 Liberation 1. Serving Wisdom Tha wants to hear 'ow tha nannan saved tarn al tell thee. a were nowt but a serving oik to big bosses on r tarn. serving 'em sup a were an they were in a reet tacking seein as son lads from another tarn as said 'Thas best do as we ask else we'll beat thee black and blue. Know what am saying?' "We want tha lasses, wives and girlfriends fort neet or maybe longa." In a reet to do. Well as bein a serving oik a 'ad an idea. So a pipes up "al sort it for thee." an they continued wi their yammer. " a said, al sort it. For thee." an their still yammer, yammer. a slams full pint pot dahn so's it splashes all o'er "Lunk'eads! A said al sort for thee!" Well, they eyes me up and dahn like a were summat art a tarn. A were a bit on a looker then, tits pointy, reet curve on ma hips and dash a blonde hair. Then been so engrossed they'd not noticed us. "Well!", chief boss says. A outlines plan to 'em while they're eyeing up me goods, int plan a volunteered a stack o' me female mates to join us. An it were on. 2. Second Best Dress Bosses telled their wives an girlfriends o' plan, an telled 'em to keep stum. Some o'them lasses as doubted us lot lower dahn pecking order could do job reet. Snobby bitches. They says "We'll tek 'em in an teach 'em how to play part." A told our stack o' lasses an they were game. So all on us volunteers turns up at posh lasses doors and got a reet pampering. "Tha dunt want too much, else tha'll stink like a whore." she dabs rose petal scent on us, rouge's me cheeks, chooses second best linen for us "Dunt want you showing us up." an a were saving her. Other lasses had been tret same, but now all on us were off to meet wi enemy artside tarn. a gev lasses advice. "Play hard to get, first. Thas posh, remember. Up to them to woo thee." 3. Liberation When us turns up they've laid on a reet spread for us, hot meat and fresh fish platters, rice, pasta and sweet wine. bearded enemy is all in a line up to the tables. "Are you their wives and girlfriends?", one o' them asks. A walk along line o' men. Stop. Pull a lads goatee beard towards ma tits an say " No, we're shit under thee booit. Av got some goats milk 'ere that wants suppin'." an ma tits in his marth. One o' other lasses, reveals a thigh an says, "ma fig wants chewin' on." Yet another pouts her lips, "a need a tongue to tek, ma nectar" an snogs one o' the enemy. soon all are coupled up, an suppin' place dry an sossled an ma lasses are play fightin' wi enemies weapons an hidin' them away lad on ma breast as his hands all o'er, a gently prise him off, "Time, yet, lover, time." an sneak artside an climb a wild fig tree, an raise a torch art on folds a ma dress leet it so's bosses can see. an bosses come dahn on enemy fistin', cuttin' av blood splattered o'er her second best dress, ma rouge is redder. beat 'em soundly we did, atter wi were gin r freedom fort savin' tarn. an that's why we're 'ere under wild fig tree, suppin' goats milk an lasses play fightin o'er yonder.  Paul Brookes was shop assistant, security guard, postman, admin. assistant, lecturer, poetry performer, with "Rats for Love" and his work included in "Rats for Love: The Book", Bristol Broadsides, 1990. His first chapbook was "The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley", Dearne Community Arts, 1993. He has read his work on BBC Radio Bristol and had a creative writing workshop for sixth formers broadcast on BBC Radio Five Live. Recently published in Clear Poetry, The Bees Are Dead, Live Nude Poems and others.
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 By Julie Carpenter The girl stared at the Thin Hungry Man who was busily sniffing the flowers. He seemed quite content. His clothes hung in rags. He had a pair of what might have once been khaki shorts that continually slid down from his waist and caught on the bones of his hips. What might once have been a white t-shirt had a gaping hole under one arm and it was stained green and brown. He did not have shoes and his feet were rather ghastly with thick, calloused skin. He had strange patterns on his arms that appeared to be….blood. She had never seen anyone thinner. His elbows stuck out sharp and pointy and his knees….he was a bag of bones encased in pale white flesh, with only a breath of air to fill him. The only thing that appeared healthy about him was the shock of curly brown hair above his eyes. There seemed to be a terrible cowlick in the front and it stuck up and then bent back over into his right eye. The girl walked over to him. "Who are you? Did you say you were my cousin." She assumed the little red haired bastard had been lying; but you always wanted to get the story out of whatever freak landed in the garden. Then you could convince them that there were people who wanted to buy their insurance in the forest or circuses to join a couple miles away or you could give them fake maps to fairyland or the North Pole. It took some effort but you could usually have them on their way to nothing before too long. But this time a sudden vague uneasiness washed over her. There was something unsettling about the strange man. She reminded herself that all of the creatures that she met here made her uneasy. No, that was wrong. Most of the creatures she met annoyed her or flat out made her angry.. He definitely made her uneasy and a little sad. And maybe a little angry. How had he let himself get into this shape? She let her self go with the anger. She was annoyed that he had decided to drag his starving carcass here and make her feel sad. She felt a little more in control now that she was angry instead of sad. She felt a little more equal to getting rid of him. That was the important thing. “Well,” she said, “Did you say you were my cousin?” He stared at the girl. "What