jamessavik

Joe Bob, you did not get an anal probe by aliens. You were drinking again at the Blue Oyster Bar and it just seemed that way.

The Gift Child The rain was pouring buckets on the muggy summer night. The midwife was gone and a wet nurse had taken the baby to her breast. The lifeless mother lay still on the bed where she had delivered her seventh son. What should have been a blessing for the family had turned into mourning. The oldest boy of the household, a youth of twelve answered the door. It was the person he had been dreading. There was no word for what she was exactly. Some might have called her a Voo-Doo Priestess but that would have been very wrong for her tradition and her people was so much older than that. The grown ups never spoke of her but she was highly respected. The boy had once heard her called strážce cest in the ancient and secret language none of the people were to ever utter to strangers. It meant the keeper of the ways. "Mama Francois, thank you for coming." The old crone in a black dress with silver jewelry entered the house. She put a hand on the boy's face and said, "I'm so sorry Remy. This was supposed to be a day of great joy only to turn into one of such sorrow. Please now, I must see the child." Remy dutifully led Mama Francois to the wet nurse. The young woman drew back the cloth and the lamplight revealed the baby's delicate features as it nursed. She put her hand on the baby's head and closed her eyes and the child stilled at her touch and cooed. The old woman stood stock still as if her eyes traveled through time to see the things mortals were no supposed to see. This went on for what seemed to be some minutes and then she sighed and panted as if she had performed some great exertion. She said, "Remy, we must find a quiet place to talk just you and me. There is something very special about this baby. He will mean a great deal to our people." After a bit of arranging and putting his younger siblings to bed, Remy sat on the front porch beside Mama Francois who sat heavily in a rocking chair. She took a drink of strong spirits from a small sliver flask she had in her purse. She sat gathering her thoughts as if considering what she would say. Finally she said, "What do you know of our people Remy?" The boy answered, "We are Cajun farmers." She asked, "Is that all?" Remy said, "I know there is more to it but I haven't been taught. I'm not thirteen yet." The old woman considered and said, "Our people are ancient Remy. We were old when the French Huguenots put us on ships and sent us off to Canada. Then to Louisiana and finally to here. In fact, we are not actually French. There's a reason that we never got along with the others Remy. We look French, we speak french but our souls are Romani." Remy said, "I do not know what that is." Mama Francois said, "Have you ever heard of Gypsies Remy?' The boy looked blank and said, "I have heard the word but i don't know what it means." Mama Francois said, "In the dark past the gypsies, or Romani, were wandering bands that traveled throughout Europe looking for a place to put down roots. Everywhere we would go there were already people and they would drive us away. Even if we would find a place, soon they would drive us out. We were a hated and hunted people. The old bias against us still lives. There are places still in Europe that it is not safe for a Romani." "Most of us would just try to fit in and that worked for some but, for those that still kept the old ways alive, we were never left in peace. There is a legend that in France, our people long ago sided with the English in a war with the French throne. Our reward was supposed to be land where we would be left alone." Remy said, "Agincourt and Normandy." Mama Francois said, "Very good Remy. Someone has been listening to the old tales. I approve. It was the breaking of this promise that forced us to the New World. First to Canada, Louisiana and finally to here. When that promise was broken, there was a prophesy by the woman who was then strážce cest.that directly involves your baby brother. Has he been named?" Remy said, "Mama planned to name him Thibault." "Good. The prophecy is that our family and the family of the Nobel that we gave allegiance to an Agincourt will once again come together. The seventh son of the seventh son of the seventh son and so on; that child is the key to it all. Thibaut will be the gift child that will mend the rift between our houses and, we will finally be at peace." Remy said, "How can this be Mama Francois?" She sighed heavily and said, "I do not know Remy. Like a great deal of prophesy, it is mysterious but, it all lines up. There are great mysteries in this world and this one would not be the strangest one I've seen." Remy asked, "Mama Francois, what does it mean?" The old woman smiled and said, "It means that we are living in interesting times. If this prophecy is to be believed, our people, those of us remaining on this ridge will finally have a home no one can take away from us." "You are too young to head this house. I will ask Giscard Tourville to step in to help. We will all help but, for the sake of us all, guard your brother. Take good care of him. He is the key to our future."

Hummm- I might take liberties with 770. You've fallen for one of the Fallen. 🎃 But 771 is where I live.

The Storm A Character Building Experience No One Knows Until It's Your Turn The Plague Revenge Is Best Served Cold ________________________________________________ We knew the storm was coming for days. We weren't sure exactly where it was going but this one looked like it would be best viewed on a hotel TV somewhere in in Kentucky. I knew it was going to be a real shit storm because they named it Frank after my worst eX ever. It still surprised us crossing the Gulf as a category two but revving up to a cat four before if came ashore on the Alabama-Mississippi line. That part was lucky because there isn't much of anything there but swamp. The unlucky part is Mobile, Alabama and Moss Point and Pascagoula, Mississippi were right there for the worst of it. A howling badass mother of a storm worse than Katrina or Camile, Frank was going to make a name for himself among the worst bitches in our history.

