came in among them, became one of them, and then left with his children, taking away that which had become the most important part of his life.

              Now that it had come to this, he knew that there was nothing left to do, there was no other path to follow, or activities to achieve to undo and restore what had been lost. Those who should have been the next generation were now gone, following the ways of a foreign group, a twisted group, an alien culture that was so far beneath everything that he and his had achieved. What was once good, beautiful, and right had now become twisted, ugly, and lost.

Disease Number One

 

            It was one of those days when everything was gray, was wet, was sad, and felt empty, like someone had squeezed every bit of juice from the last orange, every bit of light from an already diminishing day, and the last bit of joy from a previously enjoyable moment. Dr. Arlington McCreever paused for a moment in the light drizzle, the stone steps before him slightly slick and generally formidable, tempting to conquer him before he reached the top.

              Three massive doors greeted him at the top of the wide and uninviting steps, the handles, hardware, and hinges all black and ancient in appearance, having been installed, if he remembered correctly, sometime in the early eighteen hundreds. What was originally to be a place of safety and seclusion for those considered mentally unfit and possibly dangerous, turned more into a prison of sorts that confined, bound, and oppressed those locked within its walls, committed there by either loved ones or by the court system.

              The overpowering smell of bleach and formaldehyde assaulted his nostrils as soon as he entered the building, reminding him of the torments the patients here suffered from opening day until the 1950's, when the techniques and drugs used were all reassessed for humanitarian purposes. No one ever seemed to improve or grow, able to rejoin the society that labeled them as dangerous and beyond help. Since Dr. McCreever took over the role of head doctor, he eased into changes that would improve the quality of life, finally introducing balanced, healthy, and stable people back into society.

              He gave his customary smile and greeting to the ladies at the front desk before retreating to his office that faced the north rose garden, a glorious reprieve from the drab, cold, emotionless hallways and examination rooms he would spend most of his days traversing. With two meetings scheduled that day, he had time to visit the patients in the west wing of the first floor before he took a few minutes to prepare for another mundane day.

              Lifting the clipboard from the plastic tray next to the door, he quickly scanned over Mrs. Glorvskaya's data, pleased to see that she had been making progress toward mental stability and social interaction. He briefly knocked to receive an invitation to enter, to find the elderly, and in his mind, ancient woman sitting in her rocking chair near the radiator, warming her feet. The two of them chatted for a few moments, and he was glad to see that this interaction perfectly mirrored what he had read on the chart. Patting her on the hand, he excused himself and left the room.

              Repeating the process on the room across the hall, he was equally pleased with Mrs. Joplin's chart and interaction. Spending no more than ten minutes in each room, he completed the hallway and returned to his office, to enjoy two swallows of Scotch before his next meeting, a beautifully warming approach to elevate his day.

              Remaining motionless until the clicking of heels stopped echoing in the hallway, Mrs. Glorvskaya, silently rose from her chair, put on her trainers, and knocked on Mrs. Joplin's door to receive an invitation to enter. "Eunice, put on your shoes and come with me," she said, "there is something I need to show you and explain. Be quick we've only got a few minutes."

              The two elderly women moved quickly down the hallway to the stairwell with an agility that would have astounded most, considering their advanced years. With a stunning pace, they ascended three flights of stairs to emerge onto the roof overlooking the south lawn spotted with numerous other elderly people wandering about and enjoying their few moments of fresh air and social interaction.

              "Look at Agnes," Mrs. Glorvskaya said, "do you see how she's flitting from one group to the next, from one man to the next, putting on this image of friendly and flirty, while we both full well know she is nothing of either one." Eunice let out a small chuckle, a sound that Mrs. Glorvskaya perfectly understood, she and Eunice both knowing how easy it was to pretend friendliness, to pretend social interaction, and deceive the doctors and nurses, the only sure way to escape from this ridiculous hospital, or prison, as they liked to call it.

              "Do you ever notice how no one in this place ever displays even a sliver of humility?" Eunice said. "It kills me to interact with these clowns, to pretend to be nice, when all I want to do is strangle them in their sleep. Which I am often tempted to do."

              Mrs. Glorvskaya tapped on her watch and tugged on Eunice's arm, pulling her toward the stairwell. The two women hurried down the stairs and returned to their rooms, once again donning their slippers and blankets, mere seconds before the day nurse paid them both a visit.