do you mean? What’s a cousin?" he asked. The girl looked at his thin happy face and tried again. "Where did you come from?" "I was with those guys," here he pointed vaguely in the direction of the dwarves' house "and we were throwing beer bottles and then he brought me here," said the Thin Hungry Man. "I know that, but I also happen to know you couldn't have been there long. I just talked to their mother yesterday and she said nothing about you. Where did you come from? Before the dwarves’ house I mean?" The Thin Hungry Man looked in the direction of the void. He pointed. "From the blackness." he said. "That's odd," murmured the girl, really more to herself than to the Thin Hungry Man. "You don’t often see people fall from the void. And they don’t usually know they’ve been in the void. They always have some cockamamie story about their lives and where they’re going." The Thin Hungry Man smiled hopefully. The girl looked at him. She sighed deeply. She was in no mood for foolishness today, or any day for that matter. He made her uncomfortable. It wasn't that hard to find food on the edge of the void. She looked at the Thin Hungry Man. "What is your name?" she asked him. "What do you mean?" he cocked his head like a confused and stupid beagle. A confused, stupid and painfully skinny beagle. "I mean, what did people call you where you came from?" she explained, none too patiently. "For example, my name is Adelaide, so when someone I know sees me they say, 'Hello Adelaide.’ That sort of thing." "Well," said the Thin Hungry Man slowly, "There weren't any others like me where I came from. Just me." A great sense of inadequacy came over him. He felt sad again and his stomach rumbled so loudly that the girl jumped back from him. "There were no others, no names and no food," he said sadly. "No food?" the girl asked him. "When was the last time you ate?" "Never" said the Thin Hungry Man. He looked sadly at his finger, which had recently quit bleeding. Adelaide looked at him, bloody and ridiculous, so thin he looked as though he might break. Flower petals fell from his hair now and again and a deep sadness had spread over his face. "I know I'm going to regret this," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "Come on in and have some lunch." "Lunch?" said the Thin Hungry Man. "Food." Adelaide explained. She was seriously annoyed at herself. Why didn't she just send back out to the void to pick up some snacks? It seemed wrong somehow. Well, she would feed him but then he had to go.  Kinky Keeps the House Clean by Mari Deweese Review by Julie Carpenter Mari Deweese’s Kinky Keeps the House Clean can be found at the intersection of domesticity and eroticism, the sacred crossroads of American womanhood. There’s more dirt than you might think in Kinky’s house and it’s worth your time to help her uncover it. The poet understands that poetry should be spare and focused, but unlike many other poets she understands when intricacy and adornment are called for. She can be blunt and relentless but she's not afraid of beauty. The poetry in this collection is by turns hilarious and illuminating, dark and beautiful, subversive and honest. In fact, Deweese can pack all of those things in a single poem. In spite of the seeming simplicity, every poem in this collection reveals depths of complexity. Reading Deweese’s work is like staying in the house of a very good friend. It’s obviously her own, but there’s plenty of room to bring your own thoughts. I sincerely hope to see much more of Deweese’s poetry in the future.  Mary Deweese lives outside of Memphis and dreams of a place with an actual autumn. When she is not busy with that and other similarly useless pursuits, she is probably writing, thinking about writing, or cleaning the kitchen.  The Captive Prince by C.S. Pacat Review by Jarad Johnson Damen is a powerful warrior and a hero to his people, and rightful heir to the throne of Akielos. But when his brother seizes power, he is captured, forced into slavery, and sent to serve the future king of a foreign nation as a pleasure slave. While he deals with the indignity of his new life, his new master Laurent is a beautiful, golden snake, embodying the worst of the court of Vere. In the midst of the lethal political web, nothing is ever as it seems. When he finds himself embroiled in a coup for the throne of Vere, he must work with Laurent to survive and keep his own country from descending into anarchy. The writing in this book is impressive, especially considering some of the very dark and adult themes. It compares to Game of Thrones in themes with a more straightforward narrative. It has political intrigue, scandal, with a dash of eroticism. Just the right recipe or a fantastic read. When I first picked up the book, some things did give me pause. There are heavy themes of rape and slavery in this series. There are no two ways about it, it is a part of the world the author created. The pleasure slaves are hardly willing participants with their masters, so that is a little difficult to read. Also, the author took an interesting take on sexuality in this novel. All of the nobility at the court have pleasure slaves that accompany them everywhere. Here’s the thing: they only have slaves of the same gender, and at one point a noble remarks that a servant of the opposite gender would be unthinkable. I found this very intriguing. It reminded me of Greek culture, where bisexuality was the norm in most provinces. In the end, I loved the book. The plot sunk its claws in and hasn’t let go. It’s a fantastic read, by an obviously talented author. While there are some very mature themes there, its worth it to read. I look forward to the next book!  Jarad attends Middle Tennessee State University, loves tea, and tries to spend every spare second reading. Jarad is majoring in English. Bless his heart! Let's all light a candle for him and send him happy thoughts!
