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Thursday, July 24, 2014


They say you can get used to anything.  They lie.  Don’t let anyone ever fool you into believing that because once you do you stop fighting the fall.  And when you stop fighting you might as well have given up.  And if you’ve given up then you might as well go dig your own grave, climb in, and pull the dirt over you and be done with this life.  I learned this not because someone told me but by watching the others.  I’m pretty sure I’m the only one left.  The fire ran through everything in the red district. Even before that most of them were dying of something; some just from life itself.  It’s a hard and cruel way to live, especially for those of us that didn’t chose it.   

Maybe a few escaped and ran away.  If they can last and find someplace that will let them start over and chose a different life then more power to them.  My mother … my real mother and not the woman that called herself Mother Mary … would have said their escape would be a blessing.  Me?  I’m not so sure.  People aren’t the way they used to be.  Or maybe they are and the part of them that used to keep it under control is gone.  Either way?  Nah.  Doubt the girls will find such a Wonderland as all that.  Too many strikes against them.  Too many strikes against me too. 

I don’t even know if I’ll be able to find us such a Wonderland.  You maybe, and that’s about all I’m really counting on.  Maybe because of who you are.  We’ll have to see.  If not there then I’ll find us someplace else away from people.  At least away from people for a little while.  At least long enough for me to teach you how to survive and take care of yourself. 

One of the ways I’m going to do that is to show you how important honesty is.  The only way I’m going to be able to show you that is if I’m honest.  And one of the ways I’m going to be honest is to write this all up for you.  I’m not sure if it will be a book – or a real book anyway – but it will be a story, a true story, our story.  This is about how I came into this world and it will be about how you came into this world too.  The beginning is pretty nice, the rest of it up to now not so nice.  I want to make your story better than mine but you’ll only understand why it is going to be better if you understand my story.  Maybe it will help you in other ways too. 

It’s not like I have a whole lot to do right now.  Even if I did I can’t; the snow is piling up in deep drifts and I’m just too fat to try and get through and look for a new shelter to hide us from them.    I’m not as fat as I’m going to be in the Spring … if there is a Spring this year … but I felt my muscles drawing up over my stomach as I brought in what wood there was.  I cramped up a bit too and as much as I hate what has happened to me and how much I know it would be easier if I was trying to run on my own, I know it isn’t your fault.  I don’t want to send you away though Emerald told me in the early days it was cruel to keep you with the world being the way it is.  That does worry me a little – that I’m being selfish – but I think you came into my life for a reason and I don’t want to send you away just because it would be easier for me alone. 

This place where we are at isn’t much different than the storage locker where I was when you happened.  On the inside anyway … metal, square, and bare, with only a narrow bed and a small window.  At least they left me with a few extra covers, that’s something.  As similar as there and here are on the inside, the outside is very different.  There was near the water on a wharf where big trading boats and fishing fleets once docked.  They called it the Red District.  Used to be called the Red Light District but no one on that side of town has lights anymore.  I heard they still had lights in some of the government buildings but it has been a long, long time since I’ve seen anything that wasn’t a candle or lantern.  Actually I think that’s what caused the fire but who knows for sure, it could have been a terrorist or the anarchists or someone with a grudge that got out of hand or a crazy person or … it doesn’t matter.  The fire happened and it killed a lot of people.  It almost killed us if it hadn’t been for the other one.  I’m still hacking up gunk even almost a week later. 

I’m not sure where here is.  I know that we are far away from there … or at least as far away as I’ve been since I was put there.  I know that there are enough trees around here that it looks like a forest but I’m not sure if this is a forest.  I’m pretty sure it is but I won’t call it that for sure until I know.  And the reason I don’t know is because they don’t want me to know where here is.  For a while they put a blind fold on me until I kept puking and couldn’t stop.  It wasn’t much better when they took the blindfold off but at least it was a little.  And then when we got out of the truck and onto the horses I puked some more until I got used to being joggled around all the time.  My down there parts still hurt but I’ve hurt worse in that place and at least the horse didn’t mean to.  Soon enough you’ll hurt me there too but I know you won’t mean to either.  Hurting there is just something you have to learn to live with. 

We got here two days ago, before the storm came up.  When they were trying to decide what to do with me they had a big bro-blow.  Both wanted the other to be the one to stay with me while the other went to where ever they were taking me to explain things and get … permission I guess, or maybe dump their problem in someone else’s lap.  Or maybe they just wanted some help figuring out what to do.  Hard to tell the way they were shouting at each other; shame and fury warring in the both of them and against each other.   In the end they both decided to go after giving me some supplies and telling me that someone would be back as soon as they could arrange it.  Not sure if I believe that.  Oh well, not like I really expect anything different.  Men are like that, at least these days they are. 

I don’t know for sure when that started but I remember a time when the men that I knew weren’t that way.  My father, the men that were his friends, other men in our family.  I can just sorta remember what they look like but it’s more about how they acted and how they made me feel compared to how men act and make me feel now that I remember most.  That’s what I want to find for you. 

Safe.  I can remember how that felt.  That’s what I want for you.  Even if I never have it again I at least want to give it my best shot to see that you have it.  I want you to learn how safe feels and I want to be the one that helps you keep feeling safe for as long as I can.  If I can’t be the one that gives you that then I at least want to find you someone that can.  I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you.  And I guess that is where I should start my story.  I have to go back to the beginning or it won’t make any sense.  It doesn’t make good sense now but it doesn’t change the fact that it happened. 

I was eight when things went crazy the first time ….


  1. Thank You! for another story. I was so tired on rifle calibres and millionaire survivalists.

  2. She's had it so rough, and seems so sad. Im interested in her story. Thanks for the start of another good one

  3. thank you. the font is kinda hard to read but that just may be my eyes getting worse.

  4. Oh Kathy...the colors and design you chose for this blog are beautiful. I love it. And already this protagonist is very different from the sort of women you usually write about. This one must be fun and difficult for you at the same time.

    I cannot wait to read it. I just caught up with several of your other stories and was gonna do some writing of my own, but reading all your hard work is much more fun!

    Thanks Kathy.