The Sun

This was an idea I had after re-reading my poem Gone...  I had fun writing this one.

The Sun

Sun

Peeking over the horizon

Spying on the morning

Anticipating

The day

Day 

Giving opportunity for growth

Tumultuous activity

Racing

The night

Night

Casting shadows over light

Peacefully resting

Harboring 

The moon

Moon

Lullabying the earth

Ever rocking

Anticipating

The sun 

Putting Up Apperances

I've have always worn my heart on my sleeve, if you know me at all, then you know me. It's that simple. I hate when people are one way with me, then another way with others. Its as if they are trying to hide something. What are you hiding? Cuz you just look like asses to every one who really know you!


Putting up appearances
A mask I just can't use!
With all this awesome inside,
Why put up any ruse?


The "actors" of the world,
Worry what others say.
They work hard for acceptance,
Yet hide their face away.


Nah! that's not for me.
I've to much to do!
To many talents to be shared..
To spend any on a coo


I like the words of Popeye.
"I yam, wud I yam, wud I yam!"
Why deny the world...
ANY of who I AM!

Thankful Heart

Happy Thanks Giving every one!!! Let it be known that I love you. Even if I dont know you, I love you, and am thankful for you. 


With a thankful heart, I shout to all the world!
To everyone who'll listen, my joy is now unfurled!
The fullness of my thanks, raises up to God.
Arms out stretched to heaven, in praise for up above!
And thou I walk in hardship, and my feet are sore,
My happiness for what I have, makes my spirit soar!
Thank you for my family. Thank you for my friends.
Thank you for my health and strength, pray it never ends!
Thank you for my house, a roof over my head.
Thank you for the blessings I never knew I had.
Thank you for my Savior, without whom I would have naught.
Thank you for my life, that he lovingly bought.
Thank you for the price, which cost, did make him bleed.
And in my thanks I'll follow, everywhere you'll lead.

Adam

         I wrote this one a year ago. It was much longer, and unfinished. As I was looking at it tonight I decided that it didn't need to be long, and cut it down to this.
        I feel like I wasn't trully complete until I met my wife. I believe that none of us could ever achieve the full potential that is within ourselves without our significant other. I know God planned it that way.


God gave  the world to Adam, to tend and till and care.
And made for him a garden, so he could rule from there.
Our father spoke to son, fore not all was fit and fin'
Adam  cared for all the world, but who would care for him?
So God made Adam sleep, and took from him a bone.
And gave him back a wife, to sit upon his throne.
Eve was gave to Adam, she helped him in his strife.
And it wasn't tell she came, that he truly started life.

LA LA LA, Feed the fish!

You figure this one out.




La La La
Feed the fish!
Don't understand? Then let me reminisce.
And tell you bout the time I was gonna climb, in-n-out o grime, claim'n what was mine.
But the powers that be put their hands on my head, proclaiming me dead, drowning me with dread.
This is what they said...
La La La
Feed the fish!


Blah Blah Blah
Feed the birds!
Don't understand? Then let me be heard.
Theres rules at my feet that won't let me eat. I continully cheat, so I won't deplete.
The man with the plan is scanning around, those that are found are desert bound
Toppins aren't enouph, he wants me bled, until I'm dead,  And with fingers red...
he says...
Blah Blah Blah
Feed the birds!


Yak Yak Yak 
Feed the hand!
Don't understand? Then listen to the band.
You gotta grease the squeak when your up the creek, and things are bleak, or take it in the cheek.
The dude in the van of opportunity has the hook ups, but he's stuck-up, with his palm up, like a buttercup.
say'n 
Yak Yak Yak
Feed the hand!


When the yickity-yack smacks you in the back, and the la-body-blah sounds like an attack,
You need to fix your eyes, grit your teeth, crack your knucks, and steal your knees. 
Take a stance against the breeze.
The winds of change are blow'n all the time. You can rewind your fate, remake it sublime!
And when the forces of doom let out their firery plume, and make their thunder boom... 
we'll fight back with our own monsoon
scream'n
LA LA LA! 
FEED THE FISH!

Hey Aphrodite!

         I wrote this song for my wife in our first year of marriage, she loved it. After our first baby was born, the little darling gave us no peace whenever we went for drives, except when I sang this song. I probably sang it 1000 times or more that year, my wife and I got sick of it. Its been years since I've thought of it. I never wrote the "music", the tune's in my head....maybe I'll record it. For now, here are the lyrics.


