Always thinking about I have a family. Btw. Bc. Well look at it. John says I wish you had a normal life and a family. And dean says I do have a family. John’s response to this is. Yeah. Alright. Before they roll into sitting silently at a dinner table across from each other. Pointedly not speaking. There’s no way it’s John being ignorant of the fact that there are people in dean’s life. There is no world! In which dean doesn’t mention cas and jack At All when he’s doing a tldr of the last decade. Above and beyond that IF it was a matter of Not Comjng Up In Conversation before dropping I have a family. John’s response would have been yeah? I’m glad. You’ll have to tell me more about them. But he doesn’t. He goes. Yeah. Alright. And then they sit at the dinner table and do not speak. So. John heard dean talk about his buddy he lives with and brushed it off. And heard about the non conventional child he was raising (not blood related) (adopted) (weird and autistic) and brushed HIM off too. And dean says. No. You’re wrong. that IS my family.

Hi, congrats on 800 followers! Can I please get a Six of Crows ship? I’m have short brown hair (I dyed red last week) and green eyes. I don't mind if im shipped with a girl or a boy. I like reading (no romantic novels), music and photography. I'm Aquarius. I’m very curious. I'm a little shy and even cold at first. I’m not good with feelings, I mostly keep them to myself if I can, but I care deeply for my loved ones and would do anything to help them, even if I'm not very good at giving advice. ☆

hi! here’s your vanilla milkshake, I hope you like it! I ship you with jesper fahey!

You don’t imagine the extent of my joy to be able to add a gif of an actual real person for Jesper... however shall I survive until Aprid 23rd?

For the longest time, you thought the world started and ended at your corner of Fjerda, in your frozen estate by the True Sea.

You were descented from minor Fjerdan nobility, and your father, jaded by Court Life and its political intrigues - and, unofficially, penniless after giving his all for the sempiternal wars on Ravka -, had decided to leave the capital and retire to his family’s estate by the sea a few years after you were born.

All you had ever known were the large, marbled corridors you’d spend entire afternoons wandering, daydreaming about adventures in the confines of the country - or living the lavish life of a true Fjerdan princess, in an outrageously enormous bed of satin sheets...

The house was spacious and beautiful, with a marvelous view over the sea, gently carrying its boats to and fro before you - and you’d stay there on the balcony in your flowy white dress, admiring the ocean until you couldn’t fight the chills of the night creeping up your spine anymore; but as tranquil and languid as your existence was, it was also terribly lonely.

All you longed for was a sibling, a friend, a partner in crime, someone you could explore the world and go on quests with...

... until a lighting bolt tore the silence, one night.

You couldn’t sleep, so you had gone on a walk by the shore as you often did - your father was never worried about it, since you knew the rocks and their cracks like the back of your hand, and would know the way back home even with your eyes closed.

But you were so absorbed by the distant twinkling of stars that you didn’t notice the shadows creeping up behind you until it was too late.

Screams in a language you can’t understand; an arm around your neck in a chokehold, another slipping under your knees; you thrash around, slice all you can, bite and claw at all you can grasp...

Your abductors know better than to let Fjerdan nobility get away from their grasp. They don’t know exactly who you are - but they’ve guessed from the distinguished aspect of your house that there’s a fine sum to gain from whoever will be willing to pay for you - your father for a ransom, or anyone else, in Kerch, who’ll make good use of your services.

Those brothels in Ketterdam pay good money for young girls, they hear - even more so for a Fjerdan pearl.

When they throw you on an overloaded carriage like a potato sack, you’re still yelling at the top of your lungs, pleading for your father, for one of your maids, for anyone to help you.

But no one hears.

You shed all the tears you have in the first night, tossed around in a dark chariot, off to somewhere unknown. Your father hasn’t prepared you for this - nothing, not even your books nor your fantastical imaginary adventures...

But you don’t intend on being sold off that easily. So you devise a plan to get away.

The first opportunity to break free presents itself when your kidnappers force you to board a ship; but they manage to catch you before you’ve run very far.

But second time’s the charm; with nothing better to do during the voyage than to bide your time and gnaw at your bonds, you’re able to slip from your captor’s watch, and blindly run through the harbor - just to get as far as possible from the stench of this floating carcass.

The first thing that strikes you is the odor. You’ve known the sea forever - it’s clear and bright as ice, and smells of fresh mornings and cold salt; never of this green rot that festers everywhere in these streets... and all those chimneys, all those people, who stare you down as you run down these grimy streets, barefoot in your off-white dress...

You understand that you’re farther from home than you’ve ever been, and it’s not a thrilling adventure, it’s terrifying and overwhelming, and you want nothing more than to burst into tears.

But you don’t, because a pair of strangers flag you down in a language you don’t understand.

A tall and lanky dark-skinned boy, wearing vibrant fabric and a self-assured grin; and possibly the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen in your life, all bright eyes and genuine frown.

Paralyzed, you open your mouth, once, twice, incapable of making the slightest sound; until the girl notices your visible discomfort, and, eyeing your pale eyes, asks in the slightest of Ravkan accents;

“Are you Fjerdan?”

You nod with all your soul. You’re ready to cling onto them both for dear life.

“What happened to you?”

Your voice fails you - you can’t explain it - you haven’t even comprehended it all. You were curled up in front of the fireplace just the night before...

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

You shake your head with despair, trying to blink back the tears.

“Come with us. We know someone who’ll help you.”

You don’t mull it over very long. Maybe it’s your sheltered uprbinging that has made you naive; maybe it’s the curiously comforting warmth you see in the Ravkan girl’s eyes; but you simply have no better option, and you can’t understand a word of Kerch, or wherever it is that this barbarian folk speak.

Although your two saviors start arguing, probably about whether or not they can reasonably take you in, your tear-stained cheeks and desperate vulnerability are enough to convince them - so you follow them.

Into the lair of the Dregs, of whom you’ve never heard - and of Kaz Brekker, who you know very well.

After all, he’s the infamous gangster who invaded your homeland, broke into the Ice Court, and stole the Shu boy - or so you saw your father read in the papers. To know that you are under the same roof as that lowlife would be enough to give your father a heart attack...

You’re half convinced that he’ll throw you back to the streets, but Nina and, surprisingly, Jesper as well, plead in your favor with a greatly convincing fervor. You learn that it’s probably because Kaz has much greater worries on his mind - the criminal group is planning on retrieving one of their own from the clutches of a treacherous business partner, or so you’ve gathered.

Either way, you’re more than happy that the terrifying and redoubtable Kaz Brekker is leaving you alone, and that you can enjoy Jesper’s company.

You two become unexpectedly good friends overtime. He comes to visit you at the Crow Club, where you’re staying, almost every day. Yet communication is not your strong suit, especially in a language you don’t understand at all, and you don’t fancy yourself a particularly enthralling girl to be around.

Not when one has lived the life of a criminal, a sharpshooter, a wanderer, a playboy... well, all those things that Jesper prises himself on being, and all those words he’s taught you in Kerch.

(That and the curse words, of course, that you’re a bit intimidated to use at first, until they slip out of your mouth one evening when you drop your plate at dinner with the Dregs, and the entire canteen falls dead silent.)

“Did she just say ‘fuck’?”

“I think she just said fuck.”

“See, Matthias, she wasn’t immediately struck by lighting by Djel’s hand. You won’t die if you say it.”

Speaking of Matthias, he’s also a good friend of yours - it’s comforting and refreshing to have a familiar face around, one of Fjerdan roots and mores.

Although the rest of the group says you’re not that Fjerdan.

“You’re one of the feisty ones, at least.”

“I’m not ‘feisty’. Shut up, Jesper.”

“Ah, I see you’ve been working on the vocabulary I taught you!”

Matthias and you both have a lot of soul-searching and unlearning to do about the outside world - you were raised in particularly bigoted environments, you somewhat less than him. The hatred for the Grisha he’s been taught by the Drüskelle is fear in your case; you’ve been brought up on bedtime stories of bloodthirsty Grisha who devour unruly kids, and war and devastation caused by their unstability and blasphemous magic.

It’s even more of a shock to you when you learn Jesper is a Grisha.

Unbeknownst to you, you’ve started to fall a little for him - how could you not? He’s funny, charming, sarcastic and witty; always has the best stories to tell, and despite it all, sincerely cares for you amidst the chaos of their heist and revenge plans.

But to learn he was the kind of monster - no, the kind of creature - no, the kind of person, you force yourself to correct mentally - that you had been taught to fear for your entire life...

“I’m so sorry. You should never have been there.”

