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Saturday, February 12, 2011

That's me Girl!

I would like to take this moment to have a little tribute to my sister.
No no, don't worry, she's not dead or anything like that. I just want to let everyone know how good she is to me, and how she has stayed so vigilantly by my side through each and every time I hurt, ignored, discouraged, blew off, belittled, and acted like I was better than her. She is such a resilient kid, really. Throughout all the times she had to put up with me either screaming at her for no good reason, me screaming with my parents relentlessly, or me just having a breakdown about food or my weight or whatever, she continues to be her annoying, cute little doofus self, without living in fear, to this day. What bravery. So all the firefighters get awarded for this kind of stuff, but innocent children caught in the midst of a family problem that they otherwise had nothing to do with, yet it begins to control their life whether they asked for it or not - zilch. You would think by now, based on all the things my parents and I nave discussed in front of her, that she, looking up to me oh-so-very-much, would have taken after me and probably ruined he own life from a bad influence like me. But, lo and behold, she stands strong as the happy, confident, I'm-my-own-best-cheerleader girl she has always been. Yeah, she's a procrastinator. Yeah, she talks through all the good parts of movies. And can she get through one dinner at home without getting up to pet the dog, fool around at the kitchen counter, or other stalling activities? Probably not, that would be a first. But all those things amount to a mere lap around the duck pond compared to the majority of the world's population. So, to hell with her faults. Everyone's got 'em, no doubt. The amazing thing is, she is able to rise above others' faults, and there is always a free trial left for them in her heart, if they care for another chance. She'll be waiting, patiently as ever, with her wide open heart. I'm almost positive that when the doctor puts the stethoscope up to her chest to hear her heartbeat, he hears giggling and laughter in there, and smiles to himself. So, after all these years, I thank "Pickles" (identity protection) for staying loyally by my side. In a short time it will have been a decade already. I promise to do the same for you always in the end, when all is said and done. Under one condition: stay out of my closet. XD

Thursday, February 10, 2011


I just had a flashback.
I am remembering this very strange dream I had when I was 10. The dream had a title, I recall, as if it were a book I was reading while sleeping, yet not just reading - acting it. Playing the main character, but not knowing the plot. I was, indeed, merely a meandering character. The title was: The Prosperor's Law.

Makes barely any sense now, but you'll see. The words in the title take on a whole new meaning. In a way much like this: institute, as in the noun, and then institute, as in the verb. I remember the first thing that happened was something, an unknown something, came through my mattress and kicked me out of my bed. I tried to forget about it, and move on. I did just that, went to school the next day, came home. I decided to pop in one of my CD's, so I did. Only, when I turn the CD player on, it's silent, even though the volume is on and up. Instead, I hear a faint murmur of voices, perhaps a council meeting, in the corner of my mind. No, not by ear at all. By pure mental messaging. Yet I could still hear it; think of it like this: you know when your reading and saying the words to yourself in your head? That's what I'm talking about.

And so the murmurs and mumbles continue. I start to get really freaked out. "What the hell is going on?" I thought to myself. It was frustrating, since the voices seemed to haunt me unintentionally. OK, now read this carefully so as not to get confused: I had a flashback, in the dream, about a dream I had in the past while sleeping in real life. That's OK if you don't get it, that's not an important part of the plot here. If there is a plot, even. Anyway, that dream was about my parents telling me that I was part of a special order, and it was inherited through my father's lineage, yet somehow it was only passed to me; not him, nor his father, his grandfather, or his great-grandfather.

Over the course of a few days, I gradually accept the voices in my head. Just as I was wondering if I had schizophrenia, one of the voices poked through their imaginary equator between  mumbles and clear speaking. I could hear her clearly now. She wasn't speaking to me, rather the other 'council' members in my head. They became comprehensible as well. Now I was really pissed (more frightened than pissed, actually). Why me? I had lost sleep for days. I screamed bloody murder into my pillow. Then, all of a sudden, one of these people began speaking to me. I shot up straight and sat perfectly still, with those deer-in-the-headlights eyes. An elderly-sounding woman spoke, with a raspy voice and a bright french accent. She didn't say anything I was expecting, like "I apologize for our disrespect" or "I'm terribly sorry we have disturbed you so, but we would like to...." No, none of that. She came straight out and said, "Hello. I am Mother Brigette. Your brain has been our host to our meetings. We are nomads. A strange kind, but I'll explain that later. Thank you for your generosity and hospitality."
No problem, feel free anytime. Bitch.
"We have chosen you to host us for a reason, and that reason is you are soon to join us in our lifelong journey to enhance others lives, making them our beneficiaries."
Well, shit, I seriously hope what you've done to me isn't part of your "beneficiary" service.
"Little miss, would you please stop cursing at me? I find it offensive."
You have got to be kidding me. She can hear my thoughts?
"Yes, in fact I can. Makes sense if you think about it. You hear, in your mind, what we say out loud. We hear, out loud, what you think in your mind. It's like opposite reciprocals of communication."
"Indeed," blurted a deep, almost dog-like french voice. "Oh, and in case Brigette forgets to mention it (she is a bit old, after all), I would like to inform you that our establishment's name is 'The Prosperor's Law'".
"Uh. thank you, Jacques. Anyway, there are seven of us: Jacques, Rachelle, Jean, Camille, Antoine, Francois, and I. Meet us in your parents bedroom later tonight."
I go to my parents' bedroom. Turns out they are wide awake with the lights on. I remembered my flashback of my dream in real life. I told them about it, and they just nodded. "It's about that time now," said Dad, "as the prophecy claims."
Doing as I was told, I (accidentally, actually) met with The Prosperor's Law later that night, in my parents' bedroom. They remained fast asleep. A cloudy, misty bubble appeared in front of me. Mother Brigette appeared right before my eyes, in a drab, musty-brown cloak that looked like in had been left in a vacuum cleaner bag, and a headress of the same appearance. I couldn't make out the other six figures, except, when Rachelle stepped forward, I could see her clearly. Suddenly, or no apparent reason, I knew that she was Rachelle. I also knew that she was 20 years old, good at archery, and dreamed of becoming a marine biologist. She always wore a flashy, wide grin on her face. I did not know how I found these things out. Without me having to say a word, Mother Brigette said in a steady voice "That is part of your gift."
And then I woke up.