*I want to apologize to my followers, who have been waiting for a long time, to see if I was coming back. Since 2020, my family and I have gone through many changes and upheavals in our lives. I sincerely appreciate your patience.
Lena M Pate
Saturday, September 23, 2023
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
5 star reviews
Kindle version on sale for 99 cents! Don't miss the fun and exciting adventures of Alivia and
her friends as they battle evil, form new friendships, rescue a dragon and so much more!
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Watch my new trailer on YouTube. I think you like it!
They Called Her Alivia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWuetHtM6IQhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWuetHtM6IQ
Monday, July 11, 2016
They Called Here Alivia is now for sale
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/they-called-her-alivia-lena-m-pate/1123904685?ean=9781524501198
https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=whxmDAAAQBAJ
http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781524501204
And many more!
Friday, July 8, 2016
The Lights went out in Dallas
 |
Picture from NBCDFW.com |
Shots rang out from up above
Breaking harmony that had prevailed
Men and women watched in horror
Bodies dropped by those impaled.
Chaos exploded in the night
Reminiscent of another night
So long ago yet still so fresh
Detroit burned from hatreds firelight.
To all the men and women
Who protect us every day
Who lay their lives upon the line
Not for glory; not for pay.
Gratitude is not incentive
To do the jobs they are assigned
Their belief is to protect and serve
A brotherhood; their souls entwined.
So, thank you all who choose to serve
Who wear the badge; the fallen too
May their stars shine bright within the sky
God bless the brave, the proud, the few.
Picture from NBCDFW.com
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
They Called Her Alivia - Chapter one
Chapter One
Lightning,
fire, and torches lit the night casting an eerie glow to the evening sky. Screeches
and groans rent the stillness. Battle cries echoed around the fortress as walls
crumbled. Swords meet metal shields and breastplates. The metallic smell of
blood mingled with the odor of the fetid moat water and the rancid smell of burning
tar from the fire pits set up around the outside bailey. Men secured chains to the caldrons, hoisting
them up the curtain walls to the murder holes, which allowed the boiling hot
liquids to be poured on unsuspecting enemies below.
“I’m
not sure how much longer we can protect this castle,” Greer shouted over the
din from the fighting below.
She
dodged a wall as it collapsed. Racking coughs from the mortar and dust overwhelmed
her. As the air cleared, she observed the king’s men tipping heated tar over a
parapet, sheeting ogres and men attempting to scale the wall. For every man
they felled, ten others appeared to take their place.
Greer
assessed the damage about the courtyard as she flew closer to Treasa. Magic and
valor didn’t appear to be enough against a legion of this scale. Even with the
assistance of the other ten faeries, it looked as if this fight was lost. Greer
observed the chaos below as enemy troops stormed the outer walls on all four
ramparts. Everywhere she glanced, armor clad men crawled over barriers. Early
in the fight they realized that at least half of the enemies were apparitions. Lord
Guthrie wanted to confuse and discourage those brave soldiers inside the castle
walls. A man would run up to fight an enemy just to have it evaporate, while a live
enemy took advantage of his confusion and run the soldier through. Orcs were
enormous brutes with hides like rhinoceros, heads resembling wild hogs; they
had the fighting will of a lion and the brain of slug. Many of them joined with
the enemies to fight against the castle’s inhabitants.
They endured an unending rain of arrows. It
wasn’t a matter of how well outfitted the enemy appeared, but the strength of the
black magic at work. The enemy easily carved through r each defensive magic
barrier they erected. Treasa dodged another flaming arrow hissing by her head.
At least it was getting easier to spot them now that the sun had begun to set.
“Greer,
behind you.”
Heeding
the warning, Greer angled a hasty down-stroke with her lengthy black wings for
a rapid descent dodging several arrows that flew past her, humming like a swarm
of irate bees. “You’re getting slow, my friend. I fear you need a nap.” Treasa
winged past to cover another wall.
“Mind
your mouth or I may not warn you next time one comes close.” Greer blasted a
shower of rock, which would have harmed the king’s soldiers below.
The
castles guardians weakened as the assault continued. The time had come to
change tactics.
“Treasa,
I’ll take the center and east while you defend the back corner to the south. Be
careful and withdraw if the skirmish becomes markedly worse. I plan to mind
merge with the others and try an all-out white magic attack. We must push the
enemy back to give our men below a break. Remember, our main objective is to
safely escape with Alivia if all looks lost.”
