Meetings...

"Don't look up. Don't make eye contact." EB whispered.

"What?"

"Don't look up. If he sees you he will come over here."

"Who?" And with that she looked up.

"Shit."

"Oh hi! Are you new? I don't think we've met, I'm Jerry."

She reached out her hand, Jerry? Well that was unexpected.

"I don't use my title. I think it's a little overdone."

EB rolled his eyes, "He heard Kris doing it, so..."

"That's not true! I was doing it long before that! I just don't think I need to lord it over everyone else that's all."

"Sure..."

Jerry turned away from EB a little, "So, anyway, nice to meet you...?"

She paused for a moment. "I just go by my title."

Was that a blush? Maybe. "Oh, I didn't mean to...I mean...I didn't know...I just..."

"It's okay. I've just never really needed anything else. I mean the letters and notes come to me that way, imagine the confusion if I was like one of four Janes right?"

"Oh yeah, sure. I get that. Very practical."

"But since we're asking awkward questions, why are you here? Aren't you busy this time of year?"

EB made a strangled noises somewhere between a snort laugh and cough. "Sorry, allergies."

Jerry turned ever further away from him. "Well, it's not really that busy. That Shulz fellow pretty much shut me down."

"I'm sorry?"

EB stepped in toward them, "He's blaming the cartoon. He thinks that it damaged his reputation."

"It did! A complete misrepresentation of who I am and what I do! He made me, well, boring first off, and unreliable to boot! What child wants to put their faith in someone who doesn't even show up?"

EB shrugged his shoulders, "But you are kind of unreliable. I mean you don't visit all of the houses, only some, and even then only sometimes. What exactly is your criteria?"

"I only visit children who can't celebrate on their own. Sometimes sick kids, sometimes kids who parents worry about them out at night. It's complicated, you wouldn't understand."

"You're right. It just seems a little arbitrary. And honestly that Shulz guy did you a favor in a way. Before that nobody really knew who you were at all. Even now they get you confused with The Hea..."

"DON'T EVEN SAY HIS NAME!"

She took a half step back to really look at him. And EB was right, he really did resemble the other guy. Maybe they were brothers.

"So, anyway, without a lot to do, I have time to come to a mixer or two. Get to know the community. Meet new people." He smiled. It was kind of a creepy smile now that she noticed the resemblance to the other guy.

"Well it was nice to meet you. I don't get to a lot of these, I don't really have a busy season. Though next week will pick up a little. I think it's the Milk Duds that does it."

EB laughed. "I'll keep that in mind. Maybe add a few caramels to my rotation for you. Assuming you like to be kept busy?"

"It makes the time go faster, but I have to admit that sometimes it's a bit overwhelming. Nothing worse than getting back and realizing you missed a few stops. But the good news is that a next day pick up works pretty well. I'm not tied to a day like most of you are."

Jerry broke in, "Do you think you would like some help? Like I said, I'm not really that busy anymore and even though I can't get around as fast as Kris or even EB I have resources. I could use the work. I mean, I'm not begging, I'm just offering my assistance."

She actually thought about it for a moment. She was way overworked. She wasn't kidding about sometimes missing pickups. And that really was the pits. It could work out. Jerry could see she was really considering it and smiled again.

She pictured one of his pickups not going smoothly and little Suzie Sweetheart 6 years old waking up to see him looming over her bed...

"Maybe not. I mean I don't think we should be cross working, right? It would just confuse the kids."

He nodded, disappointed but not really surprised. "Yeah, I get it...okay well I think they are about to shut down the bar so I'm going to grab another apple cider, can I get you anything?"

She smiled and held out her glass, "No thanks, I'm finishing my milk now. Strong bones and teeth you know!"

"Yeah, sure. Okay, see you around."

EB watched him walk toward the bar, "I'd feel a little sorry for him, but that Shulz guy really did have him nailed. Hit or miss with the job, kids had to start going door to door to do it for him. No pride in his work at all. And honestly, I think he slacked off because he was moonlighting as The Headless Horseman and got carried away with that gig instead of his original shot as The Great Pumpkin."

The Tooth Fairy nodded, "It's tempting though, right? To do something else? I've just never got the time. So many teeth."

EB's ears twitched, "I've never thought about it. I think what we do is honorable and just and..."

From behind him came a low growl, "Don't make me tell the lady about your time in the theater....Harvey..."

