The train from London to Edinburgh chugged along and within an hour, quaint English suburbs came into view with less hurried crowds. Shelby retrieved a drawing pad from her portfolio and sketched the faces of the waiting passengers. She mused at her schizophrenic-like layout. Faces drawn all over the page in various angles and sizes. This was humanity. It came at all angles and in all sizes. Some drawn faces were large with vibrant expressions, others dull and lifeless.
 
When the train reached the next town, a wave of people disembarked, making way for new passengers. An attractive man headed toward the empty seat beside Shelby. He looked down and smiled just as he was about to sit. “Is this seat taken?”
 
“No,” she replied, watching him take his seat and instantaneously, her mind trailed.
 
He sat down beside her. From the corner of her eye, she saw him take off his brimmed hat and rest it on his lap. She felt his eyes peer down to the ring on her finger and her briefcase by her legs.
“Business?’ he asked in a pleasant voice.
 
“Interview,” she replied, knowing his intention. He was a train traveler, seeking to find dissidents. His friendly demeanor was a dead giveaway.
 
“Oh?” he replied expecting more of a response.
 
“I have an opportunity to travel to Paris,” she said, realizing openness to the man was a better tactic to prove she had nothing to hide.
 
“Ooh la la, is that what they say?” he asked with a chiseled grin.
 
“I guess.”
 
“So, you must be excited?”
 
“No. I will miss my husband terribly. I honestly can’t wait until I go and come home.” She turned toward him and studied his attractive face, deep somber brown eyes, sculpted cheek bones and full lips. “How about you? Do you ride this train often?”
 
“Why yes. Usually earlier in the morning. It’s filled with school children in their crisp white shirts and red neck ties. It’s inspiring to start one’s day surrounded by youth.” He once again trained his gaze upon her. “How about you? Do you have any children?”
 
“Not yet. Still enjoying being married,” she said with a beaming smile.
 
“I guess Paris can’t tempt you?” he asked.
 
“Absolutely not,” she replied.
 
He flapped his hat on his lap, and then waved it to his face, looking around at passengers in the rest of the cabin. “Had a good day, madam.”  He rose from his seat, yet his energy remained continuing her feeling of oppression. It was an invisible force they kept over all the citizens at all times.
 
The man seated next to her felt the cool of her stare. “Is something the matter?”
 
Shelby broke an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, daydreaming. It’s a bad habit.”
 
“Writer?” he asked.
 
“No. Doll maker.”
 
He looked over the myriad of sketched faces on her drawing pad. “You’re quite an artist as well.”
 
“It helps contain the madness lurking within,” she said with a laugh.
 
The man broke a wide grin. “Don’t we all need a little containing of our madness?”
 
With that, Shelby relaxed in the man’s presence. Yes, there was madness all around, inside and outside. Some showed it; others hid it well. Relaxing back against her seat, she watched the English countryside roll past. Scotland, her home, was only a few hours away.

Only once she reached the outside did she stop to breathe. “What am I doing?” She looked down the street, noticing a few cars parked alongside buildings. Otherwise, London was quiet, at least in this neighborhood. “What am I going to do?” she asked herself completely befuddled by her situation – a vivid fantasy life, a stalker, and completely, utterly creatively blocked.
 
She ambled down the street with no particular place to go, a writer in search of a story, which in a sense was crazy because life was a story. Every single day, every single person lives a story, and yet she couldn’t come up with anything.
 
Ahead on the crossroads she came across a bookstore. A sigh of relief overcame her as if finding water in the desert. She was saved. Picking up her footsteps, she made the last few seconds of the flashing walk sign and rushed inside. The smell of books, the aura of intellects revived her. She was reborn.
 
She lingered for a few minutes in the Russian literature section and feeling regenerated she remembered Jess’s suggestion of exploring tantra. Unfortunately, her reality with Jai would not bring about real tantric sex, but she could research the concept.
 
Gingerly, she ran her fingers over the cover a book. So many titles, she wasn’t sure which one to choose and certainly didn’t have the nerve to ask a sales clerk. This is what the internet is for.
 
Just as she turned the corner she spotted that Tim Fields guy seated on a chair reading Jules Verne’s Master of the World. Her breath escaped her as she pressed herself back against the bookshelf. How did he find me? Is he really stalking me?
 
She peeked back around to watch him engrossed in the book, pausing to take a sip of coffee. He didn’t seem to have any awareness she was nearby, as he didn’t look up from his book.
 
Peeking around the corner with her was Sergei. “What’s the plan? Want me to take him out?”
 
 “It’s a book store,” she said. “He’s just relaxing, reading a book.”
 
Sergei strong-armed his way into the aisle of books. “A book he didn’t purchase.”
 
