Retired and living in the Rain Forest of Upper Puna on the Big Island of Hawaii - midway between Hilo and Volcano National Park.
Besides writing short stories, I am also a master weaver and produce all sorts of wonderful things on my four harness loom - which I give away in acts of random kindness.
When I fly, I always give the stewardess a fresh flower to give to the captain with a verbal thank you for flying us in comfort and safety. The last time I did this, it set off a chain of events that changed my life forever.
Injun Summer is the tale of an American warrior plucked from a desert siege by a mysterious priest who disappeared immediately after saving him from certain death. Haunted by the vision of his seven Special Forces comrades slaughtered before his eyes, Mike Faraday continues to be tormented in his search for the reason why he was spared. Persistent nightmares cripple him from leading a normal life.
“Shall we?” He took my hand and led me onto the dance floor. With a swirl, I was in his arms. His strength, his scent, his warmth surrounded me, encompassed me, dominated me. Our eyes connected.
"What?" I lost it and slapped him across the face again only harder this time. "You sorry son-of-a-bitch. How dare you. Do you have any idea of the pain I suffered loving you all these years?"
And, since I no longer believed in Santa Claus, things were looking pretty bleak. Being of British descent, I kept a stiff-upper-lip, hoping no one suspected how unhappy I was.
I was interested until I found out he was from another planet called Sakoon directly opposite Earth on the other side of the Sun.
Pamela entered The Olde Book Shoppe to browse and found the long lost love of her life in an old fairy tale book.
She could not resist picking the bottle up and smoothing her hands over the comely contours. As she did so, the bottle shook slightly which surprised her.
I’m December, and I was about to meet May . . . against my better judgment. A romance, let alone falling in love, were definitely not on my agenda especially after I overheard someone refer to me as a 'woman of a certain age'.
They were The Rockettes who lived and danced at the Radio City Music Hall in New York City at 1260 Avenue of the Americas, Rockefeller Center. I found a map and pinpointed the exact spot where they were . . . and where I was not.
Our affair would last three years until he graduated in 1929. It was several years later I learned his name had been changed to Robert Taylor by his Hollywood employer.
They managed to get the Amphora open, but what escaped was more than they bargained for.
I sat back and began to chuckle to myself – it was Nama and they couldn’t see her. The ghost of my beloved Nama was still here among us.
I wondered if he serviced men as well as women. I had to laugh at the way my mind wandered around and through this poor chap’s persona. He was probably someone entirely different than the way I was characterizing him.
And so our journey together on this plane of existence came to an end … peaceful, calm, and forever. However, that was not how it began sixty years earlier, at least not for me.
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