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scarlet-streak-fanfics · 3 years ago

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[Untitled] Alternate Ending, Pt. 2 (2.1k Words)

Hello! I’m here to deliver more angst with a part two to yesterday’s ask from @lazy-nutella, which I’ll link here! This one isn’t as dark, but we’re still in angsty whump territory. I hope you enjoy it!

Not hearing from Sherlock for 24 hours was common. William knew that the detective was busy and had grown used to waiting. Plus, he was still in Durham–as much as he’d have liked a surprise visit from his most important friend, he never expected them. That’s what made them fun. When the silence reached 48 hours, however, he started to get nervous. Still, he chalked it up to Sherlock being practical–after all, they’d be in the same city the next day. On the third day with no messages or visits from the detective despite William being back in London, the Lord of Crime begins to panic.

He tries to reason with himself that maybe Sherlock got caught up in a particularly difficult case. If that’s true, he probably needs advice, and William should just drop by 221b Baker Street to check. He takes a carriage there, foot bouncing anxiously the whole way. When Ms. Hudson opens the door with a blotchy face and tears in her eyes, his blood runs cold.

“Sherlock has been missing for three days, the bloody idiot. I was just about to send a telegram to see if you knew where he was before we called the Yard, my lord.” William walks past her wordlessly, climbing the stairs to the flat where he’s greeted by a very disheveled John sitting on the couch, head in his hands. “I suppose you have no news either, Doctor Watson?”

He’s proud of himself for schooling the emotion in his voice to one of polite concern instead of allowing the growing fear in him to bleed out. The doctor looks up and shakes his head. “No note, nothing out of the ordinary in the apartment either. Wiggins said one of the Irregulars spotted him leaving the flat, but they didn’t follow. I was out with Mary at the time, and he wasn’t here when I came back. I just thought he’d gone to a bar, I didn’t know he’d…”

His head falls back into his hands, and William crouches in front of the distraught man, still fighting to keep his tone even. “Doctor, I need you to give me all the information you have, no matter how inconsequential. Did he have any visitors, did he seem in a strange mood when he left, had he been working on a particular dangerous case, anything.”

“We’d been between cases at the moment,” William allows himself only a moment of relief at those words–Sherlock had put away enough criminals to have quite the hefty target on his back. Just because he wasn’t an active threat to anyone didn’t mean he was safe from revenge plots. “Wiggins mentioned that Mycroft had stopped by. Apparently, he left in a rather foul mood, and Sherlock left soon after.”

The momentary spark of relief flares into a blaze of barely contained rage. William stands up stiffly, his face a mask of calm. “I see. I’ll do my best to use my connections to start the search for him. Contact the Yard immediately, and tell them what you just told me.”

He doesn’t give John time to argue or ask questions, turning on his heel and stalking out of the apartment. Once outside, he walks down the street until he reaches an alleyway occupied by an old woman, hunched over and huddled in a ragged cloak. “Please inform my brother that I’ll be paying a visit to Mycroft Holmes tonight–I’d prefer he not be present for it, if possible. He’s rather fond of the man, after all.”

The woman pulls back her hood, revealing the spiky black hair and youthful features of Fred Porlock. “Bad news?”

“I’m not sure. However, I expect that this evening’s meeting will be… illuminating.” The young man knows better than to poke at William when he’s in this mood. He simply pulls his hood back up and shuffles out of the alleyway. William gives him time to get a good distance away before beginning the walk to where Mycroft’s office is located. Nobody questions his presence–his brother works there from time to time, and William and Louis have made a point of stopping by to see Albert often enough to establish a sense of normalcy with their visits. He sits on the couch outside of Mycroft’s office, smiling and murmuring pleasantries at the people who pass him. He knows from Albert that Mycroft has a tendency to work late, often staying past when everyone else has gone home for the evening.

That’s why he feels confident enough to press the hidden blade in his walking stick to the director’s neck when the older Holmes brother finally leaves his office. “What did you do to Sherlock?”

All the color drains out of Mycroft’s face as he slowly closes the door behind him, seeming more distressed by the nobleman’s words than the knife being held to his neck. “You mean he wasn’t with you?”

“I’ve been in Durham teaching for the past few days and hadn’t heard from him. When I returned to London, I was told that he’s been missing for three days, and you were his last visitor.” William reluctantly lowers his blade, the genuine panic, surprise, and fear in Mycroft’s face mollifying his suspicions, if only for the moment. The dark haired man sinks to the floor, back against the door and head in his hands. “Oh god.”

“You have information, then.” Mycroft doesn’t bother to look up. “We had an argument about his career. Nothing out of the ordinary. I just don’t want to see him flounder financially once Scotland Yard cases dry up. He’s too proud to allow me pay his rent, so the most I’m able to do is push him to get a more stable job. I thought he’d run off to you to lick his wounds and avoid me.”

William is well acquainted with Sherlock’s perspective on this argument. Since the detective had come into his life, he’d shown up on William’s doorstep on more than one occasion to do exactly what Mycroft had said, making it a logical assumption. “Mr. Holmes, before I made your brother’s acquaintance, where would he go after these arguments?”

“Bars, mostly, if he didn’t have drugs on hand. He’d stay in when he still kept morphine and cocaine in the flat, but Sherly hasn’t done that since Doctor Watson moved in.”

“Never opium dens?”

“If he did, I’m sure I’d be the last person to know. He’s been too clever for anyone I sent to tail him to get any real information.” William’s shoulders sag slightly and he begins to pace, frustrated by the lack of progress. “I assume I can trust you to work from your side to find him?”

“Of course, as much as I can within the confines of my position. You’ll do the same?” The blond scoffs, sheathing his blade and turning back towards the door. “I would like to see someone try to stop me, Mr. Holmes.”

He chooses to walk back to the townhouse, taking the opportunity of the calm, dark streets to collect his though and begin formulating a plan. When William opens the door, he makes a beeline for the letter tray. “Looking for this?”

The burst of relief that courses through him as Louis hands him the telegram is nothing short of euphoric. He scans it quickly, that relief turning to a bittersweet feeling as his initial theory is unfortunately confirmed. “Louis, please inform the others that we’ll be meeting in my study shortly. An issue has arisen that requires our complete attention.”

The youngest Moriarty brother raises an eyebrow. “Is Mr. Holmes really that much of a priority, brother? I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually.”

He seems to immediately regret his words as William’s cool exterior cracks for a moment. “That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

That’s how William finds himself trudging between opium dens in the slums of London, accompanied by Sebastian Moran and dressed in some of Louis’s older clothes for safety. The others had fanned out across the city, covering the more respectable establishments. William hoped that one of them would find Sherlock first–opium dens marketed to the nobility were often significantly safer–but he’d taken the area he felt was most likely for the detective to have chosen. It would be furthest away from Mycroft, John, and himself, the three people Sherlock would most want to avoid being discovered by.

As the late night turns into the earliest hours of the morning, the Lord of Crime begins to grow desperate–they’d met with dealers, checked the identities of dozens of drugged civilians, but still hadn’t found any trace of the detective. He enters the next building he’d been directed to, smiling at who he assumes to be the owner. The man doesn’t return the gesture, instead looking him over with suspicion. This isn’t surprising to William–new faces are as likely to be potential customers as they are to be undercover police. “Don’t recognize you lot.”

“I’m searching for a friend who’s gone missing. Would you mind if I took a look around, sir?” His smooth words are accompanied by the clink of coins as Sebastian drops a small purse onto the table between the two men. The owner still looks wary, but he pockets the coins and grunts a vague permission to the request. William walks past many unresponsive clients, trying his best to breathe in as little of the sickly sweet, intoxicating opium smoke as possible. He’s about to give up when he spots a familiar overcoat covering a lump in one of the corners. William’s heart leaps as he rushes over, kneeling down and pulling back the coat. Sherlock Holmes doesn’t respond to the sudden light, dark hair plastered to pale, clammy skin in an unkempt tangle. William checks his pulse, and he’s never been more glad to feel the rhythm of another human’s blood pumping. “Mr. Holmes.”

The dark haired man is still unresponsive, and the lingering panic in the blond’s chest is joined by annoyance. He grabs a fistful of Sherlock’s hair, pulling it away from his face and using it to maneuver his head and upper body upright so he can look at him properly. “Sherlock.”

There’s a slight flutter of his closed eyelids accompanied by a soft groan of pain, and William’s expression softens. He’s really alive. William shifts his hold on Sherlock from a hand in his hair to both hands on his shoulders, supporting his body as the detective’s head falls forward. His next words are in a soft, almost crooning tone, the kind someone might use when waking a sleeping child.“Sherly?”

If the situation weren’t so serious, the fact that that’s what gets Sherlock lift his head, normally brilliant blue eyes appearing dull and unfocused as he opens them to look at William through dilated pupils, would have been amusing to him. The detective reaches out one shaking hand, grabbing loosely onto the nobleman’s jacket. When he speaks, his words are slow and his voice is exhausted and scratchy. “Liam? W’are y’doin’ here?” Fear creeps into his voice for a moment. “‘M I dead?”

William chooses to ignore the slurred speech and ridiculous question as he drags the other man half onto his lap, trapping him in a tight embrace. Sherlock is practically dead weight in his arms, face falling onto William’s shoulder. “No, but you might be when Ms. Hudson gets her hands on you. We’ve been looking everywhere for you, you damned idiot! It’s been three days since any of us heard from you. You’ve had her, John, and Mycroft worried sick!”

“Not you?” The pitifully quiet, disappointed voice that accompanies the question makes his heart twist. His tone loses its scolding edge as he says, “Sherlock Holmes, I would not have gone through every opium den in this godforsaken city past midnight looking for you if I was not out of my mind with worry.”

“M’sorry, Liam. Didn’ wan’ you t’see me like this.” His voice is barely above a mumble as turns his head to the side, uneven breath warming the skin of William’s neck. William doesn’t say anything, just holds Sherlock tighter in response. The detective doesn’t complain, and they sit in silence until he eventually manages to bring his own arms loosely around William’s torso. “S’nice. Y’r warm, Liam. Missed you.”

The sentiment warms his heart, but the nobleman wrinkles his nose as the initial flood of relief wears off enough for him to notice the nauseating odor emanating off Sherlock. “I missed you too, but you smell absolutely awful, Sherly.”

“I know. M’sorry.” William shakes his head, smoothing down the tangle of sweat-dampened, dark hair with one hand as he tries very hard not to breathe in through his nose. “It’s alright. Come on, Sherly, let’s get you out of here so we can clean you up.”

“M’kay.” Sherlock is completely compliant as William helps him into his coat, packs up his needle kit, and waves Sebastian over. The taller man slings the detective over his shoulder with ease, carrying him like a rather sedated sack of potatoes as he follows William out of the establishment.

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dropinthecosmicocean · 5 years ago

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thoughts on Shadow of the Hegemon

Though this book is by a sci-fi author, and yes, it does have elements of sci-fi, I wouldn’t say it’s much of science fiction, but rather, political and military fiction, if only because so much of the plot revolves around politics, political intrigue, clever battle plans, scheming and manipulation. At the same time, the book also explores human relationships, character motivations, love, sacrifice, moral dilemmas and big philosophical questions. It also has its share of witty exchanges and constant second-guessing and mutual-analysis happening between characters who may not share the same motivations.