"Oooh...Krampus, so nice to meet you." Her wings practically vibrated.

EB hopped off, why did they always like the bad boys?

Half Baked...

Last night as we were heading to bed we had a massive storm roll through. Tons of rain and wind. So I had a hard time falling asleep. Then I still woke up at 2 AM (guessing, I don't look at the clock, so I actually have no idea but it feels like 2 so I always think it's 2) as usual. Then cat napped my way to Brent waking up.

While all of this not sleeping was going on I was thinking about stories and writing and I got a great idea. For the rest of the year (along with other pieces) I would do a holiday type series. A set of characters doing things around the holidays. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, maybe Veteran's Day and Hanukkah and Kwanzaa as well, I don't know who they are yet so it could be any or all of them.

I really like the idea. The only problem is I have no stories for them. I have an idea of a story framework, but no people, no dialog, no situations, not even a vision of an interaction.

I have my Christmas people, the set of four stories that started with I Believe (do you all remember them?) and I sort of have a group of Halloween characters that have come in and out of stories, but nothing as tied as the I Believe group. But I Believe started with an idea of an adult woman who believed in Santa Claus and then the people around her wanted to talk too, not as an idea to write a Christmas series. Even the twin Santa and Krampus stories I have started with an image and then spun from there. I had no intention of writing Santa and Krampus paired stories.

But I do like the idea of a Holiday Series. That's why I'm writing this blog right now. I'm getting that inner brain spinning going. I want it to become a real tangible idea so if I get some words on paper it might help that along. That's the idea anyway.

The writing process is a weird one for me. I've written about it before. I want to be published, not just me posting something and saying, "TA DA published!", but someone else out there in the wide world saying, "Yeah, this should be published." But on the other hand I don't care about making money off of my stuff. I don't care about finding a bigger audience.

But part of me is like I want the recognition that I am good at this. Which then I stop and think, Why? I think I'm good. Brent (who, by the way,  just walked by the study and said, "Write, Monkey write!" I'm including that because it made me laugh out loud and I think we all should laugh out loud a lot) thinks I'm good. A lot of the time you all reading this think what you've read is good. So why do I need anything else? And I don't. Not really. I think I'm good. That's the part that keeps me writing and hitting publish. And yet...I want that outside stranger to validate it just once. Even though I think I would get a hit of "YEAH!" that would last about a week and then I'd be back to writer world where I think I'm good (except on days that I'm sure I'm a fraud and what did that stranger know anyway I mean SOMEONE published Twilight and the accompanying fanfic 50 Shades so who are they to fucking judge me....) and well you see...

But part of becoming a successful published writer really seems to hinge on planning. You get story structure lined out. You write in your framework. Then you read. Then you have others read. Then you edit. Then you have others read again. Then you edit again. Then your editor and publisher take cracks at what you submit. Then you do it all again and again. And oh my god that sounds awful to me.

So I end up back here where I write and hit publish so quickly that a year or two later I read my own work and don't remember it!

And those are the thoughts I have to sweep away to make a series work in my head. The side tracks and windy paths that I start going down when what I really want is group of people who are connected somehow and how they navigate the holiday season and is it supernatural, or romance (I've done it, don't laugh), or just slice of life stuff, or a blend? Are they always together, or does it start with one and build? Or start with all and they separate and then come back together? Is it just my bar people? Or is it a family?

Or does this just slip away into the recesses of the notebook of ideas?

Because that happens a LOT! People sometimes give me ideas to write about, and often I take them and do a story that was NOT AT ALL what they had in mind when they gave me the idea, but more often it's not that I'm lacking in ideas, it's just that they are all just starters.

Half baked ideas.

I need some oven time.

But I'm too distracted by the raw cookie dough.

Holiday theme...

What are you people doing?

Who are you people?

Why should I care about you?

Do you even exist?

Welcome to the brain of a frustrated writer....

It's half baked.

(Winky face, half smile, emoji)

Binary Complications...

I'm really bugged right now by this conflicting narrative that happens.

The dueling arguments of yes/no simplistic arguing contrasted with the (in a lot of cases same people) super complicated conspiracy theories.