Greer
spared but a moment to assure herself that Treasa comprehended the nature of
the plan. Treasa was an intense warrior not taken willingly to retreat.
Greer
flew high above the castle so as not to be a target; then hovering in the air,
closed her eyes and completed her connection with the fairies. Each responded,
which assured her that they had not lost any of their team in the scrimmage. A
few of them were stationed within, to guard the castle’s occupants, but the
majority was outside fighting alongside the king’s soldiers. Within moments,
the air quivered with the energy of the fairies preparing for the assault. Each
had an area of the wall to strike. At Greer’s command, the energy would explode
all around the fortress, knocking all combatants away from the perimeter
without harming those within the walls.
Greer
returned to her position, nodding at Treasa that all was ready.
“Now.”
Lightning
detonated the sky, thick blue bolts attracted to the enemy’s metal armor.
Explosions rent the air as the powerful bolts blasted the unlucky lightning rods
who wore that armor. Forked lightning struck the woods about the castle,
raining fire and debris upon those seeking refuge.
Boulder-sized
hail crushed the enemy. Volleys of ice pelted those scaling the walls with
ladders, splintering the wood and, dropping bodies to the hard-packed ground or
into the moat about the other walls. The men lay in heaps, one body stacked
upon the other.
Waves
of fire from the back section of the castle walls rolled over the enemy as a
tide washes a beach clean. For every man that died, it appeared that five more
took his place. Orcs, shapeshifters, warlocks, and men fought back with a power
that could only come from strong black magic. The smell of burnt flesh and hair
hung heavily in the wind crossing the castle walls
.
.
Greer
attempted to eliminate the menace of troops, scaling the eastern wall just
above the stables. She halted out of reach of the enemy arrows. Her black cape
flapped under the current from her wings while hovering in midair. With a wave
of her hand, she fabricated an image in the night sky of a large blue dragon
with scales that reflected the waning light. A roar emanated from the beast as the
wind from its wings blew men across the ground like leaves in autumn.
Greer’s
expertise lay in dragons, whether real or concocted magically. This particular
apparition materialized in front of the soldiers struggling to scale the
curtain fortification. Another wave from her hand produced genuine fireballs
from the dragon’s mouth, spewing forth, scorching all those unfortunate to have
not escaped in retreat.
Treasa
secured her position at the south tower. “Playing with your make-believe pets
again I noticed.”
Greer
observed Treasa blast cannon balls into dust with lightning bolts as the enemy endeavored
to destroy one of the corner towers.
“Better
than that kindling you use.”
“I’d
match my lightning bolts to your giant lizards any day.”
“Get
out of my head, brat. I’m busy here.” Greer prepared another dragon blast to
keep the enemy in check.
Reaching
behind her wings, Treasa extracted another arrow loaded with lightning spells,
swiftly drawing back the hemp string taut, letting it fly from her longbow. The
bolt lit up the sky as it rained charges onto those below. Each rock or enemy
that the charges touched burned to ash beneath the electrical onslaught. The
defense of the illumination blinded those that remained, making it near
impossible to pinpoint where exactly to shoot back.
Treasa
wore dark leather not cloth, and preferred pants to dresses, allowing her to blend
into the night. She took no chances of her locks interfering with her archery.
Carefully braided auburn hair encased tightly with a leather strap lay securely
tucked under the yew-bark quiver that held her arrows.
With
Treasa guarding the back partition, Greer flew closer to the center wall in
hopes of observing where the next threat would land.
As
she touched down atop the open gorge tower to inspect the outer grounds and
rest her weary wings, a heavy jolt from behind knocked her to the floor.
Something or someone lying across her back pinned her face down onto the cold stones.
Before she was able to counter the slam, a large cannon ball exploded the tower
wall. An onslaught of rock bombarded their bodies. A deep-throated groan
emanated from the bulk above her as the person took the majority of the blows.
Before the dust settled, the weight hastily lifted from her. Promptly rolling
to the side, Greer jumped to her feet and took a defensive stance, but
confronted nothing but air. Lifting swiftly into the night sky, she searched
but found no telltale signs of who had attacked her, or if she was being
honest, actually saved her life. Wrapping her arms about her, she felt an
unexpected chill in the air. She wasn’t entirely sure the chill occurred from
the drop in temperatures at sunset or from a premonition that there were unknowns
within the castle walls.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
They Called Here Alivia is now for sale
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/they-called-her-alivia-lena-m-pate/1123904685?ean=9781524501198
https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=whxmDAAAQBAJ
http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781524501204
And many more!