She pulled him back. “Let’s just wait to see what he does.”
 
Hidden behind the bookshelf, they spied Tim analyzing every turn of the page, every raised eyebrow and curl of his smile while he read.
 
“That is one suspicious dude,” Sergei said.
“He’s reading,” Frieda replied resting her cheek of the wood of the bookshelf.
 
“Yeah. Okay,” Sergei said, whipping his Makarov machine gun from around his shoulder sling and aiming it at Tim. “If he makes one move, I’m going to pulverize him.”
 
Finally, Tim checked his watch. He downed his coffee and closed his book. Without a glance in her direction, he rose from his seat and neared the cashier to purchase the book he was reading.
 
 Frieda walked away from her fantasy of Sergei and lingered behind yet another bookshelf, watching Tim intently. Either he had lost all interest, playing some cruel game or didn’t know she was there stalking him, as she assumed he was doing to her.
 
“What kind of man reads Jules Verne?” she asked herself quietly. When Tim had left the store, she purchased a copy of the same book. She had to read the book to find out.
 
Upon arriving home to her flat, she quickly made herself a cup of tea, plopped on the couch and instead of researching tantric sex as Jess’s advice, she delved into Jules Verne, hardly a book to inspire passionate romance, however, as the words on the page drew her in her heart melted to Tim. Her desire was not a hot and steamy one, but one of modest curiosity. Who was Tim Fields?

Outside Siegfried took refuge from the ball by walking Rumold to an awaiting carriage. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
 
Rumold climbed into his seat. “I do not get the chance to go to many balls.”
 
“Have a good night. I will see you in the morning.” Siegfried nodded and gave the horse a gentle pat on the flank just before the coachman pulled away. As he turned around, he saw Katerina approaching. “I thought Doctor’s orders were for you to rest?”
 
“Rest is not having to deal with my husband’s associates,” she said turning her sights to the moon hanging full in the sky with a soft blue glow. “Full moon tonight.” When he raised his head, she studied the veins in his neck. Her body trembled with hunger; however, this was not a man she was quick to harm.
 
“There is an old fairy tale about the moon,” he said gazing upward and smiled in Katerina’s direction. “The story goes four young men found the moon…a lantern hung from an old oak tree. They stole it and took it back to their country where there was no light at night, only complete darkness. They hung the moon on a tree lighting the night. When they died, they each took a quarter of the moon with them to their grave. Underground, the pieces of the moon united giving just enough light for the dead where the sun’s light is too strong. When St. Peter found out the dead were moving about under this light, he ordered the dead back to their graves and took the moon and placed it in the heavens.” He nodded toward Katerina. “I find it curious that only lonely, desperate people gaze at the moon as if it holds all the answers to our dreams and possibilities.”
 
She lost interest in the moon and rested her sight solely on Siegfried.
 
He grinned awkwardly and chuckled. “Or so says my mother, who told me that story as a boy.”
 
“It is beautiful,” she said, catching Hagen watching her from the entrance of the chateau. “I must go.”
 
Siegfried extended his hand. “Yes, your Countess duties await.”
 
She shook his hand firmly. “Unfortunately,” she said and paused, not letting go of Siegfried’s grasp. “When will be a good time for me to stop by?”
 
“Anytime tomorrow will be fine,” he replied casually.
 
Katerina smiled, released his hand and slowly returned to her husband.

It was near dawn when Freddy landed on Erich Detweiller’s airstrip. Erich was waiting for them at the end of the runway as the plane taxied to a halt. He walked up to the copilot window where Louisa sat and knocked. “I have breakfast waiting for you on the veranda.”

Louisa nodded politely and unbuckled her seatbelt. Erich helped her from the plane and guided her to his Mercedes, Kris and Freddy rushing to keep up not sure if the invitation included them or not. Regardless, they were not going to let Louisa be alone with Erich. Freddy climbed in the back seat with Louisa and Erich; Kris took a seat up front next to the driver.

Once they arrived on the veranda, a breath-taking view of the mountains and lake greeted them. On the table were a bottle of champagne and a tray of assorted cold cuts and cheeses. Erich poured them each a glass of champagne and raised his glass to toast. “Um neue, Anfänge.”

Kris, Freddy and Louisa raised their glasses. “Um neue, Anfänge,” they muttered in unison.

“Fraulein Unger, may I call you Louisa?” Erich asked.

“Certainly,” she replied.

“How old are you?” he questioned.

“Twenty,” Louisa said.

“That is a very good age. You have so much life ahead of you, so many experiences and adventures in your future. I must say, you are off to a good start. I like a woman who makes her own way, not like so many women who act as whores in hopes of acquiring a husband.” He raised his glass to her. “I admire your independence.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“Call me Erich,” he replied.
She sipped her champagne, but it didn’t sit well. Erich had a way of stirring acid in her stomach. “Alright, Erich.”