So right now we have a leaked memo that the Trump administration wants to do a gender lock at birth. Doctor looks between the legs, this is your gender, it goes in to a registry and that's that. A little more restrictive than we have now where gender is recorded on the birth certificate but (depending where you live) can be changed later. It's a male/female that's it dynamic. Simplistic. It's an attack on trans* rights. Which is what it's designed for, and even more than that, it's a voter encouragement issue.

I say even more than that not because I think attacking trans* rights isn't more serious, it's because this was a leaked memo that was (I believe) leaked just for the purpose of riling up the Trump base. They cannot stand the idea of trans* rights. Just can't. The number of times I've seen people make the gender binary argument is well in to the who the fuck are you people who don't ever read scientific studies numbers.

Because gender isn't a one or the other thing. It's just not.

But that's their argument. If this then that.

Gun control. Same thing. If I say I'm for gun control you want to start screaming about confiscation. I never said that. I think we can have a lot of really good laws and practices in place that don't take all the guns away. I have friends and family that hunt. I have friends and family that live out in the wilderness (or at least not within a quick response zone from the police) I have friends and family who are incredibly well trained and safe with their firearms. I don't have any urge to take their guns away. It's not a if this then only that argument. I've made it a lot. I believe in the well regulated part of the second amendment.

Policing. Same thing. If I post about a bad cop doing something bad I'm not anti-police. I'm pro-police. I like that there are police out there serving and protecting. I get that they do a really important and extremely hard job. But I don't think they are perfect and I do believe that circling the wagons and drawing a blue line around them when one screws up doesn't do any good. The same way I want a doctor who has committed malpractice removed from the hospital, I want bad cops removed from the force. It's not a simple yes cop/no cop issue.

Border security, if you're not in favor of an expensive and ridiculous wall you are obviously open borders. Well, no. We need to be smarter about immigration, that doesn't mean building a massive wall that won't work and will do other damage and it doesn't mean throwing the whole system open and giving up. It means we need to look at all of the issues and find solutions, or at least try and find solutions. It's not a wall us in or tear it all down binary. And it never has been.

This simplistic thinking gets us in trouble. Nuance is important. Finding common ground is important and yet, we can't seem to get there.

Then we flip the scripts and we have conspiracy theories.

The Clintons kill everyone who is a threat to them, well except for the people who have actually caused them problems. Somehow they were skipped, but still read this three page document of all of the people that have DIED that they KNEW!

False flags! Mass shooting happens and it didn't really happen it's all about stealing your guns. Except when a mass shooting happens what we do is buy more guns so really if there was a false flag wouldn't it be the gun manufacturers and sellers that benefit from it? So...

Right now we have the guy who sent bombs in the mail. We don't know what was going on there. Not yet. But it's already out that the super conservative bumper stickers that plastered his van are "too new" to have been on there for any time. By sending them to Democrats it's obviously a Democrat plot to scare Democrats. To do what? To vote? Democrats are already highly motivated, bombs would scare them away not to the polls right?

The caravan coming from Central America. Supposedly the Democrats set it all up to influence the midterm elections. But border security is a Republican issue for getting votes. Why would Democrats start a massive migration caravan right before midterms when they know that scaremongering around immigration gets Republicans to turn out in massive numbers?

And that's always the problem with conspiracy theories. They don't hold up. They are too complicated, too many things have to be disregarded to make them work, too many things that have nothing to do with the issue have to be added to it to make it work.

So I'm bugged right now.

I'm bugged by people who ignore Occam's Razor and bugged by people who want to overly simplify things. Which seems kind of contradictory. But it's really not.

The simple explanation for an event is usually the correct one.

Not everything is a yes/no if/then proposition.

Basically I just need people to stop bugging me.

If I've Said It Once...

...I'm pretty sure I still couldn't find it in the search results.

I think I've written this blog before. In fact I'm almost 100% certain I've written it before. But I can't find it in my search so I'm writing it again. Because it's still bothering me so even if I have written it before I haven't cleared it all the way out of my head.

So here we go.

Don't take advantage of my good nature.
Don't be a dick to the people I love.
Don't play me for a fool.

Unless you want me to make that face whenever your name is mentioned. Or you want me to tell people the reason why you were taken off of my friend list. Or you want me to treat you as if you do not exist.

Then go on ahead and do those things.

The "On This Day" feature can be really fun or it can make you just shake your head. Today it's a shake my head day. Reading a "discussion" with someone who has since been kicked from my friend list and being reminded once again that they were never ever acting in good faith. They weren't interested in having discussions about differing points of view or expanding their understanding of what other people thought or even trying to see if they could instill a little understanding of their points of view in others. It was just trolling.