Friday, October 30, 2015
Happy Allhallowtide
As a child growing up in a Catholic family, Halloween took
on an air of a religious holiday more than the traditional trick or treat. Although we still observed this practice of
going door to door, we also partook of the practices of the church.
Allhallowtide is the days of Oct 31st known as All
Hallows Eve, November 1st as All Souls Day and November 2nd
was All Saints Day. It was believed that
souls who did not go straight to heaven would wander the earth until All Saints
Day when the heavens would open up for them.
It is believed that these souls could seek vengeance on other living
souls during this time. For this reason, people would disguise themselves to
hide their identities. Others would wear the costumes of the Saints to honor
those already in heaven. If a person was
considered a saint, martyr, or holy person, their souls went directly to heaven
upon their deaths.
On All Hallows Eve, in the early Christian times, people
would bake soul cakes. Children and the poor
would go begging door to door to offer prayers for the families departed and
were given soul cakes in exchange. On All
Souls Day, families would visit the gravesites and purify the ground. They would also walk the streets with candles
to light the way for the souls preparing to go to heaven on All Saints
Day. On this day, the parishes would
pray for all departed souls. On All
Saints Day, the parish people would pray for all the saints, thanking them for
their guidance, their sacrifices on earth and to ask their aid in delivering
the souls of the departed still on earth into heaven.
So although we would trick-or-treat like all the other
children in the neighborhood, we would also spend a lot of time in church
services and in prayer for those who had gone before us. Unlike today, we not only received candy, but
many families would bring us into their homes to share in warm cider, apples,
cakes and breads. It was a special time
to remember our friends and families still with us and share in our love for
each other.
Many persons believe that Halloween is taken from a pagan
holiday which it may be for some. But I
prefer our way only because it recognizes and remembers those who were part of
our lives or shared in our lineage so they would not be forgotten. It was a time to give thanks to those who
laid down their lives for our religion and for world peace, and a time for
those who devoted their lives to spreading the word of faith, even if it cost
them their lives. It is a time for
prayer, laugher, tears, and sharing. It
is a time for those who passed and those who still surround us.
Happy Allhallowtide to my friends and family. Prayers and thank you, to all those who have
gone before me. Love and peace to those
who still share this world with me.
Monday, August 31, 2015
Old Money
The woman laid in the middle of the street, blood covered
and torn clothes. She had been knocked
out of her shoes from the impact. Police
flares and lights lit up the area as detectives searched for clues.
“Hey, Sherlock what’s your take on this hit and run?”
A white haired gentleman stood outside of the barricade
looking in. White plumes of smoke rose
from the pipe clenched between his teeth.
He wore a hunting jacket, opened with a gold pocket watch dangling from
his pocket.
“Funny Harry. Are you
going to play my Watson?”
“Just ragging you Bill.
Everyone knows you have a nose like a bloodhound. Captain called you in for this one I noticed
is all.”
“Well, it is a bit uncommon to find a well-dressed lady of
upper crust lying on a very deserted dirt back road, obviously run over. How did she get here? Who hit her and why? Just a few of the questions I’d say.”
Bill stepped under the yellow tape, crouching close to the
woman’s head. He glanced from there down
along the torn red silk blouse, the linen skirt and the torn silk stockings. She was definitely a looker . He glanced over
to the woman’s heels now broke and dirty.
“No purse Harry?”
“None found Bill. You
think it was a robbery gone wrong?”
“Not likely, she has over a thousand dollars in jewels
hanging off her. More likely, whoever
did this didn’t want her identified too soon.
Gives them a chance to get away or establish an alibi, you see. Check the calls on missing women within a
fifty mile radius please. I don’t think
whoever killed her traveled too far.
Just out of their comfort zone most likely.”
Bill tapped then pulled on the pipe to stoke the fire. A full bodied smoky aroma lifted into the
night breeze like leaves burnt in autumn.
He glanced up the road a piece then down the other way.
“I believe there may have been an argument and she got out
to walk. You can see her high heel marks
in the dirt for quite a ways. I believe
the person she left in the car became very angry with her and gunned their
car. Once she went down, they backed
over her, turned the car about and left."
“A jilted lover?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it.