 By Julie Carpenter The dwarves murmured amongst themselves about the best way to get rid of the thin man who sat in the middle of the bed, covered with straw. The red-haired dwarf stepped forward and looked at the man from about a foot away. He picked up the alarm clock from the rubbish on the floor and tossed it at the man's head, as an experiment in how well the usual method worked. The clock bounced off the man's head and began to ring. The Thin Hungry Man picked it up, delighted. He smiled and shook it. He held it to his ear. He bounced it neatly off the dwarf's head and screamed, "Take that you little red-haired idiot." It was a phrase he’d heard often during the fighting. It seemed an appropriate greeting. Colvin, for that was the name of the red-haired dwarf, stumbled a bit and fell backwards into the biggest dwarf, a black-haired lumpy faced creature, who immediately used his somewhat lumpy head to catch Colvin in the middle of the back and send him sailing forward into the bedpost, knocking the wind out of him front and back. "I told you it was a stupid idea," said the black haired dwarf. When he could speak again, Colvin sputtered out, "I suppose we should have followed your advice and closed our eyes and counted to three and seen if he would go away, then?" "Not a bad idea," said Marvin. The other dwarves muttered in agreement. “Well then let's try it, shall we?" Colvin asked. "Not too likely to work now is it? Now that you've bashed it on the head and all. I mean now it’s obviously not going to work." Marvin muttered darkly. He was considered the smart one by all of the others, except Colvin. Colvin was always the odd man out. He hated the rest of the dwarves. He hated their stupid, green pointy hats. He thought that lederhosen were a terrible idea as well. He always made sure his own pants came down past his ankles and he never wore a hat unless he had to. The Thin Hungry Man sat and stared happily. He wasn't sure what was under discussion but he wanted to be ready the next time someone threw something at his head. He wondered whether they were waiting for him to throw something else at them. "Imagine me sitting here and bouncing things off people's heads," he said. He was so happy he felt he could burst. The dwarves looked at him. They weren't sure what to do with him and they were much too tired to throw things at him until he left. "So now what, you little idiot, smarty-pants?" said Marvin. "I suppose you know we have to get rid of it before Mother comes home." A murmur of assent and worry went up among the other dwarves, and they crowded behind Marvin and Colvin. He looked up. "Dang! The idiot has made a hole in the roof. What do we do about that?" He would be the one that fixed it, of course. If anything went wrong, Colvin always had to fix it. Marvin smiled that odd secret smile he smiled when he was about to do something unpleasant to Colvin. He had frequent practice smiling that smile. He stepped back from the bed and all the other dwarves gathered around him. They all stared at Colvin smiling. Marvin stepped forward. "We have decided that someone has to take him to the girl. And you are just the stupid lump to do it!" "No way," said Colvin. "I'm not going over there. It's a long walk and I'm too tired. Forget about it." Colvin did not enjoy the company of the girl. Well actually, he wouldn’t know how he felt about her company because she had chased the dwarves away on sight ever since the night that Marvin and Alvin had barfed up three packs of hot dogs and a couple of six packs of green beer in her roses. The best way to take care of all the unwelcome creatures and objects from the void was to foist them off on someone else. If the various creatures and objects that fell from the void couldn’t be chased off, and they usually couldn’t, they had to be tricked into leaving or left at a neighboring house. And the closest, in fact the only permanent neighbor that he knew about was the girl. So she was usually the recipient of any of the annoying creatures that couldn’t otherwise be disappeared. Colvin looked at the others. He looked at the hole in the ceiling. He sighed. He remembered when they had tried to convince their mother to let them keep that cute pink penguin with suspenders that had fallen from the void. It turned out he was a professional yodeler. That and the fact that the little guy had filled her toilet with ice had made her pretty adamant about getting rid of the travelers as soon as possible. This was one of the few houses near the void that seemed to have some sort of permanence. Houses disappeared with alarming frequency. Sometimes they simply disappeared; sometimes they grew legs and walked off. Once a seriously depressed house had blown itself up and the whole group of traveling clowns who had been making it their home went up in an awe-inspiring shower of brightly colored confetti. It had actually been quite a lovely sight in a way but it was pretty sad finding clown noses and clown hats and little squirting flowers all over the place for weeks. The dwarves’ house and the girl’s cottage. And he wouldn’t be moving in with the girl any time soon. He was pretty sure that he would bear the brunt of the clean-up and repair, simply because the black haired brothers had proved over and over that they were too stupid and incompetent to do anything besides play poker and drink beer and fight. (They were pretty terrible at poker but pretty good at drinking beer and fighting.) The stupid thin man could only cause more damage for him to patch up if he were allowed to stay. Besides that witch in the cottage deserved