He’s pacing back and forth in your room after a shootout has gone awry and you were caught in the crossifre; it’s the first time he’s ever had to use his Durast powers to get you of the mess - and normally he wouldn’t have, because it’s a secret he wishes he could carry to the grave, but the fear of losing you was too strong...

“Thank god that I was there, though. What would you do without me?”

He’s fidgety and restless, nervously playing with his pistols, and his nervous laugh is all but genuine; and you’re huddled up on your bed, staring him down with wide eyes.

“Jesper, you...”

“Yeah, maybe not the best moment.”

“Jesper...”

“It’s like they have a knack for knowing exactly where we’re gonna be and when...”

“Jesper!”

He abruptly turns to look at you, and his eyes widen. He’s starting to understand, almost, but refuses to believe it. Your voice is a murmur, and you can hardly hold his gaze.

“Jesper, are you... going to hurt me?”

His words die in his throat. He remembers where you’re from... the garbage that they must have filled your ears and head with from the day you were born... how feverish Matthias was with Nina... he looks at his hands, and his Materialki magic rumbles like a dark curse.

“Y/N, you’re scared of me?”

The sheer hurt in his voice breaks your heart. Even though you’re trembling, you let him step closer to you, slowly. It’s Jesper in front of you, not some ungodly monster from legends... Jesper, your Jesper...

“I’m... I’m sorry...”

He cups your face in his hands, warm and just a bit moist, and stares into your eyes with a vulnerability you have never seen in him.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Y/N, I swear on my life. All I want is you to be safe...”

Safe from me, if that’s what you wish, he thinks for a split second, but you don’t give him time to doubt; you’ve captured his lips in a frenzied kiss, and hold on for dear life onto his lean shoulders.

Fjerda and its blind hatred is very far from you, now. You're locked in Jesper's embrace, and you won't have to hear their lies anymore.

You know you have nothing to fear from him; not now, and not ever.

800 follower sleepover CLOSED!

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 4)

It was sunset they found their favorite place on the docks. The sun reflected itself upon the slowly undulating waves, a vivid golden disk bobbing upon a dancing surface. Sokka’s hand curled around hers, he flashed her a pretty smile. A soft and charming smile, outlined by the sun’s fading glow.

With his other hand, he pointed at a cluster of craggy rock formations, some large and others stout. “Ma used to tell Katara and I that the sirens sing on those.” He pointed at a natural arch of sandstone that was several feet away from it. “And that, that was a gateway into an underwater world. Or sometimes where ghost ships pass through to get to the otherside.”

Azula nodded along as he recounted his folktales. She had never been much into them, preferring to look at what is real over a fantasy. But his voice was soothing and he was so enthusiastic to be sharing so she let him go on.

“She said that sometimes lost sailors will come through those arches to let their loved ones know what happened.”

Azula didn’t know if she believed in ghosts. She stared at her feet as she kicked them at the water below.

“Don’t lose your sandals again!” Sokka exclaimed, recalling how she’d had him fish them out the last time she’d done it.

She offered only a mischievous smile. She decided to show him mercy, instead of deliberately letting them slip off again, she replies, “tell me about the sirens.”

“Of course you want to hear about the sirens.” He grumbled. “You are a siren.”

“Oh?”

“According to Ma, they’re really beautiful...alluring and their voices are even lovelier.”

Azula nodded, “I am beautiful and alluring, yes.” She agreed.

“They like to sing in the middle of the ocean, their voices are hypnotic. They put a spell on people. On the foggiest days, usually when sailors are lost, they’ll hear voices in the mist. Enchanting and beautiful music. That’s how ma described it, enchanting. And the sailors would be so drawn to it that they’d throw themselves overboard and drown. Ma never clarified whether the sirens drowned them or if they just could get back on their ships after jumping.”

“What do you think happened?” She asked before the full meaning of his ‘compliment’ sunk in. “I don’t lure men to their deaths!”

He quirked a brow. She had half the mind to chuck him off of the dock, but that would have only proved his point. Anyways, he’d put his arm around her.

She watched as something rose up from the water, and for a second, stories of fantasy and oddity fresh in her mind, she could have sworn that it was a siren’s tail. She craned her neck for a closer look.

“Sokka…” She pointed.

The dolphins usually never got that close.

.oOo.

Azula was at La-bsters when the news came. Zuko had a fish sandwich and a plate of fries. She remembers just picking a few fries off of his plate and occasionally taking sips of her icedtea.

She was overlooking the shoreline, the midday crowd of tourists lined the beaches. She was still smiling, because Sokka would be entering soon with a collection of stories from his days at sea.

Katara had been similarly excited…

Azula clicks her phone and puts it aside, assessing in full just how extensive the damage to the pier is. Mai seems to have taken the news well, but then Mai is never particularly expressive and she knows that Michi will be bawling. She wanders over to the Cod Shack and picks up one of the out of place blue and white chairs. Though it is hard to tell which table it belongs to, they are all so scattered. Scattered like her feelings. She doesn’t want to think about that now.

The sails resurface in her mind and she isn’t sure if they had truly been there. It may be that she is slipping again. She shakes her head and begins moving all of the chairs and tables into the center of the outdoor dining area. Once that is accomplished, she begins reassembling them as they had been to the best of her memory.

She is lightly panting by the time she is done heaving heavy chairs and tables around. She feels an arm on her shoulder, it is too large to be Zuko’s. Hakoda pats her shoulder and flashes her a warm smile that looks too much like Sokka’s for it not to put a pang in her heart. “Thanks for doin’ this.” He says. “I’m sure that you and your brother have your own mess to deal with.”

Azula shrugs. “Taken care of. We just need to get a new door for the lighthouse when we can get the money.”

“The two of you have always been very helpful. If you need a new door, I can get you a new door.” He looks his restaurant over. “We made more than enough last year, I was gonna put it aside for renovations but I don’t mind helping you two fix your door.” Before she can decline the offer, he continues, “I’m gonna have to put those off anyways to keep us afloat this season. So, no big loss.”

But she feels as though it is. “I’d rather work for what I have.”

Hakoda chuckles. “You and your father…” he trails off. “Neither of you two like charity.” He sighs, “If you must, think about it as payment for helping with this mess.” He gestures to the havoc around him.

She sighs, “alright, fine.”

He pats her back. “At least you aren’t as stubborn as he is. Would you mind helping me untangle these.” He points to the knots of patio lights.

Azula nods. “I can probably climb up there.” She tests her weight upon the arbor, finding that it can accommodate her, she scales it. She reaches the top and finds herself a comfortable position. She supposes that having such a short and light build has its perks.

“Careful!” Hakoda calls up, drawing the attention of Zuko and Katara.

“Azula, get down from there!” He shouts.

“I’m fine, Zuzu.” She insists as she works to unravel the first strand of lights. “Besides, if I fall, it won’t be any worse than a broken ankle…”

“A broken ankle isn’t a good thing.”

“She’ll be fine, Zuko.” Katara says. “Look at her, she’s more balanced than those seagulls that always squat here.”

The anxiousness doesn’t leave his face. She supposes that she can understand why. It is the same reason that he had been so panicky just the other night. She remembers the feeling of saltwater wind on her face…

She remembers it just as vividly as she remembers how it felt leaving La-bsters with no appearance from Sokka. Katara had promised to call her when Sokka got home. As she’d walked out she’d heard Hakoda mention to Kya that Sokka was just running a little late.

And that had to be it because the weather was pristine.

But Katara never called that night. She never called at all to inform Azula that Sokka was home, because he never came home. The first few days were fine, there was still a decent chance that he was simply running late and on his way. A week from his set arrival date, they sent the search parties out. It was on the news, a segment about a lone lost sailor. That if anyone spied a long sailboat, with a dark blue and white body and sails painted to look like ocean waves, that they should report it. That the boat’s name is Pearl Racer and the sailor’s name is Sokka. This was followed by an image of him, the one on his boating licence, and a verbal description, age, weight, height.

The search continued for another two weeks. By the third it was called off. Azula isn’t sure who was the most furious; she, Kya, Katara, or Hakoda. None of them thought that the coastguards had done everything they could. None of them thought that the search had been long enough.

After a little over a month had gone by, he was pronounced legally dead. She remembers a numb hollowness.

The string of lights come free and fall back into their correct places. Azula triumphantly declares as much as she carefully makes her way to the next set and the set after that.

“Please come down.” Zuko winces as she nears the middle of the large arbor.

Azula rolls her eyes as she drops the final strand and climbs down. But really she can’t fault him too much. In part, she’d done this to herself. The wind on her face isn’t all that similar to the wind that had caressed it that day. The day she’d wandered to the cliffside.