              Fourteen hours later Eunice woke up staring at the ceiling, still in her day clothes, slippers, and rocking chair, to gently rub a kink from her neck. She remembered rising from and returning to her rocking chair before lunch, after lunch, before dinner, and after dinner, to have somehow fallen asleep without crawling into bed at her normal ten o'clock bedtime. Easing herself to her feet, she changed into her bed clothes and slid under covers to immediately fall asleep.

              The next morning arrived in a strange manner as she opened her eyes with the memory of a dream from what seemed moments ago, a very old man, small, shriveled, plainly dressed but very kind spoke to her as she and Mrs. Glorvskaya stood in a very small, very dark room, with hints of mold in the air, telling her to find him, for he had something very important for her to accomplish. She carefully studied every aspect of the man's appearance, determined to remember every detail and, somehow, find him, but looking completely unfamiliar, she had her doubts.

              When the seven o'clock breakfast bell sounded, she eased herself from the bench by the door, willing to kill for a cup of coffee and a Danish, her stomach complaining about what it perceived to be inhuman neglect. She and Mrs. Glorvskaya met in the hallway and walked arm in arm into the cafeteria for another round of socializing and fake smiles, looking forward to their first meal of the day and an opportunity to get outside for some fresh air, after being confined for so long since the previous morning.

              The two women sat alone in a far corner hoping that no one else would join them, forcing an awkward interaction that neither of them wanted. Their wish was granted, giving Eunice the opportunity to tell her friend about her strange dream of the little old man, giving as many details as possible concerning his appearance. "That's interesting because I had an odd dream as well," Mrs. Glorvskaya said. "You and I were out for a walk, in a neighborhood that I did not recognize and as it began to get dark, we walked onto someone's front porch and then into the house, to stand alone in a small, dark room. I could hear someone talking but could see nothing."

              They finished their breakfast and walked together to the north garden with is copious roses, to sit together on a bench and compare their memories of their dreams, finding too many parallels to write off as coincidence. As a nurse approached them, they quickly changed the topic to knitting and crosswords until she departed, leaving them unusually alone, as the rose garden was typically a favorite place for many of the residents.

              Eunice stood up and pulled Mrs. Glorvskaya to her feet to walk together from rose bush to rose bush until they approached the one gate in the wall that opened onto the sidewalk, a wrought iron work of beautiful scrollwork, which Eunice reached toward, turning the handle, and surprisingly found it unlocked. She unlatched the handle, paused, whispered to her friend what she had just discovered and scanned over the windows in the building behind them, to see no one.

              Taking her friend by the hand, the two slipped through the gate, closing it behind them and hurried down the sidewalk in the direction opposite the main entrance, both feeling a weight lift from them as the freedom was an unexpected surprise. With one glance backward, Eunice watched the tall brick building disappear from view as they passed into a neighborhood. "It seems that we just ran away," she said, "so let's make the most of it."

              They shuffled past four or five houses when Mrs. Glorvskaya suddenly stopped. "That's it," she said, "that's the house from my dream. Come on, let's see what happens." The two women, arm in arm, turned off the sidewalk, approached the porch and ascended the steps to see that the house was dark and empty, leaving their next move unavoidable. Eunice turned the doorknob, to find it unlocked and they entered a small, dark room that smelled slightly of mold, though it was beautifully furnished, it clearly had not been occupied for many years, as the dust was remarkably thick.

              They stood motionless for a moment, uncertain of what to do next, when the little man from Eunice's dream walked into the room with his bright, kind eyes and a large smile. "Very good, my ladies," he said. "I am so happy to see that you received and understood my messages. Now that we are all here, I want you to understand that the little place that you call your world is no different than anywhere else. Everyone has their struggles, their weaknesses, and their inclinations. You'll find that no matter where you go or with whom you interact, you will find pride is the foundational problem for them all."

              The two women squeezed closer together, relishing the security of having one another, but certainly not afraid for the little man was unarguably not a threat or dangerous.

              "I need you to return to the home and do your best to exhibit a genuine humility that will be a stark contrast to the foolishness that dominates the lives of nearly everyone on this planet. Be sure to tell no one of your dreams, your walk, or your conversation with me, instead, bring out and discuss the problem of pride and arrogance, more with your actions than your words. This is how you will change your own situations and eventually the thinking of your co-habitants and the lives of those working there. I know you'll do well, and you need to return now, for this will be a difficult path to follow."