Here’s my recap of the story (Wikipedia probably does a much better job summarising so this is really more for myself)

At the start of the story, the Battle School kids from the original Ender’s Game have returned to their homes on Earth after humans won the Formic Wars and the world, though one’d expect it to be happy and at peace, is actually in political turmoil. Countries aren’t united and more than a few of them want to get hold of the children, who are legitimately the best military minds on Earth, for their own advantage. If they can’t, they may even resort to killing the kids so enemies can’t get to them first.

- Most of the kids from Ender’s Dragon Army get kidnapped by the Russia gov, including Petra, who will be one of the main characters and they eventually find out they’re under the control of Achilles (pronounced ah-sheel), a Battle School student they’ve heard of. He was a sociopath who would allegedly kill anyone who made him feel vulnerable and also the main antagonist in this story.

- Bean (another battle school kid) and his family were not kidnapped, by some combination of luck and smarts, but were almost murdered by Achilles, who wanted Bean dead. Bean knew about the kidnapping and wanted to rescue Petra, an important friend to him. He eventually does succeed.

- Meanwhile, Peter Wiggin, Ender’s elder brother, tries to manipulate the political situation on Earth for good by sending letters to important people and writing forum posts behind his online persona, Locke. He eventually becomes Hegemon, something like the main leader of humanity.

The bulk of the plot revolves around Bean, Petra, Peter and their conflict with the enemy Achilles, though other people that make significant appearances are Sister Carlotta (Bean’s guardian), Peter’s parents, the Dragon Army kids and two other Battle School kids Virlomi and Suriyawong.

Some more thoughts on this book (continued)

With all the clever scheming this book has, I’d say the plot is the author’s own sort of clever scheming, which means to say it’s very tightly spun, has many little nuances, develops quite quickly and it will take you on a ride. Mostly, I was mentally entertained trying to follow all that was happening and it doesn’t get boring easily. If the plot isn’t developing, you’d be given a bit more insight into one of the characters, like their backstory or a look into their current motivations and worries, so there’s always something to look forward to.

At some parts, we get a flashback into past events like during Ender’s Game or the early life of Bean which the author does go into more detail in his other books - which makes me appreciate the depth of the world that OSC has build. This, along with the philosophical discussions interwoven into the story, I think makes the book very re-readable. There are definitely some insightful things I may have missed or overlooked with just this first read-through.

Something I find interesting about the universe SotH is set in, is that the main characters are really, prepubescent children and even the oldest are still teenagers. These are child war veterans we’re talking about. Something about them being so young and yet have experienced so much good and bad, joy and pain, just.. tugs at your compassion for them. I like that they’re not just written to be smart (by making them do and say smart things like logical deductions and battle plans etc.) but have complex and believable traits and personalities, which makes me want to revisit them and understand them deeper in more rereads.

If I could give SotH a rating: 4/5

Since this is the first book I’ve read in a long time, I don’t have any others to compare it against, but I did enjoy it very much and it was a very mentally-stimulating, thought-provoking read. I’m just cautious to give it a 5, because that feels reserved for a really life-changing, perfect book... and I don’t think so many of them exist, for every person. But that isn’t to say I might change my mind about this if I do more reading or rereading.

#shadow of the hegemon #book review #orson scott card #enderverse

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nebbychan · 7 years ago

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Beauty and the Beast Pt.1

For @victorluvsalice

Once in a distant land the young princess lived in a shining castle and although she had everything she ever desired the princess was cruel, distant, and mad

But one foggy night at a quarter to three a lone beggar woman came to the castle and begged for shelter from the bitter cold offering to her a rose as red as blood in exchange the princess sneered at the gift and turned her away but she warned her not to be deceived by her appearance for beauty is found within

When the princess dismissed her a second time the woman’s ugliness faded away revealing a beautiful enchantress the princess begged for forgiveness but it was too late for she had seen that there was no love in her heart

As punishment, she transformed the princess into a hideous beast and placed a powerful curse on the castle and all who lived there ashamed of her revolting appearance the princess sealed herself away within her castle with a magic mirror as her only window to the outside world

As days bled into weeks and weeks into months the princess and her servants were long forgotten by the outside world for the enchantress had erased the memories of all who knew them

However, there was a glimmer of hope for the rose was enchanted if she could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell the spell would be broken if not, she would be doomed to remain a beast for all time

As the years passed the princess fell into despair and lost all hope

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

In the desolate village of Greycott, where its skies were so eerily grey you’d assume all the smog had blocked out the sun- stood a spacious mansion, and in this mansion lived an elderly merchant and his only son. Quiet and timid, with a pension for stuttering and fondness for literature, music, art, and all things beautiful, his name was Victor Van Dort. And today, he needed to return something. He pushed the doors open, poking his head out to take in the fresh air before fully emerging. He was tall, pale, with hair black as a raven’s wing, and eyes as rich as dark chocolate, fully dressed in a dull suit and in one arm held a basket. As he began his journey he uttered to himself, “Little town, it’s a quiet village, every day like the one before. Little town, full of little people, waking up to say…”

As if on cue, villagers stepped out from their homes, opened windows, or were already out and exchanging their morning greetings. The baker dashes past him with a tray in his hands, one falling out only to be caught by Victor, “There goes the baker with his tray like always, the same old bread and loaves to sell,” he stores the loaf- a favorite of his which was riddled with chocolate, into his basket, “Every morning just the same since the morning that we came, to this poor provincial town-”

“Morning, Victor!”

Victor jumps, turning quickly on his heels and then heaving a sigh, “G-Good morning, Mr. Universe! That was q-quite the scare…!” “Sorry about that,” Greg Universe laughs nervously, “I sometimes forget how jumpy you are!” Seeing him then look behind him inquisitively prompts a laugh from Victor, “Have you lost something again?” “I think I did, problem is that I can’t remember what!” Greg scratches his head and then shrugs, “Ah, I’m sure it’ll hit me in the head later. So, where’re you off to?” Victor beams, as he reaches into the basket and retrieves a book, “To return this to Elder Gutknecht, i-it’s a Jewish folk-tale about a man who marries a corpse.” “Sounds creepy…!” Greg raises a brow. “I know, and it’s why I enjoyed it! I-I really must be on my way, b-but I hope you find what you’re looking for!” They wave to each other goodbye as he continues his walk.

Passing by the schoolhouse, he could hear the whispers of the children as they enter the building in a single file line, “Look there he goes, that man is strange, no question!” they giggled. Some were met with a whack on the head by Headmaster Galswells, “Dazed and distracted, can’t you tell?” Victor cringed; he once dealt with the headmaster in his youth, and such memories weren’t worth reflecting on. He felt pity for the children; no doubt they’re enduring the exact experience as he once did every day. Then came the well where most clothes and linens were washed, surrounding it were laundresses or married women and their young daughters. The women sneered as he passed by, saying to each other, “Never part of any crowd, because his head is on some cloud.” “No denying he’s a funny boy that Victor!” He will admit, it did annoy him how nearly all the time this was what they’d talk about, then again they spend a majority of their day by a well with nothing more to do…

“There must be more than this provincial life!” He rolled his eyes as he enters the church. Only times it’d ever be active was on Sundays, rarely ever used on the weekdays except for the occasional villager coming in for confession. It was run by a kindly, yet frail man. Elder Gutknecht was rumored to just be a skeleton in robes, given his age and how bony he looked. The last of the candles had been lit within the otherwise dark church when Victor entered, Elder Gutknecht smiled, “Ah, if it isn’t Greycott’s biggest bookworm! Tell me my dear boy, where did you run off to this week?” Even if he was old, no doubt the man still had energy to spare, catching up to the lanky young man in no time at all. Victor handed him the book, “A tiny little village in Russia, I didn’t want to come back, have you any new places to go?” to which the elder sighed, “I’m afraid not, but you are free to read any of the old ones if you’d like.” He gestures to a small cupboard with an equally short stack of books. There was once a time where Greycott’s library had shelves filled to the brim with books of all sizes, just waiting to be picked up! But times are a changing, and with the sudden increase in population there had to be decisions made in order to accommodate to such a hefty demand. And Elder Gutknecht had only managed to salvage a few books other than the bible. While housing was important, education and knowledge was something he mostly cherished, and it brought absolute joy to have someone like Victor who shared similar interest. Victor smiled, “Your library makes our small corner of the world feel big…” He picks up a book or two, sticks it to the basket and heads for the door, waving at the elder. “Bon voyage!” he waves back.

Victor opened up his book, it was fairly old; its pages had small rips and tears, there were small drawings on the corners or even close to the spine. He wasn’t sure if either he had drawn on them or if another person did it. Then again, who else in the village knew how to draw a lycaenidae butterfly in exquisite detail? He did recall Elder Gutknecht being reasonable; thankfully. As he left the church, several men turned their noses up at the sight of him, some giving a brief “humph” or simply scratching their heads,

“Look there he goes, that boy is so peculiar.”

“I wonder if he’s feeling well.”

“-with a dreamy far off look, and his nose stuck in a book…”

“What a puzzle to the rest of us is Victor.”

‘Isn’t this amazing?’ Victor thought fondly, ‘It’s my favorite part because – you’ll see, here’s where she meets Prince Charming, but she won’t discover that it’s him ‘til chapter three!’ The women at the dress shop grimaced at his passing by, all three redheads; the one in a blue dress and a bow on the back of her hair said to the other- whose hair was done in braids, “Now give him credit he is a beauty, his looks have got no parallel!” The one with her hair done in ringlets scoffed, “But behind that fair façade, I’m afraid he’s rather odd.” the one in braids nodded, “Very different from the rest of us.” “He’s nothing like the rest of us!” The one with ringlets folded her arms, “Yes different from the rest of us is Victor!”

On another side of town stood a lavish estate, with fine grey bricks and freshly washed windows, its sign hanging by the door read:

Mayor Angus Bumby Psychologist/Politician/Social Architect

There were even posters hung up that read in big, bold letters, “RE-ELECT MAYOR BUMBY”, with his mug plastered onto the sheet and surrounding it were little stars and even a train.

Ah yes, who could forget Greycott’s biggest sensation? Former psychologist and therapist- now Mayor, Angus Bumby was the only one in Greycott to have ever gone to Oxford University and graduated, he was well respected for a number of things; his intellect, prowess in politics, and charismatic personality being one of these admirable qualities. He stood in front of the window watching the townsfolk go about their daily routine. He could care less for them; they could jump off bridges for him if he so asked them to, getting an education as well as maintaining status of Mayor in an otherwise run-down and somewhat illiterate village has proved to be quite the benefit. He’d been Mayor for as long as he could remember, and for good reason, as no one stood up to oppose him. He snapped his fingers, “Wiggins, tea.” “Coming, sir…!” A cheerful voice chirped. By the time he had turned, his faithful manservant was standing by him with a saucer and teacup in hand. His clothes, once cheery yellow but now since dulled down to fit in the grey standard, was neat as well as his combed brown hair, which had been done into a small ponytail. “Oolong tea, just as you requested, Mr. Mayor.” He smiled. Bumby accepted the beverage, taking the saucer into his hands and lifting the cup over to his lips.