 
Hey Aphrodite


If Venus-Aphrodite were alive and well today, 
She would bring with her the wrath of gods, even unto judgement day.
For her cup runnith over, brimming with jealousy,
Cuz there is one walk'n the land, who is prettier then she!


Hey Aphrodite! Give it up to her. She's the prettiest women, walking on the earth. And although your carved in marble, and alabaster stone, she is liven flesh and blood sitten on your throne!


 If there were fallen angles, walking all around.
One look at her is all it would take, for them to bow to the ground! 
For' they worship beauty, honesty, and love,
And she is the most of all of these, in this world or above!


Hey fallen angles! Give it up to her. She's the prettiest woman, walkin on the earth. And when you fell from heaven, forefitting your grace, it took no time at all for her to take your place!


If there was a talk'n rose bush, quoting poetry, 
She'd be the one they'd rhyme about, because she so pure and sweet! 
Shes their inspiration, like they are to us. 
They'd write songs bout lov'n her and sing um to their buds!


Hey baby rose bud! Give it up to her! She's the prettiest woman, walkin on the earth. And although you bloom in season, soon you wilt away. She will last forever, her beauty's here to stay!


She is the loveliest, this I say is true. 
I found my baby, caught her smile, grabbed her and said "I do!"
They say that beauty's in the beholders eye,
For goodness sake! My baby cakes is something you can't deny!


Hey Aphrodite! Give it up to her. She's the prettiest woman, living on the earth. And although your carved in marble, your figures crumbling down, and she will live forever wear'n heavens crown! 


Hey Aphrodite! Give it up to her. Shes the prettiest woman, living on the earth. And, You've got your fallen temples, that you call your home. But we will live forever sitting on celestial thrones!


And I will live forever, with my baby on my throne!

I'm an Ass.

This is one of those dream poems. I could'nt sleep untill I wrote it down, then I giggled my self back to sleep. My wife thought I was snoring. Am I the only one who thinks I'm funny?

I had a fight with my wife. 
She said I was an ass.
I stood up tall "Explain yourself!"
I did say with crass.
"You said you'd take the garbage!"
She bobbed her head and yelled.
Hands on hips  "You lied to me!
About the bills you 'mailed'
Your dirty clothes upon the floor,
Your dirty dishes too!
The children now swear all the words..
That they learned from you!
The car needs tires, oil, brakes..
There's a squeak under the hood.
The engine light's been on for months!
I'd check it if I could.
All the work you leave to me,
While you sit and just get fat!
I need some help your highness.
"What do you say to that?!"
My eye twitched as she waited.
I had to think real fast...
I sat down, and then said to her...
Your right, I am an ass!

Dust

       Here is a cool poem, I don't know when I started writing it (months or maybe a year ago) but I finished it today. I couldn't remember the point I was going for and found my self in a rut. I went to the library and asked a couple people read it for me, then asked them how they felt about it. That's how I found the inspiration to finish it. Shout out to the red sweatered woman and librarian who who helped me find a new point, which was the key to finishing.




Dust, my friend, is a funny thing
The many shapes it takes.
A break down of the elements
That God can just remake.


There isn't a stone or tree...
That can't be broken down...
To its iddy-biddy wee parts...
That the wind can blow around.


Out of dust comes life.
Add water and it sets...
Then everything is made,
That's examined by doctor or vet.


Often times it's hard...
To remember this small fact.
Cuz life feels so important!
When we can't get back on track.


But life is a collection...
Of those tiny little bricks.
Just rearrange the order... 
To make a bone, or stick.


When problems do assail you,
And hard times are a must.
Remember this my friend
EVERYTHING'S JUST DUST!