“How long until you can fly solo?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she glanced at Kris. “I enjoy the company. What’s the fun in flying alone?”

Erich set his glass on the table. “Yes, I’m sure Herr Schuler concurs. What man wouldn’t want a beautiful woman by his side?” He raised his eyes as the butler appeared with the next course of eggs and sausage.
“Please, sit and enjoy your breakfast.”

Not wanting to upset Erich’s generosity, the three sat at the table. The breakfast was gourmet prepared, but the taste was awful, or perhaps it was the company. Erich Detweiller was not an unattractive man; in fact, he was quite debonair in appearance. His gestures expressed cunning that warned of a disingenuous nature.

After the butler cleared the breakfast dishes, Erich was still reluctant to release his guests. “Do you like jewels?” he whispered across the table to Louisa.

“Sure, but I don’t have any,” she said.

“Everyone makes such a big deal about diamonds, rubies and emeralds, but have you ever seen amber?” Erich asked with a grin.

Louisa glanced at Kris and Freddy. “No.”

Erich smiled excitedly. “Well, allow me to show you my collection.”

Fr“When the hell are we going to get out of here?” Freddy mumbled to Kris. “I have a date waiting for me back home.”
“You want to tell Detweiller that?” questioned Kris.
“Yeah, so what?” Freddy replied. “It’s not my fault he can’t get a woman with his cold, dead hands. I can’t imagine when the last time was that this man got laid by an actual woman. All he’s got is his precious jewel collection, which he jerks off to while fantasizing about the woman he can seduce with it.”
Erich reappeared with a mahogany box. He opened it before Louisa and displayed a ghastly array of amber pieces with animal and insect inclusions. He pulled out a piece that contained a butterfly inclusion, which rattled Louisa. “Amber, unlike other gems is fossilized tree resin. The butterfly you are looking at is possibly prehistoric in origin. Can you imagine seeing something so archaic, yet so pristine?”
Louisa shook her head. “No.”
“While an ant was wandering under the shade of the tree of Phæton, a drop of amber enveloped the tiny insect; thus she, who in life was disregarded, became precious by death,” he quoted and held up a golden stone with a lizard encased in its tomb. “Look at this one, the remains of a lizard. Fascinating.”
Kris looked away, disgusted.
“Does this upset you, young man? It shouldn't; it’s just death. It’s impermanence. Nothing lasts forever. This amber only demonstrates the perfection of death. If I shall die, let it be shrouded in amber. It is the perfect tomb.”
“I've seen enough death. I don't need to see anymore,” Kris replied.
Erich chuckled. “You were Luftwaffe, I hear. What kind of death could you have seen?”
“Mass causalities from an incompetent war strategy,” Kris stated.
Erich put down the stone. “I see and did you, at the time, take it up with your superior officers? Perhaps you could have given them some suggestions on military strategy.”
Kris didn't respond.
Erich turned his attention to Freddy. “And how about you?”
“Fortunately, I was too young to see battle. Turned eighteen just as the Yanks were setting up in my hometown.”
“Fortunately.” Erich mocked and returned his prized amber pieces to his case. “I invited you into my home and opened up my heart; my passion to you and all I sense is your ridicule.”
“We're very grateful for your hospitality,” Louisa said quickly. “We're all very tired. It's been a long day and a long flight. I’m sure you can understand our fatigue.”
Erich smiled at Louisa. “You are a kind girl. You have a good heart.” He reclined and scrutinized Kris and Freddy. “I never liked pilots. They always acted like they were better than everyone else, as if they had a greater knowledge...but let me tell you,” he pointed to the sky, “there is nothing up there that can't be known down here.” Erich shifted his glare to Kris. “What were you—fighter, bomber?”
“Reconnaissance,” Kris said.
“Slow reflexes, no precision, and lack of killer instinct,” Erich said with a laugh. “At least I know you'll be safe with my shipments.” He rose from his seat. “Well children, I think that's enough for today. Louisa, may I speak with you in private?”
“Of course,” she replied, looking back at Kris and Freddy as she followed Erich into his home and into a perfectly kept office.
Erich reached into a drawer, pulled out a polished mahogany box and handed it to Louisa. “I’d like to give this to you.”
“Oh, that isn't necessary,” she said.
“Don’t be shy. Please, take it. I have no wife, no daughter, yet what does a bachelor need with a jewelry box? A jewelry box belongs to a lady to put her jewels in,” he said.
“I have no jewels, nothing to keep inside it,” she said.
Erich raised his finger and grinned. “Not yet. Open the box.”
When Louisa opened the jewelry box, she found an amber pendant with a spider inclusion. She found it grim and she had no intention of wearing a dead spider around her neck. “It’s very unusual,” she replied.
“Very rare, indeed. I know quite a few women who would find that a prized possession. It’s a black widow,” Erich described with pride.
“Right. Thank you,” was all she could muster.
Erich gleamed, believing he had impressed Louisa. “Oh, before I forget,” he retrieved an envelope from the top drawer of his desk. “Here is the money. Make sure to take your cut—a financially independent woman is a powerful woman.”
“I will,” she replied, backing out of Erich’s office.
“And Louisa, let me give you some words of advice. Make sure your cohorts behave and respect their elders. Do that and you will not have any problems,” he said.
“Will do.” She forced a smile and headed quickly for the door where she met Kris and Freddy. “Let’s get out of here,” she muttered to them.
They headed down the green lawn to the airstrip where Iron Alice awaited. Kris climbed into the pilot seat. He was in no mood to debate who would take the controls.
Freddy climbed into the cargo section and buckled into his seat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous,” he joked to Kris. “I mean, he did try to impress my sister with his jewels,” he laughed.
Louisa had a hard time containing her giggle. She pulled out the spider inclusion jewel and dangled it before Kris. “Don’t worry your jewels are a lot less freaky.”
Kris waited until he took off, pitched over the mountains, and maintained a cruising altitude before responding. He reached over and took the pendant from Louisa. “He gave you that?”
“Yeah. I really think he believes he impressed me. What a fool,” she said and turned back to her brother. “He doesn’t seem to like you two, though. I’m supposed to make sure you behave.”
“How so?” Kris asked.
“We’re supposed to keep our dicks in our pants,” Freddy said. “He’s a lame loser; he doesn’t want anyone else getting the action.”
“Lame or not, try to act like decent choir boys around him, and no more talking about the war,” Louisa said.
“Personally, I’d prefer not to be around him again. Hopefully, this was the last time,” Kris said and with that, both Freddy and Louisa agreed.