him if anyone did. "Come on," he said "Get off the bed you big idiot. Let's go." He sighed. The Thin Hungry Man wobbled happily to his feet and looked at Colvin with a smile. Then for some reason he held out his hand. Marvin and the other five dwarves snickered. Colvin brushed the hand away and said, "Just follow me you big oaf." The Thin Hungry Man smiled happily and followed him out of the cottage. He felt magnificently happy, and though he was too polite to ask, he felt certain he would eat soon. There had to be food in a world this exciting. There was no other reason for him to have come here. It must be destiny. He would eat. His stomach rumbled awesomely and he felt hungrier than he had ever felt before. He took this as a good sign. The only reason for his increased hunger had to be that food would come soon. The Thin Hungry Man followed Colvin out of the little thatched cottage and looked around him in amazement. The yard behind the dwarves' cottage was a brilliant green color. It was the most vividly green grass the Thin Hungry Man had ever seen. As he looked closer he realized that there were small patches of earth which weren't covered by grass. These small patches were the same color green. It was as if someone had taken spray paint in the same color as the grass and tried to hide the places where the grass wasn't growing (which was, in fact, the case.) This struck even the Thin Hungry Man as slightly odd. After all if there was one thing he knew, it was what grass and dirt should look like. At the end of the small patch of grass Colvin and the Thin Hungry Man turned left and walked behind the house and through a garden blooming in a mass of colors. The flowers were every shade from neon colors of lime and lemon to iridescent whites and pinks that seemed to generate a small amount of light. There was one vivid scarlet flower, somewhat like a rose in character that stood almost 25 feet high. The dwarf seemed not to notice, but the Thin Hungry Man was amazed and delighted. As they walked along, the Thin Hungry Man looked back at the house. In front of it was a very small patch of grass and flowers that ended at the void. Objects came zooming out of the void every few minutes and landed on the lawn. He saw Marvin come running out into the lawn to pick up a cardboard carton full of brown bottles. "Beer!" yelled Marvin in the distance and soon the tiny yard was a mass of little fighting dwarves. "Won't be any for me when I get home, of course," said Colvin, without looking at the Thin Hungry Man. "Not that you'd care." Not that Colvin was too worried about that. He would walk home the long way by the void, probably find at least a six pack of his own and it with that chimpanzee who had recently converted to some form of neo paganism, just to put off going home and patching the roof. The Thin Hungry Man smiled politely. “They're going to find some way to blame the hole in the roof and everything on me, of course," offered the dwarf. He sighed, "Not that you'd care." Colvin wasn’t actually worried about that either. Blanche would never believe that it was his fault, although it would cause tension when she started yelling at Marvin and the others. The Thin Hungry Man smiled. It was so good to have a conversation. He looked down at his small companion. The dwarf had taken his cap off in the heat. His red hair shone brilliantly in the sun. A sudden whim overtook the Thin Hungry Man and he patted Colvin's shimmering red hair. Colvin caught his hand and bit him. It hurt. They walked along a dirt road now which took them farther from the void. Soon they walked through a patch of turnips the size of small trucks, and it hid the void from their sight. The Thin Hungry Man looked interestedly at the blood that was dripping from his finger. He tasted a little bit and then made patterns with it on his arm. Before ten minutes had passed they entered a grove of trees in an improbable shade of lavender. The dwarf began to look nervously around him and wring his hands. This was what he was worried about. He had managed to get rid of two reindeer, a psychotic rabbit and a large talking chair by locking them in the walled garden behind the girl’s cottage but everything depended on stealth. It was tricky and she didn’t like dwarves. Probably because she also didn’t like psychotic rabbits and talking chairs and two somewhat depressive reindeer with a pathological need to belch boiling green steam. He was certain there would be new locks to pick. He had to think....He had tricked the reindeer into jumping over the fence. He looked at the thin hungry man. He wondered if he could simply launch him over the fence with a little boost. They came out of the grove of lavender trees, and there was the girl's cottage, shimmering in its whiteness. He hesitated momentarily. He looked back at the odd, annoying, bloodstained man behind him and realized that this was going to be difficult. He thought he heard the slam of the back door. He stopped, trying to decide what to do. The Thin Hungry Man wandered past him and tripped over a sign that said in bold letters DWARVES! KEEP OUT!, and in smaller letters under it You Little Idiots. The Thin Hungry Man then landed in a flowerbed so deep and thick that he disappeared momentarily. Colvin was just about to bolt when he suddenly felt a hand on the back of his neck. "How many times have I told you little idiot dwarves to STAY OFF THE LAWN!" the girl screamed in his ear. The lectures were usually long, drawn-out affairs, conducted with the girl's fingernails in the back of his neck, most of the time after large flower-pots had been dropped on his head, but this time, thankfully the lecture was cut short, by the sudden appearance of the Thin Hungry Man, bounding out the