Putting out arguments just to argue.

Amazon.com arguing when they started to lose. (Other people who are making the argument you are making have made this argument which I am more likely to win so let me switch)

Taking advantage of my better angels.

Which makes my greater demons come out.

Because I've worked to make sure that I am a decent human being. I let go of the things that I held when I was younger that were making me bitter. I don't like to be like that. I want to meet people and assume they are good people. If someone says something that can be taken in one way that is bad and another way that is good I want to assume they didn't mean the bad. I want you to be acting in good faith when you engage with me in a discussion.

BUT...I'm also pretty observant. I pick up on patterns. I see what and where you are commenting and I see where things are going. Or what you are really doing. I think most people who write can do that. You have to be able to predict human nature if you are going to write convincing characters.

So I was shaking my head today because I really let this person hang around for much too long. I talked myself out of dumping them. Oh they are lonely. Oh they need someone to give the other side of the argument. Oh they are really just looking for information.

Oh, fuck, they were just an asshole all along and you let them be for way too long.

................

Okay, real time attitude shift.

Right before that break the dryer buzzed and it was time to shift laundry around. So I set this aside and went upstairs to take care of that. I'm missing a washcloth. Brent washed towels yesterday and we didn't fold them before bed so I folded them as I started laundry today. The bath sheets and the hand towel came out of the dryer but not the washcloth. I figured that meant the washcloth got stuck to the side of the washer and would end up coming out in the next batch from the dryer. Nope. Not there. So somewhere I've lost a washcloth. Which made me think of a friend of mine who posts about the random things her dryer eats. Mostly socks, but sometimes whole outfits will disappear. The vortex of the dryer.

Then I thought of another friend who could spin a story out of that idea. The dryer as a portal to another realm. The things that disappear are being stolen as supplies.

Then I thought, oh wait, no, that's a story you would write and make your friend read. I get us confused...

And then I realized that I wasn't as angry as I was when I was writing. Which, of course, makes sense, I was focusing on other things. Because that's who I am. You know I like multi-focused better than flighty or easily distracted, but if the washcloth fits...

So then I said it again. Because that's who I am.

So yes, I will never like the person I was talking about before, for all of the reasons I mentioned, but I kept them around for too long because that's who I am.

I want to reach you.
I want you to understand what I'm trying to tell you.
I want to find common ground.
I don't ever want to assume that you are just being an asshole.

Because that's who I am.

I've said it before, don't let who they are change who you are.

I am the sort of person that would rather keep someone around a little too long than drop someone the first time they make me mad.

I am the sort of person who will take it on good faith when you say you want to learn something about someone different than you are.

I am the sort of person who cares if you are lonely or not.

But don't ever misunderstand, I am also not the sort of person who will ignore the warning signs forever. And once I'm done, once I see that you have taken advantage of who I am?

Well, fuck you.

Because that's also who I am.

And now I'm off to ponder the case of the missing washcloth.

Frogs...

He waited. Feeling her breathing slowing and slowing and slowing. They were curled together in their warm bed, her back pressed against him. He had been careful not to place his arm under her; holding her loosely but still curled together big spoon and little. Just a normal night.

Her breathing slowed more.

Then stopped.

He waited a little while longer just to make sure, then eased his way out of the bed. He kept an eye on her laying there while he slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Then he went downstairs to his study.

He sat down at his desk and opened his laptop. He needed to check his files again. To make sure he was right. He opened his shadow system. It had taken him months to get just this far. To be able to run a parallel operation system on a hidden network. One that wasn't monitored. Because everything he did was monitored now. He tried to make sure he acted like he wasn't aware of it, but he was. He had been for awhile.

He logged into the boards. Checked a few feeds. Was there any new information? Were there any coded hints that had been deciphered? He found three references to the work he was doing and copied the information into his spreadsheets then retabuluated his results. They were still tracking on his predicted lines.

He ran his hand over his face and sighed. At best they had three more years.

Three years until it didn't matter anymore. Until they didn't matter anymore.

He sent a few messages. A few warnings. Things were still moving. Still happening. People needed to know. He needed to let them know. He needed to do more.

They all did.