Once upon a time in a land far, far away there was a fat guy in a Toga named Pluto. Pluto would gather around with his other Toga clad kin with a rather large challis of wine in hand, they dance wildly to the jazzy sounds of the horns, beating of drums, and the soulful vocal stylings of a man named Otis. There were orgasmic highs and epileptic seized lows. They fall to the floor and do the lobster. In their drunken stupor, one would ask the other to buy the next round of wine.
 
“You haven’t paid me back for the last round,” another replied.
 
“Man, you know I’m good for it,” one said.
 
“Dude, I’ll spot you again. But you owe me, man.” Thus, credit was established.
 
I’m making this up, but it sounds close doesn’t it? The credit system has been around for ages, the stakes and payments could have been higher or lower in any case. In some cases, it could have been a shiny stone, animal horn, or possibly death. It depends who you owed. If you owed money for your horse’s shoes at the blacksmith, you could probably give back by offering wool from your sheep flock. If you owed the Catholic Church its Sunday, offering you would lose the ability to abolish your sins and in that case, the devil would take possession of your soul. Regardless of the payments due for credit, I can honestly say they were a lot less complicated but I will get into that later.
           
Now I have to admit this book is not going to deep into research. I’ll let that for the intellectuals and historians. No, this is a bit of mindless meandering and honestly, it is a little more interesting to create a little history than to reveal it. History is of course very subjective to those divulging it. My tactic is the comparison of credit and barter system and fraternal order. At first I thought, well it was a fun idea, but then as I did actually do some reading I found both quite a fit. Credit and fraternities go together like peas in a pod, birds of a feather. You can pick your cliché. They all work.
 
Brotherhoods of men date back to biblical times with such groups as the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ, Priory of Sion, Knights of Templar, Roman Collegia, Peoples Front of Judea, or the Judean People's Front. I'm not sure which one, but I do know one of which was led by John Cleese. All of which were secret societies of men founded under certain collected ideals. In order for inclusion to any of these mostly likely included rituals, mottos, and secret handshakes.
 
How about those Druids with their dark hooded frocks and carrying big sticks? They lurk about the stone pillars of Stonehenge making of new rules and regulations for any Druid wannabes. What would they charge new Druid members, a splintered wood coins, lamb’s skull or a peasant’s little finger? Again, I am a little loose with the historical accuracy of the Druids and I do not wish to insult any modern day Druid. I actually did a tiny bit of research of an unreliable source on the internet.  What I learned was the Druids were a historical fraternal system prided themselves on intellectual and profound thought, much like today's collegiate fraternities. The Druids were keen on teaching youngsters humanitarian ideals, just like frat brothers with their hot chick car washes in tight, white see-through tee shirts and my old time favorite, "Dunk a hunk."  Can you see the correlation between the two?  It is a sad comment on today's society of fraternities, that the ancient Druids were more revered and dignified.
           