The Lost Works of Abbn Ehr: The Horse with Two Heads: Part Three

      Ha Ha, I can't help but laugh. You see, Its been a while since I thought up Abbn Ehr, and he entertains me. Spoiler, he never tells you who the old goat is. Another spoiler, he never tells you why he hates Burkum, and at first I was content not knowing the answers. Yet as I wrote, I got sad. After I finished writing his lost tales I knew I would be done with him. I postulated to my self a "life story" of Abbn Ehr yet call it "The death of Abbn Ehr". This Idea made me happy. Although I have the first chapter written of that book, I stopped because I felt it wasn't in keeping with the character. (Not that I wrote him wrong, but I wrote it second person loosing much of his thoughtful insight that he doesn't share out loud) I'm still working it out. I have the entire series of Illandrea to think about and what the repercussions are, of doing the book this or that way. 
         In the mean time, enjoy part three of The Horse With Two Heads. This is the current full time project I am working on. I think I will save the rest of the story for the book, however if you are interested I may post part of the next lost tale "The Man Who Sold Rocks" this one is fun because Abbn Ehr gets himself so involved in his fantasy that he conducts experiments on the populace to confirm or debunk his imagination.

The Lost Works Of Abbn Ehr

The Horse With Two Heads

Part Three

        Once upon a time, in the depths of my imagination, there lived a boy. A handsome boy, a boy who was honest, kind, loving, virtuous, morel, and strong. This boy had a job that he did every morning that started before the sun rose to kiss the earth. He fed the chickens, collected the eggs. He milked the cow, forked the hay. Slopped the pigs, oated the horse, barlyed the bull, grazed the sheep and cleaned the pens. He also fixed the fences and watered the crops. His list was so expansive that even I ran out of things for him to do. (Please feel free to add to his list at your discretion)
       One day while the boy tended his chores he came across the most amazing discovery; he found that his horse could talk.
       ”Boy” It said.
       The startled boy spied around for a friend in a jesting mood. Finding none, he resumed his labors.
       “Boy?” It said again
       “W-Who goes there?” the boy called out, frightened.
       “I am here” the voice said.  
       The boy looked about. Had he missed somebody? “Where?” he asked, while moving near the stable.
       “Here boy”
       Now, if the boy was startled at the first, imagine his fear when he saw, (with his eyes) and heard (with his ears) the horse speaking these words. I know that you, dear reader, are not shocked. Nor am I, owing to the fact that I spoiled the fun in the beginning. Remember please, that the boy was not privy to this information, and was very surprised. In fact he fainted.
       Having lived on the street, I have seen fainting on many scales. Some people quickly recover while others take their time. One man stayed fainted until he died. My boy awoke quickly, finding himself now under the horse.
       “Did you speak to me horse?” he whispered
       “I did boy” the horse said, bending down to pull the boy to his feet using his teeth, “Are you all right?” 
       The boy adjusted himself while staring at the horse. In amazement he said “By what power is this possible horse?” 
The horse looked the boy over a moment “Do you question all miracles set before you?” he said.
       “N-No” the boy stammered, slightly embarrassed.
       “I have a question to ask of you boy” the horse said “Why do you tend to your chores so well?”
       “I guess, because my father asked me to.  I love my father, so I do my chores”
       “Is that the only reason?”
       “No” said the boy, “In doing these things I have come to love all of the animals of my father. Who would care for them as I do if I didn’t?
       “Even me?”
      “Especially you!” said the boy enthusiastically.