His eyes narrowed over towards a certain young lad with a book in his hands. Lips curled into a knowing grin, “Look at him, Wiggins, my future partner.” Thank the lord this was now the norm- or else he wouldn’t even be talking about it, “Victor Van Dort is the most divine creature in the village, the most intelligent among these heathens, so pure…and that makes him the best. You know, ever since the dog days of living in London I knew there was something missing in my life, and he’s the only one who gives me that sense of…” “….Je ne sais quoi?” Wiggins tilted his head. Bumby frowned, “Of course you wouldn’t know, right from the moment when I met him- saw him! Here in town there is only he, who is as good as me, so I’m making plans to woo and marry Victor.” He set his tea aside and snapped his fingers, “Wiggins, my coat!” the servant nodded, grabbing for the long, dark brown coat that hung by the doorway, helping him slip it on before following him outside.

Bumby adjusted his top hat, making long strides through the crowd just to get closer to Victor, yet whenever he felt like he was getting closer he’d only find himself becoming consumed by the crowd. “Excuse me!” He’d say, “Please let me through!” Finally, he was able to push himself past them, and conveniently by a cart full of flowers. Swiping a bouquet and tossing a coin to the florist, he hurriedly made his way over to Victor. Wiggins, however, wasn’t as fortunate, as he had found himself lost in the crowd. Victor felt a tap on his shoulder; he turned his head and was nearly spooked to see the Mayor standing there, “Good Morning, Master Van Dort!” He tips his hat. The young man blinked, “O-Oh, g-good morning, Mayor Bumby…” he declined the gift, waving his hand at the flowers when Bumby tried pushing it towards his chest. Bumby looks down at the open book that was in Victor’s other hand, with little scribbles drawn on them, “I thought you didn’t read books with pictures.” “I-I don’t, I…my imagination…runs wild sometimes.” Victor murmured. “Ah, like a stallion, I see. You know, they are difficult creatures to tame, but that’s what makes it so exhilarating.” Bumby held up the bouquet, “For your dinner table, perhaps you wouldn’t mind me joining you and your father for dinner this evening?”

“It’s a lovely arrangement, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your gift and the request, I’ll have nowhere to place the flowers! The dinner table already has a formidable centerpiece, a-and quite frankly my father isn’t fond of visitors inviting themselves in regardless of their s-status.” Victor took a step back, carefully placing his book into his basket. Wiggins finally caught up, huffing and puffing, as Bumby hands the bouquet over to the manservant. By the time the Mayor looked back up, Victor had already gone. “He really is a funny boy that Victor.” Wiggins tilted his head in confusion. “Bah, he just doesn’t know what he wants, the bloody tease…” Bumby grumbled, “Perhaps it’s time I take further action, what good are flowers anyway? A flower’s purpose is simple and immutable.”

Once Victor had returned to the safety of his home, he shut the door behind him, just in time to hear the piano playing softly. If he listened closely, he could hear it coming from the drawing room, that and a few sour notes. No denying it, his father was trying to teach himself piano again. He smirked and made his way over, dropping off the basket on a table in the hallway. William Van Dort sat on the bench, hunched over and squinting his eyes at the music sheet and then at the keys. He followed the first verse without fail, but when he’d hit the wrong note he groaned in frustration and folded his arms. Victor held back a laugh, “I’ll never understand why you don’t hire a tutor.” “I can do it, son, I just can’t find that darned note…” William sighed. Victor came over and examined the sheet. Well, all he’d need is one glance before pressing the key, “Right here, father.” William sat there dumbfounded, “Oh.”

Victor began to chuckle, “To be fair, I don’t think you’re quite ready for triple triads, though the attempt was admirable.” “I’ll get it somehow,” William grinned, “I know I’ve got that musical talent somewhere in that ol’ noggin of mine, probably right next to my business tactics.” He tapped onto his balding head, “Anyway, how was your day at the market?” Victor simply replied, “G-Good…” He didn’t want to inform his father of his encounter with the Mayor. While it’d be easy to point fingers, getting the whole town on your side wasn’t. Considering how Bumby was so glorified, being an unopposed politician with a degree, there’s no way he’d stand a chance. William cleared his throat, “While you’re here, I suppose I’d let you know, that I’ll be going on a trip later today to discuss business with some potential stock brokers. We might be able to expand the cannery to London if I’m lucky.” “Oh, well then I wish you the best of luck, but…w-when will you be back?” Victor wondered. “Depends, I’d estimate about a matter of days, if not then perhaps a week or two, if the process takes longer” His father answered.

The Van Dort’s were known for their cannery, once a small business tucked away behind the pub owned by his late grandfather, when he passed and William gained ownership of the property, he’d taken the risk of selling canned fish to the public, which boomed into an enormous success! William had unfortunately experienced some fallout when he’d attempted to branch out, and almost cost him the empire he’d built so precariously. There was one incident where he sold spices and tea leaves, only to lose his product in a vicious storm, and the only surviving ship carried tainted goods. The deaths of employees and loss in profit made William reflect on the risk of expanding, though this won’t be the last time he’d try something to add more coin to his pocket.

William left the residence after lunch, giving his son a brief hug. Before leaving, he asked what Victor would like from London, to which Victor requested a single red rose. He watched as his father’s carriage pulled away, waving goodbye before retreating to his room.

A while after, he went out once again to visit the sweets shop, and then sat by the church snacking on chocolates and quietly reading to himself, and as he read, Victor had failed to notice the small child approaching him. “What’re you reading?” Victor looked up to see a small girl no older then twelve curiously trying to get a peek into the pages. “Oh, you must be Connie,” Victor turned the book around, “I’m reading this wonderful series called Secundus, it’s about a young man who discovers a town run by science, would you like to read a few pages?” To which the girl nodded, then sitting by him and staring wide eyed at the pages. Victor couldn’t help but smile, perhaps this town wasn’t a lost cause after all. There were some- and thankfully young ladies, who’d love to read. It’d been a long time since he last read aloud, but what if he taught her to read a page or two? Wouldn’t hurt to try, he helped young Connie spell out words she couldn’t understand, explain idioms, and read full sentences. He smiled, “Good job! Maybe I could lend this book to you, if you’d like.” Connie smiled back and nodded, “Yeah, that’d be great!”

“What’re you doing?” Headmaster Galswells cringed, “Teaching a girl to read? It’s bad enough Greycott has outcasts like you, we don’t need any more of them!” Victor shrunk back at the Headmaster’s response, oh how he wished Greycott wasn’t as close-minded about literacy. Though it boggled him how there was a school yet no one but a select few actually knew how to read. Victor leaned over to Connie and said, “I-I think you better find your mother, I-I d-don’t want you getting into trouble.” The child was hesitant, but scampered off in search if her mother regardless. The other residents had ganged up on Victor by the time she’d slinked away into the expanding crowd; one snatched the book from his hands and threw it in another direction and onto a mud puddle, lucky him the book was closed but the cover was now dirtied. After a few choice words and a painful lecture from the Headmaster, Victor recovered his book and began the walk home.

Just as he’d entered, villagers on the other side of town began setting up chairs, tables, lights, food…Elder Gutknecht even showed up with a bible in hand, albeit begrudgingly. He swore he wasn’t paid enough for this. Bumby cleared his throat, “I’d like to thank you all for coming to my wedding, now I just need to go in there and, ‘propose to the girl’.” He winked. The crowd roared with laughter, the three redhead girls seen weeping by the wedding cake. Bumby then turned his attention to Wiggins, “Now, when Master Van Dort and I come out the door, that will be your signal.” “I know, I strike up the band, but sir, don’t you think you’re going too far?” Wiggins frowned, “He is rejecting your attempts.” But his employer hadn’t caught any of it, matter of fact he was already gone by the time he said he acknowledged the signal. He sighed, “Poor Victor…”

Victor heard a knock on the door. He groaned in despair and opened it, expecting it to be Connie’s mother or some other angry villager. But no it had to be Bumby, who greeted him with an unsettling grin, “Master Van Dort! I see you had a nasty run-in with the Headmaster, nevermind him, I’ll give him a good talking to.” Victor responded looking distraught, “All I wanted was to teach a child to read…!” Bumby blinked, and then took a few steps closer, “Could I give you a little advice about the villagers? They’re never going to trust the kind of change you’d like to bring.” “Then why not do something about it, you’re the mayor.” Victor frowned. “I could, but then I wouldn’t be mayor at all, and simple folks don’t get us. You and I are alike; we have needs, wants…” He held Victor’s hand. Disgusted, he slipped his hand away from the Mayor’s clammy hands, “Mayor, w-we can’t make each other happy! We’re just too d-different.”

Bumby stepped into the mansion, observing the place before giving his target a frightful stare, “Master Van Dort, do you know what happens to young men and ladies once their parents pass on?” He pointed outside, “Your father won’t be around much longer, and without a wife or a husband, you’d wind up like Blue out in the streets, begging for her next meal like some desperate stray. I’m merely doing you a favor.” Victor looked out the window, and there she was; Blue. No one knew who she was or where she’d come from, but the townsfolk preferred to call her Blue, right after her long dark blue cloak which almost always covered her face, her crisp white hair draped over her shoulders as she stood by begging for food, thanking Greg Universe when he gave her a few coins to spend on a precious loaf from the bakery. She was rumored to be grieving over the loss of a younger sister, and her other two banished her from the house because of it. “Quite frankly, Master Van Dort, the only children you should worry about is your own.” Bumby continued, “Picture this for a moment, a rustic hunting lodge up in the mountains, a nice roast cooking in the oven, and my husband massaging my shoulders while the little ones play on the floor with the dolls.” He then cornered Victor to the front doors, “We’ll have six or seven.” “I-I hope you mean dolls, Mr. Mayor…” “No, Victor, strapping young men like me!” “Imagine that.” “And do you know who that little husband will be?” “L-Let me think-“ “You, Victor!” “Mr. Mayor! I-I’m s-speechless, I-I don’t know w-what to say!” “Say you’ll marry me.” “I’m not simple, I’m sorry Mr. Mayor,” Victor had finally gotten a good grip on the knob, twisting it and then swinging it open as Bumby attempted to steal a kiss, “But I’m never going to marry you!” He stood by and watched as the Mayor went tumbling down onto a mud puddle. By then, the wedding party had moved within close proximity of the courtyard. Wiggins gave a smirk and struck up the band, which played on cue as Bumby sat up and wiped the mud off his face. He turned back just in time to see the door slam shut. Wiggins leaned down with a cheeky grin, “I trust that it didn’t go as you’d hoped?” Bumby growled, “I will have Victor Van Dort as my husband, make no mistake!” He got up and stormed back to his estate, the wedding party now called off.

Victor watched from his bedroom window, “Finally, they’re gone…” he sighed in relief. He shut the curtains in a huff, “Can you imagine, me, the husband of that boring, egotistical…!”

Victor Bumby, can’t you just see it? Mr. Bumby, his little husband, ugh! No sir, not him! He’d guarantee it, he wants more than this provincial life! The maids brought him a cup of tea, Victor dismissing them and granting them the rest of the day off with a kind smile. He sipped the beverage, calming his nerves. He sat at his desk, opening a page in his notebook. It’d been a long time, but he began to sketch out wide landscapes. He wanted adventure in the great wide somewhere; he wanted more than he could tell. He leaned in, careful strokes to get each tiny blade of grass; he then sketched a silhouette of himself looking on into the distance. His drawings and stories being his only escape from this crazy town, and also his only way of staying sane.

‘And for once it might be grand, to have someone understand…’ Victor thought for a moment, and then drew a girl next to his image, being careful as to not botch the arms as he connected them, smiling at the result, ‘I want so much more than they’ve got planned.’