flower bed, with his brown wavy hair full of petals and a joyous expression on his skeletal face. “Hi!" he said. The iron fingernails relaxed just a bit as the girl mentally prepared herself for the green steam, or the yodeling, or the existential insurance policy sales pitch and Colvin felt his opportunity. "He fell through the roof. He said you were his cousin. Bye!" Colvin was off like a shot. Poverty sits rakishly on his head. Gratefulness infests his unwashed hair with proboscis and antennae. Desire's soil blackens under his long, long yellow fingernails. Need wrinkles his youth, puts years in the deep porcelain grease of his eyes Cold flat pavement hurts your feet as you walk in soles that can feel spiky grit flung by car tires from the newly resurfaced tarmac embed between the icy wrinkles of your flesh burst the balloons of sensitive blisters that give you a hobble when you walk, as you inhale the sear of recently cooled tar and thirst for wet on your lips.  Paul Brookes was shop assistant, security guard, postman, admin. assistant, lecturer, poetry performer, with "Rats for Love" and his work included in "Rats for Love: The Book", Bristol Broadsides, 1990. His first chapbook was "The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley", Dearne Community Arts, 1993. He has read his work on BBC Radio Bristol and had a creative writing workshop for sixth formers broadcast on BBC Radio Five Live. Recently published in Clear Poetry, The Bees Are Dead, Live Nude Poems and others.
 Lapping Water by Dan J. Flore III Review by Julie Carpenter There’s a whole world in this slim volume of poetry. Flore’s poetry ebbs and swells as it brings past and present together in a collection of luminous images. The poems capture the essence of being human, having both the lucidity of concrete detail and a foundation of universal reminiscence, giving readers an odd sense that the poet might have rummaged about their heads as well as his own for inspiration. The poems flow past like water, leaving memories outlined in wet leaves and the moaning of the ocean. The image of water is also a good metaphor for the music of the poems themselves, often spare and simple but with a depth that pulls the reader along in their wake. Ghosts are incarnated in lines like these: sometimes your wet skin touches me when I brush against soaked leaves I always turn around to see if maybe it really was you and the branches disappear From the first poem, Tap Water, to the last, Today I saw the World, Flore is adept at using beautiful imagery to cut to the heart of his memories and experiences, embodying pain in beauty, sometimes slicing before the reader becomes aware of the risk. This short book should be read again and again, as the poems reveal more with each reading.  Dan Flore's poems have appeared in many publications, including Sick Lit Magazine and Lummox. His first poetry collection, Lapping Water, is published by GenZ Publishing.
 The Wise Man and the Fearful King by Uncle Morty Once upon a time, there was a kingdom by the sea. Some of the people who lived there were farmers, some were fishermen, some were merchants, some were craftsmen, and far up on the mountain in an old and rather worn down abbey, a group of men and women lived to study the old stories and tales of the kingdom. These were the wise people of the kingdom and they were called upon for advice in times of trouble. For many years, there had been no trouble in the kingdom. The fields were fertile and trade was good. The people were happy and prosperous and for the most part they behaved pretty decently towards one another and towards the people of the neighboring kingdoms. However, after many years the kingdom fell on hard times. The kingdom and all the kingdoms surrounding it experienced famine. To be honest, the famine was much more pronounced and serious in the surrounding kingdoms than it was in the kingdom by the sea. However, the people had become quite used to being happy and prosperous so even before things become very difficult they became afraid and angry. It wasn’t long before they were not getting along with each other very well. It turned out that they had been happy and for the most part decent because they were prosperous and not the other way around. Their fear made them start blaming each other. The merchants blamed the farmers for not planting extra crops in the good years. The farmers blamed the merchants because they said the prices had not been high enough for them to have planted extra in the good years. The artisans were angry at both the farmers and the merchants because obviously one or both of those groups had to be at fault, it certainly wasn’t the artisans. The fishers were beginning to hoard their fish instead of bringing them to market. All of the people in the kingdom by the sea blamed the neighboring kingdoms for not being able to feed their people and asking for grain and supplies and so on. Some people wanted to quit trading with the neighboring kingdoms altogether. This in its turn made the king very much afraid, because far back in the history of the kingdom, his great, great, great, great grandfather had been made king because the people had chased off another king after a famine. Now the king was not suffering at all because the people had to pay him tributes of money and food. He was actually mighty rich. He’d never been hungry a day in his life, and he really didn’t want to try it, as the people in the country who were hungry simply couldn’t shut up about how terrible it was, so he began to consider how he might continue to be a mighty king with a full table. He thought and thought and thought about it and he finally decided that the only thing to do was to be practical. There was not enough food for all the