This looks like a crime off sudden anger. As if the person had this building inside for
a while and snapped. I’m betting on a
sibling or a near relative. Probably a
woman I would gander. She left the
jewelry but picked up the purse. A man
wouldn’t want to be caught with a purse on him but a woman could get away with
it.”
“Just a moment, central calling back in. Yes Sandy. Her husband you say. Good, send me the coordinates.”
“Her name is Dolores
Houston. Comes from old money and
married to Henry, who owns Sport’s Car International. He called her in as missing when she failed
to come home for dinner. Let’s go have a
talk with him and see what we can find out.”
Bill tapped out his pipe, crushing the embers in the
gravel. Placing it in his jacket he
retrieved his watch to look at the time.
It was precisely 8:00 PM. Most
people have dinner before seven so the husband was very prompt. This seemed quite odd to report her so
quickly.
They arrived at a large estate built with solid stone and
beveled glass windows. The front door
was opened by a butler who escorted them to the library. Standing by the fireplace was a young man
with his tie undone and his hair mussed from raking his fingers through. Also in the room was a lady sitting in a
large chair wringing a hankie in her hands.
She wore a light green suit with glasses hung around her neck. Her complexion blended into the upholstery as
if she dressed to hide from sight. Her
hair was gathered tightly behind her neck and not a touch of makeup anywhere.
“Detectives, thank you for coming so quickly. I’ve been told of my wife’s demise but I
can’t figure how this could have happened.
Shelby stated that Dolores went shopping this afternoon but promised to
be home by five because we were to entertain this evening. Shelby called me at six because she hadn’t
heard from Dolores."
“Miss Shelby, you are?”
“I’m her sister-in-law.
It is so unlike her to be late, I just knew something must have happened
to her.” She cried into the hankie.
“Where were you this afternoon? Were you their expected company?”
“Oh no, I live here.
I’m not married. I went out for a
bite to eat at lunchtime and came back to start the dinner plans. Dolores always leaves the menus to me.
“Miss Shelby would you mind handing me your identification
please?” Startled by the request she
reached down and pulled up a bright red bag.
She looked at Bill and then at her brother.
“That is not your purse is it Shelby. It belongs to Dolores. It’s the one she was carrying when you ran
her down. You picked it up and brought
it back with you.”
“Shelby, why? Haven’t
we treated you fairly? Let you live here
with us and join in our gatherings?”
“It was always Dolores everyone noticed. No one ever noticed me when she was in the
room. I used to be somebody when we were
growing up but now I’m just the ugly spinster.
Today we went for a drive and she told me she wanted me to move
out. She said it was about time that you
both had a life of your own. Kicking me
out of my own home. The one I was raised
in. Never.”
With that Harry lifted her from the chair and secured the
cuffs. She looked back but her brother
had already turned away.
Friday, June 5, 2015
Fate is a Calamity of Miscalculations
“What numbskull claimed vacations
were for relaxation and fun?” I strongly begged to differ .
Our vacation from Texas to New
Mexico started out great. My one-year old son, my husband and I borrowed my
mother-in-laws Cadillac, since it was a newer and more reliable car then ours.
“What do you mean you didn’t book
any reservations?”
“We don’t need them at this time
of year. It’s summer.”
That was the beginning of our
downfall.
Half way to New Mexico our son
took sick, running a high fever, vomiting and diarrhea. We arrived at the
halfway mark which was Amarillo and found to our dismay that a huge convention
was in town. No room at the inns as they say. Carefully sidestepping I told you
so; we decided to travel on to Red River.
I assumed driving once we began
the trek through the mountains of New Mexico. I am not comfortable with heights
nor do I like two-lane roads where our side could plummet down the
mountainside. One hour of driving at a near vertical angle, the rear axle
decides to drop off the car just as I am making a curve and flies off the
mountain. Both hands glued to the steering wheel, I succeeded to maneuver the
car to the shoulder.
“What the heck are you doing?”
hubby yelled, startling the baby.
“I’m shoving you off the side of
this cliff.” I retorted as I attempted to calm our son down.
At two in the morning my husband
is attempting to assess the damage with a flashlight.
“Finally”, he said, as my husband flagged down
a car of drunken young men who promised to call for a wrecker. Realize this was
before cell phones.
“You sure they will be able to
tell them where we are even if they remember?” Hubby climbed back in and glared
in my direction.
Two long hours later, a huge
diesel wrecker arrives. “I can take you to the next town but the car goes with
me to Angel Fire”.