      “For that boy, I shall give you a ride that you have never experienced.” The horse told him to mount, when he did, they dashed away at a speed the boy had truly never expected. The boy was carried so effortlessly that he didn't feel that he was riding at all.
      They sped through his father’s fields, over the babbling streams, into the rolling hilly range that separated my Beautiful Garden from the rock infested blue-less sky of Burkum, (punctuated with dead grass, soot and the smell of the rotting houses.)
      For the boy, the ride was an amazing experience, one that I can only briefly describe. Once I fell off of a short cliff, stumbled down a rocky slope and rested in a thorn bush; it was very disagreeable to say the least. Except the moment, while in the air in-between the cliff and the slope, the actual falling part, was exhilarating. I felt alive, free, only I was too frightened to enjoy the feeling at that moment, and didn’t realize that I liked it until I healed. This exhilaration is the feeling I imagined the boy having (although he didn’t fall as I did.)
      As soon as the ride started, it was over and they were home. The sun was now starting to warm the fields dispelling the morning dew in an explosion of mist. The rooster crowed its salutations and the boys family started stirring.
      “Boy?” the horse pleaded “As a favor for our new friendship I must ask you to never speak of this to any one.” Now... it must be noted that this confused the boy? You see, he had never been presented with any other option then honesty. Deception on any scale was not a concept he could rap his young mind around. To not declare his friendship? would be a lie of omission! The word lie wasn’t even in his vocabulary. (It is, however, in Burkum. In fact! not only is the words actions prevalent, but is't a child’s first word. Not the word itself, mind you, but the babes first word would be a lie. For instance: the child would lovingly look up into his fathers eyes and cry out “dada!” The lie (of course) would be that the child was most likely conceived elsewhere, unbeknownst to the “father.”
      “But horse? Why shouldn't I tell of such a miracle as your self?” the boy said very confused.
      “Simply this” the horse started “Miracle aside, I am still a simple horse. I fear I have not the strength to appease the speculation, and spectacle that would ensue”
         The boy laughed“Oh horse! My dear horse! The people of town would never abuse, but only treat you with kindness and wonder!"
         “Never the less...” the horse stood firm “It would be most kind of you to not revel my talents.”
         The boy could not understand. The towns folk have never been anything but kind and loving to him, his family, and all he knew. He could not understand his horses aversions to reviling his true form to these wonderful people. “But horse-” he started to plead. 
         The horse stamped! Then said “Boy!” scaring the boy to silence. ‘Do you love me?”
         “Yea...” the boy said startled
         “Do you intend on continuing this love?”
         “Yea horse, yea!” the boy cried.
          “Would you wish for me to end our friendship?”
          “Nea horse!” the boy said, panicked.
          “Then I will ask again, boy, will you keep our friendship silent?!” after a shocked moment the boy hesitantly said.
          “Yea horse... I... I will.”

The Lost Works of Abbn Ehr: The Horse with two Heads; Part Two

     I was reading this story to my kids the other night for bed time and they freaked out. (they liked the way Abbn Ehr talks.) I must admit that when I started this, it was way to much fun. I was actually writing something else. I was beginning to write "The wind riders" which is the beginning history of all humans in my "Tales of Illandrea" fantasy series. I don't like to tell, but show. this is not always as easy as it sounds while writing a fantasy. then while watching Discovery Channel I saw something about Odyssey tech" showing what the technology of "Homers Odyssey" would look like. I thought "wouldn't it be funny if there was a writer in Illandrea who wrote an epic tale about the events from "The Wind Riders" and made it a fantasy within the story realm, then later, nobody could remember the facts"  that was the birth of Abbn Ehr. His poem ONA WHEA (ona whea means "wind rider" in old Dadmic, my notes arn't with me, spelling subject to change) is still in progress (its hard) but I thought it would make a fun book to have a collection of his story's. This one here is part of the first story. (just a taste)

The Horse with Two Heads: part two 

     In the Region of Ir there lies a small village that calls its self Burkum (which actually exists.) It is such a hole of a place that it deserves no attention, and defiantly draws no embellishment except a description of how rot the place is, and dumb the people are.
     In quite retrospect, let me propose another village that I will call "Garden of the rose" (I named it thus, because I could not imagine a lovelier scene, for my village to emulate). Wander with me though a land that begins with a clear babbling river. (a good river must babble, dear reader, because if it didn’t, it is dead. A dead River is good for nothing.) Follow the river with me as it flows by beautiful fields of clover spotted with a variety of colorful flora, bordering well kept crops full in season. ( and it is always seasonable here)
     Move in with me, through the full fresh scents of the fields to well tended roads edged with large stones, placed to stay those stray grasses that love to encroach on every thing (not unlike little ‘poor’ children who hover and creep up, while cooking soup in the ally) These roads lead to smartly built homes formed by logs and stone, jointed by white mud and clay, harvested out of fertile streams beds.
     Comparatively, the homes of Burkum are made of rubble, garbage, and Smells like a dung heap!     
     The people of my ‘Pleasant Garden’ (as I like to call it for short) are very industrious and full of joy, kindness, and general charity. They share no opinions of offence with one another, rather, they write their grievances on pieces of clay, then enthusiastically throw them over a cliffs edge.
     OH! Dear reader, that you could see what I see, in my minds eye. To feel the love emanating out of these beautiful people. With their well kept cloths and manicured forms. Smiling forth genuine good will. Oh! Future generations, if only I could live in such a place and be comforted in ways that I have never experienced. Often times, when my belly ached in pain of hunger, and my feet groaned from blisters. When my throat burned with thirst and my legs shook from exhaustion. I would think of my Pleasant Garden and ponder on its people, lifting me up! giving me peace! tending my wounds and mending my spirit. Although it was all imaginary, I would find reasons to continue this laborious life.
     I can see them smile, and greet each other with the kindest of pleasantries. “Good day to you” and “May the sun shine forever on your home” to which the reply would be given with a slight bow saying “And may this day please you” or “And the sun bless your family for generations". Unlike in Burkum, where all passer by suspiciously hide their hands in their coats, and greet each other as such: “What do you got there?” to which the reply is “None of your matters! That’s what!” (If you were to be greeted in Burkum and not be stabbed...run! I fear you are being plotted against)
    