1991 As the Systems Administrator for a small state agency before the Internet, I was required to do quarterly backup of all of our computer systems. I always chose to do them on the last Friday of the quarter because it would take until past one in the morning or even later if one of the tapes failed to test good after the backup had been made. As it happened the June 28, 1991 backup was a shit show. Three tapes failed so after dealing with all that crap and boxing the tapes up for off site storage, I was finally done a little past two-thirty in the morning. I was not loving it. There was a little twink bar called Kyle's on the same block as our building. Even at this hour, the thumping of the bass was difficult to miss. I had gone there a few times for a beer but the crowd was cute little college boys and underaged kids got in somehow so at the grand old age of twenty-eight, I was a fossil in that place. If you weren't nineteen, it just wasn't your venue. I was never, ever a twink. Oh, I liked them. Still do. They're fun to look at but, they swim in their own circles. Someone big enough to play college linebacker like me was the sort they would be scared of. I didn't chase them. Something had happened to me. I was in a job that went from 8 am Friday to two-thirty in the fucking Saturday morning. I felt like I skipped my twenties and went right to forty. That night all I wanted to do was to go home, smoke a bowl and pass out but that was not to be. When I went out to my truck to go home, I heard something behind the dumpster. I looked to see what it was and it was a boy laying face down and naked on bails of cardboard. Clothes were scattered in a heap beside him. I guess a lot of people would have said oh well and drove on. I wasn't raised that way. That was somebody's baby boy and in this part of town, nothing good was going to happen to him. In fact it looked like something bad might have already happened to him. He wasn't dead and I didn't see a mark on him- at least on his back side. It was an extremely nice back side. I looked through the stuff in a heap. There was a wallet with a Mississippi College ID and a set of keys. Shit. If the MC people found out he was gay, bi or curious, they would throw him out in a heartbeat. I looked at the ID and it was a really cute kid: Andrew Wilder. A nineteen year old sophomore who had apparently stepped into something bad. Being found in this condition in this place wouldn't be good for a student at a notoriously homophobic Baptist College. I tried to talk to him but whoever had done this too him had slipped him something. There was the strong smell of alcohol on him but this wasn't drunk. I'd seen drunk. I'd been drunk. This wasn't it. Thankfully we were concealed behind a dumpster so I managed to get his boxers on him. I collected all of his stuff and put it in my truck. Then I picked him up, put him in the passenger seat of my truck and put the seat belt on him. I took him home and put him in my guest bedroom with all of his clothes and belongings I collected. Then I worried about him. Did he need a doctor? Would he be OK? From what I understood about the most common "Mickey" at the time, he just needed to sleep it off but the last thing I needed was to explain a dead body in my house if he happened to forget to breath. I got a comfortable chair and put it beside the bed and watched him. I checked his pulse and his breathing every now and then until I fell asleep. I woke up and the sun was up. I hadn't been able to tell just how stunning he was until the morning light showed his pale skin and golden curls. He was a little guy. maybe a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. He was still asleep but occasionally he would laugh, talk in his sleep and play with himself. He started to come out of it but he was still talking and acting drunk. He told me I was a hunk and asked me to fuck him. I told him to ask me again later. Then he would go back to sleep for a while. He only really started to come out of it about noon. At first he thought gotten really drunk and I'd picked him up and this was the awkward aftermath of a one night stand, Then I told him how I had found him. He was shocked, horrified and a little suspicious of me until I told him why I'd taken care of him. I was honest with him. He was a cute kid and I wasn't going to leave him there incapacitated for God knows what to happen to him. I told him I had graduated from Mississippi College in '86 and knew what would have happened to him if the police had picked him up in the same block as Kyle's in that condition. I told him that I worked very late on the last Friday of every quarter and he was damned lucky that it was me that found him. Neither of us could figure out why someone had done that to him. If it was a prank it was one of the meanest ones I'd ever heard of. He showed no signs of sexual abuse so we ruled out rape. We eventually came up with the theory that he had turned down someone vengeful. I put his clothes in to wash and let him get a shower. I let him use my housecoat while his clothes were drying. I cooked us lunch and we took bong hits waiting for his clothes to dry. We made love for the first time that afternoon and spent the rest of the weekend together. There are much better ways of finding a boy friend but Andrew learned a valuable lesson: the guys you can trust to take care of you when you are at your most vulnerable are the ones you want to keep. We saw each other until he graduated and moved to the west coast. I hated to see him go but those were the days when we didn't think in terms of marriage and decades together but, I wish we had. I loved Andrew and still do wherever he is.