The numb, hollowness hadn’t abated. In the weeks to follow, if anything it had grown. More and more intense. She may not have been as close to her mother as Zuko was, but the woman had been very loving. To lose her was a hard hit. To lose her had been, in some way, losing her father; he no longer smiled. No longer walked down to the back with her to show her new surfing tricks nor attended her surf competitions. No longer had barbeques with them on the beach. No longer did anything but drink and drink until his words slurred and his temper flared. He wasn’t the same man. He was meaner, more distant. But at that point, distance was safer.

She had lost her mother and her father. And just a few years later, she lost Sokka. The thoughts had carried her out of the lighthouse and to the edge of the cliff that she and Ursa used to sit on and watch the sunset. The churning and relentless waves below called to her long a beautiful liquid song.

She remembered thinking about how Zuko had already lost mother and father. But he still had Katara. Or maybe she hadn’t thought about Zuko at all. Now that she really thinks about it, she is almost certain that she hadn’t. If she had thought about Zuko then she wouldn’t have put her feet over the edge.

She wouldn’t have woken up in the hospital. She wouldn’t have a large gash that runs all the way down her arm and another scar beneath her chin.

She remembers her father saying that she had been born lucky. After that she is inclined to agree. She should be as dead as her mother.

Azula wanders over to Zuko who is still jittery and rolls her eyes again. “It wasn’t that high.” She almost tells him that if she could survive a cliff dive into ruthless waters, that she could handle a teeny leap from an arbor. She thinks that this will only put him more on edge. He doesn’t like talking about that day. That day when he almost lost his whole family. Well...he could have gone to stay with uncle Iroh who lived on the other coast…

“I don’t want to have to pay your hospital bills when you break your arm.” He spits, trying to play it off, but she can sense the unease in his voice.

“I’m fine, Zuzu. I can handle myself. I know what I can and can’t do.”

“Yeah but accidents happen” he trails off. She knows what he wants to say, “look at mom. Look at Sokka.”

“Well it didn’t.” She shrugs. “Let’s go eat some seafood.” She thumbs at the restaurant behind them. “You can take two customers before you close for the season, right?”

“How about you drive home with us and I can have Kya cook up one of her special lunches?”

“Mom misses seeing you guys.” Katara adds.

It sounds like as good a plan as any.

The Unforgiving Sea

There was a storm due. Shiro had told him, but Keith could feel it in the tide and the undercurrents he liked to play in. The merfolk usually stayed away from the surface. There were too many horror stories about small sirens being swept away and left to die on the jagged rocks that tore ships apart in storms like these.

You’re insane. Pidge, Keith’s best friend, informed the young siren.

He just flashes her a toothy, excited grin. I’ve never seen the surface during a storm. I’ve heard it’s beautiful.

You’re gonna get yourself killed. She flicks her lithe, bioluminescent green tail to follow Keith as he darted through the coral reef so he wouldn’t be seen. Pidge apparently didn’t get the message; she was still floating conspicuously by the reef, arms folded against her small frame.

You’re gonna get me caught! Keith huffs, reaching over and dragging her into the reef. She lets out a surprised squawk, a bit of floppy seaweed smacking her in the face.

I don’t even see why you’re doing this, Pidge grunts, fixing her hair. Is it because of that human? The one that Shiro told you not to go near?

I have no idea what you’re talking about. Keith darts through another crevice, stopping to listen. The patrols were supposed to be on rounds on the opposite side of the reef, but Shiro had become unpredictable lately. He’d suspected his little brother wasn’t paying attention to the rules that he’d set, because Keith was far too… civil about them.

You’re going to get hurt. Pidge blows bubbles, glancing up at the distant, roiling surface. Even the undercurrents are strong enough to sweep you away. You’re tiny.

You’re one to talk, Keith grunts, peering around a rock. No sign of the patrol. From here, it was only clear water to the surface. There was nowhere to hide if he got caught. He hadn’t even come up with an excuse if he did happen to get caught, which was sort of stupid on his part.

He hesitates, his tail fins drooping a bit as he looked around. Cover for me? He asks, without turning to look at Pidge.

The tiny siren rolls her eyes, smoothing down her electric green scales. Don’t I always?

You’re the best. Keith looks back at her. I’ll bring you back something cool.

Yeah, yeah. Go on, before your brother finds you swimming in open water and locks you in a cavern for the rest of your life.

He makes a soft, appreciative noise, before he races toward the surface, leaving bubbles and a dubious mermaid in his wake.

In retrospect, going out on a boat right before a storm was a terrible idea. As his boat rocked and swayed and creaked wildly - it reminded him of the bull-riding matches he saw on television - Lance was starting to deeply regret his judgement.

The storm had only been a few dark, menacing clouds across a blue sky when the fisherman had gone out in his boat. The news had warned of a major change in weather, which was what had prompted him to take his little rickety boat out onto the water.

He had been sure he was going to be back in enough time. But when Lance had gotten to the rocks, he had lingered a little too long. Maybe he should have heeded the weatherman’s warnings to stay inside.

Okay, but, in his defense - those nets cost him hours of labor, and thick rope wasn’t exactly cheap! And… okay, maybe he was hoping to see a certain pretty scaled siren with purple eyes. That was the real reason he was out in this storm, if Lance were being honest.

Besides, he hadn’t meant to drift this far, but the angry sea had stolen away his only oar and nets weren’t the best tool to use as a way to get back to shore. Lance could see the shore from here, but it honestly could have been a world away. There was no way he could reach the shore now.

His suspicions were proved correct when the rain started coming down. His boat was filling with water faster than he could get it out, both from the thrashing waves and torrential downpour. Lance was throwing water as fast as he could with his cupped hands. He looks up to see a monster of a wave. And then his world goes dark.

When he wakes up again, it’s to somebody shaking him and calling his name. His eyes open, but before he can register anything, his body heaves and he starts coughing up water. He turns to the side, coughing and gasping for air.

There’s a hand on his back, rubbing small, slow circles. He doesn’t remember what had happened until he remembers his nets - what had happened to his nets? Lance sits up, jerking away from the hand and looking around frantically. There was nothing - nothing! No nets, no boat, no - anything.

He twists to see who was with him, to ask questions, and stops dead when he sees the siren looking up at him, wide-eyed.

Keith had put him on a rock, above the thrashing waves and with enough handles that he wouldn’t be tossed into the tempest. He was clinging for dear life, having retreated from off the rock when Lance had tried to throw him off.

Lance stares at him for a long moment. For a split second, relief washes over him to see that Keith was here and safe. Or, well, as safe as anyone could be during a massive storm. But that fades as quickly as it comes and Lance finds himself looking out at the waves. What had happened? Where was he? He... didn’t recognize this side of the coast.

“Where… what?” He rasps, dragging a hand over his face, the salt of the water stinging his eyes and making his throat feel like sandpaper.

I saved you. Keith ducks his head, pressing himself against the rock as another wave crashed over him. His arms were shaking, his body sagged with exhaustion against the rock. I saved you. You were dying and I saved you.

“I’m not- my boat! Where is my boat?” Lance scrambles higher on the rock, trying to look for it.

There was no boat- there was only you and the waves and the water and… no boat.

The Cuban sits back hard, his eyes wide as he stares at the raging sea. “That was my dad’s boat.” He says faintly, dragging a hand through his hair. There were too many emotions swirling in his chest.

His dad had built that boat with his bare hands when Lance was just a kid - it was all he had left of him! His brother’s and sister’s and father’s initials had been carved into it before it’d been sealed. It was his favorite possession, the only piece of his dad he had left.

Grief washes over him, thick and heavy, piercing through the clouded, grey veil of shock. But it only lasts a moment. Lance turns his gaze to Keith, the shock giving way to anger merely seconds later. It was horrible, he knew, but the circumstances were ridiculous and he needed somebody to be upset at. Keith just so happened to be the closest one at the moment.

“You have to find my boat!” Even as he says it, the part of him that had fallen in love with the ideation of sirens, the color of Keith’s scales, the musical sound of his voice in his head - it screams at him to stop. This wasn’t Keith’s fault. He was supposed to be happy that they were alive.

But how was the little siren supposed to know this? Keith winces, his fingers tightening on the crevices of his life line. There was no boat. There won’t be anymore boat, the sea will have torn it apart.

“You have to bring me my boat!” Lance shouts. “What- what good are you if you can’t give me something to get back to shore in?”

Keith’s eyes widen, fear making them a dark indigo color. It almost blended with the waves. I can take you to shore… he tries to offer, but Lance shakes his head, cutting him off.

“No, don’t even- don’t even bother.” Lance rakes a hand through his hair, rage flaring hot in his veins. His relief from before is drowned out by a sudden, terrible anger.  His boat was gone. He was far from home. His fishing nets were probably somewhere along the bottom of the ocean - another thing he had inherited from his father.