Let’s take for example the Knights of the Roundtable a historical brotherhood of men who sat around a round table, gulping ale and snacking on dried cow chips. I would surmise that these were the jocks of the historical fraternity systems as they had the cool uniforms, shiny weapons and the hot chicks. Those knights really had a way with the ladies. Leader of the pack Arthur along with the sexy stud Lance A Lot and party go hardy Galahad. Yeah, they were loads of fun until they lost their mojo to a lady in a lake.  What wannabe peasant lad wouldn't want to ride with this crew?  All chosen to be to rush had to go through an agonizing initiation by Merlin the Magician. Not so much that it was painful or humiliating, no they had to sit through a magician's act. In this case, I'd beg for the paddle.
 
Many of these fraternities were founded to unite those with similar trades and skills to work together to unite their crafts and to attract younger men to these trades, thus the idea of apprenticeship was formed. These fraternities became a rite of passage for many young men. Once again, these fraternities were very inclusive and only a select few were allowed to join. But see here is my thought to all this, why not just get together with a bunch of buds and take turns springing for beer while undertaking deep, drunken and intellectual conversations.
 
I would like to use the Amish as example and their famous barn buildings.  Everyone gathers round for a potluck dinner and build a barn. They make a party out of their work. This is brotherhood without dues, fees. True brotherhood is one that doesn't cost a cent. Wow, what a concept. Something for nothing.
 
The fraternal order that we know of today was founded during colonial times. It is hard not to understand why one would want to be a part of something, which was founded by our founding fathers. It truly raises the statue of fraternal order especially when there is ivy growing on walls. For these fraternities, social standing and money was the requirement to belong. It wasn't so much at the time they discriminated against those of lesser income, only because let's face it; education was available for the elite wealthy few.
 
Unfortunately, in most societies and even those most respected as our own colonial times, money is just more elite the brilliance. Yes, it is something I personally have come to terms. I will never be accepted truly because of my brilliance, ha.
 
It is hard for me to believe if these original fraternity brothers anticipated beer bongs and wet willies, but then maybe they sucked ale from the feather in their cap and when beyond drunk and comprehension called it macaroni. I tend to look at this like inbreeding. The more you start breeding fraternities the more stupid they get. In addition, of course like pure, inbred dogs violent natures can become quite a strong, factoring trait. Stupidity and violent nature could be a cause for deaths during fraternity hazing.
 
Here is the basis for my comparison based on the above. Today's creditors and corporations base marketing schemes on our wants and innermost desire to be like everyone else, so much for individualism.  It is something we want to have, and feel we need. It is a ploy for our belonging. I will lay out all the media advertisements that demonstrate how these credit corporations are enhancing our lives just like a big brother in a fraternal order.  Nothing is free and there is always a due for our membership. Creditors take it a step further.
 
The idea of credit in American started when the invention of large appliances and automobiles. You can thank the Industrial Revolution for your credit debt. Just like today, peoples of the early Twentieth Century needed some help in buying refrigerators, washers and dryers. This credit was extended only as a luxury to those who could afford to pay. If you were rich, you were extended credit. If you were poor, you would continue to do your laundry down by the river. You could not afford a car, so you had to walk ten miles up hill to school both ways. It does have some logic. Why would you extend credit to someone who couldn’t pay? However, like most cases the people in need deserve the help not the privileged few.
              
As time passed, banks and corporations realized the benefit of extorting money from the public. I do say this with sarcasm of course because we are not really being extorted, only partially. It is the legal kind of extortion. You know when you steal half a cent on every dollar. Who would notice, once banks and corporate lenders found out what patsies the American public are and our need for useless products and services. These corporations set the dues and fees for membership to each bank and card services. They set the terms, rules and regulations for us to follow. In a sense of belonging and being part of the heard, we without question accept these terms, rules, regulations, fees, charges and dues without hesitations. We are asking for it.

Upon leaving the restaurant, Tim turned to face her. He pressed his hand to his chest and began in the most solemn tone he could muster. “I’m sorry. When I asked you out, I wasn’t expecting this,” he said gesturing to her attire. “I was looking forward to having dinner with a slightly freakish and frazzled around the edges Frieda, not Lady Gaga.” He could see her brown eyes hidden by globs of mascara begin to soften into sadness. “Maybe we can do coffee again sometime.”
 
“Coffee?” Frieda asked.
 
“Yes. Coffee,” he repeated sternly.
 
 “Look, I didn’t do this. This is not me,” she defended. “A friend gave me a makeover.”
 