     Now, my friend (the horse) did not share with me the shape and looks of my "Pleasant Garden of the Rose" I just knew it, and saw it very clearly in my mind. (I only thought of the worst place I knew and thought in reverse). No dear reader, the horse’s story started out as thus….. (In my words of coarse)


Part three

The Last Son of Krypton: Chapter one; Part four

      Here it is, the finale part to this chapter. I thought it would be better for Sah-EL to explain why Dea-Van was a female. and also explain a little more about Mal-EL (as a Geneborn) This whole chapter is quite different from the one I started with. I started writing this story with Jor-EL preparing to send Kal-EL away. It was very dramatic. I couldnt fit everything I wanted into that sceane and found reasons to do back flashes, I hate back flashes. So I found my self at what I think Is the real begining of Supermans story. Everything before this Is just Kryptonion history, every thing after directlly relates to who he is, where he comes from, how his story relates to us, and why he can do what he does. It opens the way for storys with depth, relateablity, and growth. We can relate to his pain, and we really can call him super, not because of his powers, but inspite of them.
       If you would like to see more of this story developed you must comment. A story this big is alot of work and supporting it would give me some ground to present it to those who decide at DC comics or Warners. Time=Money. and yes I am a sell out.

Chapter One: Part Four

       “You must give Dea-Van a chance Mal-EL” Sah-EL lectured. “We have a long tradition of friendship with the Van Line and it wouldn’t do to break that tradition.”

       “May I speak freely sir” Mal asked

       “Please do” Sah said raising an eye brow.

       “She’s weird”

       “More then you?” Sah said dryly

       “Why? If we’re supposed to be great friends, why did you make him a she?”

       “Easy” Sah shrugged “The GenLabs encountered a problem during the expression portion of the regeneration process. G’mar-Van asked for my advice. After Looking over the results of both the re-gen failures and G’mar-Vans DNA, I found a corruption created by his gene modifications. It caused certain enzyme to disintegrate during a new regeneration. The problem was now this: Lose the Van’s to extinction or find a solution.

       “So…you made the Vans female?”

       “It was an easy answer. Female gene’s are (in general) more resilient, and would prove effective to strengthen the corrupted portion. The solution however, was not easy. I needed to find compatible DNA from the existing freeborn family line, which was almost destroyed in the Great War…”

       Mal found himself in a science lesson. He did learn something, which was, when asking Sah-EL questions, even facetious ones, he was in for a science lesson. “And so!” Mal burst in when he felt the lecture was over “…you ended up with a viable DNA sequence capable of regeneration, and saved the Van line!” Mal said, faking enlightenment and joy.

       “Yes! You’ve got it! Well done Mal. Now you see why Dae-Van is female instead of a male!”

       “It couldn’t be any other way!”

       “Indeed!” Sah said delightedly. “Being Geneborn is hard enough without adding new complications, in fact, each new generation faces a different level of frustration then the ones before. I myself was angry at your age because I could remember all three previous childhoods.”

       “What?” Mal said “How come I don’t”

       “Each generation has his own challenges, I have a theory it has something to do with the gene-mods we do with each new growth. But my point is Mal, its hard enough without complications. Dea-Vans changes are the reasons why she’s even with us, yet she remembers a far different experience then she is now having. This is why I arranged with G’mar-Van, for you and Dea-Van to spend time together. It’s perfect! She needs a sense of normalcy and you can report her progress to me!” 

       Sah-EL pounded Mal-EL on the back, yet it felt like a punch in the stomach.