Even as the little voice in his head was begging him to be reasonable, pleading with him to see that Keith was just as scared as he was, he was fighting a losing battle. Lance’s logic had been poisoned by anger, his shock bleeding into something more manageable. Something easier to cope with.

As far as his brain was concerned, this had nothing to do with his recklessness. His mind was convinced that if he hadn’t met Keith, he wouldn’t be in this mess! At the moment, it seemed logical enough. It was easier than taking the blame.

“This is your fault.” He snaps after a moment, all his panic and shock rushing into this one feeling - and the only thing he could do was lash out, because if he didn’t, he was going to cry.

M-My..?

“If you had minded your own business and stayed out of my nets, I would have been inside for this storm!” He hisses. “And I wouldn’t be lost in who-knows-where Cuba with a stupid fish who can’t even be bothered to rescue boats!”

I didn’t… I didn’t mean to-

“Shut up. Just- go away. Get out of here.”

But I’ll-

“I said get out of here!” Lance picks up a clump of seaweed and possibly some gravel, hurling it at the siren. It bounces off his wrist, surprising the siren enough for him to let go of his perch on the rock. It isn’t long before the waves crash over him, dragging him back into the deep with their icy claws.

His heart twists painfully, words leaving his mouth before he even has the chance to take them back and apologize. “And don’t come back looking for me, because I won’t rescue you from anymore nets!”

That’s the last thing Keith can hear before he’s swimming away as fast as he can. He had only tried to help. He had saved the human - he had torn a gash in the thin membrane of his tail, which was causing him to swim funny, and now he had to find his way home, too.

The little siren swims as far as he can before fear and exhaustion takes over. He finds a hollowed out little divot in the bottom of a coral reef, curling up there. Keith trembles, wrapping his arms around himself and staring into the water. Shiro had been right, to some extent.

He sits there until he’s dozing off, until he hears something familiar in the water far off. He blinks his eyes open, peering out incoherently.

...eith!

The siren shifts, edging out to peer over the little section of the reef he was hiding in.

Keith!

Shiro. Shiro had found him. He makes a noise that’s a cross between relieved and scared, pushing himself out from behind the reef. His adoptive brother was scanning the reef, Pidge trailing behind him as they searched for him.

Shiro, Keith whimpers, propelling himself with tired fins toward his brother and best friend. Shiro!

Pidge looks up, freezing when she catches sight of him. She races over, jostling into his older brother and gesturing frantically when his body language changed from searching to annoyed.

When he catches sight of Keith, however, he stops dead. There’s one silent, heavy moment. Keith struggles to keep swimming, straining his tail fins, his body trembling with effort. Shiro edges forward, then takes off like a shot, hurtling toward his little brother.

His older brother scoops the little siren up, gripping onto him and burying his face into his hair. I’ve got you, he coos, I’ve got you.

You were right. He sobs, burying his face in Takashi’s shoulder. I should have stayed, I shouldn’t have met the human.

You’re okay. Shiro coos, scooping him up and carrying him back to Pidge.

Pidge darts around them, frantic. I know I promised not to tell, but you didn’t come back and I got worried and- I’m so sorry, Keith!

Keith doesn’t answer, his eyes closing. He wanted to go home. Shiro holds him tighter. I’ve got you, his older brother says again. You’re okay.

But all Keith could see, all he could hear, was the anger in Lance’s eyes and voice.

Part 3 of The Children of the Sea

Part 1 | Part 2

For the Creature Feature, how about mermaids? Not like the little mermaid, more like Abe Sapien-- like actually 'Human evolved to live underwater' and isn't just a human with a fish tail? human woman with merman?

I’m not sure if this is what you had in mind, but I had a great time writing it. 

Content warnings: Suicidal ideation, the ocean, alcoholism. ~3300 words.

Undertow

The ocean pulls at him.

Obron walks down to the water, atnight. There is nothing there but ocean and black sky. A constantroar of waves and wind. All the grand hotels behind him have shut offthe lights and he feels the pull and tug, the massive presence ofnature begging him to drown. The fear takes him and he returns home.

Novi Sad was a city of colors andvibrancy. Here on the Oregon coast, where he's been since he was ten,everything was grey, green and brown. There is a certain beauty inthe moss covered trees, but he misses the color of his youth. Fatherwasn't so unhappy back home. Here he drinks, every night. Obron walksin the house, sees father lying on the couch, his face slack from thecheap beer he puts away every night. Mother is in bed, as usual. Hestares at the snoring beast on the couch and goes to bed, dreaming ofthe depths.

When father dies, it is not a surpriseto him. Of course he wouldn't go to the doctor, not until his liverwas rotting and bloated, like the corpse of the washed up seal Obronsaw last week. His death was quick and painful. He died screaming.Mother seems to not care, and Obron wonders if she has been waitingall these years for him to go. He buys the boat, after father is inthe ground. It is a decrepit thing, but it didn't cost much.

Mother goes next. Her heart stops oneday and she is dead before her body lands on the kitchen floor. Andhe is alone, in an empty house. Empty but for papers, and trinketsand all these bolts of cloth. He sells as much as he can, and takesan extra job. The years go by, and he sees lovers pass in and out ofhis life. The women are kind, but they do not pull him, not like thewater. There is Maggie, with her scarred breasts and fat belly, andraucous laughter. He likes Maggie, but when she tells him she'smarried, he ends things between them.

Solace is found in the arms of thefisherman. Typical Oregon country man, with a beard down to hisbelly, Old Golds in his pocket, and the lit stump hanging between hislips while he repairs his crab pots. He is gentle with Obron. For awhile he thinks he's found a home in this small town, but the boatsings his name at night.

Obron hates music. And so he works onthe boat in silence, preferring the sound of sandpaper on wood. Fornearly a decade he works, polishing, finishing up little details,until his boat is a livable vessel. When he leaves, he tells no one.The truck is old and rusted, and barely makes the drive down to thejetty. He thinks as he packs his things, that perhaps he should sellthe house, or tell Maggie goodbye. He's done so much work for herover the years.

Obron decides nobody will miss him.

He leaves the keys on the front seat ofthe truck. Someone can use it. The motor runs, the sails unfurl.There is a small kitchen, a cramped bathroom and a lovely bed. Theocean will be his home now. He's never wanted anything so much in hislife. He steers away from the jetty, and does not look back.

The first week is the greatest of hislife. He is free. It does not take long to be out of sight of land.He stays up late at night, drinking tea and watching the stars. Thereare satellites, blinking and flashing. And he sees planes, full ofpeople on their way to Asia. They are too far away for him to hear.The only music is that of the sea, the soft slaps of the waves on thehull. In the mornings, he can make out the barges. Massive anddistant, like floating skyscrapers, bringing goods to America.

There comes a day when he sees a whale.It comes up for air, so close to his boat he can see the marks on itsback. Salt spray lands on his cheeks, and sticks in his beard. He iscaptivated by the size of the creature. It rises up, curls down anddives. An impulse takes him, to jump on its back and go down to thedepths, to see what men cannot. He grips the railing instead, andtears fill his eyes. He has never been this happy in his life.

Fish and lemons and rice. It's a boringdiet, but the fish is fresh and he does not care. He lets the boatdrift some days, and when the first storm hits, he stays in hiscabin. Part of him wants to capsize, to end his life at the bottom ofthe sea, but a wave picks up his vessel and drops it and the feargrips him. He wants to live.

The next day, he sees the island. It'sso small, nothing like the fantasy desert island people always talkabout. It is rocky and barren. He stops anyway, and ties up his boatto a nearby dead tree. A crow watches him, clacking deep in itsbreast. Obron wonders as he walks on the stones if any human hasstepped here before. He has no way of knowing. It is warm here, andthe sun shines overhead. A flat rock traps the heat and he stretchesout on it, sleeping without meaning to.

He awakens to a hand on his cheek. Thesolid green eyes looking back at him are not human, but theintelligence spears into his mind. The man before him has murky greenskin, webbing that stretches from his wrists to his waist, like thewings of a devil fish. Thick blubber covers powerful muscle. His legsare long, his feet the same length as his shins. There are no toes,only flippers. Obron stares hard at the man, and the man stares back.

“I should not be here,” he says andhis voice is resonant and rich, like the waves.

“Where should you be?” Obron asks,and wonders how this sea creature can speak. There are gills, butthere are also nostrils, sealed with flaps of skin that withdraw whenhe inhales. “You speak English?” he asks, not waiting for ananswer to his first question.

“Your radios are noisy, and we heareverything. Some of my fellows speak your other languages. We haveour own, but you look like you come from the American side.”