But could they? He said three more years until they didn't matter anymore but was it really that long? Or had they ceased mattering long ago? Had he stopped being able to effect change when he had been hired? Or when he had been partnered? Or was he making a difference now, sneaking around in the dark? Taking risks like this? Was it really doing any good or was he just racing the avalanche downhill?

What was the analogy? Boiling a frog? When did the water first start to get warm? When he was in school. That must have been the first temperature increase. They all were tested. Pulled out and put in to specialities where they could do the greatest good. He remembered listening to stories from his grandparents where they used to be able to choose their own educational direction. What a waste of time. If you had no aptitude for math and had tried to be an engineer anyway what sort of disaster was that going to be? Or worse if you were highly gifted in languages and chose to do something ridiculous like act instead of working in foreign relations. What a waste of resources.

At least that's what he was taught to believe.

The water was definitely getting warm then. When he was redirected from his science classes in to computer technology. But it was comfortable. Like a dip in the ocean in August.

After he graduated and was assigned to work for the State Offices the water was probably heating up again. It was a good job. A great job. High salary, great benefits, a house for him, a home for his parents. A driver. A social calendar filled with events and team building with like minded individuals. He was so busy all of the time. New assignments crossing his desk at high rates of speed. Always a piece of the whole. We all work together for together we work for all! A nice bath water then.

Another turn up of the heat when he was partnered. And this one he definitely didn't notice. Well he didn't notice that his water was getting warmer, he noticed that he was warmer. It was a privilege to get one of the spouse models. Your husband or your wife was totally customized. They were designed to be all that you ever wanted. Sure, it was done subtly, through tests. Fun quizzes. The same sort that would spit out what type of dog you were, or the color of your aura back in his parent's early times. Now they asked questions and weighed your results and you ended up being "introduced" to your spouse as your year in bonus.

He understood that this meant that he had some sort of genetic flaw that shouldn't be passed along to another generation. He also understood it was a huge privilege to be granted a spouse model and he shouldn't feel any shame about it at all. It was a sign of how much the State Offices valued his services and wanted to keep him happy. But still, there was a little shame. He pretended, their friends pretended, they all sized each other up to see who was partnered and who had been allowed to choose freely. If there hadn't been the shame there wouldn't have been any reason to program them with memories of childhood. To have given them history. His wife would have laughed at the thought that she wasn't as human as he was. That she was any sort of robotic creation.

And yet, she lay in their bed right now not breathing. Receiving updates and software patches in her "sleep." Transmitting his movements and conversations. He was always watched, he just pretended not to be aware.

The water was warmer still.

He checked the obsolete boards one last time.

The numbers were increasing.

More than half of the population had been given a spouse. Some were now being given children. Robots who aged. Genetically enhanced lifeforms. They were being phased out.

While his wife slept upstairs he watched messages on boards and entered data on spreadsheets and felt the first bubbles of the boiling water around him.

Was it too late for them all to jump?

Great Starts...

The coyotes were restless last night...

Doesn't that sound like a great opening line to a fiction story?

It's not. It's just a stated fact. I didn't sleep well last night because the coyotes woke me up. When they get together in a pack (not always the case, coyotes hunt on their own quite a bit, they are more scavenger than pack hunter) they yip and cry and carry on. It's eerie.

Wolves howl. It's primal and will raise the hairs on the back of your neck a little. It's also kind of deep and vibrates in your chest a bit. Scary. But in that portion of your brain that understands hunters and hunted.

Coyotes? They scream. And cry. And sound like angry toddlers. Or banshees. They raise the hair on the back of your neck and on your arms and make your stomach kind of twist. Because you aren't sure if you should be scared or should try to help. If they are dangerous or in danger. If they are natural or supernatural.

The coyotes were restless last night...

I think it will be a start to a fiction story at some point. Because I love a good opening line.

Re-reading all of my old blogs has shown me that. Opening lines are most often the inspiration (or excuse) for the entire rest of the story. I like them so much that probably 60% of my stories open and close with the same line.

I love a good open and I love a call back.

Quite often what's in the middle is just a way to get there.

But anyway, last night the coyotes woke me up. I didn't check the time. I don't have a bedside clock. We use our phones for alarms so no need for one. And it's part of not fighting insomnia. If you have a clock you are tempted to just do the math all night. If I get to sleep right now I will get 6 hours of sleep...okay if I get to sleep now I will get 5 hours of sleep...oh my god if I fall asleep right now I will only get 4 hours of sleep... So I never check the time. I just relax and try to get back to sleep or at least to that zone of relaxation.