We arrive in town and find there
are no vacancies. The truck driver has been feeling me up the entire trip since
I had to sit between him and my husband who was holding our baby. I chose not
to bash him in the head since we needed to find shelter for the night, but
after several attempts to find shelter, I was willing to throw ourselves at the
mercy of the police and spend the night in a cell.
The very last place, nestled at the
far edge of the town, was timeshare condos. A young manager, who hailed from
Texas, took pity and he let us sleep in his living room and the next day
located us an empty condo. I had no sooner unpacked and put my son down for his
nap when the owners of the condo show up unexpectedly and we are asked to move.
I cried so hard that the owners bought us steaks for moving out of their condo.
Once settled, I took our boy to
the only doctor in town.
“What do you mean you can’t write
prescriptions?”
“I’m a medic ma’am. Now if your
son had a broken leg…”
“My son is running a temp of 104F
from strep throat. Where is the doctor?”
He called a doctor in Angel Fire,
who after speaking with our pediatrician in Dallas, wrote a prescription and
sent it by courier. His immune system didn’t respond to oral medications so I
had no choice but to bring him in twice a day for shots.
While my husband was out
gallivanting with the manager, I decided to make a nice dinner for us and light a
romantic fire in the fireplace. I forgot to open the flue and soon smoke filled
the apartment and set off all the fire alarms. The fire department arrived with
a parade of squad cars wailing sirens. Once I explained, the patrons were
allowed to return to their rooms. A fireman opened the flue and another all the
windows to let out the smoke, shaking their heads at what I am sure they
considered a dumb blonde stunt.
I continued preparing dinner,
when I noticed something small scamper through the kitchen with a duplicate in
close proximity. Following virtually in their shadows was a large tabby cat in
pursuit. After they collided with my son’s highchair, they set their course for
the bedroom. By the time I high-tailed it after them; I realized it was two
chipmunks. The romantic gauzy night gown I had laid out a on the bed was now
shredded by claws and strew on the floor. The little rascals managed to climb
all the way to the ceiling fan with a howling cat jumping on the bed trying
hard to reach them. Hubby and the manager came back, trapping all the critters
and placing them back outdoors.
The insistent ringing of the
phone had my husband running for the rectangle object. Phone in hand I heard my
husband exclaim, “Six hundred bucks. It won’t be ready until when?”
We started planning a flight for
me. After learning I would switch planes three times, I decided to call work
and explain to them I would return as soon as possible.
When the car was returned, we
were charged for two tows and the imported wheel axle from Colorado. Broke and
beaten, we packed and left. At the halfway point the convention was still going
strong so we decided to drive straight home. Several miles out of the large
city, our tire blew out. The spare in the trunk was no good so my husband had
to hike to a garage and buy a used tire. Took him two hours to get back and the
garage didn’t even put it on.
My husband asked me where I
wanted to go on vacation next year. I glared at him and responded “My own back
yard”.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Coming to America
Photo from http://immigrantnationusa.us/
The winds blew hard,
pitching the massive ship side-to-side.
The vessel tossed from the waves while sea water rushed over the sides
and onto the decks. Men scurried around
the surface, grasping any object to keep themselves from being washed overboard. The night sky gave no light to guide the way.
People stranded
in the hold slid aft and fro along with barrels or boxes not tied
securely. Children and babies cried. Men stood, some tying themselves to beams
with their belts or hemp, determined to grab anyone or anything heading in
harm’s way. The smell below was rancid with sweat, vomit and other excrements
as well as rotten foods and waterlogged clothing.
Three young women
sat huddled deep within the aft of the ship on the starboard side. The oldest tied them together at their sashes
to avoid separation. They had been on
this vessel for over a week and had little food left to share. The youngest, Theresa Rose, had taken sickly
the night before, with a hacking cough and high fever. Her sisters, Lucille and Annunciacao cuddled
her body between them to ward off the chill, cloaking her from the water
falling from above. The darkness
shrouded the occupants and the air was stale from the lack of circulation from
above.
Their hopes and
spirits were high when the first set sail from Spain. Although their reason for traveling was to
locate their mother who stranded them in Portugal, as young women they hoped to
achieve new starts in one of the endless cities. Each girl wore a gold cross around their
necks along with Saint Christopher medals for safe travel. Being consigned to the hold was acceptable
because they were free to walk the upper decks during the daylight to get a bit
of air and sun. The vast ocean stretched
the horizon. Rarely did they catch a
glimpse of any other vessel.