“What are you?” Obron sits up,finally, feeling a fool for lying on his back while meeting a strangeand unusual man.

“What? Should you not ask 'who?' Myname is Kell.”

“Obron,” he says in return.

“Obron,” Kell repeats, and hisaccent is terrible.  Obron repeats his name, showing him how to skipover the R, like a child playing hopscotch. Kell is a good sport, andsoon he gets it correct. They talk for a time, and Obron invites Kellonto the boat. He isn't sure why, but he feels a pull towards Kell,that he must speak to him as much as possible. Perhaps he isn't thefirst man to set foot on the island, but he might be the first totalk to Kell's kind.

They sail together for a week. Everymorning Kell dives below the grey waters, his body disappearing intothe deep. Obron wonders how his people have never been discovered,until he sees how the man blends into the ocean. Kell returns,armfuls of kelp presented as a gift. It becomes soup, nourishing andrich. Obron adds the bones and heads of the fish he catches,simmering everything together until the aroma makes his stomach growlwith need.

They talk at night, and Obron finds thesong of Kell's voice the only music he craves. He listens hard, as ifhe can memorize everything Kell says to him. The favor is returned.Above, clouds pass over the stars and Obron doesn't know where onEarth he is, but he does not care. He is alone with Kell and he doesnot wish for others. He stops seeing airplanes.

Kell leaves for a time, telling Obronhe will be back once he finds what he's seeking. There is a secretthere, but Obron cannot tease it out, no matter how many questions hepesters Kell with. Again, his body slips below the waves, and Obronis alone once more. The days become weeks. And Obron misses Kell,more than he has ever missed anyone.

He is ashamed that his parents rarelypass into his thoughts. Instead he lays in his comfortable bed,dreaming of Kell's return. It is not long before he dreams of fallingasleep on Kell's chest, of lacing his short fingers into Kell's longones. He has not touched Kell, but he imagines the feel of his skin.It looks smooth and sweet. Kell does not wear clothing, so theoutside of his body is no mystery to Obron. The nudity comforts him,somehow. Kell is an open book, bared to the stars.

The third week he convinces himselfthat Kell could not be capable of desiring him. He is of the sea, abeautiful man of muscle and fat. His world is a secret, one Obron cannever be a part of. Kell is comfortable on the deck of the boat.Obron would be crushed by the waves, his lungs filling with seawater,his meager body shriveling in the icy cold. He cannot keep himselffrom his own dreams, and they are filled with Kell, nose to nose,exchanging soft words into the night. Maggie never had the same pull,nor did Gabriel, the old fisherman.

When Kell returns, Obron is surprised.The man is sitting on the bench, a woven basket next to him. The lidis woven as well, and Kell gifts Obron with a grin before opening it.More kelp, but he peels it back and a bounty lies beneath. Oysters,hidden in their shells.

“I went to the coast of northernJapan,” Kell says, and his voice makes Obron's heart sing. “Ittook some time, but I gathered these. I thought we could eat themtonight.”

“You'll stay?” Obron says,surprised.

“You thought I wouldn't return,” hesays, with another smile. “Of course I came back. You are myfriend, now.”

Friend. Obronsmiles back, but his heart sinks into his belly. Foolish, to thinkthere was more. They do eat the oysters, each gift of the sea slidingdown Obron's throat and making his eyes close with pleasure. Theocean provides.

Kellfollows Obron into the cabin, once night truly falls. Obron takes hisplace on the bed and Kell joins him, and tells him how his peoplesleep. Floating in the water, releasing a soft and low sonar,undetectable by human instruments. It prevents them from running intosharks, or other predators, though their children are sometimestaken. Obron learns that Kell lost a brother this way, and he noticesthen the scar that runs on Kell's calf. It is a line of silver,against the deep green of his skin. Obron resists the urge to touchit, though he desires to run his tongue along the pit.

Whenhe wakes, he is next to Kell, close enough to feel breath on hisface. He feigns sleep, wanting this moment to last. Kell is silent,and just the soft motion of his nostrils lets Obron know he's stillalive. Alive, and warm and all he ever wants.

Thenext night he sleeps alone. A dream of Kell holding him close carrieshim away, keeping him on the edge of sleep. Obron's hand goes to hiscock, and he calls Kell's name between his teeth when he is sated. Hecannot deny his love for Kell any longer, and something must change.

It isn't fair, hethinks. They are separated by the water. Kell may spend days andweeks aboard the boat, but his life is beneath the waves. To dream ofKell's love is only a dream, and it cannot come true, not for Obron.Not for a human, incapable of breathing water. Not for a short man,not for a man with broken blood vessels against his cheeks, areceding hairline, a man who hates music and loves solitude. Not fora man who cannot swim with Kell, or see his home. Not for a man whodreams of being held, of being loved.

Theyare sitting on the deck together, laughing. Obron has been tellingKell stories of Oregon, of his adjustment to American life. There isno ceremony when Kell takes Obron's hand. He splays out his fingersand traces the nails, looking at them with curiosity. Obron realizesthen that he is as much a foreigner to Kell as Kell is to Obron. Hebites his lip, in part because the touch has sent heat to his groin,and in part to keep from saying something foolish.

Helets his head rest on Kell's shoulder, and Kell does not move away.

Theyhave been sailing for who knows how long when a port comes into view.Obron realizes he's in Hawaii. The dream vacation for so many of hisformer neighbors. It's a small town, and he is able to trade forlemons, oranges. An old man gives him a wedge of pineapple and thesweetness brings a tear to his eye. Kell had jumped off the boatmiles off the coast, promising to meet him later.

Obronbuys a pound of ground pork, and a cabbage that costs nearly the sameamount of money. He thinks about presenting Kell with a plate ofsarma, ugly little cabbage rolls filled with rice and pork. Heremembers his mother's sarma, and how his father would be silentlyhappy upon eating it. It's home, in pallid dish. It takes him thebetter part of a day to make it, but Kell's smile is worth it.

Howlong has he lived on this boat? There are weeks when he loses trackof time, sailing under the vast sky. Kell sings for him one night andit breaks his heart. The green man, on the prow of the vessel,singing into the black emptiness of the sea. They lay in bed togetherand Obron shivers and draws the blanket around them.

Kell'slips find his. “Is this okay?” he asks, cupping Obron's chin.Obron can only nod, before opening up to Kell. The tangle of arms andlegs, the feel of his smooth skin under his hands fills his head.There is nothing to think about anymore. Just the movement of Kell'sbody above his. Long and cool hands lace between Obron's fingers andpin them beside his head. The kissing grows urgent, and Obron tastesthe sea and lets himself drown.

Saltfills his mouth. Powerful fat legs wrap around Obron's thighs whenKell lowers himself onto his cock. He feels hands stroking down hischest and opens his eyes. Kell is smiling at the sensation of hairunder his hands. He is looking into Obron's eyes, and Obron sees aclear lid blink behind Kell's outer eyelids. He can blink, and nottake his gaze away. Obron is jealous.

Hetraces Kell's fins. Leathery wings that meet at his waist. They aresmoother than he'd imagined. Kell glides through water, but on landhis movements are heavy and firm. Obron touches his thick stomach,runs his hands up over his chest. No nipples, no navel, his strangebody no longer foreign. He whispers his love to Kell, and the favoris returned. Kell is riding him like he rides the waves, and the boatitself rises to meet them. Obron arches his back, and then sits up,wrapping his arms around Kell's shoulders. He cannot get enough ofthis man, this man of the sea. It is the drowning he craves. He ispulled under, and the deep breaths he takes do not save him.  Heloves Kell, as he loves the ocean, as he loves his freedom. He pusheshis love into Kell, trying to impress upon him how deep it runs.

Kellbreaks first, his body trembling above Obron. They are entangled andObron lets himself spill into Kell, holding him close. He holds Kellall night, unable to sleep. A moment of sleep would take him fromKell and for now, he cannot bear it. His scalp is smooth, not a hairon his body, and Obron traces the skin. He had come to sea to drownhimself, and he is sated.

Thereis sex, under the stars, on the water, in the cabin. It is the besttime of Obron's life. Kell comes and goes, diving into the ocean andsurfacing hours later, caked with salt as his skin dries under thesun. Time becomes meaningless out on the ocean. Once a year, Obronfinds the strange port town and trades. Every time, he is gifted witha wedge of pineapple, and every time he gives his sincere thanks. Hedoes not want, for food, or shelter, or love. Kell provides and inreturn, he absorbs knowledge and caring from Obron.

It isthe tenth or perhaps twelfth year when Obron realizes he is notaging. Over a decade at sea, and he looks the same as the day he leftOregon. He stares at himself in the mirror, searching for a sign of anew wrinkle, a grey hair that was not there before, but he isunchanged. Kell distracts him with a basket of fat prawns, pulledfrom the depths, and they feast well that night.