Last night I was having a harder time getting back to relaxed. Like I said, the coyotes were restless. It's hard to relax and go back to sleep when hell demons are outside your window calling for lost souls.

So instead I started thinking about my life over the past few years. Specifically that I have a written record of what I was thinking at certain times. What I believed. What was really going on in my head. Because (and there are scientific studies to back me up here) we are not actually reliable witnesses to our own past beliefs. We often think we have ALWAYS thought one way when we in fact held opposite views at one point.

I've talked about it before and I'm not bad at it for the most part. I know what I've always believed and know what I used to believe but don't anymore. The things I feel the strongest about I haven't shifted on. Some other things I have, but I've also talked about those and why I've shifted. I also believe that as we age we become more and more distilled versions of who we really are. We tend to shed things that we didn't really hold that tightly to. There are areas that I used to be more willing to bend in, opinions that I didn't hold myself but didn't view as being that bad that I now look at and think, nope. Now I'm not as sure if that's just me changing or if it's the world has shifted and now I see where certain paths lead.

I'm not as willing to keep my politics on my blog and then only sometimes, only for big issues, and not on my Facebook page. In the beginning of my time of Facebook (from reading my blog I can see this) I actually worked really hard at keeping my political opinions off of there and keeping them only here. That isn't the case anymore. Now I feel that it's important to make clear what I do and do not believe and why. I think it's a mistake to stay silent when people are saying things that are wrong, factually or morally. Who knows if in ten years I will feel the same way or think this was a mistake. But for right now I feel like we need to have discussions, and we need to see reasonable people make arguments and we need to see that we are not alone in our opinions so we can gain strength from that. (I also know that there are people who do not feel that I am reasonable or have shareable opinions.)

So as I was contemplating the changes in my own opinions over the years and where I am right now the coyotes were screaming outside the window. And I wondered to myself, Where are we? As a country and as a world where are we right now? There is a lot of divide. There is a lot of hypocrisy. There is denial of science, of facts. In the United State we have a president who constantly lies and his base tries to sweep it away by claiming that the media is biased by reporting that he constantly lies. We have divisions on gender, on color, on everything really. We are all very cemented in our opinions and think those that disagree with us are idiots.

"Don't tell me you honestly believe...."

That's how one comment started on a post I made the other day.  Don't tell me you honestly believe... I've written about this before. Of course I honestly believe that or I wouldn't have posted it. Don't be stupid and don't ever presume that I am.

I'm a happy person by nature. My baseline is happy. Most of my day I'm smiling or laughing about something. And yet, there is a rage that is just under the surface a lot of the time now. Now part of that is menopause. I will be honest here, if hot flashes were heat rays the whole world would burn...but it's also the feeling that the world is out of control. That important things are being dismissed. That the wrong things are being thought valuable. That we are in dangerous times and not enough people are listening. And those of us that are concerned are being dismissed. Pushed aside. Even though our numbers are strong and high, the systems are rigged and so we keep having to push and then get criticized for pushing. It leads to that slow burn anger being right there. All the time.

So sleep was difficult.

The coyotes were restless last night...

The Company You Keep...

Part One

William folded the picture up and started to put it back in his wallet. He paused thinking that he really should just throw it out. Forget about her. If his Commander saw that he carried a picture of her he might get the wrong idea.

It wasn't the first time he had contemplated this. He put the picture back in his wallet. It wouldn't be the last.

He stared at the ceiling in the little bedroom he was currently not sleeping in. Remembering their last morning together. He had been so excited to get started. To really make a difference.

"It's not going to be what you think."

She had told him this before. He wanted to steer the conversation away from the topic. He was worried about what she might say. He was worried someone might overhear. His regiment was packing up supplies, getting ready to leave. But she was talking and he didn't want her to stop either. He didn't know how long it would be before they would come back here. 

"You haven't been out there either. It might be exactly what I think. You could be wrong."

She gave him the don't be an idiot look again then rubbed her shaved head. "I have a good idea what it's like out there. I have a better idea what it's like here. I'm not blinded by some sort of misplaced patriotism."

"Patriotism is never misplaced." He puffed up a bit at the suggestion. 