“A friend? No friend makes another look like a scrubber.” He immediately waved off the last comment. “Sorry. I’ll call you,” he said as he walked away.
 
“Wait! You never asked for my number!” she shouted after him, but her words came up empty. She was ditched outside one of the most romantic restaurants in the city. Fortunately, she was only blocks away from her flat.
 
On the walk home, she felt like a whore who had too many Johns and she didn’t even have sex. Her thoughts swirled into a whirlpool of self-degrading soul punches. “This is why I don’t date real men.”
 
She stumbled up the steps of her building and stomped in her platform heels until she reached the safety of her sanctuary where she buried her head in sobs.  Her body heaved heavily, as she walked toward her bathroom. At first glance she saw what Tim did. “Holy shit. What did I do? What did I let Lourdes do?” She swore she felt like a supermodel before the date, now she couldn’t sell her services for ten dollars.
 
“Honey, what you need is a hot bath and a glass of wine,” he said to her as he leaned against the doorway.
She turned and buried her head against Wilhelm’s chest.  “I can’t believe I was so stupid. What a fool I made of myself. He’s never going to want to see me again.” She raised her head and brushed passed him en route to the kitchen. “Heck, I’m going to have to start shopping at another grocery store. I just don’t know how I’ll show my face again.”
 
“Seriously, if he can’t see your beautiful soul through makeup, he’s not worth it,” Wilhelm replied trailing behind her. He rested his hands on her shoulders, pressing himself against her back. “And why would you want him anyway? Who is he? You can do so much better.” He turned her around to face him. “You have me. You don’t need another man.”
 
 Frieda sighed. “I know. “Who wants a shallow man.” She pulled away from him and opened the refrigerator door, searching for the bottle of chardonnay. She grabbed the neck of the bottle and as she closed the door, Wilhelm disappeared, and Sergei stood before her.
 
“He’s a dead man,” he said rubbing his fists together.
 
Gulping the wine straight from the bottle, she visualized Tim’s beaten face. Certainly, she didn’t want him dead. The cops may be able to trace it back to her, but if he were to accidently trip into Sergei’s fist, that’s a thought.
 
“This jerk has been enraging you from day one. First, he harasses you at the store and then ditches you. I mean, this made-for-mincemeat-man can’t make up his mind. He deserves a good beating.” Sergei reached for the bottle of chardonnay from Frieda and downed the whole thing in one shot.
 
“Hey selfish save some for the crying woman,” Frieda said, taking the empty bottle from him.
 
With the empty bottle in her hand she looked around her kitchen, seeing Wilhelm standing by the stove, stewing over her pink, pig shaped kettle. “Wine will only make you feel worse. I suggest some nice lavender chamomile tea and a nice warm eucalyptus compress.”
 
She set the wine bottle on the counter and reached in the freezer for a pint of ice cream. “Sorry guys, I know you’re trying to help, but what this girl needs now is Ben and Jerry.”
 
With the pint of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other, she walked into the living room finding Jai meditating naked on her couch.  She plopped down beside him.
 
He let out a loud roaring sigh. “Lion’s breath, or the breath of fire to relieve all your tensions.”
 
“How about I stop breathing and just die here,” she said digging into her ice cream.
 
She took a bite of the ice cream and the coldness immediately froze her brain. “Ouch. Shit!” she screamed wincing. When her head stopped aching she realized she was alone, very alone. There was no one here to run her a hot bath and cuddle with on the couch, no one to fight her battles and no one to ease her tensions.  She was all by herself in having to face the complete tosser she made of herself tonight.

Earl slung his satchel over his back and followed Ned toward the van parked a couple feet away on a dirt road.  Walking behind Ned with his satchel over his back they cast a shadow of man’s evolution on the ground. Earl grinned. Oh man, will we ever truly evolve to intelligence? Will we ever reach the genius of the stars?
 
            Ned opened the passenger side door. Earl hesitated. “Come on man, I’m a licensed professional.”
 
            Earl looked up and down the road. “I’ll walk.”
 
            “Hey old man, you’re gonna die out here all on your lonesome. Let me at least take ya to the next town.” He reached inside his van and pulled out a plastic bottle of water. “Here, have some water. It’ll make you feel better.”
 
            Earl sniffed the water. It needed a little something—whiskey.
 
            “Are you going to drink it or study it? It’s water. Ya know the essence of life.”
 
            Earl took a large swig of water. Now that’s refreshment. The liquid ran through his body bringing more mental clarity.
 
             “Man you are thirsty. I’d give you another, but you seez I gotta keep up my storage. Never know where one of them alien’s gonna lead me to. Once I was trailing a Sephalthon through the Muddy Mountains. Lost up there for a day and  night. ”
 
            “Did you catch it?” Earl asked.
 