people. He would have to choose who would eat and who would not. He and his friends were quite fond of their banquets. It wouldn’t do to give those up. It made him a little sad, but facts were facts. He knew that it would be up to him to decide who would eat and who would not eat. Of course, he realized that those who weren’t chosen would not be very happy about the fact. It wouldn’t do to let them know they would not receive their share of the kingdom’s food until they were too weak and poor to do anything about it. He’d read his history carefully and he was fairly certain where that king long ago had gone wrong. He didn’t intend to make the same mistakes. After he’d decided, sadly and fearfully, what he must do, but before he had started to carry out his plans, one of his advisors came to him. “Sir,” said the advisor. “The people ask that you call on one of wise people. It is customary in times of trouble.” Now the king had already pretty well made up his mind what he was going to do and to whom he was going to do it, but in the meantime he thought it best to keep the people happy. After all, some of them were going to be quite unhappy soon enough. And he didn’t want the panic to set in until he had assumed control of the situation. So he made a great show of calling the wise man and he set up a large hall, with a throne for himself and enough room for many citizens to attend. He sent a messenger far up the mountain to the abbey. At the bottom of the mountain, the messenger blew his horn and waited. After a time, the abbess caused a basket to be let down (the only way up the cliffs to the abbey on the mountainside) and in it was a small, homely, bearded man. The man was dressed in plain white robes that were obviously quite old, but which had at least been cleaned and nicely pressed. The wise men and women did not receive a tribute from the people. They had to make do with a few scrawny goats and an arid mountain garden. They managed to grow a nice nearly wild grape for wine and this was all they had to trade. Now in the kingdom by the sea, the people had a very strange religion. Unlike many other countries, which conveniently had many gods for various purposes, these people believed that there was only one God and that this God not only built the universe but that he filled every nook and cranny of it. And strangest of all, they believed that this giant God, who was everywhere at once, had once paradoxically become small and stuffed himself into the body of a person and had lived in their very kingdom (yes, yes… I know…absurd…but it was what they believed.) Strangest of all, the people believed that the things that this unimaginably huge God had said and done when he was at his smallest were the most important things. And they based all their wisdom on thinking and acting as their God had done, not when he was big and important and causing earthquakes and imploding stars, but when he was a person just like them. This at least was the gist of what they were taught from the time they were very small. The people didn’t pay it too much mind. That’s what they had the Wise Ones for. The Wise Ones in the abbey spent all their time thinking about the stories of the Person God (and not so much time thinking about the Very Large God) and trying to put the ideas they might glean into practice as best they might for that was their purpose and duty. When one of them was called into the kingdom, which was almost always in times of trouble (for the people almost forgot they existed when times were good), he or she went and listened to the king and his advisors and then recounted the story they thought would be most helpful to the situation. When the wise man arrived he was led to the front of the assembly. The messenger had already told him why he had been called and he had thought about the best story to tell the people on his journey to the city. The king, who did not have high hopes for this performance, allowed the small man to come to the front of the assembly and speak. He supposed that the man might ask them all to make some sort of sacrifice or perform some sort of ritual. He thought he vaguely remembered such things from the stories he had heard. But the man said that he would simply recount a story that he thought might help. “Once upon a time,” he began, “God made himself into a person. Now the other people could tell that there was something a little different about him, he seemed very wise and kind to some of them, to some he seemed peculiarly annoying, and the rest he was at least interesting, so they followed him about. One day, he had a very large crowd following him.” “How many people,” someone called out from the crowd. “Oh, several thousand,” said George, for that was the wise man’s name. “The exact number is not important, but there were lots and lots of them. The crowd that followed him were not all of them the nicest people. Some had followed him that day because they actually wanted to learn something from him. Some were following him because other people were following him and it seemed like the thing to do. Some were following him because they were sick, and there were rumors that he healed people and cured blind people, and people with fevers, or other kinds of illnesses.” “He was magic!” someone yelled out from the crowd. “God is magic!” someone else yelled. “Well,” said George. “Not exactly. But I’m coming to that. Some of the people who followed him were following him because they hoped they might see something like a magic trick. I expect that didn’t please him too much. A few of them had followed him because they liked to complain about everything he said. But the point is that they had all followed him out to a desert place. It was late, and they were all hungry.” “Why