#fanfiction #beauty and the beast #valice

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talvin-muircastle · 7 years ago

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Five Books Challenge

Grab five books that you own, preferably a selection that shows the diversity of your interests, and talk about them. Then tag five people to do the same (if you feel so inclined.)

I am going to provide Amazon links, you don’t have to.

1) Callahan’s Crosstime Saloon by Spider Robinson

There is a bar up in Long Island where you can walk in and just be accepted for who and whatever you are. I don’t just mean Gay, Person of Color, things like that--nobody’s gonna even think twice about stuff like that. You can be purple, have wings, be a talking dog, or maybe a purple talking dog with wings: if you have the cash and can make your order understood (and they’ll try really hard to understand!), you can drink with them.

If you can’t drink alcohol because recovering alcoholic or your people can only drink sulfuric acid, Mike Callahan will still find a way to serve you.

When you are done with your drink, you can return your empty glass for a refund of the deposit on said glass, or you can visit the ChalkLine. There is a fireplace at one end of the bar, and it’s pretty big. Sometimes there is even a fire in it. There is almost always a lot of broken glass in it. When you step to the chalkline, the Place goes quiet: you have their respectful attention. You make a toast, and you smash your glass in the fireplace.

Then, if you wish, you can explain your toast. Maybe you got a raise. Maybe your cat died. Maybe you came out of the closet to your family and now you have no home to go home to and so you came to this bar instead. Maybe an alien race bent on destroying Earth sent you ahead as an advance scout and you have regrets because, dang, this bar ain’t half bad.

They have seen and heard it all. They respond with love. And solutions.

Oh yes. Do come by on Punday Night. The calendar there reads Sunday, Monday, Punday. There are prizes.

https://www.amazon.com/Callahans-Crosstime-Saloon-Place-Book-ebook/dp/B004IK94VY/

2) Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card

I have a complicated relationship with Orson Scott Card. I don’t care for his political or religious beliefs. In fact, I disagree fairly strongly with some of them.

But I found Ender’s Game at a very low time in my adolescence, and it fit. I was Ender Wiggins. I was that kid who, no matter how well he did, was expected to do more. Isolated, resentful, feeling unloved and unwanted (at least in the ways I needed to be wanted), Ender was a character I really understood.

Years later, I gave a copy to my father. He broke down and cried. “You...you really identify with Ender, don’t you?” “Yes.”

I know it hurt him. But it hurt me first.

https://www.amazon.com/Enders-Game-Ender-Quartet-Book-ebook/dp/B003G4W49C/

3) The Mole and the Owl by Charles Duffie

This book almost didn’t make it to print. It was on the Internet in the early days of the Net. The problem was, the author thought it was a kids’ book.

Kids can enjoy it. But this is a book about love. About loving another, and self-love, and love despite differences, and how far someone is willing to go for True Love.

A Mole loves an Owl. The Owl loves the Mole. Then the Owl goes missing. The Mole goes to find her. A Wolf spares the Mole’s life on the condition that, if he stops searching for his Love, the Mole dies.

The wolf stood. “Go. Seek your love. In this, you are not a mole, and I will not be a wolf. But I have your scent, and can find you when I choose. I’ll be watching. If you ever abandon your search and accept the word of the ravens, you will be your old self, so then will I, and as such we will meet again.”

He walked a few paces off, then turned and glanced back to the little mole.

“Wolves, too,” he said quietly, “love but once in life.”

https://www.amazon.com/Mole-Owl-Original-Novella/dp/1571740821/

4) God Game by Fr. Andrew Greeley

He never put his priestly title on the front cover of his books, but Greeley was a most unusual Sci-Fi/Fantasy author: a Catholic Priest. A bit outspoken, a bit of a rebel, I think he made the Vatican just a bit nervous.

God Game is showing its age, given how far Personal Computers have come since it was published in 1986. But while the descriptions of the technology have changed, the basic game concept is still very popular. Anybody who has ever played The Sims, or any one of a number of RTS games, will recognize the basic plot: the narrator (an unnamed clone of Greeley himself) has been given a beta-test copy of Duke and Duchess, a “God Game” in which the player acts as God to a world where the inhabitants have all kinds of Free Will and use it in all the most irritating ways imaginable.

Except that when he starts to play, a freak thunderstorm rolls up, a lightning bolt hits his house, and when the computer reboots, things are...different. The graphics are impossibly good for that day and age. The game mechanics have been tweaked just a bit. The characters are very, very much alive.

The narrator just found himself sitting at his computer and playing God to a bunch of pseudo-Renaissance nobles and courtiers and conspirators.

Oh yes: the Bad Guys. The villains of his world are the Priests. The Church of the Narrator is corrupt, vile, power-hungry, and could honestly give a damn what God wants or thinks. Did I mention that Father Greeley made the Vatican a bit nervous? Delightful man, simply delightful!

https://www.amazon.com/God-Game-Andrew-M-Greeley/dp/0812583361/

5) A History of the World in 12 Maps by Jerry Brotton

@chaos-and-cake got me this for Father’s Day. I had put it on my Amazon wishlist because I saw it and thought, “Hey, I have always liked maps, this could be interesting,” and then I thought no more about it.

So glad I got this book. I am not quite halfway through it (it is not long, but it is meaty, and I find it better to take my time and digest each chapter),and I have found that much of what I think I know about geography and history is wrong.

Maps are political. Maps are racially-motivated. Maps serve the needs of the existing power structure. Maps are an expression and a tool of power. If you want to understand who is getting marginalized in a culture, look at the edges of their maps.

Even the meaning of the word “map” has changed a great deal over the centuries. Used to be, Maps showed the way to Heaven, symbolically at least.

Very glad I got this book. No pun intended: it is changing the way I look at the world.

https://www.amazon.com/History-World-12-Maps-ebook/dp/B00C1N5WRA/

There you have five books off my shelves (or my iPad, as the case may be.)

I am going to tag five people and ask them to share five things from their reading lists. If they want to. (I would say FanFic counts, but choose a nice long one? :) )

Hmm.

@chaos-and-cake

@diannamuircastle

@minimuii

@galen066

@seasonofthegeek

(and anyone else who wants to jump in, feel free, don’t wait to be tagged!)

#meme #five books

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illuminating-dragons · 7 years ago

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Dreams and Visions (10/51): Victoria Sails

Time Period: Victorian

Chapter Summary: Mycroft's got a case for Holmes and Watson. Or does he? This is set two weeks after 'The Worth Of A Wound'.

Read it on AO3

Note: Note: I hope I have made this as historically accurate as the internet (sans Bradshaw) allows me to be, and any liberties taken are entirely artistic (also we are in a world of dreamwalking gay detective-doctors, history may be rewritten a tad).

The telegram came early that morning. Holmes had just finished a hasty breakfast when Mrs. Hudson laid it on the table. “It’s from your brother, Mr. Holmes,” she said.

Curious, Holmes opened the telegram. “Come to Plymouth docks. Case for you. Wear your best. Bring Dr. Watson.” It was signed Mycroft, which meant that his brother was anxious yet happy. Odd.

“What is it, Holmes?” Watson was half-asleep, coming down the stairs without limping for the first time in two weeks. Lovely.

“Mycroft wants us to join him on a case.”

“Interesting…”

“In Plymouth.”

“You’re joking.”

“I am not.” Holmes held out the telegram and Watson examined it.

“What on earth is happening?”

“I’ve no idea. Look up the trains in Bradshaw, will you? Unless you don’t want to go,” Holmes added, suddenly concerned.

Watson waved his hand and smiled. “Mycroft going so far as Plymouth? Such a case must be highly interesting, or at the least dangerous. I refuse to let you go alone whichever is the case.”

Holmes shook his head fondly. “I’ll let Mrs. Hudson know.”

Thankfully they caught the early train, but it was still nearly supper time when they reached Plymouth. Holmes led Watson down to the docks, growing more puzzled by the moment. There were no obvious signs of political unrest, and the summer crowds made the town far more crowded than Mycroft liked. If his brother ever left London, he tended to retire to their old family home in the country. What on earth would possess him to come here, especially if he could simply send him and Watson?

Can’t make bricks without clay, Holmes.

Holmes spotted his brother the moment they reached the docks—a person of Mycroft’s stature tended to draw attention. Here, in a suit far better suited to Parliament than holiday making, he stuck out even more so than usual.

Mycroft smiled when he saw them. “Good afternoon Dr. Watson, Sherlock. Fine day, is it not?”

“Very,” Holmes agreed, still looking about for signs of trouble.

Mycroft shook his head nearly imperceptibly. “Why don’t you two get settled aboard? We’re nearly ready to cast off.”

Holmes looked up in surprise. A small clipper ship floated just beyond them, her name proudly emblazoned on the side, Victoria.

“Mycroft, is this your ship?” Watson asked with no small amount of confusion.

Mycroft nodded, pleased. “I don’t sail her often, but every now and then I enjoy the sea.”

Holmes stiffened. Something was wrong. It was entirely possible that Mycroft owned a ship, but clippers were more often used for trade than pleasure. Where were they going?

“Mycroft—”

“Sherlock.” His brother’s voice was mild but firm. “You and your friend should go aboard.”

Don’t question me, little brother.

Holmes got the message. “Come along, Watson,” he called.

“Apologies for keeping you waiting so long, gentlemen.”

Holmes glanced up. He and Watson had spent the last two hours exploring the ship and then attempting to find their bags, which had mysteriously disappeared from where they’d left them. A deckhand had finally told them that their belongings were safe but they weren’t to disturb the several locked rooms. It was enormously frustrating, and if Mycroft had not been aboard the ship Holmes would have taken Watson and escaped via on of the lifeboats.

Now Mycroft was heading towards them, looking immensely satisfied.

“Brother, what is going on?” Holmes snapped. “What is this case?”

Watson shot a glance at him, but Holmes was tired of waiting. “Why all the secrecy?”

Mycroft didn’t seem offended. “I couldn’t tell you until now because we hadn’t reached our destination.”

Holmes looked about, but he couldn’t see any sign of land, nor even another ship. “Which is where, exactly?”

“International waters,” Mycroft said calmly.

Watson raised his eyebrows. “And why is that necessary? Are we condoning a felony tonight?”

“Oh I expect more than one, if the two of you are amenable.” Mycroft’s eyes were twinkling. “You see, I wish to perform a marriage this evening.”

“And who are the lucky couple?” Holmes yawned, relieved. “Jack the Ripper and Amelia Sach?”

Mycroft merely stared at him until Holmes grew nervous.

Watson drew in a deep breath beside him. “Mycroft, you cannot possibly be serious. We can’t—”

Then Holmes understood.

“Are you insane, brother? We can’t—there’s no—”

“Both of you stop.” Mycroft’s gray eyes were steel. “We are far from judging eyes and laws. You are safe here, and why not take advantage of that?”

“A marriage between men will never be recognized!” Holmes spat. Then he remembered a pale man in the mist asserting the exact opposite.

“It will someday,” Watson said. He shared a look with Holmes, eyes raised, clearly thinking of the same night. “But Holmes is right, Mycroft, what is the point?”

“The point is for the two of you to have things that others in love may have!” Mycroft cried exasperatedly. “Perhaps only those of us onboard may know of it, but you will be bound together. I know that you both wish it, why not have it?”

Holmes opened his mouth, then let it close as he considered Watson. John. His John. He’d always hated the idea of marriage, but now that he had John…he’d thought more than once if he could place a ring on John’s finger he would, if only to show the world that he loved this man.