            “Oh no! The Sephalthons are well known for their shape-shifter ability, but I did find this.” Ned reached into the van and presented Earl with a colorful pottery ray gun.
 
            Earl studied the pottery gun, mesmerized. “Wow! That’s a very impressive find.”
 
            “Exactly,” Ned said as he climbed into the van behind the wheel. “Get in. I’ll give you a lift to civilization.”
 
            Earl climbed in and adjusted his seatbelt. He looked into the back and saw various types of ropes, guns, knives and metal cages. “Say Ned, what do you do with the aliens when you get them?”
 
            “Dissect them of course.” Ned tapped his large square noggin. “Ya know, to see what makes them tick.” Glancing sideways, he noticed Earl’s discomfort. “Hey, ya know they’d dissect us in an instant! And then! And then have sex with us to have their alien babies! That is if they don’t suck out our brains first!”
 
            Earl’s eyes widened with fear—not so much of aliens but of Ned. He clung tightly to his satchel in his lap. “Uh-huh, I see.”
 
            Ned looked curious. “Answer me this old timer.” He leaned in dangerously close. “Are you a believer? Do you believe life exists elsewhere?”
 
            He paused before answering. From the corner of his eye, he saw flashes of an ancient ghost of an Indian warrior, and when he looked around again there was nothing. “I believe life exists everywhere even if we can’t see it.”
 
            Ned nodded with a great wide smile. “All right then.” He laughed boisterously and inserted a cassette into the dashboard. The Monkee’s "I’m a Believer” blared as Earl bounced along in Ned’s old jalopy.
 
            After a mile of bouncing in the hot vinyl seat, Earl finally relaxed and settled in for the ride. So much to see; he could not take his eyes off the scenery.  His gray eyes widened noticing Indian carvings on the red rocks.
 
            As Ned drove the car along Earl watched wild burros stalk along the roadside seeking handouts from passing cars and then he saw a sign, “Don’t feed the burros.”
 
            “You know something,” Ned said to Earl, “what goes up must come down.”
            Earl tore his focus away from the scenery and looked to Ned. “What’s that you say?”
 
            Ned shook his head confidently. “It’s true. All the spacecraft dump their trash on us. Imagine polluting our Earth.” He shook his head in disgust. “All that trash will come down here. Those inconsiderate slobs are polluting our planet with their alien waste. I see it all over the roads. I saw a show once. They found rocks out here that are extraterrestrial.” He pointed to the sky. “Alien rocks. Alien trash. All around us.”
 
            Ned slowed the van and parked alongside the road. “Wait!” He reached in the back for a 1965 Hoover vacuum cleaner. He glanced at Earl. “You’re about to experience an alien sighting.”
 
            Peeking out the window Earl watched Ned leap through the tall dry grass alongside the road. He was not sure if he should follow or wait in the van. Caution told him to stay put.
 
            “Come on!” Ned urged.
 
            Earl climbed out of the van and followed Ned to the roadside. Ned surveyed the ground carefully with the suction tube of the vacuum cleaner.  His beady eyes shifted back and forth in search of something precious. With the reflexes of an alley cat, he set the tube opening over a melted twisted piece of plastic and pretended to suck up the trash “Gotcha!” He admired the object. “Now would you look at this?” He held the piece of garbage against the light of the sky for a better look. “What a beaut!”
 
            Ned displayed the piece in his hand. “She sure is a beaut. Well worth it.” He twisted the object to get another view. “See these fine etchings here that are counter to the twist. This is consistent with the Zeithian race of Spectradoids of Quadrant Five.” Ned rubbed his wrinkled chin. “Ya don’t see much of the Zeithian’s in this region. They’re homebodies, like to stay close to home.”
 
            Earl studied what looked to him like a melted twisted piece of plastic, but he was not going to question Ned. He wondered if the Zeithians Ned described were homebodies what they were doing so far from home? The Zeithians must have some reason for straying from their home planet. Is their planet in peril or are they simply seeking knowledge? Strange he found himself relating to an alien race.

Stars radiated brilliantly against the night sky extending to the horizon. Only the whites of a man’s eyes were visible. Some cultures studied the stars to find inspiration for man’s morality, casting many of these stars into gods. Other people created stories that foretold of mankind’s future that warned of pending doom. To many it was a wish for love. For the man who now gazed upon these stars, it was an occupation for an otherwise meaningless existence.
 
The stars in the sky reflected in his dilated pupils. “Andromeda, you are shining brightly in Pegasus tonight.  If only I can find you, my lady,” he said and meditated quietly about the day he might find a woman to love.
 