"So noble. So honorable. That will change."

"I will always be honorable!" He really was starting to get insulted now. 

"I know you think that. But as you sit here eating breakfast your friends are stealing everything that isn't nailed down. What are you going to leave me with? No food, that's for sure."

"They are packing supplies, they aren't stealing!"

"Supplies? They are my things. They are taking my things."

"You will get reimbursed by the Army for anything that is requisitioned."

She laughed her bitter laugh. "Do you still believe that? Oh, William, you are naive."

She walked to the table and leaned close to him and whispered in his ear, "There are things that can never be repaid. There are things that once stolen can never be returned. You are going to have choices to make once you're out there. Make the right ones."

Then she walked out of the kitchen and in to the yard where his Commander was working with a group to round up the chickens to take with them. If they would lay eggs while they were in transit that would be best but if not they could kill them and have meat for dinner. William watched from the window as she strode out in to the yard. She walked up behind one of the men that had been sharing the house with them. One that William had never liked. He was the type to take things that weren't his to take, and to leave bruises on white skin that couldn't be ignored. As she neared him William saw a flash of silver in her hand. He could have shouted out a warning right then but didn't. He tried later to tell himself that he hadn't known what she was going to do but that wasn't honorable. He couldn't lie even to himself.

But he never told anyone else that he had seen it coming. He wasn't that stupid. 

She plunged the knife into his brain. Targeting the small vulnerable spot at the back of his neck. It was fast. Up and in. He dropped without a sound. Then she had turned and opened her arms to his Commander, "Fuck you." Those were her last words. He shot her at least 8 times. It wasn't quick and clean. She had been better than them all the way to the end. 

That had been two years ago. 

William had done and seen a lot since then. 

It's why he couldn't always sleep. 

The room was starting to fill with sunlight. He didn't want to look at the floor. He wanted to keep looking at the ceiling. He wanted to keep replaying the memories of her cooking him breakfast. He wanted to go back in time and listen to her about leaving. He wanted to talk her into going with him. Smuggling her out from behind the fence. Living a life where she could grow her hair back or get another tattoo or cook like she loved to...

He looked at the floor. At the stain where the blood had pooled. He didn't want to think about that. 

"Gosser! You're smaller than me, go see if you can reach her."

His friends, as she had always called them and now he even thought of them that way, had been laughing and joking outside the door to the room. They had stopped at this house not expecting to find it occupied. Most people moved on if they knew the 2nd was on the march. But sometimes they didn't. Then they would hide. Sometimes that worked. If they were only looking for supplies they would sometimes pretend they didn't see anyone. But if they were looking for other things...

William had gone into the room and looked around. He could hear her breathing. She was trying to be quiet but the panic had set in so each breath was a quiet whimper. She had to be under the bed. It was a small bed, low to the ground. They could have lifted it off of her maybe but it would be easier for him to slide under there and just drag her out. His friends closed the door to make sure she couldn't run once he got her out. 

He grabbed her arm and drug her across the floor to the middle of the room, she blinked up at him, the fear turning to confusion, "Billy?"

He hadn't been called Billy in a long time. It was familiar, but not him, not anymore. 

"Billy? It's you, isn't it? It's me, Suzanne. From Mrs. Springfield's class. Remember? We sat next to each other..." She trailed off and then shook her head. Remembering where they were. Who they were. Just how far away Mrs. Springfield's third grade class really was.

William stared at her. "Suzanne. Yeah. I remember you." And he did. She had always been so nice to everyone. One of those people who even in the third grade didn't give in to bullying the weird kids. She never made fun of the quiet boy who just liked to listen to people talk.

There was a bang on the door, "Did you get her Gosser?? Save some for the rest of us!"

Suzanne closed her eyes as her body shook with fear. "Billy..."

"I'm sorry." He reached up and scratched his own face, then yelled as he shot her.

The door slammed open as he stood over the bleeding out body. "Crazy bitch attacked me."

"Ah shit...well that's no fun."

They drug her out into the yard and burned her on the trash pile. 

He slept in her room that night. Spoils of war. 

He put his hand over his wallet, making sure it, and everything it contained, was secure in his pocket. She had been right.

It wasn't what he thought it would be. He thought he had made the right choice though. The honorable one. What would she have thought?

He heard her voice in his head,

"Fuck you."