Watson was looking determinedly at the ground.

“John,” Holmes asked softly. “Do you want this?”

“Do you?” Watson asked, looking up.

“I don’t know if I’ll be a very good husband,” Holmes admitted as he reached out for his lover’s hand. “But if you’ll give me the chance I’d be grateful.”

Watson took his hand in his, stroking the long fingers tenderly. “I…yes, I think that would be lovely. I will be your husband, and I don’t care if only we know it.”

Mycroft nodded. “Then we’d better get in place, though that shouldn’t take long.”

Fear seized Holmes as the deckhand came up to them. Could this man be trusted? Then a wig was removed, a mask slipped to the side and Stanley Hopkins stood there grinning. “Good evening Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” he said happily.

Holmes stared at him, stunned and Watson laughed. “I would never have known it!” he said, shaking his head. He glanced up into the sails. “I see you now though, Wiggins! Who’s that with you?”

“Ross and Emma Lee,” Wiggins called back from his lofty perch. “Congratulations, Doctor!”

Holmes threw his hands up. “Who else is here?”

“Just two more, I think,” Mycroft replied, eyes twinkling in the fading light. Footsteps—Holmes groaned as he recognized the treads—announced the arrival of the final two wedding guests, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.

Watson was laughing as he stood, taking Holmes’ hand casually as they crossed the deck. “So you knew all along?”

“We’ve been planning for months,” Mrs. Hudson replied. She had her best dress on, and she looked ten years younger with her face wreathed in smiles. “I’m so pleased for you both, truly.”

Holmes considered Lestrade, who looked steadily back. “And you, Inspector?”

Lestrade shrugged. “I’ve known for years, Mr. Holmes. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on Hopkins.”

Hopkins looked like he wanted to protest, but kept his mouth shut.

“Shall we begin?” Mycroft asked a little impatiently.

Holmes looked at Watson, a little non-plussed.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, come here!” Watson dragged Holmes to stand by the mast. “Will this do, Mycroft?” he asked.

Mycroft strode over, the others following. “That should do nicely, John. Now we’ll have to make this quick, because I have a notion that my sailors want to see the whole thing.”

“Damn right we do!” Wiggins called from the sails.

“Get down then, so we can begin!”

Three pairs of feet hit the deck almost instantaneously.

Mycroft drew a small box from his pocket. “I know I didn’t give either of you much time for thought, but I also don’t know if the traditional vows quite work for this occasion.” Opening the box, he drew out two identical gold rings. He handed one to each of them.

Holmes stared at John, a lump coming into his throat. How could he put what he felt for this man into words? Even if he’d had a hundred years, he would never be able to say it exactly.

Then John smiled and Holmes knew exactly what he should say.

“John, I love you. I vow to stand by your side forever, no matter what challenges we face. I vow to cheer you in sad times, to comfort you in hard times and to rejoice with you in the good. I give you my heart, such as it is.” He slid the ring onto John’s waiting, trembling finger.

John cleared his throat. “Sherlock, I can offer you only my promise to be your partner in all our life together, whether we are hunting criminals or cleaning the bookcases. I love you…more than words can say.” He put Holmes’ ring on, voice thick with tears.

Mycroft raised his hands. “As the captain of this vessel the Victoria, I hereby pronounced these men married. Any who object are getting thrown overboard immediately.”

Holmes didn’t wait to hear the amused chuckles. He drew John close and kissed him tenderly.

Their rings would have to be hung on chains, there would be no photographs of the wedding supper (which was a shame, Mrs. Hudson dancing was a sight to see) and their only honeymoon would take place on the overnight trip back to London in a locked room with one double bed. Only seven other people would ever know what had happened that night. It would always feel like a dream.

But it didn’t matter, Holmes realized, and he could tell John knew it too. They were married now because they loved each other and they had a family who loved them enough to make a special effort to see them together. That was more than enough proof that it had happened.

And after all, dreams had always been good to them.

#sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock AU #johnlock #crossover with original canon #acme146 fanfiction #dreams and visions #sleeping on it 'verse #victorian marriage #hush it's wish fulfillment

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cfijerusalem · 6 years ago

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Watching Over Zion Report 10th January 2019 (5th Shevat 5779)

THE WORD

Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit. (Jeremiah 17: 7-8). In that day you will say: “I will praise you, Lord. Although you were angry with me, your anger has turned away and you have comforted me. Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord himself, is my strength and my defence; He has become my salvation.” With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation. (Isaiah 12; 1-3).

POINTERS FOR PRAYER

We are already two weeks into 2019, but are we really ready to face another year? One of the roles of Christian Friends of Israel is to be pro-active rather than re-active. There have been many stories that have come to my attention over the past two weeks that would have been easy to react to. However, I feel it will be even more important through 2019 to “choose ones battles carefully”. Pray that as we press forward in our stand with Israel, that we would all have great wisdom and discernment, and that all our actions would be led by the LORD God. Please pray that we would have ears to hear, and hearts open to the areas the Lord wants us to be effective in.

Please do continue to pray for the ongoing situation within Gaza.Pray that justice would be done, and that Israelis living in and around Sderot and the Negev would be allowed to live free from terror attacks.

It was good to read CFI Jerusalem’s Watchmen’s Prayer Letter for January 2019. As Sharon Sanders asks, “Proclaim God’s word that He has planted many Bible-believing families in Judea and Samaria, families that are staying put on the land that they believe God has given to them as a nation. Thank God for this wonderful remnant who believe in His faithfulness. “I will plant Israel in their own land, never again to be uprooted from the land I have given them, says the LORD your God” (Amos 9:15). As radical Islam continues its attempts to uproot Israel, pray that the Jews will never be taken away from God’s ingathering of them back to their homeland.” Sharon also asks each of us to “Search the Bible for the many promises God made to Israel in her historical past, and for her glorious future. “Not one of all the LORD's good promises to the house of Israel failed; everyone was fulfilled” (Joshua 21:45). God does not change and His promises to Israel will not change.”

News has come in that the Golan Heights have had a heavy snow fall. For a full report on this, click here. Praise God for this and the seasonal rain that has begun to fall in Israel. I’ve had many reports of how wet and cold Jerusalem is at the moment. The nation desperately needs abundant rain this year. Keep praying “Then I will send rain on your land in its season.” (Deuteronomy 11:14).

LOOK TO THE SOURCE OF OUR PROVISION

[Above photo from Google photos]

Shalom to you all, and a very happy New Year. Here's praying 2019 will be a good year to each of you.

The holiday break is now well and truly over, the constant ringing of the phone over the past few days appears to want to make up for lost time, and the emails have come in thick and fast. I have tried ever so hard to miss the news programmes on TV these past couple of weeks, and we did manage to get a decent walk in around Lake Ullswater in Cumbria during our break. However, no matter how hard I tried, the news still sneaked in - and let's face it, turn your back for five minutes and it's amazing what one can miss... or at least try to!

However, I’ve also enjoyed reading some of my new books, including tackling a wonderful new Bible – The Israel Bible (Israel 365) which highlights the Scriptures regarding Israel being back in the land (thanks to Matthew :) ). One passage that has spoken to me in particular is the above Scripture from Jeremiah 17 (which I’ll come back to shortly). However, I’ve also enjoyed dipping into old books like Charles Dickens, and books from my childhood like ‘The Narnian Chronicles’.

I must admit, I love C. S. Lewis’s books (both children’s and adults). Here’s a wonderful quote from one of his books: “Are you not thirsty?" said the Lion. "I am dying of thirst," said Jill. "Then drink," said the Lion. "May I — could I — would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill. The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience… "Will you promise not to — do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill. "I make no promise," said the Lion… "Do you eat girls?" she said… "I daren't come and drink," said Jill. "Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion. "Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then." "There is no other stream," said the Lion.” …so she began scooping up the water in her hand… it was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted…” (C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair).

Thinking about what’s ahead, without doubt this year for Israel could be another very difficult twelve months. Which means, those of us who continue to stand with Israel, will find we need to drink even deeper from the well of our spiritual source to keep battling on – and remember, there is no other stream! Charles Spurgeon once wrote, "If our piety can live without God it is not of divine creating; it is but a dream; for if God had begotten it, it would wait upon him as the flowers wait upon the dew. Without constant restoration we are not ready for the perpetual assaults of hell, or the stern afflictions of heaven, or even for the strifes within. When the whirlwind shall be loosed, woe to the tree that hath not sucked up fresh sap, and grasped the rock with many intertwisted roots. When tempests arise, woe to the mariners that have not strengthened their mast, nor cast their anchor, nor sought the haven." As the flowers wait upon the dew, are we drinking from the right stream, like a tree planted by the water (Jeremiah 17:8)? The question is, are we really ready to face another year? Are we ready to battle on being "the watchman"?

I’m sure you will know this, but the Hebrew words translated "watchman" are natsar, shmar and tsaphah. Tsaphah is to "lean forward and peer into the distance". The connection to prayer should be obvious. The watchman looks ahead, "peering into the distance," to foresee the attacks of the enemy. He is pro-active, not re-active. This is prophetic intercession. And this is one of the great roles of Christian Friends of Israel. As we sharpen our swords, and dust down our shields, let us be ready for whatever lies ahead, and pray too that Israel would look to the true source of their provision - the LORD God of Israel.

A MONTH IN WHICH WE REMEMBER

[Above photo: David Soakell at the grave of Oskar Schindler, Jerusalem. Israel.]

For those who stand with Israel, the months of December and January can seem miles apart. One moment we can have the joy of Chanukah and Christmas and lights, and then suddenly we are plunged into the dark days of a wintery January and concentrate on the difficult but much needed remembrance of the Holocaust. Throughout January 2019 many events are taking place to remember the Shoah (The Holocaust).

As I reported many times in the past, anti-Semitic incidents have soared in the past three years and in 2018 Europe was at its highest point with anti-Semitism since the 1930s. And I don’t even want to mention the large issues of anti-Semitism in the UK Labour party and other political areas! Yet even during the Holocaust, there were a few people who tried to bring hope… people like Corrie Ten Boom ~ a Dutch Christian, who hid the Jews in her home and prayed, “Lord Jesus, I offer myself for Your people. In any way. Any place. Any time.” Although Corrie Ten Boom survived, she did end up in a concentration camp because of her actions. Then there is the German Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who was killed by the Germans for opposing them in their hatred of the Jews. Meep Gies was another brave and heroic lady who stood firm against the wrath of the Nazis to feed, clothe and hide Anne Frank and her family during the Holocaust. And of course, we all know of the brave acts of Oskar Schindler, who saved hundreds of Jews from certain death. Yet the names are few and far between. But at least we can find a tiny chink of light… and that gives hope.

For those who really know me, you’ll know that I grew up with parents who used to be semi-pro racing cyclists… in fact I used to race as well – one of my most gruelling rides was a 100 mile ride that had ‘Tan Hill’ – which has the highest pub in Britain – as the half-way mark. My favourite cyclist used to be the French champion, Bernard Hinault, who won the Tour de France five times. These days, with the Team Sky revolution, things have changed, which means that Nibali is now the only non-Briton to have won the Tour de France since 2011 – indeed today the UK has many great cyclists including Bradley Wiggins, Chris Froome, Mark Cavendish, Adam Yates and of course Geraint Thomas, who won the Tour de France last year in 2018. However, one of my parent’s favourite cyclists was an Italian rider names Gino Bartali.