Sell Out

                               I was part of a poem forum not long ago. One day some body left a lengthy rant about how only five or six of the hundreds of poets received any notoriety. The author of the rant was complaining that, of the sixteen poems he published on the forum, sixteen of them went unnoticed, a travesty. He said that the forum group (as a whole) needed to be ashamed of themselves for the lack of attention shared with the entire collection of poems, and focusing only on a few.

                             As I read his blasting of the forum, I felt a similar feeling to his. I also, had put many poems that went unheeded. I decided to look up the poems "the ranter" had wrote and found that they were unremarkable within the genre the writers in this forum wrote, which were mostly depressing. I remembered a line in Stephen King's book "On Writing", he said that he was a sell out, he wrote for no other reason than to make money.

                           My own failure (to be noticed in this group) was laid  bare. (although my poems are far from unremarkable, they were a little too upbeat for this crowd) So as an experiment I sold out and wrote some really depressing poetry, and bingo, I received tons of comments. If my goal in posting poetry was to get noticed selling out helped me achieve my goal.

                              Selling out helped me get noticed, yet I learned something else. I wrote depressing poetry, but it left me depressed. So although I achieved my goal, it cost me something. I decided that this forum wasn't the one for me, but I wanted to impart what I learned with 'the ranter' before I left. When I pulled up his rant I found that he had a lively debate going. He had over one hundred comments, he achieved his goal too, not by selling out, but by being a baby.

Hit Knucks

After I wrote "frienemys' I thought it would be funny to show the same thing between two guys.


Whats up?
Wuz up!
Wasaaabi!!
(Then hit knucks!)
What you been up to fu?
Not much bro, what bout you?
Same ol' same ol',
That sounds true
Just maken a buck...
Hey! me too................
.................................
.................................
K see ya bro.
(Hit knucks!)

The Last Son of Krypton: Chapter One; Part Three

The question that really needs to be answered to revamp "Superman" is "Who is Kal-EL? and why did His Father Jor-EL send him to earth alone?" As I was writing this I asked a lot of random people. (Most of them were men who were wearing superman shirts, so I knew i was polling a good source.) None of them could really tell me. The answer of "they didn't have time" is a cop-out. Our own scientists can tell you when a volcano is about to blow, so don't tell me a planet of scientists couldn't see this coming.  This part of chapter one was born out of those questions. 

Chapter One: Part Three

Being startled is bad enough, but the scream was embarrassing. Mal-EL sat pale in his seat as the red faced director stood in front of him. “I mean…What was the question?” he said.

            The other pupils in the room roared into laughter.

            “It seems…” The director said to the class. “… That young Master EL needs not pay attention to the lessons.” Then said to Mal-EL “Tell us, Master EL, what musing could be more beneficial then our course of study?”

            Mal-El blushed as he straightened in his seat. “I uh… was watching the sun rise” he said, gesturing to the wall, which was imaging the actual sunrise.

            The director looked at the image, it looked like a window; the class room seemed to border a cliffs edge without a safety barrier. “I’m sure you’re not the only one who is happy that night is over.” He said “However you are the only one who is not participating in the topic at hand. We’ll all have plenty of time to restore when we are done!” With that, he faced a crystal ball near the center of the room, pointing a laser at it, a blank wall abruptly appeared.

The director paced through the class. “As I was saying…you, young masters, are all of the age of Mensure….”

The drone of the Director’s voice sounded hollow in Mal-ELs ears. He felt like he had heard this before, and he knew that a part of him had.

The Director continued “…Ballisting is one of those changes. What takes place within our bodies to take advantage of Ballasting?” Several hands rose as the director passed them all “I’ll ask Master EL because of his Lines preeminence in ‘Genetic enhancements and growth’. What’s the answer Young EL?”

            Mal-ELs dislike for the Director was as close as his dislike for his “family’s” reputation. He took a deep breath and answered “Ballasting happens when a child reaches the age of Mensure. The body starts changing from that of a child into an adult….” He paused hoping to be done, he saw the director just pacing.

            “We just covered that” The director said, while rubbing his temples”so….”

            With a sigh, Mal-EL continued. “… So during Mensure, the puenary glands release an enzyme that triggers our gene code to express the muscular reaction called Ballasting.”