Theport town does not change. The man is always there, with the wedge ofsweet fruit. The women are always ready to trade. Obron climbs aboardhis ship, forgetting what he gave the women. Next time he visits, heasks the name of the town. The women seem confused, before handingover the crate of lemons. He takes it, and walks away. And there isthe old man, his hand outstretched. Obron takes the fruit, his handtrembling. It is sweet as ever.

Kellis under him now, body arching up to meet Obron's stomach. He kissesKell, and it brings back a memory of the first time, a tender hand onhis cheek. Kell's legs are strong, and they hold Obron close. Theirvoices mix in the cabin, drowning out the storm outside. Kell's innereyelids close and he muffles his release into Obron's shoulder. Heloves him, he loves him. Fear keeps him awake that night, and heholds Kell a little tighter.

I must know. Anotherdecade has passed, and Obron is truly afraid now. He still has notaged. With little thought to his actions, he turns the boat north,and seeks the island. It takes weeks. There are maps, unused in histiny desk. Foolishly, he'd never marked where the island was. But hisboat finds it, a rocky little thing. There is the flat stone he fellasleep on, and a crow circling overhead. Something is on the stone,still and white.

Theskeleton of a man stares back at him. He looks back onto the boat,and sees Kell, shivering in one corner. Obron touches the bleachedbones, and the knowledge flows dully into his mind. But there isKell, there is the sea and there is love, eternal. Silent, he climbsback aboard, and lets the wind carry him away from the rocks. Kell isat ease once the island is out of sight. They cook together, bumpinghips and making quick apologies. And at night he falls asleep onKell's chest, listening to the distant hum of the engine. He came tosea to drown in peace.

Drownedmen do not return to land.  

Dec. 13, 2017: Column

Conley Call - always willing to give back…

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

I was very saddened on Sunday morning to learn of the death of Conley Call, but was immediately consoled, as anyone who knew him would be, by the wonderful memories that came to mind about this truly remarkable man.

               From my days as a small boy when I helped my brother, Wayne, with his paper route before I was old enough to have my own; through three campaigns for Mayor of North Wilkesboro; until the last time I had a meal with Conley and Gracie and picked his amazingly sharp mind for the answer to some question or problem, Conley Call was good to me.

               It just came naturally to him.

               As an adult, I had the pleasure of working with Conley on several boards and committees and he was forever the first one there and the last one to leave.  His sense of humor was polished into a fine art, he was a great storyteller and had an expression for everything and every situation.  One that comes to mind was his oft repeated line in business meetings that "...a rising tide raises all boats."

               As one who fancies himself a storyteller, I remember being at a meeting in which I managed to work in the story about the legendary jeweler Carl W. Steele and the American Furniture whistle.  As the story goes, Carl W. was asked for the correct time every day by a young man who told him that his job included blowing the noon whistle at the furniture plant, and figured that a watchmaker would have the correct time to set his clock by.  Mr. Steele laughed as only he could and told the young man"...sure, but I set my watch by your whistle."  After a moment, Conley dryly added, "Now folks, that is the one story Kenny tells that's the truth."

               I could spend a month's worth of columns detailing the many accomplishments of Conley Call, but for all his successes in business, church involvement, civic work, and politics, it was his never ending and unqualified compassion for his fellow man that I remember best.  When called on to help, whatever the situation, he not only agreed to do his part, but seemed genuinely glad to get to.  Conley knew he had been blessed in life and was humbly thankful for it. And he was always willing to give back.

               To that end, I want to share with you just one example that helps to define the man we all knew as a father, husband, brother, grandparent, co-worker, volunteer, patriot and friend.  

               Some years ago when my children were still in middle and high school, it was my habit to be a very early riser.  I would get up in those days by 5:30 or so, get my morning paper and drive out to breakfast.  After a few cups of coffee and some eggs and bacon, I would go home, wake up my kids, and get them fed and off to school.

               One bitter cold January morning, as I had just settled in to my regular table at breakfast, I looked up and saw Conley Call and another man come into the restaurant.  They were seated at a booth close to me and it was obvious that the man with Conley had pretty much hit rock bottom, and was asking Conley for advice and help with an alcohol problem.  When their food arrived Conley prayed a blessing for their meal that would make a good devotional for us all to remember; being thankful for the good things in life, acknowledging human weaknesses and failings, and looking to God for forgiveness and guidance.

               I left that morning before Conley and the man he brought in had finished their breakfast, but I also left with a feeling that I kept in my heart from that day forward.  Here was a man--retired--who had already done his part for so many years, for so many causes and circumstances; nonetheless, out before 6 a.m., in the dead of winter to help someone in need.  In Conley Call's obituary, which is included with Jerry Lankford's story about him in today's Record, it lists some of his  many awards, accolades and achievements that we all have heard about through the years.

               Clearly, while he was a front man like no other, and loved being in the public light, that morning at the restaurant I saw a man equally as willing to quietly help a cold stranger, just because it was the right thing to do.  I am truly thankful that I was able know and work with Conley Call for all these years, and I am a better man for it.

                                                Conley Call

                                  Aug.29, 1931 -- Dec. 9, 2017

                                              Rest in Peace

    A Christmas beginning

Giving it all you have

By LAURA WELBORN

Sometimes we think the Christmas season should give us a break from tragedy, death and hard times. The magic of the season is how we push through hard times during Christmas.

               Nine years ago, on December 14, we were given a rescue Pit Bull Terrier-Boxer puppy.  I was so upset with Ken for accepting this puppy to live in an apartment downtown, so much so I refused to let the puppy in my life.  My work colleagues begged me to accept and love this puppy but I would have none of it.  Then three days later the puppy came down with Parvo, and as I rushed him to the vet, I fell in love with this dog.  I went in crying and asking them to save him without even knowing the puppy's name.  

               They gave him a 30 percent chance of making it. And, before Christmas Eve, we brought him home, just skin and bones after having fought the fight of his life as a 6-week-old puppy.

               Needless to say, "Powder," named after the movie character in "Powder," stole my heart and the heart of everyone around him.  He had to re-learn how to walk and run, and became once again a playful puppy. Powder lived every day to the fullest, almost as if he knew how close to death he came.  He tried to sit in your lap despite his 75 pounds, and loved to sit on your feet as if to say "don't move."

Fast forward nine years and again Powder is fighting for his life with a diagnosis of aggressive Lymphoma. He has gone downhill just as fast as before.  Ken will not give up on him, and I am giving him fluids under his skin since he has not been able to eat anything in two weeks.  Each morning I look at the side of my bed to see if he is still alive.

So, what makes Powder so special?  

               Powder seems to know who needs him the most and he goes to that person and latches on, especially children.  I take Powder on walks and he has taught me walking mindfulness - how to just look around me and appreciate the sun shining through the trees, the leaves falling to the ground, the wind in my face.  As I am learning the art of mindfulness, I think of Powder and how he seems to look for the best in everyone and not know a stranger.

I know we will lose Powder this Christmas season unless he defies the odds that are seriously stacked against him.  Ken refuses to give up on him and has so far won the battle to keep him alive at all costs. So, maybe I just need to appreciate that everyday Powder can be in our lives is a good one. And he still must have something left to give, just as he wants us to sit on the floor with him and hold him.

               I hope I can look back on this time and remember the joys and love this dog has given us and everyone else who has been up at our apartment.  His joy in every day, and his ability to read our emotions and try and lick our troubles away, are what I hope to keep with me.

               I will try not to be sad this Christmas at the reality of losing Powder and soak in the Christmas joy of friends, family and people in our community. I will give people the benefit of the doubt, loving in spite of feeling wronged, reaching out to others and giving life all I have to give - everyday.  When I get mad at people I hope I let it go, and just look for the light within them and myself.  

               Warren Buffett once said, "What the human being is best at doing is interpreting all new information so that their prior conclusions remain intact."  This is a tragedy, this kind of thinking.    Don't just look for data that confirms what you already know.  Be willing to be wrong.  Be willing to learn.  Be mindful, humble and teachable.  There's always room for a new idea, a new step, a new perspective . . . a new beginning.  

               Thank you Powder for reminding me what this season is all about and appreciating what people (or dogs) bring to our lives, even when they are gone.

   When Christmas isn’t the happiest season By HEATHER DEAN REPORTER/PHOTOJOURNALIST

Tis the season. All the hustle and bustle, rushing here and there, making sure everything is perfect for the gatherings that are getting ready to happen. We sing holly jolly songs, take the kids to see Santa, make plans to see family out of town, and eat enough goodies to stuff a reindeer. We giggle and snort about tacky sweater parties, and maybe we roll our eyes at those that don't share the enthusiasm of the holiday;  maybe even muttering "Scrooge" or "Grinch" under our breath.