Bartali won the gruelling Tour de France twice, once prior to and once after World War Two. But the true heroism of Bartali’s actions went far beyond his greatness of being a racing cyclist champion, as he used his sporting fame to help save the lives of many Jewish people. Born outside Florence in rural Tuscany in 1914, Bartali grew up in poverty. However, he quickly became very famous in Italy, hailed the ‘King of Cycling’ and his 1938 win of the Tour de France was thought by many to be the start of a very long reign at the top of the cycling world. But when war broke out in Europe in 1939, Bartali was conscripted into military service as a bike messenger and it was in this role that he truly began to take a secret stand against Nazi rule.

When Germany occupied Italy in 1943, nearly 10,000 Jews were deported to concentration camps, 7,000 of them dying there. Many more survived however, thanks to the efforts of Italian officials in obstructing deportations. Safe in the knowledge that many of the soldiers manning checkpoints were fans of his, Bartali used his position as a messenger and reputation as a cyclist to help Jewish people. Responding to the request of the Catholic Cardinal of Florence, a close friend, Bartali began to transport counterfeit identity documents between Florence and Assisi where they were printed covertly. Bartali undertook at least 40 long rides, often between Florence and Assisi as part of this underground mission, hiding his cargo in his bike’s frame and handlebars. He would also pick up money from a Swiss Bank account in Genoa to distribute to Jewish people hiding in Florence. As if this wasn’t risky enough, Bartali hid his Jewish friend Giacomo Goldenberg and his family in his apartment and then a nearby basement.

Bartali knew he risked imprisonment and death by his actions and was fearful for his life and for those of his family, but he also knew that this was far outweighed by the importance of doing the right thing and helping those in need. For a long time after the war, Bartali’s exploits in saving Jewish people remained a secret at his insistence. However, amongst several other posthumous honours, Gino Bartali was finally declared ‘Righteous Among the Nations’ by Yad Vashem in Israel in 2010. In his own words to his son Andrea Bartali, he stated, “If you’re good at a sport, they attach the medals to your shirt and then they shine in some museum. That which is earned by doing good deeds is attached to the soul and shines elsewhere.” As we face uncertain times, and as we know that we are living in an age where anti-Semitism is as high as the 1930s, what good deeds can we do that will be attached to our soul to shine elsewhere?

HMD IN THE UK

Throughout the UK some of our CFI Regional Links are hosting Holocaust Exhibitions and doing speaking engagements.

In Essex, Moira Dare Edwards is marking International Holocaust Memorial Day 2019 with a joint initiative of Christian Friends of Israel and Tikvah Chadasha Synagogue (Shenfield & Brentwood) supported by Brentwood Borough Council. This takes place on Thursday 24th January 9:30 - 4.00pm, Friday 25th 9:30 - 4:00pm & Saturday 26th Jan 10:30 - 1pm. at the United Reformed Church, New Road, CM14 4GD (opposite Brentwood Library). On Thursday 24th & Friday 25th from 11am – 12 you can hear Ruth Barnett who was born in Berlin, Germany and arrived in England on the Kindertransport. Her book "Person of No Nationality" portrays the struggles of a displaced person searching for her identity, reflecting this year’s theme “Torn from Home”. Groups larger than 6 should contact Moira on 01277 213243/email: [email protected] (as seating is limited). Then there is a meeting of Commemoration on Saturday 26th January at 6.30pm in The Main Hall of Brentwood County High School, Seven Arches Road, Shenfield Common, Brentwood CM14 4JF.

In the West Midlands, Dave Walker (CFI Regional Link) will be holding a Holocaust Memorial Service of Recollection at Providence Methodist Church, Windmill Hill, Cradley, Halesowen B63 2LA on Saturday January 26th at 7.00pm. There will be an offering taken during the service for ''Forsake Them Not'' CFI Project in Israel for Holocaust Survivors. Dave Walker has also been invited to Gig Mill Methodist Church, Glebe Lane, Stourbridge, DY8 3YG on Sunday 27th of January at 6-30pm to speak on ''The Holocaust.'' Contact [email protected] for further details.

In North Yorkshire, CFI’s Glynis Brookes is hosting ‘Lest We Forget’ – a Holocaust Memorial Service on Saturday 26th January from 2.00pm – 4pm (with refreshments) at Hollybush Christian Fellowship, Newsham, Thirsk YO7 4DH and a short film will be shown, along with CFI’s David Soakell speaking. Contact [email protected] for more details.

And currently, in Scotland, CFI’s Philip Aitchison has a Holocaust Exhibition running until February at the Hawick Public Library on North Bridge Street, Hawick, TD9 9QT. For details contact Philip at [email protected]

Amazingly, a record number of people visited the former Nazi concentration camp Auschwitz in 2018. British people continued to be the second largest group to come to the memorial in Poland, making up more than an eighth of the 2,152,000 international visitors last year. More than a million men, women and children died in the extermination camp in occupied Poland during the Second World War. Some 281,000 people from the UK walked through its gates in 2018 to learn about its history.

LABOUR MP’S CONDEMNS UK’S FUNDING TO PALESTINIANS

Terrorist activity led by Hamas in Gaza continues, while the Palestinian Authorities leader, Abbas, ignores advice to stop giving Palestinian terrorists money whilst serving prison sentences. Meanwhile, Dame Louise Ellman of the UK Labour party has condemned as a 'scandal' the UK’s money for funding Palestinian textbooks that incite murder of Israelis. Dame Louise Ellman, vice-chair of the Labour Friends of Israel (LFI), told the House of Commons that young Palestinian minds were currently “being poisoned” and “the opportunity for Britain to help promote the values of peace, reconciliation and coexistence squandered.” Dame Louise was speaking as she introduced her International Development Assistance (Values Promoted in Palestinian National Authority Schools) Bill to the Commons on Tuesday. The MP for Liverpool Riverside said: "This is not about a peaceful future. It is a scandal."

Supported by LFI chair Joan Ryan and Labour’s Ian Austin and Rachel Reeves, Dame Louise added: “Five-year-olds were taught the word for 'martyr' as part of their first lessons in Arabic. Eleven-year-olds taught that martyrdom and jihad are 'the most important meanings of life'. These lessons in hate are all-pervasive, infesting every aspect of the curriculum.” The Jewish Chronicle has the full report here.

NIKKI HALEY LEAVES THE UN WITH AN EPIC SPEECH

Israel will never forget what Nikki Haley did for them in the UN. In just 2 years, she completely changed the norms and demanded change from the UN regarding Israel. She understood that the only way to deal with the UN from the seat of the US Ambassador to the UN was to use strength. The UN is filled with one country after another that spreads lies about Israel and the United States. Israel appears to be the world’s punch bag at the UN. Hopefully, Nikki Haley has achieved some changes there. Haley has certainly set a high standard for all future US ambassadors to the UN. To watch her final rousing speech at the UN click here:

David Soakell Media Correspondent Tweet me @David_Soakell

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houstonlocalus-blog · 8 years ago

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What Are Your Super Powers and How Did You Get Them?: An Interview with Jon Read

Artwork by Jon Read. Courtesy of the artist.

Houston artist Jon Read, who also performs as the crazed noise rock of The Wiggins, has crafted a magical universe of his very own. Read has created an array of work centered on vibrantly hued comic superheroes and villains in painted cutouts, boards, works on paper and prints, conceived on the perceptions of good and evil. Prior to his solo exhibition at Bill’s Junk on Friday, Read spoke to Free Press Houston about the concepts behind the show, his comic book and the characters he’s imagined.

Free Press Houston: Can you tell me about the concept behind the exhibition?

Jon Read: When I started grad school, I sort of rebooted and was doing a lot of religious-based work. I didn’t really know why at that point. When I wrote about it, what I liked about religion as an artist was that people can really get stupid with it. It’s like an accepted insanity. People can say, “I don’t want a blood transfusion because I’m a Jehovah’s Witness.” God says you can’t do that.” People can really go against logic, and we accept that as a culture. I was working a lot in a graphic novel class and was trying to make a comic. A lot of my artwork was based on dreams, so when I did a comic, I wanted to base it on this dream I had. I had this fantastic dream where I was in love with three robot girls, superheroes, I was just me, and my stepdad was the super villain, and I had a crush on the superhero. I thought it was such a cool, different take on superheroes. As I was doing it, I was thinking a lot about superheroes, 1989, when the culture wars happened, and that then was also the birth of the cinematic superhero. This was when the country started to be really divided. It was kind of the rebirth of the McCarthy era mindset. Then I was thinking about divisions and how superheroes are always divided, good and evil. It was also this talk about Batman years ago that a friend of mine said he liked Batman because he had no powers except that he was dressed up. It has a lot to do with where we draw strength from and going back to how Superman draws his power from science and how the villains draw their strength from God. I didn’t really follow suit with that at all. I was interested in the concept of where we draw our strength from in general, and also how superheroes always have an origin and a weakness, so I just created my own super-universe. I kind of played with that and made toys out of them. [laughs] I have one five-page comic that I created and the characters are back-characters, characters for me to interact with and that I really wanted to make my entire Justice League and Legion of Doom.

Artwork by Jon Read. Courtesy of the artist.

FPH: How did you decide to make a comic book?

Read: I guess it was just how I got into art in general. My mom is an artist and she encouraged us quite a bit to get us not to steal shit or beat each other up. [laughs] So we were always drawing and my friends got really into comics and started drawing them. Once I got to a certain age, I really got more into music, I was still making art, drawing a lot, but I never really thought about telling a story that way. I think that was a big thing, that I had never really formally approached it. I like what comics do, I like what they stood for, the allegories. One of the creators of Superman went to my high school and Superman was born in [my hometown of] Cleveland. Harvey Pekar of American Splendor also went to my high school. I grew up when he was around, just this weird guy. He’d have comic book shows and he always looked pissed off. I wouldn’t talk to him. I tried doing cartoons with the How I Met Your Mother team. They wanted to do a cartoon within the show so I started doing concept art for that. I really like creating characters. With the How I Met Your Mother stuff, it was more personal since I was the basis for one of the characters and friends of mine are back characters. But the cartoon never went anywhere, and it probably shouldn’t have. We had fun working on it, but I don’t know how the world would have reacted to my life intersecting with beloved sitcoms. [laughs] As a pop artist, it was really cool to be able to work on the tackiest, gaudiest sitcom of the modern world. I like developing the characters and expressions, almost like screen tests, but it was never a complete product. I had made a book before, like a children’s book for adults, nothing sexual, but mature themes in a children’s book style, and I was having a lot of difficulty getting that published. I wanted to make something really linear and readable and when you look at it you know it’s a comic book.

Artwork by Jon Read. Courtesy of the artist.

FPH: So how do you come up with the ideas for each character?

Read: I don’t know. One is just a giant baby. Really strong and invincible, but mentally not quite there. That more comes from our president, I guess. These are the main characters of my comic, these three girls. I didn’t really think about it, but I had this dream about them and it’s like this vision of them as if in a movie theatre, hovering over it. It was beautiful. As I was working on it, thinking about 1989, they really are Heathers. They really are. They’re just Heathers.

I thought a lot about what a super villain would be like and how they actually have their own Legion of Doom kind of compound. They’re super, they can do whatever they want. They don’t just walk around. It seems like that’s what they do in our world. They don’t hide at all. They don’t need to since there’s lawyers and laws to protect them. I think the political climate had a lot to do with it.