didn’t they bring lunch?” someone asked. “That was their fault!” “Surely God would punish them for being stupid!” said one of the merchants who was looking out of the corner of his eye at the farmers. “I would think that would teach them a valuable lesson.” George smiled. “Interestingly he didn’t blame them at all. He was worried about them. He asked some of his closest friends if they might have something to feed everyone. But even his closest friends had somehow been caught off guard. They didn’t have anything either. “Tsk. Tsk,” said one of the farmers, “When I know I’m going to be out all day, I pack some boiled eggs and some of my wife’s good brown bread.” His wife nodded approvingly. “Well,” said George, with a shrug of his shoulders, “These people hadn’t thought of that. Come to that, the Person God hadn’t thought of it either. Or perhaps he had some purpose in not bringing food. Maybe he wanted to see what they would do. At any rate, the hour was late and the people were hungry. There were surely some of the people who were old or quite young and some might have been ill or weak. Perhaps they would have a hard time making it back out of the desert without food of some kind. So in his concern for all those hungry people, the Person God asked his friends to go and see if anyone in the crowd had food to share.” “Share?” asked the king from his throne, “Wasn’t he magic?” “Well, not magic per se…” George began. He looked around the room and back at the king and sighed. Consider the level of your audience, the abbess had told him. “The kind of magic that he used often required people to do something first. For instance, a blind man might get mud smeared on his eyes and be asked to go and wash it off or something like that. In this case, he wanted someone in the crowd to share some food.” The king shrugged. He would never have allowed someone to smear mud on his eyes. Ridiculous story. There was some grumbling in the room, and George could see that the people were becoming a little alarmed. He continued. “His friends found one little boy who had five small loaves of bread and a couple of fish. The little boy offered his food to the crowd and surprisingly when it was passed around, it was enough to feed everyone! The food that was shared was enough for everyone!” George looked around the audience, pleased with the story, certain that the crowd would see the point. From in the back of the crowd, someone laughed, “That’s most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Ridiculous!” Someone else called out angrily, “No! God is magic! That’s the point of the story. We have to do something to get him to magic us some food!” Someone else called out, “Some of those were people who didn’t like him? Why would he feed them?” “Pure magic!” called out someone else. “That doesn’t do us a lick of good. Nobody here is magic!” The shouts and calls, until George settled the crowd. “Listen,” he said, “The point is that we have to do the things the Person God has asked us to do! Those of you who have food should be willing to share it. That’s the thing that makes the magic work!” George winced at the word magic, but he figured it was pointless to try to get them to understand anything more complicated. The crowd once again began shouting out their disapproval. “Why the king here has plenty of food! I saw it in the store houses on the way here! I’m sure he would be happy to share with everyone!” George said, waving his hands madly above the crowd. He was certain that the king, who indeed had stored up a lot of food, would understand his story. He also knew that it was a king’s job to feed his people. He was quite pleased to see how well prepared the king was. The crowd was too caught up in its internal uproar to hear him. But not so the king. The king’s face turned pale and then it turned as red as a strawberry. He whispered something to his guards and they gathered up George and ushered him into a small stone room at the back of the great hall and left him there behind a locked door. The crowd was so busy arguing they hadn’t taken notice of George’s abduction. The king followed them and saw that George was tucked safely away. He waited a few moments so that the crowd might think he’d been speaking to George, then he returned and stood and faced the crowd. With his great red cape and golden crown, he was much more imposing than poor George could hope to be in his threadbare robes and scraggly beard. The crowd looked up at him, relieved. The king was someone who said things they understood. They didn’t always like the things he said, but they understood them. And there was something comforting about the fact that he could simply make them do what he said anyway. Not so much to think about. The king stood for a moment, looking kingly, letting the people admire him. And then he cleared his throat and began to speak soothingly. “George has agreed that in our present circumstances, this policy of sharing will probably not be enough to release the magic we need to feed ourselves for the duration of the famine. And so he has been good enough to volunteer to be a sacrifice for us. It’s a little known fact that our ancestors used to sometimes sacrifice a person in times of drought or difficulty. And who better to appease our God than a wise man?” here the king paused to look sad. The people caught their breath collectively. It had been many, many ages ago since any such thing had been done. But they were beginning to be hungry. And they were afraid. Besides, no one had ever talked the king out of a single thing he’d wanted to do. They were silent, but I’m afraid that most of them were thinking better George than one of us. So the king commanded a very tall pyre to be built. On top of this he had his men place a stake with chains. He had certain herbs brought to be placed on the fire. He wanted the whole thing to look like an important ritual. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but then neither were most of the people. He made certain that the crowds would be kept at enough distance so that they could not hear any more of George’s silly and pointless stories. And then he went into his rooms and prepared a fine speech about sacrifice and the great gifts that God would bestow on a people who would humbly sacrifice one of their few wise men and he put on his robes and his great gold crown with the rubies. By the time he had finished, morning had become dusk. He went out to the funeral pyre and gave his speech. After his fine speech, during which he managed a tear or two, (he really had no reason to dislike George and it did seem like rather a waste, since George was of one of the wise people who pressed out his wine for him each year) and then he commanded George be brought before him. Now George, had had no idea of any of this when he was hustled out of the room by the king’s men. The crowd had looked mighty riled up and for all he knew, the imprisonment might be for his own protection. Nevertheless, he was slightly bored and he began talking to the nervous young man who had been left in charge of him. No one had seen any need to put one of the king’s best men in charge of guarding the small and strange prophet. But what the king hadn’t counted on was that George had lived and breathed the stories for so long that they had become for him a sort of magic. He didn’t have to talk to the nervous young man for very long. By the time the guards came to take him away, he and the young man were gone more than half the way back to the abbey on a fine swift horse. The young man spoke to the abbess and after some contemplation, she caused the basket to be pulled up the cliffs. The young man was taken in by the abbess and in his turn, he married a wise woman and made wine and worked hard in the arid garden and learned their stories and sang their songs. As for the king, he had to substitute a baker for the wise man, and when the crowd saw that he was taking one of them, instead of someone they didn’t know so very well, they became even more fearful. They began to quietly grumble against him and by the third year of the famine, they had run him out of the kingdom and replaced him with the baker’s son.  Here's a list of stories Julie Carpenter has published at Fiction on the Web, with links. Just in case you need to catch up. Father Dingle, Some Mice, and the Portal to Hell The Giraffe Story The Bite The Last Train out of Hell  Children of Eden by Joey Graceffa Review by Jarad Johnson Children of Eden tells the story of Rowan, a second child in a dystopian society where couples can only can have one, due to strict population control. However, instead of aborting her, her parents decided to keep and hide her for her entire life, even though they are high ranking government officials. She is now an outlaw, and if discovered, marked for death. She can never go to school, make friends, or have any typical social interactions. After sixteen years, encouraged by restlessness and desperation, Rowan decides to venture out into the city. However, what starts out as an exotic adventure soon turns to tragedy. Rowan is now an illegal, hunted by the government. Outside of Eden, the Earth is long dead. All animals and most plants have been destroyed and turned into a vast desert wasteland, through a man-made catastrophe. Centuries ago, scientist Aaron Al-Baz saved a pocket of civilization, by creating the Eco-Panopticon, a massive computer program which harvested all of the Earths technology and used it to save a select few members of humanity. Humans will wait thousands of years until the EcoPan heals the world. This novel by Youtube sensation Joey Graceffa keeps the reader guessing and engaged until the very last page. Through captivating storytelling, the author takes the reader on the fascinating journey of Rowan, an illegal second child. Seeing her experience social interaction and the world outside of her home for the first time was a very interesting read. The people of Eden themselves are fascinating, from the sect that believes that they are actually animals and not humans, and modifies their bodies to reflect this, the inner city elite with their garish and bright clothing, to the outer city citizens who are trapped in poverty and low paying employment. Through it all, we see Rowan fighting for her life and the lives of those like her with a rebel militia with intentions of overthrowing the government. Reminiscent of the Hunger Games and Divergent, but very unique at the same time, Children of Eden is a must read for fans of the dystopian genre. As enjoyable as the plot of the book itself is, it also bears a strong message behind that about the environment. These people are living in a world where humans have destroyed the environment, and it is probable that the author was speaking on the current and controversial issue of climate change, in that he is giving us his idea of how far our destruction of the Earth will go. He describes a vast wasteland, ravaged by nuclear war and climactic disaster. It is chilling to think that climate change might go so far, but it may be a distinct possibility. The book is both an enjoyable and captivating narrative, and also a cautionary tale, urging us to take better care of our planet.  Jarad attends Middle Tennessee State University, loves tea, and tries to spend every spare second reading. Jarad is majoring in English. Bless his heart! Let's all light a candle for him and send him happy thoughts! |
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