“Lucille, what
will we do if we can’t find mama or papa?
America is so big.” Theresa
worried her rosary beads clutched in her hands.
“Don’t fret
little one. America is large but
Providence Rhode Island is not. That is
where papa lives with his new family. If
he doesn’t know where mama is, we have many family members living there who can
help us.”
“Papa made it
very clear that he didn’t want us. Why
ask him?” Annunciacao said, peeved at both of their parents for abandoning
them.
“I’m sure that we
can survive a week or two at his home until we find mama and move in with
her. He may not want us, but mama will
welcome us.” Lucille protested.
Theresa began to
cry so the sisters stopped their squabble and talked about more pleasant
things.
After three days
with no more than bread crust to share and the storm holding firm, Theresa’s
health faded. The sisters prayed that
the squall would soon pass. Theresa lapsed
into a fever induced coma and nothing the girls did would awaken her. The cough racked her small chest and she
wheezed with each breath.
“We can’t let her
die, Lucille. You saw what they did with
the old woman who passed away two nights ago. They just threw her overboard. I don’t want the same fate for our dear
sister.”
“Hush now,
Theresa is young and strong. Once the
weather clears and we can go above, I will ask for some broth for her. The sun will assist in her healing. You shall see. She wants to see America so much I can’t see
her giving up.”
The next day
broke through the clouds and the rains stopped.
Everyone was anxious to stretch their legs above, hurrying up the
ladders as quickly as the space allowed.
The girls grasped
Theresa under her arms, carrying her thin body to the surface. They set her near the tall, belching chimney
sending smoke trailing behind the ship.
The air blew cool but the sun was warm and soon dried their moldy
smelling dresses. Lucille left to locate
some food or broth, carrying with her the few coins in their possession. Although she was successful, neither sister
could get Theresa to eat. So they dipped
chucks of hard rolls into the broth and ate their meal.
When it came time
for them to go below, Theresa’s eyes opened and a glow lit her face. “It is so beautiful. I don’t hurt anymore.”
Both sisters
looked at the ravaged form of their beloved sister. Her body shook from the fever and each
worried that she was now delirious.
Theresa told them
she loved them and to not be afraid.
While their journeys would take them to special places and people, her
journey was beginning on another plain of existence. Looking to the sky, her smile radiant, she
took her last breath and died in her sister’s arms.
The ship’s
captain allowed for a short funeral. A
priest on board gave Theresa last rites and a rosary was said in her
honor. Each sister kissed her goodbye
and then the shipmates wrapped her in a rough piece of cloth and tossed her
over the side. Annunciacao stood stoic,
watching her sister sink below the waves.
Lucille cried, saddened that they hadn’t been able to save her.
The very next
day, the passengers cheered as they spotted their first site of America. They gazed upon the Statue of Liberty which
stood proud, awaiting her new guests to their new home. The torch stood as a welcoming beacon to
those who traveled to find a better life.
The two sisters paused, with arms linked about each other, and silently
cried. Each thought of Theresa and the
secret she took with her when she died.
She saw where it was she was headed but could not share. She did though share the secret that their
journeys would be successful and full of hope and joy. Walking off the plank hand in hand they faced
America with their heads held high.
Note: This story is mostly true with a little literary license. Hard times with truly courageous people.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
A Tiny Little Treasure
“Krissie, what are you doing inside on such a beautiful
day? Don’t you have some friends you
would like to play with outside?”
Grandmother Mae looked at her tiny granddaughter who had recently come
to live with her after Mae’s daughter died.
Krissie shook her red mop of curls, sitting at the kitchen
table, watching her grandmother making a roast.
She cupped her chin and swung her little legs back and forth. Krissie was too tiny to reach the floor with
her feet.
“Why not sweetie?” Mae asked. She sat across from her granddaughter who
looked so very sad.
“They call me names, like pip-squeak and midget and
things. They push me down and run away.”
Krissie mumbled.
“What about Kathy two doors down? Won’t she play dolls with you?”
Shaking her head again, a tear slid down her cheek and
dripped on the table. “She says I’m a
baby and she doesn’t play with babies.”
Mae felt so bad for the child. She was never going to be as tall as the
other children. In fact, she would be
lucky to reach five feet when she was grown.