               But…maybe they have lost their joy for a very valid reason.  It's hard sometimes to see the melancholy, past all the glitter and lights. For many people, this is a horrid time of year; reflecting on who won't be home for Christmas.  

               I would like to share with you a song that my friend Brian Brown penned about his daughter, who was the poster child for Christmas, if ever there was one. .She was named "Bria", after her father, was the only daughter, and the baby of the family. Bria suffered from asthma, but that never stopper her from enjoying all things Christmas- singing, playing in the snow, all the fun kid stuff. It was after all, her favorite holiday.

               Bria died in February 2015, after suffering an acute asthma attack at the age of 14. Christmas was never the same for Brian and his wife, or the rest of the family.

My Christmas is Gone

My Christmas is Gone/

Hard to see the blinking lights/

Tough to see the twinkling stars/

Hearing them bells ring

just opens up all the scars/

Happy families holding hands

humming holiday tunes/

I'm Scrooge in the corner

wishing it was June/

CHORUS

Please don't happy me this

please don't merry me that

cause my Christmas is gone

it ain't coming back

even if Santa's sleigh landed right here

I'd step right over them reindeer tracks he knows my Christmas is gone...it ain't coming back

yeah my Christmas is gone

it ain't coming back

This was her time of year

loved decorating the tree/

Singing those old Christmas songs; come adore on bended knee./

Everytime the snow fell

bundling up to go outside

fingers went numb

from the snowball fights/

CHORUS

I got no more silent nights

no more decking the halls/

Every day's now to be the same

behind these four blank walls/

There might be joy to the world

it just hasn't found me/

My soul's laid bare

as Charlie Brown's christmas tree

CHORUS

               Brian wrote this song, "to find a way out of the dark pit of self pity while still embracing the sadness that is so important for healing.”

               So while you’re  out there, take a moment to make eye contact with people.

               Be aware.  

               Try to be the comfort in anothers holiday grief.

               If you are the one grieving, know you are not alone.

 HOTLINE

800-273-TALK (8255)

  Christmas in Greenwood

By CARL WHITE Life in the Carolina

When it comes to the Christmas and the Holiday Season in the Carolinas, we have an abundance of opportunities to join in the celebrations and traditions.

On a trip to Greenwood, S.C., I found myself amid the perfect time to officially launch the Christmas season. It was the first weekend of December and all things Christmas were coming alive.

I arrived Thursday evening after the sun had already gone down. As I made my way to the Inn on the Square, I traveled down Main Street that is lined with more than 50 Darlington Oaks that were planted along the path of the train tracks of yesteryear. For the Christmas Season, the tree trunks are meticulously wrapped with more than the 100,000 white lights. I later witnessed the excitement of a young child as he exclaimed “That feel like traveling through a magical light forest.”

Upon checking in at The Inn On The Square, I was greeted by a happy front desk clerk and a 15-foot nicely decorated traditional Christmas Tree. This giant tree was by no means lonely, as the Inn features nine additional unique trees decorated in grand holiday fashion.  

If you are like me and enjoy the Christmas Season you are smiling now and will do so as this story progresses, however, if you are more of a Charles Dickens “Scrooge” type person, this story will give you many opportunities to say, “Bah Humbug!” That’s just fine with me, we all know what happens to you in the morning.

After a good night’s rest, Friday started off with a tasty breakfast and enjoyable visits throughout the day, I was very excited about the evening as it would start off with a grilled fish at the Carriage House and then a production of Miracle on 34th Street at the award-winning Greenwood Community Theatre.

I was especially excited to see the performance as Richard Whiting in the lead role as Kris Kringle. Over the years Richard has appeared in several roles, and he is an avid supporter of community theatre, and during most days he spends his hours as the Executive Editor of the Index-Journal.

The promotional photos of Richard in costume for the role set the hopes for a great performance. I’ve been a fan of the movie version from childhood, I watch it every year, and it’s become a tradition.

Richard’s performance was solid; his delivery as Kris Kringle and Santa Clause was entertaining and on script. Along with the entire cast they guided the audience on a nostalgic trip down memory lane. It was all I hoped it would be and I would have watched again if time had allowed.

Greenwoods official Christmas tree was set aglow Saturday evening. It was a well-attended festive event with hot chocolate, carriage rides, Santa and Mrs. Clause and the countdown to light the city tree.

I had a surprise treat during Sunday morning breakfast at the Inn. Santa and his wife were fellow diners. We had a delightful conversation about the holiday season and their enjoyment in visiting Greenwood. It seems as if the ration of good list vs. bad list leans heavily toward the good.

The Greenwood Christmas parade took place at 2:30 in the afternoon and lasted for approximately one hour and 15 minutes. Charlie Barrineau told me that around 10,000 folks attended. It was a nice parade everyone I talked with had a great time. I love our Carolina parades; they bring everyone out for a celebration of community. It’s that time when we get to see a lot of people on display who are doing their part to make our Carolinas a better place.

It was an excellent weekend and a fantastic start to the Christmas Season and well worth a repeat.

 Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its eighth year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturday’s at 12:00 noon. For more on the show, visit  www.lifeinthecarolinas.com, You can email Carl White at [email protected].    