I was talking to one of the kids in my comic book class and he said I was doing it all wrong and that superheroes have to be in all primary colors and the villains are in secondary colors. I said, “I’m really glad you told me that, but now that I know that, I don’t know if I really care, and I don’t know if these are really the ‘good guys’ or just perceived as them.” It’s like politics where Hilary Clinton couldn’t present herself as a good guy for whatever reason. She tried and tried and she’s up against a really terrible guy who’s open about it and it just didn’t work. She was framed as a villain and she couldn’t switch. It was an interesting dynamic and very much a comic book story playing out in front of our eyes. I really do view the Democrats as the good guys, but I also hear people say that they’re “the lesser of two evils.” I mean, they probably think they’re good at times. I’m sure Trump thinks he’s a good guy. [laughs] So that’s interesting to me as well, our perceived image and our actual image and how much that plays with superheroes. Batman has bad PR, Spiderman had bad PR. They perceive themselves as heroes, but the media didn’t. So this is the whole relationship with people who are elevated above the masses and the masses themselves, that’s really interesting to me.

As an artist, you have to promote yourself and show why you stand out among other artists. I have to be this other identity in some ways in any kind of creative avenue. With music that comes up quite a bit. People have told me they think I’m one way from my music and say, “When you get up on stage, you just switch.” I say, “No, I’m singing a song.” If we were having a conversation, you wouldn’t like it if I started dancing and screaming. [laughs] It wouldn’t make sense. It’s still me. It’s strange when people know me in one way and come to my shows and it just becomes this weird Hulk transformation that’s perceived. It’s just the song.

Jon Read’s exhibition “What Are Your Super Powers And How Did You Get Them?” opens at Bill’s Junk (1125 E. 11th) from 6 to 9 pm on Friday, April 21. The exhibition will be on view Saturday from 12 to 5 pm and by appointment through April 28.

What Are Your Super Powers and How Did You Get Them?: An Interview with Jon Read this is a repost

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viralhottopics · 8 years ago

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Stephen King on Donald Trump: How do such men rise? First as a joke

Hes written novels with eerily similar plotlines but how did Trump become president? The only way to find out: inject a panel of fictional voters with truth serum…

I started thinking Donald Trump might win the presidency in September of 2016. By the end of October, I was almost sure. Thus, when the election night upset happened, I was dismayed, but not particularly surprised. I didnt even think it was much of an upset, in spite of the Huffington Post aggregate poll, which gave Hillary Clinton a 98% chance of winning an example of wishful thinking if ever there were one.

Some of my belief arose from the signage I was seeing. Im from northern New England, and in the run-up to the election I saw hundreds of Trump-Pence signs and bumper stickers, but almost none for Clinton-Kaine. To me this didnt mean there were no Clinton supporters in the houses I passed or the cars ahead of me on Route 302; what it did seem to mean was that the Clinton supporters werent particularly invested. This was not the case with the Trump people, who tended to have billboard-sized signage in their yards and sometimes two stickers on their cars (TRUMP-PENCE on the left; HILLARY IS A CRIMINAL on the right).

Brexit also troubled me. Most of the commentators brushed its importance aside, saying that the issue of whether or not Britain should leave the EU was very different from that of who should become the American president, and besides, British and American voters were very different animals. I agreed with neither assessment, because there was a vibe in the air during most of 2016, a feeling that people were both frightened of the status quo and sick of it. Voters saw a vast and overloaded apple cart lumbering past them. They wanted to upset the motherfucker, and would worry about picking up those spilled apples later. Or just leave them to rot.

Clinton voters were convinced shed win, even if they saw her as a ho-hum candidate at best. Many did not even bother going to the polls, which was a large (and largely unstated) factor in her loss. Trump voters, on the other hand, could not wait to pull those levers. They didnt just want change; they wanted a man on horseback. Trump filled the bill.

I had written about such men before. In The Dead Zone, Greg Stillson is a door-to-door Bible salesman with a gift of gab, a ready wit and the common touch. He is laughed at when he runs for mayor in his small New England town, but he wins. He is laughed at when he runs for the House of Representatives (part of his platform is a promise to rocket Americas trash into outer space), but he wins again. When Johnny Smith, the novels precognitive hero, shakes his hand, he realizes that some day Stillson is going to laugh and joke his way into the White House, where he will start world war three.

Big Jim Rennie in Under The Dome is cut from the same cloth. Hes a car salesman (selling being a key requirement for the successful politician), who is the head selectman in the small town of Chesters Mill, when a dome comes down and cuts the community off from the world. Hes a crook, a cozener and a sociopath, the worst possible choice in a time of crisis, but hes got a folksy, straight-from-the-shoulder delivery that people relate to. The fact that hes incompetent at best and downright malevolent at worst doesnt matter.

Both these stories were written years ago, but Stillson and Rennie bear enough of a resemblance to the current resident of the White House for me to flatter myself I have a country-fair understanding of how such men rise: first as a joke, then as a viable alternative to the status quo, and finally as elected officials who are headstrong, self-centered and inexperienced. Such men do not succeed to high office often, but when they do, the times are always troubled, the candidates in question charismatic, their proposed solutions to complex problems simple, straightforward and impractical. The baggage that should weigh these hucksters down becomes magically light, lifting them over the competition like Carl Fredricksen in the Pixar film Up. Trumps negatives didnt drag him down; on the contrary, they helped get him elected.

I decided to convene six Trump voters to discover how and why all this happened. Because I selected them from the scores of make-believe people always bouncing around in my head (sometimes their chatter is enough to drive me bugshit), I felt perfectly OK feeding them powerful truth serum before officially convening the round table. And because they are fictional my creatures they all agreed to this. They gulped the serum down in Snapple iced tea, and half an hour later we began. My panelists were:

Gary Barker, a construction worker from how fitting Gary, Indiana. Gary from Gary is 41, married with two kids, currently unemployed. Graduated high school, never went to college.

William Russell, from Delray Beach, Florida. William spent his working life as a banker in Albany, New York, and is now retired and living in a gated community. Hes 67, a good amateur golfer, physically fit and mentally sharp. Has been married for more than 40 years, with three grown children and six grandchildren. Holds a bachelors degree from New York University and a graduate degree (in accounting) from the University of Illinois, Chicago.

Felicia Gagnon, from Castle Rock, Maine. Felicia is 25 and the sole employee of the Castle Rock Washateria, where she washes, dries, folds and sometimes delivers. She also serves as the janitor. She is unmarried, no children. Graduated high school, never went to college.

David Allen is a roadie-for-hire in Nashville, almost always employed. Last year he toured with both Little Big Town and Trisha Yearwood. He is 29, divorced, with one child. He makes his support payments regularly. Graduated high school, has two years of college (no degree).

Andrea Sparks is a successful restaurant owner in Flint City, Oklahoma. She is 42, twice divorced, with three children. She has a degree in business administration from the University of Oklahoma. Next year she will be president of the Flint City Chamber of Commerce.

Helen Wiggins is a single mother who lives in McKeesport, Pennsylvania, and works as a nail technician (she prefers this to manicurist). She is 28 years old. Graduated high school, no college.

Although they come from varying walks of life and have attained varying degrees of education, none of these participants was stupid, venal or evil. The reader would do well to remember that they were loaded with potent truth serum, which forced them to say what they actually believe, rather than what they thought might be most palatable to their interlocutor. If you, gentle reader, should be inclined to view any of them with contempt or feel outraged about their comments, youd do well first to look inward and ask what you might say if compelled to give the truth of your feelings, the whole truth, the absolute truth, and nothing but the truth. And, with that caveat, the discussion.

Stephen King Thank you all for coming, and agreeing to participate.

Helen Wiggins You could use a manicure. Your nails are too long. But at least it doesnt look as if you chew them.

William Russell I started one of your books but didnt finish it. Ill never try another one. Youre an awful writer.

King Many critics would agree, but todays subject is politics rather than fiction. To begin, Id like to go around the table and ask each of you when you decided you were going to vote for Donald Trump.

Gary Barker After a couple of debates I knew who I was going for. He [Trump] had nicknames for the other guys that really put them in their places. Lyin Ted, for instance. I hated that guy. He always looked like he wanted to yell, Come to Jesus! And Little Marco. That was my favorite. He [Trump] nailed that sucker. He [Rubio] looked like he was about 13 fuckin years old.

Wiggins Dont forget Crooked Hillary. That was the cutest nickname.

David Allen Right. When they all started yelling, Lock her up! at the convention. I knew then it was going to be a whole new ballgame, and I decided to vote for Trump. But I didnt shoot my mouth off about it. Nashville is in the south, but in the music business there are plenty of bleeding hearts. Not like Hollywood, thank God, but you still have to be careful. I started off saying I hadnt made up my mind when people asked me, then I started saying, Probably Clinton. I never told anyone I was going to vote for Trump. Especially not my ex. She would have torn my balls off.

Russell Trumps a businessman who understands business. Hes going to make them sit on the minimum wage, and hell take off a lot of those stupid banking, business and pollution regulations. Its working already. Just look at the stock market.

Felicia Gagnon Most of my customers at the Washateria were for him, so I decided I was, too. It wasnt just going along with the crowd, either. He always had an answer for everything, and he took no shit. Also, he wants to keep the illegals out. My job isnt much, but it pays the rent. What if some illegal comes along and tells Mr Griffin hes the owner that shell do my job for half the salary? Would that be fair?

Andrea Sparks It wouldnt, it absolutely wouldnt. And I admired him for a comeback he made to Clinton in, I think it was their first debate. She said he paid no taxes, and Trump came right back, said: That makes me smart. I knew right then I was going to vote for him, because taxes are killers. Thats why no one from the middle class can really get ahead. They tax you to death. I am making a little bit of money, but Id be making a lot more if they didnt tax me so badly, and why do they do it? To pay welfare for the illegals Felicia was talking about. The beaners, the darkies and the camel-jockeys. I would never say that if I wasnt full of this truth serum stuff, but Im glad I did. Its a relief. I dont want to be a racist, its not how I was raised, but they make you be one. I work hard for what Ive got, from nine in the morning until midnight, sometimes until one in the morning. And what happens? The government takes the sweat from my brow and gives it to the foreigners. Who shoot it into their arms with dope the drug mules bring up from Mexico.

Barker Amen to that, sister.

Wiggins You know, I was torn at first, but when he hired that guy Pence to be his vice-president, I got on board. He [Pence] was so smart at the debate he had with that other guy. He had an answer for everything.

Gagnon Also handsome, with that nice white hair.

Wiggins Yes, he takes care of himself. Nice haircut, good teeth, beautiful skin. I thought to myself, Trump is on the fat side. If he has a heart attack and dies, Pence can take over. And the guy who ran with Clinton, I cant even remember his name, but he looked like one of those guys at the DMV who, when you finally get to the front of the line, says you filled out the paperwork wrong and sends you home.

[General laughter from the panel.]

Russell Also, theres the matter of the trademark slogans. Do you know what Im talking about?

King Tell me.

Russell Candidates have certain codified positions, which form the basis of the so-called stump speech. In that speech, which is about the same whether its made in Portland, Maine or Portland, Oregon, they make their basic talking points over and over. But they also need a simple summation of what they stand for. Thats conveyed by the trademark slogan, something simple and catchy. Trumps was MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN, and it was perfect. Contains two words of great power: America and great. Clintons was STRONGER TOGETHER. Vague. Wishy-washy. Forgettable. Stronger than what? Together with whom? It says nothing. The person who thought that up was an idiot, and she was an idiot for using it. Her slogan might as well have been WERE GOING TO DO SOME STUFF.