“I tell you what. I
need to go up in the attic and bring down some boxes of clothes for the church
auction. Why don’t you follow me and you
can look around up there. I might even
have an old toy or two from when your mommy was little.”
In the hallway, Mae reached up and pulled a cord that
released a ladder. She went first to
turn on the light. The attic had dust swirling from the rush of air. Krissie could see some spider webs too.
“I’m kind of scared. Are
there any ghosts up here?”
“If there are any ghosts they are friendly ones I’m
sure. See that chest over in the corner? Why don’t you look inside of it and see what
you find?”
After helping Krissie open the wooden chest, Mae grabbed the
two boxes and left. While downstairs, she
received a phone call leaving Krissie in the attic alone.
Krissie noticed something pink at the bottom below some
books and pulled out a small box. When
she opened it, a tiny ballerina danced in circles around and around while music
played. The dancer was beautiful and
wore flowers in her hair.
“Oh I wish I could be as pretty as you. You’re tiny but I bet no one would be mean to
you.” She gently touched the ballerina.
The music became loud and the ballerina spun so fast it made
Krissie dizzy. The air swirled and the
dust turned to fog. Krissie covered her
face until the attic stopped moving.
When she peaked out between her fingers she noticed a man sitting at a
table writing in a book.
“Are you a ghost?”
“Oh my, where did you come from? I didn’t even hear you open the door.” The man stopped writing, staring over his
spectacles, examining Krissie.
“You’re in my grandma’s attic. I was playing with this box and suddenly,
there you were. So are you?”
“Am I what?”
“A ghost.”
“No, no child, I am an author. My name is Hans Christian Anderson. I write stories and poems mostly. Do you like fairy tales?”
Krissie nodded her head up and down. “My name’s Krissie. Mommy used to read to me before she went to
live with the angels. I can’t read yet.”
“Are you sad because your mommy died?”
“Some, but I’m mostly sad because I have no friends.” Krissie shuffled her feet.
“Why would a pretty girl like you not have any friends?”
“Because I’m so little.
They called me bad names, push me down and run away.”
“Why I have the perfect story for you that I just recently
wrote. It is about a tiny girl by the
name of Thumbelina.”
Hans stared at the small cherub before him. “Well this is the story about a mommy who
wanted a little girl so badly that she helped this magic woman who gave her a
seed to plant for being so nice to her.
The plant grew and when the flower opened up the woman saw an itsy-bitsy
little girl lying inside the petals. She
was so excited that she named her Thumbelina.
One night a toad came into her house and stole Thumbelina to give his
son. The son didn’t like her at all and
so a fish and a butterfly help her escape.
Things get worse. A beetle steals
her off a Lilly pad. He introduces her to his friends, but they call her awful
names and hurt her feelings. He runs
off, leaving her to fend for herself in the winter. A mouse takes her in and has Thumbelina clean
her house to pay her back. The mouse
tries very hard to marry her off to Mr. Mole but Thumbelina refuses.”
“Oh my! Poor Thumbelina.
I know exactly how she feels.”
Krissie nodded her curls up and down making Hans smile.
“Well, Thumbelina finds an injured bird and nurses him until
he is well enough to fly. He agrees to
take her with him and leaves her in a beautiful flower garden. Thumbelina meets a tiny fairy flower-prince
who falls in love with her and gives her wings so that she can fly with him and
play all day together. He even changes
her name to Maia.”
“Did his fairies friends like her?”
“Oh yes, they even made her a princess. She danced and flew around the flowers all
day, happy because she had so many friends who liked her and accepted her just
the way she was. So you see, little one,
don’t let those bullies bother you. Some
day you will find your place and have many friends who like you for who you
are. You just be patient and keep
smiling.”
The man disappeared as quickly as he appeared. Krissie clapped and then hugged the box to
her chest. She would remember this story
forever.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Bio-Politics
*Note: This is totally fiction and in no way should be considered accurate.
Chaz stared beyond the third floor window to the darkened
parking lot, barely noticing the storm that raged outside the glass. Thunder
and lightning were but a backdrop to the turmoil inside his mind. Snapshots of
the destroyed documents played back in his mind like black and whites through a
mutoscope. Pages of data, names of colleagues, photo proofs of all the secrets
and lies which cultivated a conspiracy of biblical proportions of death and
destruction.