Turning his gaze once again to the sky, he witnessed a shooting star. Using an antique monocular telescope he studied the sky and imagined deeper into the solar system—meteors showered down upon Mars, Venus rotated around a thickening atmosphere and Mercury spun quickly to avoid the damaging solar flares.
 
He conceived deeper into the universe. Seas of indigo appeared dotted with distant stars and pale colored planets—distant galaxies with lives of their own. Spiraling cones extended deep into black holes. Matrix of white lights created webs signifying everything was connected.
 
Focusing harder with forced intent the bulging eyeballs concentrated on one particular galaxy as if studying an amoeba in a Petri dish.  Bright colors emerged—flashes of pink, orange and green. The beautiful sight pulled the man even closer to finding whizzing objects and spinning orbs, proof life existed elsewhere.
 
The light of a flashlight shone on the yellowing pages of a weathered journal.  Long wrinkled fingers flipped through the pages to an empty page. On a blank page, he wrote:
 
Spinning seas of pink and gold
Tell the fortunes of young and old
Fates sealed before our birth
With destined outcomes here on Earth
 
Suddenly a blinding white light bore down exposing the man whose age was difficult to determine. In the light lines of deep wrinkles appeared on the man’s face. His hazel eyes now shone steel gray and his hair was white. He appeared no different than a ghost.
 
The man shielded himself under the light that hovered above. Gawping upward, he saw the light flash in spiraling circles and emit a deep thumping sound. He reached his arms upward toward the light. “Take me with you! I’m here! I’ve been waiting for so long! Please take me with you!”
 
Above he saw a shape that appeared human in form, but the head stretched widthwise with bug eyes and long pointed chin. When the searchlights left him to scour the landscape, he slumped to his heels. “I’m here. Can’t you see me? I’m here!”
 
The bright pulsating object hovered over the desert floor. What was once absorbed by the peaceful darkness was now exposed under the light. An abandoned silver mine was illuminated. The flickering light brought the mine to life. Rusted iron conveyors traveled independently into the darkness of a fabricated cavern. The wheel of the windmill turned with an eerie whine.
 
Tumbleweeds waved in the strong wind generated by the aircraft. Jackrabbits and mice took refuge in high grass while snakes and scorpions slithered under rocks. The man watched his habitat in chaos—earthly creatures running for their lives and inanimate man-made objects coming into a life of their own.
 
Dejection filled the man’s chest. He sat slumped in complete darkness. All was black again except for the whites of his eyes that showed pain and suffering. Moments ago, he was one with the universe, now he belonged nowhere. How quickly the feeling of belonging comes and goes, he sulked questioning his reality and his sanity.

Venetia’s heart sank as she came across a garden of plants wilting lifeless in the stale air. A smell of rank decay permeating from the dying leaves that were still green but under further examination the plants were struggling to live.

 Once upon a time in the beautiful gardens of the nunnery were she was raised plants bloomed and vegetation prospered sharing its bounty with humanity. Now the plants had nothing more to give. Why should the plants give any more? Venetia thought to herself. We have not given anything back.

She sat down among the dying vegetation and cried. Across the globe she and Poindexter traveled, yet no one was able to give them condolences or even answers. How can life be spared? How can everyone give up so easily? She thought.

A Buddhist monk appeared dressed in an ordinary man’s clothes. There was nothing special about the man – no pretense or superiority. The only thing that made him seem any different than any other man was he walked with such greater assurance. How can be so assured at a time like this?

“All you have to do is breathe?” said the monk calmly.

“How can I breathe when the air is so still and so stale?” asked Venetia.

“Because it’s all you have at this very moment,” replied monk.

The fret and worry showed on her face. Breathing was such a natural part of existence, why should she even try? It’s not solving the problems of the world to sit around and do nothing.

The monk sat before Venetia and closed his eyes. He began to breathe conscious of every breathe that flowed in him and out of him. His nostrils flared and constricted; his belly rose and flatten and then a serene smile crossed his face. Oddly he was at peace at such a precarious time. Perhaps he meditated on a different time in a different life.

“As we breathe,” said the monk still and with his eyes closed, “we breathe life not only within ourselves but to everything we are connected to – the earth, the trees, the plants, the bird, the animals. All we need to do is breathe.”

Venetia closed her eyes and focused on her breathe – the cool sensation as it flowed into her nose and the warm as it flowed out. With each breath brought calmness and peace. Maybe the way to die is to continue breathing until we naturally stopped. She gave it a try.

As she sat crossed legged and breathing the wilted plants grew stronger with her natural synergy with nature. The musty scent of decaying leaves was overcome with the sweet aroma of newly formed blossoms. It was a magnificent feeling as once again she grew strength from nature. When she opened her eyes she was surprised to find herself sitting in a thriving garden. The stems and buds arched toward the sky in hopes of new life.