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Day 30-35

6-13-17 Day 30: I was told that I wasn't approved to leave a week before my sign off date for my cousins wedding and papas birthday. My mom already bought my plane ticket and everything. My mom emailed the lady who denied the request so hopefully something can be changed. We're technically over staffed so there's no reason for it to not get approved. I would only be leaving a week early, that's it. I also went to st Nicholas (the resort) and laid out. It was so relaxing. And it feels good to wake up and not sleep all day. After work me and Rain went to the crew mess to see what food they had. We started walking and saw something weird from the side door. So we kept walking and sitting there was an entire pig completely cooked and cut open. It was terrifying. And it was stuffed with all of this weird stuff. I completely lost my appetite. Tomorrow is day at sea so it's gonna be a long day. And of course I'm still awake at 3am. It's hard when I don't get off until 1ish and I'm wide awake. 6-14-17 Day 31: sea days fucking suck. I started at the slide. We have 3 with only a worker at 2 of them. Some random worker comes up to me and just hands me a walkie talkie and then walks away. Doesn't say a word. I was switching through all of the channels until I finally heard a police signal. They were looking for a red mustang and were saying all of these codes. I was so confused. Finally I found a worker and asked him which station I should be on. I then had a parent come up to me complaining about how there wasn't an attendant on the little slide. He said there were tons of kids getting hurts as well as one of his. He was not happy and was putting it out on me. I apologized and said I would let someone know. And at this time I didn't know which channel we were supposed to use for the walkie talkie. The communication here is terrible. And the language barrier obviously doesn't help. Some girl came up to me and said you're the first American worker I've met! Which is true. We have a steward that comes and makes our beds everyday and changes the towels. For the past 4 days he's come in and made my bed as well as given us fresh towels but has not touched rains bed. We never see our steward so we haven't been able to ask him. It's so confusing yet so humorous at the same time. Our room looks so nice and then rains bed is all over the place because he hasn't touched it! We have this thing where guests can submit feedback and if they mention our name we get a shout out. If we get 10 shout outs we get a day off. I got 2 last week and 1 this week. It seriously feels so good that I was the reason someone had an amazing vacation. And that these guests went out of their way to recognize me and my hard work. A mom came in today and gave me and Alina gifts. They were rocks she had painted herself. They were so cool. She was Israeli too 😋 I met a family in camp today. They have 9 kids and another one that passed away. Their mom home schools them because they're moving to Honduras in September for a mission trip and are living there for a year. The oldest is 21 and the youngest is 1. It's so cool to get to know these families. And when the kids hug us goodbye and the parents thank us and truly mean it, it's means the world to me. I also met another family with 9 kids. It's crazy to me. And the youngest 2 were twins and were so cute yet so annoying. I miss my kids back at home so much. Typical kids are so annoying and have so much drama. My kids at home are exciting and bring something new to me everyday. There's actually a huge amount of kids who come on the boat who have autism but I don't always have them in my age group. Right now it's 3:03am. I went to crew bar after work. I met a new girl a few days ago from Tennessee. Her name is Candace. She sings in one of the bands. She's super nice and I love having another American around. Because she's a singer she has her own room. Today we got a list of boats and the positions they need. Rain and Alina are signing on to the breeze in September and October. That boat has a circle c position starting in November which is a huge possibility for me. I need to request it tomorrow before it's too late. I need to find somewhere to bring my laptop and eat where there's good wifi. Thankfully packages will come tomorrow too. I haven't been taking a few of my medications the past few days because I ran out and they didn't get here in time. Which is probably why I had a bladder spasm today and yesterday. NOT GOOD. Also got some paperwork today that said MR again. I've corrected them so many times and they can't get it right. Kinda like the Filipinos (I finally spelled it right) who don't know the difference between he and she and her and him. The notes they write to the parents are comical. "You child great. She love play with toy. The boy make a friend and has polite." No joke that's what they say. There's also tons of mistakes in the schedules we give out to guests which is super frustrating. This week my name wasn't on the schedules given out to the parents which sucks because they reference those when it comes to writing reviews. There was names of 2 girls who I've never even met...aka they were on the boat 2 months ago. If I see a mistake I just circle it and put it on our supervisors desk so she doesn't know who did it. Oops 😶 I want it to be tomorrow so I can sleep and get stuff done! I also forgot to write about what happened this morning. In the Kiera of my dead sleep I hear loud weird music. I sit up and realize it's coming from the announcements. The bridge (where the captains are) accidentally turned their awful music on and everyone who was in their cabins could hear it. It went on for a good hour as I smashed my head between the pillows. It was comical at first and then I was just flat out furious. 6-15-17 Day 32: today I got off in Long Beach by myself. I took an uber to a local outlet mall where I sat at Starbucks and got some stuff done with the wifi. We were given a list of positions needing to be filled for the rest of the year so I went and did some research on all the boats. I also set up my account on how to get paid from here. They give us a debit card that the money goes on. We can do direct deposit but it wasn't working for me :/ I also sent my dad a Father's Day gift card online. Then I went across the street and ate at California pizza kitchen. I got to face time my mom and update my phone and stuff. Then I learned there's a bus that I could've used for free that goes from the terminal to the outlets. Poop. I didn't know how to use it though so I just took an uber back too. I asked my supervisor about requesting a boat and she said I can't do it until I have my evaluation. When I asked her when my evaluation would be she said "before you leave" well no fucking shit before I leave. I told her the position I want is going to be taken by then and she didn't respond and just kept looking at her computer. She's such a shitty person it's like humorous. We have this other lady we work with who acts like she's our supervisor and she's not. I've literally never even had a conversation with her yet she thinks she can boss us all around. She confronted me about how I turned off the tv and how I didn't do it right. There was a sign saying to not turn off with a certain button and that's the one I turned it off with. Obviously if I would've saw it I wouldn't have touched it. It was a mistake lady...speaking of mistakes, so we are all required to write notes to the parents about their kids and how they've been doing (it's meant to help us get good ratings) well today I decided to read some and I was totally taken aback. These people do not know how to speak English. I felt embarrassed giving them out to the parents because the letters make absolutely no sense at all. It's so awkward. And one of the ladies wrote all the same things on all the cards and put a line where a name would be. Once she met the kids she went in and wrote their names on the line. Like obviously a parent is gonna know what that means, it means everyone is being given the same card and they're just going in and writing all the names down which isn't the point of them. Went to go pick up my packages today and my medication still isn't here. So I haven't been on 3 of my medications since Sunday. And my mom called Sunday and they said they would over night them here which obviously didn't happen. None of them are super serious but I've definitely been getting bladder spasms now that I'm off one of the medications. I'm also off my thyroid medicine as well as my medication that helps me stay awake during the day. I'll have to call my mom tomorrow and tell her but there's nothing she can do because we can't get mail until Sunday. 6-17-17 Day 34: I had no time to post yesterday. I've been so exhausted I sleep every chance I can. Even when I need to eat a meal or shower I've just been sleeping instead because it's so needed. There's been so much unnecessary drama around here it's crazy. Yesterday we had a mom come in asking to talk to "Ms Candy" because supposedly she called her daughter big and chubby. We apologized to the mom on behalf of ms candy (she wasn't there anymore) and explained to her that there's a language barrier and was probably the main reason behind the comment. The mom was understanding but that's hard for a 10 year old girl to hear. I can't believe our playlist cast is leaving tomorrow. I've gotten to know all 8 of them so well. It's very bittersweet. I'm excited to see how the new cast performs though. It's hard to imagine that anyone could possibly do any better than what we have now. I met a family yesterday who has 5 biological children and fosters 3 on top of that. And their youngest son has autism, so of course I'm already obsessed with them. It's crazy how many kids come on the boat who have autism. I love being able to interact with them. Everyone always asks me advice on how to work with them and make it a great experience for the child. I seriously talk about my kids back at home so much I feel like everyone is so sick of hearing it lol. I saw a shit ton of dolphins today. They were right next to the boat. I might get off tomorrow and go to the beach at Long Beach. I HAVE to get my hair cut it's like humorous how awful it looks. It's like I'm a human paintbrush and my hair is the bristles. Rain did my laundry with hers :p so blessed lol. I went to the candy store today on board. They have the cutest stuff there. They're starting to put them on all the ships. We have some people from the office on the boat. They told us that they have 4 new boats that they're working on. They said eventually they're gonna have a boat that sails to china. I'm actually really content on work at the moment. Yeah I'm really tired but moving in with Rain has helped a lot. It feels good to have someone I can go do stuff with and I conveniently always know where she is. There's obviously a lot of negatives about my work environment and my supervisor who has a stick up her fucking ass, but there's so many positives that come with it as well that make this experience so much fun. I worked night owls this whole week (10pm-1am) last pickup time is 1245 and the parents are told this every time. Yet we still are calling parents at 1 having to remind them that their children are in our care and they need to come pick them up. It's so irresponsible. And half the time the parents are wasted. Parents are also allowed to check out a phone but just return them before 10pm on the last night which never happens either. Tonight one of the late parents came in and literally just threw his trash on the ground. These poor kids are passed the fuck out, so tired, and their parents leave them there all night. I'm off now and I'm eating at crew mess alone. Which I'm okay with besides the stares. I've had a headache all day though so I needed to eat something. We have to be at a meeting tomorrow at 930 to meet with some people from the office. I seriously need to sleep in so badly but not sure when that's gonna happen. I start in circle c tomorrow. It's so weird switching back and forth. And being alone in there is hard as well. Especially during high count which is now. 6-19-17 Day 35: I finally got my haircut yesterday. Winslow picked me up. Got about 3-4 inches off. The lady charged me way too much though and she didn't even wash my hair. I was so mad. I didn't question it though because I was in a rush ugh. I started my week at circle c yesterday. No joke had 30-40 kids in there at one time it was not okay. One of the moms asked if I was alone and when I said yes I could tell she was worried for me. She told me I was doing a good job though which was nice. A lot of the kids think they're too cool for my club and it makes me so mad. Like then don't come if you think it's too babyish. I got to sleep in today 🙌🏾 I had a training at 130 that only lasted 30 minutes. Such a waste of time I could've been sleeping! It was an environment training. They train us on the weirdest things. Yesterday 2 of the people from the office came. They're the ones that hired me. I talked to one of them about not getting approved to leave for my cousins wedding and she's going to look more into it for me. She thinks the week I'm requesting to leave we'll actually be overstaffed because of an event on board so it may work in my favor! We got to talk to one of the ladies about issues we're having. She said Circle c is going to be getting an iPad that kids can request songs on. Right now we're using cds...and the most recent is from 2015. The office thought we had one this entire time...she was also confused as to why I was only here for 3 months and why I'm switching on and off from camp to circle c every week. Seems like the office doesn't know their shit. Even today when I signed in at my training it said my position was club O2. And the other day one of my papers said MR. So frustrating. It's 230 and I have work at 4. I'm gonna take a nap because I have nothing else to do and I'm tired af. Tonight I got to see the rock show with the new cast. Not. Good. They don't even come close to our old cast. It kinda made me so sad. People come and go here so fast it sucks. I have 2 brothers in my club. One of them has autism and the other one supposedly doesn't. The one who "doesn't" is out of control. He is constantly in my space and not listening to me. He asked me for just dance 16. I told him we didn't have it. He asked me at least 4 more times why we don't have it and if we have it. I told him no and then he asks if he can look in the office just to make sure we don't have it. I told him no and that they are not allowed in there in which he walked right in. There's also been numerous times where I've been talking to a parent and he'll come over and interrupt because he wants me to do something. I don't have a problem with having him in the club but I wish his parents would use a little common sense and supervise their kids more. They come and go as they please which is okay, but the mom never knows where they are and doesn't understand how their behavior towards me and the other kids is hard on everyone. At first the boys registered themselves so we didn't even know that one of them had a disability. On top of that I have tons of kids this cruise which makes it hard and I'm getting sick.