Sparks Trump was the boss. Clinton was just bossy, and take it from me, nobody likes a bossy woman. As a business person, I have to use a certain amount of tact. She didnt have that.

Allen When she spoke, she kind of brayed.

Gagnon Because she was trying to sound like a man. That may work in New York, but not out where there are real people.

Sparks Whatever, it was like fingernails on a blackboard. If I talked to my waitstaff like that, half of them would quit.

King OK, since were on the subject of Clinton, I want to go around the table and have you give me one word or one short phrase that describes your impression of her. Gary, you havent had much to say, so lets start with you.

Barker Before we get to that, I just want to say that Ive always been attracted to young men on surfboards. This truth serum is whoo.

King Good to know, and thank you for sharing, but how about a word or simple phrase describing your impression of

Barker Bitch. I thought she was a bitch.

King OK. Felicia?

Gagnon Stuck-up. A stuck-up smartypants. She talked down to people.

King William?

Russell Felicias exactly right. Clinton projected arrogance and a sense of entitlement. Riding on Slick Willies coat-tails.

Allen I hated those pantsuits. Like she doesnt think people can figure out shes got a booty. And shes starting to look really old.

Wiggins Is she a lesbian? I heard she was a lesbian.

Sparks I dont care about that, but her bestie was one of those Muslims. You know, the one married to the guy always showing his junk on the internet. Huma Abba-Jabba, or something.

King Id like to discuss two issues that dogged Hillary Clintons campaign

Sparks Can I just say I ate a whole box of chocolate pinwheel cookies last night? Id like to say that. Then I vomited them back up, because I have to stay thin.

King Thank you, Andrea. Now, if I could turn to Clintons involvement if you choose to call it that in the Benghazi attack, where four Americans, including US ambassador J Christopher Stevens, were killed. Did that play a part in your decision not to vote for Clinton?

Allen Is Benghazi in Africa or China?

Russell Actually, its in Libya. Which the Obama administration destabilized by not helping Gaddafi in his time of need. The man was an asshole, but he was our asshole. Pardon my French, ladies.

Barker Putting the bitch factor aside, I dont think you can hold her responsible for what a bunch of ragheads do. They just want to kill Americans for Allah.

King So you dont blame her?

Barker Not for that, Jesus no. Hey, you should see my collection of surfer mags. My wife thinks its the boards Im interested in.

King Just to put a button on this, were any of you influenced by Benghazi when you stepped into the voting booth?

[No responses.]

Illustration: Leonard Beard for the Guardian

King OK, lets move along. There was also a controversy about Clinton sending and receiving emails on an unsecured server. Something like 35,000. Did that influence any of you?

Russell Speaking just for myself, not at all. Hackers can get into any computer, secured or not. Someone phished my American Express card number and got himself over $1,000 worth of equipment at Best Buy. They should bring back the whipping post for people who do that. It would put a stop to the practice in short order.

Allen Billy-boy, you nailed it. Computers these days might as well be screen doors. You see hacking all the time in the music business. And hey, get real. What was the stuff going back and forth, anyway? Recipes, gossip, Ill be here at such-and-such a time, did you see her new purse, shit like that. Give me a break.

Barker Whats this about emails? What are you talking about?

Wiggins Never mind, no biggie.

Gagnon My computer is busted. It was just a cheap one, anyway. I have to buy a new one, but cant afford it just now. Id steal one, but Im scared of getting caught.

King Andrea, what about you?

Sparks I dont care about that chicks emails. What I care about are the taco-benders down the street with their food wagon, cutting into my business. I went to the police, and they said the taco-benders had a permit. How do illegals get a permit to sell food on the street? Tell me that.

Russell Do you have proof they are illegals, Andrea?

Sparks I dont need proof. Those wetbacks are like bedbugs, theyre everywhere. And they breed. I cant wait until Trump builds that wall. The Mexicans say they wont pay for it, but they will, unless they want American tanks in Jurez and Tijuana. You wait and see. Trump takes no shit. I like a man who takes no shit. If my ex-husbands had been more like that, Id never have fired them.

Wiggins You want a scandal? Clintons on the side of the baby-killers, thats a scandal.

Barker Shes also on the side of the gun Puritans. Ive got four firearms, two handguns and two rifles, and nobodys taking those suckers. Nobody.

King Very interesting, Gary, but weve wandered away from the question. Were any of you influenced by the so-called email scandal when you stepped into the voting booth?

[No responses.]

King OK, Id like to move along to

Allen Can I say something else about Hillary?

King Of course, David.

Allen You asked us when we decided to vote for Trump. Ill tell you when I decided I was also gonna vote against her, even though I thought she was basically OK. Smart, even. I dont go along with that bitch stuff, either. I work with women on the road, and even the ones who are bitches hate that word. So I steer clear of it.

Sparks Whats your point, Mr Huffington Post Politically Correct?

Allen You ought to do something about that hair, maam, your dye jobs showing.

Sparks Fuck you.

King If we have that out of the way

Allen I was in Houston on 9/11 last year, OK? Visiting my sister and picking up some bucks working an Eric Church gig. That afternoon, before I had to go on down to the Bayou and start rolling amps, I was in this little place called Spot Mikes, kind of a lunchateria where they also serve beer. The TV was on, and they showed Hillary collapsing after she tried to give a speech, or maybe she did give it, I dont know. But she went legless and the men around her, probably Secret Service, had to help her into the car. It made me think of something my grandad used to say: woman-weak. Thats what she was, woman-weak. Now suppose that happened during a crisis, or something. No, she didnt have any business being the most powerful person in the world.

King Can I point out that George HW Bush vomited during a state dinner in Japan?

Barker I remember that, but he had food poisoning. Her, though, its like Dave said: woman-weak.

Gagnon I heard she had a bunch of strokes and they covered it up.

Russell She and Slick Willie are big-time dopers. Its a known fact. Whereas Trump doesnt even drink.

Wiggins Kind of a fat shit, though, isnt he? Likes his Whoppers.

[General affectionate laughter from the panel.]

King I want to move on to some of the negatives about Trump, and ask why they didnt influence you. Lets start with his alleged ties to Russia. Anyone care to comment?

Gagnon Speaking of influence, do you have any with TV people, Mr King? Id sure like to be on The Price Is Right. Im very good at guessing the prices of things, toasters and such, and Id like a chance at one of those showcases. They have these wonderful trips.

King Im sorry, I dont know anyone who

Russell You have to stand in line, like everyone else. Live with it.

King There have been accusations that Trumps associates have ties to Russia, and that Trump himself may have financial interests in that part of the world. Hes certainly said plenty of complimentary things about Putin. Any feelings on that? Helen? What about you?

Wiggins Whats wrong with making friends of an enemy? Burying the hatchet? Thats what the Bible says.

Allen Like that song, Whats So Funny Bout Peace, Love, And Understanding?

Sparks Totally agree. As for the oil, if theres more, the prices go down. More miles for your buck. No-brainer.

Gagnon Speaking of that, they had one of those electric cars on The Price Is Right just last week. I think it was a Prius, or maybe a

Russell Two strong men working together. I like it. Its good for business.

King Anyone else?

Wiggins Is it lunchtime yet? I dont know if its the serum or what, but I could eat a horse.

Allen I got something you can eat, hon. Not as big as a horse but almost.

King This seems an appropriate time to ask about certain sexual allegations. The famous grab em by the pussy remark, for instance. And how you can do anything if youre famous. Ladies first.

Gagnon How many women do you think have been throwing themselves at him, someone whos rich and handsome?

[General laughter at the word handsome.]

Gagnon Well, he was, anyway, and hes still rich. Nobody talks about women who go sex-fishing for men, tell you that.

Sparks Also, most women in showbusiness are whores, so whats the big deal? Look at the Academy Awards if you dont believe me. Every woman under 30 falling out of her dress. Show a man dessert, honey, hes going to want to eat.

Barker And at least hes not a fag, you know?

Wiggins Men are men, thats all. They all talk big, especially when theyre with other men.

Russell Sure. And let me point out we were electing a president, not a saint.

Allen Exactly. That sex stuff was just the press, trying to sell papers and bring him down while they were at it. Those guys were all for Hillary.

King OK, but suppose the shoe had been on the other foot, and the press had obtained a tape of Hillary talking like that?

Sparks They didnt.

Wiggins Also, its different for women. The um

Russell The perception.

Wiggins Right.

King I believe you have a daughter, Helen

Wiggins Thats right. Patricia. Patty. Shes the best thing in my life. Smart as well as pretty. Gets all As in school. You should see her book reports!

King What if it was her pussy Trump was talking about grabbing?

Wiggins Thats a filthy thing to say. Also stupid. My daughters only nine. Even the New York Times never said Trump goes for kiddies, and they lie about everything.

King Im just saying

Wiggins Well, dont. Save the dirty talk for your books.

King OK, lets move on to Trumps taxes. He wont reveal them.

Allen No law says he has to.

King What if hes hiding something?

Sparks Honey, were all hiding something. Although I will admit Id like to see what sort of fiddles hes using.

[General laughter.]

Barker Actually, I would, too. Hes got a lot of friends in big business, and they all care more about their money than anything else. Goes without saying. That stuff about how he was going to drain the swamp? I never believed it. They drain the swamp, everyone will see how many bodies theyve buried there.

Sparks Not to mention how much buried treasure.

Allen If he does a good job, fuck his tax returns.

Barker Cant argue with that.

Gagnon Besides, rich people dont have to pay like the rest of us, everyone knows that. They have lawyers and accountants to keep them on the right side of the law. They know all the loopholes. Its how the world works. Hes against Obamacare, thats the important thing. That takes more money out of poor peoples pockets than taxes. Its not like the Affordable Care Act. The Republicans did that, and its much better.

King It appeared that he made fun of a reporter with a physical disability shaking and stuttering. Any thoughts on that?

Russell Not relevant.

King It doesnt speak to character?

Russell Of course not. Dont be obtuse.

Allen It wasnt very nice, but the guy pissed him off. Sure, it was politically incorrect, but I thought it was, um

Sparks A breath of fresh air?

Allen Yes. It woke people up. None of the usual politician bullshit. Hannity isnt right about everything, but he sure was about that.

King This would be Sean Hannity, of Fox News?

Allen Correct.

King How many of you got most of your information on the candidates from Fox News?

[Allen, Russell and Sparks raise their hands.]

King What about you, Felicia?

Gagnon I watch Lester Holt. Also Good Morning America.

King Gary?

Barker I read USA Today. They have a little story about Indiana every day, and their sports coverage is terrific. The rest you have to take with a grain of salt, because the coverage was slanted toward Clinton.

Russell What wasnt slanted in the papers was made up of whole cloth. Fake news. The worst offender was the New York Slimes, and they wont let it go.

King I think weve about finished, but Id like to run one more thing by you before we break for lunch. Psychologists mention four basic traits when diagnosing a sociopathic condition known as narcissistic personality disorder. People suffering from this condition believe themselves superior to others, they insist on having the best of everything, they are egocentric and boastful, and they have a tendency to first select love objects, then find them at fault and push them aside. Comments?

[A long silence at the table.]

Russell Whats your point?

Gagnon Are you sure you cant get me on The Price Is Right?