True, this
wasn’t the first or nor would it be the last time a country resorted to
biological warfare to obtain its goal. Many of his buddies were living with
diseases from exposure to Agent Orange. He felt betrayed and ashamed that he
was oblivious to the devastation manufactured in his own private facility. Now
that he knew, who did he dare trust?
With the
re-occurrence of hemorrhagic fever syndrome caused by Ebola virus disease (EVD)
in West Africa, Chaz pulled together some of the finest and most renowned
scientists in the field of virology to work on a possible vaccine. Using a
process of cloning through polymerase chain reaction, they had been able to
reproduce antigens from human survivors for a possible vaccine or maybe even a
cure.
“Colleagues, I
come before you today to request human subjects with whom we can evaluate our
serum towards thwarting and or arresting the EBOLA virus. We have tested it on
chimpanzees infected with the virus and those that we placed into the same
habitat. We have had astonishing success, showing antibodies adhering to the
antigens of the virus and the non-infected subjects building antibodies against
the virus within seven weeks. No subjects acquired the disease although they
were continuously cohabitating with the infected ones. If we can duplicate this
with our clinicians and the infected patients we may have found a cure and a
vaccine to arrest and control this outbreak.” Expecting applause or at the
least exclamation, Chaz was shocked by the silence that met his announcement. A
few of the members leaned into each other, whispering in muted tones. Others
just stared, waiting passively.
“Dr. Chaz
Everett, this is astounding news; however, we are forced to reconsider your
request. It has been previously decided that if we were successful, the serum
would be given to our troops first before trialing it out in the field. If we
find it is successful, then we will reconsider your request. However, it is
imperative that this information not be shared outside of this facility at this
time. As of this moment, I am afraid that this has top secret clearance only.”
Dr. Benjamin Stanford declared with full agreement from the room.
Although he
argued his points, the board would not be swayed. After the meeting, Chaz
hastened to his favorite restaurant, disheartened and confounded. He ordered a
carafe of his favorite Madeira. While eating his Caldo Verde with fresh hard
rolls, he received a text requiring his presence immediately at the office.
Hoping that the board had changed their decision, Chaz rushed out into the
night, battling winds and sheets of rain that had started while he ate. By the
time he reached the laboratory, his clothes were drenched. Taking the stairs to
his office, two steps at a time, he arrived only to find the door locked and
the lights out, just the way he left it. Angry that someone had pulled such a
juvenile stunt, Chaz stomped into the office knowing he had a clean pair of
scrubs, socks and shoes in his closet.
Turning on the
light and relocking the door, Chaz turned towards his desk noticing a file
folder lying squarely on the blotter pad with a note attached. Disregarding the
fact that he was dripping onto the polished parquet floor, Chaz grasped the
file and read, “Destroy Immediately upon Review”, written in bold red letters
across the yellow sticky note.
Walking over
to a well-worn leather chair located near an antique reading lamp, he switched
on the light for better lighting and opened the file. Inside were photos of the
cultures being grown for the EVD strain of antibodies but also bottles of the
serum as well as the live virus lined shelves and incubators. Chaz flipped to
the stacks of paperwork, so confused by what he read that he immediately
reexamined the pictures again. They were grainy, as if taken with a phone and
then printed on a regular printer. Going back to the pages, he could barely
contain his anger and surprise to find out that his lab was being used for
military and political purposes.
“They have no
plans to use this for good at all. Why, my own government plans to infect
neighboring countries with the virus, while protecting our troops. Their higher
purpose is to destroy those governments, blaming it on the epidemic. Who cares
how many innocents need to perish for their political motives.”
Realizing the
importance but also the danger, he took photos of the documents with his phone.
Chaz walked to the men’s room, flushing the paperwork down the commode.
Deciding his
course of action, Chaz packed up his computer and legal papers, driving across
the Canadian border heading to Ottawa. Resting in his briefcase were the
research papers and documents to the viral serum. He couldn’t trust his own
country or colleagues so he would take his chances elsewhere. Maybe the Queen
of Canada and the other Commonwealth realms would be interested in the plans of
the United States.
After crossing
into Canada, Chaz released the breath he had been holding. He smiled. He’d made
it.
In New York,
two black suits watched through binoculars as the horizon lit up on the Canada
skyline. The ground shook and flames rose above the trees. Police on both sides
scurried to close down the border.
“Don’t you
just love doctors with scruples?” The two men, placing black shades to conceal
their eyes, stepped back into the black sedan and melted into the night.
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