            “Which is?” The Director dryly injected.

            “Um…when the muscle cells create the molecule Ly’eluam.”

            “That will be all. Thank you.” The director wearily said “…it was recited… as a true EL”

            Mal-El looked down at his monitor hating the director.

            “What Master EL was trying to say was that, Ballasting is when our muscle tissue fills with Ly’eluam. This enables our bodies to offset the forces of gravity, making it possible to move more freely in our environment. With this Gas in our bodies we are given certain advantages over our environments, and…”

The director continued on in his nasally self important drone, as Mal-EL counted down the time when class would be out so he could enjoy the sun light.

He was coming of age, and it felt like he was burning up inside. He hadn’t ballasted yet, but thought at times like he could move faster.  His vision was strengthening though, and the gas-mist hidden world was unveiling its self.

 In his deep thoughts he didn’t catch the thing that was thrown at his head. He looked back to see Del-V’mor grinning at him. “Hey EL” he whispered “Thank Sah-EL for making Van a female!” the boy turned to his friends, who high five’d him and laughed.

Rubbing the spot where he’d been hit, he sulked, and then stole a glance at Dea-Van, who was paying full attention to the director. This wasn’t odd because studiousness felt right for her; the memories of his past lives confirmed this. It was just the “her” part that felt wrong. What also felt wrong were the weird feelings he was getting as he looked at her. She looked his way.

He snapped forward, and blushed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid” he thought as he quickly punched at his touch screen, pulling up any programming. 

Stupid legacy.

 Mal-EL was Genborn, a perfect and improved gene-replication of Enan dok Eahl, a founding father of the modern age. EL was short for Eahl and Mal meant fifth in an old dead language.  It was Eahl’s idea of a joke. Mal didn’t think it was funny.

            He looked around the room at his fellow classmates, all fifth or sixth generation Genborns of the founding fathers, The Founders Class.

 “Ugh” he thought, he was going to be sick.

The class finally ended. Mal bolted. He nearly bowled over the director who was saying something about staying after…yea right.  Mal wasn’t going to wait another second for the sun. He ran down the hall, broke past the outer door, and fell into the blessed light. Throwing out decorum, he unbuttoned and ripped off his tunic allowing the fullness of the rays to hit every part of him. He could feel the relief in his bones as the radiation penetrated deep into his fibers, filling him with energy….sweet energy.

The sick feeling started to go away. And he could feel the newly made oxygen coursing through his veins.

He heard a familiar giggle behind him.

“You act like you’ve never ‘restored’ before.” Dea-Van said.

Her voice grated on him. Not that it was unpleasant, but because in the last year it had become intensely pleasant. And it bothered him that she was supposed to be a he. “Hello Dea-Van” he said without opening his eyes. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself farther by acting differently.

“Let me guess, Mensure has made you hungrier?” 

“I guess” he said bluntly. He thought that by being blunt she would be offended and go away.  He held still until it was awkward. Then he turned to take a peek. She was still there. He put his tunic back on. “My apologies Dea-Van, I hope my base actions played no offenses on your sensibilities.” She laughed again sending shivers down his spine.

“And here I thought you weren’t listening in Diplomacy.” She said teasingly.

Mal bit his tongue from saying the rude thing that almost came out, and said instead. “I thought the Vans had lost their sense of humor.”

Dea-Van laughed again. “Only in the males…It took a female to bring it back.”

This comment was meant to be funny, but it made Mal even more uncomfortable. Dea-Van looked down at her feet.

“Look” she started

“I guess…” Mal said.

They both stopped and quickly urged the other to speak.

“Hey, what?”

 “No, you!”

“It’s OK, you go”

Until, finely, Dea-van ended it. “Ok, look! Mal-EL” she blurted “I just wanted to tell you that I don’t blame you for my…uh...for me being a female. OK? And it’s just as weird for me, because I feel like we were friends once, which was confirmed by my predecessor and... I just thought that we could be friends too.” She put her hands on her hips and blew a big breath in finale.

It must have been Mals turn because Dea-Van stood there waiting. He didn’t know what to say. He just wanted to go, but she obviously wanted an answer. So he said. “Well…uh…thanks, and… I’m going to defiantly think about everything you just said, and get back to you…so…”  He excused himself and ran to his next appointment.


Part four