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dragonotaku-justineverything · 4 years

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In regards To the abandoned arc Au I’d like to see how jaunes family reacted to his uncle dumping him some where and if possible how they reacted once Jaune got to Argus with his team

(I decided to focus on keeping this more as an origin post. I can answer the “meeting in Argus” part in another ask though.)

(Angst and dark themes ahead. You have been warned)

Nicholas looked down at the bundled up blanket in his arms as he stood in a somewhat crowded hospital room. His wonderful wife was resting after she finally finished giving birth their eighth child, who was also their first son!

When Nicholas and Juniper found they were expecting a boy, they nearly fainted from both joy and relief. Raising eight girls would have been an even bigger nightmare.

But after a long night, as the clock just ticked past 11:00 P.M., Juniper had finally given birth to their newest child Jaune.

Sadly, it wasn’t a picture perfect moment. Their poor boy….he had been born without his left arm. In the place where the limp was supposed to be was only a fleshy lump.

But that didn’t mean a damn thing to Nicholas, Juniper, any of his daughters, or Jaune’s grandparents. He was their family, no matter what he looked like, be it deformity or disability, they loved him and they would always love him. They all looked on with love as Nicholas held his child.

He looked down at the small face of the newborn in his arms. His first son…he finally had a son. He loved his daughters and wouldn’t trade them for the world, but he’d always dreamed of having a boy of his own. He knew Juniper did as well. When they got the news that this time their child was gonna be a boy, they felt over the moon!

Now, it was bittersweet. Their son had a hard life ahead of him with only one arm…. but maybe when he was older they could get him a prosthetic. Sure they were really expensive, but he could just take a few extra mission every now and then to save up for it! Though, Juniper might not like it. She was suppose to be retired, and she had been begging him since their first child to only take small, easy missions close to their home town if they needed any help to cover any unforeseen expenses. They had investments around their hometown for regular income.

A hand being placed on his shoulder drew Nicholas out of his overthinking mentality. Nicholas looked away from his son to trace the arm back to his older brother, David. They had the same build, both being broad shouldered and well muscled upper body overall. Though where Nicholas had a short, rough beard that was well trimmed, David had no facial hair whatsoever. His hair was also buzzed to contrast Nicholas’s shoulder length golden locks.

David spoke before Nicholas could ask anything. “Can I hold him?”

Nicholas smiled warmly as he nodded lightly. “Sure thing brother. Hold out your arms.”

David did just that and Nicholas carefully transferred Jaune’s sleeping form over into his brother’s arms. David looked like he was holding a glass bomb that was ready to blow at any second, but Nicholas only found that funny because that’s how he always looked whenever he held any of their children as babies. Somethings just never change.

David didn’t have much time to look uncomfortable with Jaune though before the Arc family was interrupted by a nurse opening the door and stepping inside. “Excuse me, but we need to have your newborn moved to the maternity ward to be monitored for the night. I can take him there if you’d wish.”

“No need.” David was the one who answered. “I’ll take him there.”

Nicholas tried to intervene, thinking it was his duty to take his son. “Dav, you don’t-”

“Stay with your wife Nick. She’s had a long night and needs her rest, and you need a break. I’ll get him where he needs to go.”

Nicholas looked his brother in the eyes before looking back at his disheveled wife in her hospital bed. She had two of their daughters laying down with her as they slumbered, but her full attention was on Nicholas and David. She gave her husband a slight, reassuring nod to show her agreement. Nicholas looked back to his brother and passed on the nod. “Okay.”

David turned around and offered a somewhat distracted, “I’ll be back.” and moved towards the nurse.

“Okay then, follow me sir.” Together, the two of them left the room, the door quietly clicking shut behind them.

Little did they know the nightmare that was about to happen.

After about 30 minutes of either silence or quiet small talk, the door opened again. The nurse from before came in. After she did a quick survey of the room, she started to become frantic. “T-that man. The one that followed me out of the room. Have you seen him?”

Nicholas brow furrowed in confusion. “My brother David? Not since he left with you. Why?”

“O-oh dear.” Without another word, the nurse hurriedly walked out of the room once again.

Silence permeated the room. No one spoke a word as they all tried to understand what just happened. Before anyone came to a conclusion, the nurse returned through the open door, this time being accompanied by a handful of doctors and security staff.

A man stepped forward. He was wearing a uniform and a utility belt so Nicholas knew this was a security guard. His graying hair showed that he was much older than the other guards. In a very serious voice, he asked, “Everyone, are you all absolutely certain that none of you have not seen the man that left with your child?”

Juniper’s tired voice spoke up from her bed. “Wha-? What’s going on?”

“The man that left with your newborn. Have you certainly not seen him since he left this room?”

“Are you talking about David?”

The nurse from before spoke up, “Yes, your brother, the one you gave your son to to follow me to the maternity ward.”

“N-no… we haven’t seen him since he left with you.”

The nurse rounded to face an older looking doctor. “Just like I said!”

“Michelle, calm down.”

Nicholas’s father, Alexander Arc, seemed have had enough being in the dark. “Will anyone please explain what the dust is going on?!”

The guard was silent for a minute. Then he spoke in a flat tone, “We believe that your brother possibly le-”

Before the man could finish, another person walked into the room. It was David. He walked through the open door of the hospital room and paid no mind to all the sets of eyes that turned to look at him as he sat down in one of the cushioned chairs. Things weren’t silent for long as the same guard that had been speaking started giving out orders. “Michelle, go check the maternity ward again, Rick, go with her, radio me what you find.” The nurse and a security guard ran out of the room. “Vicky, go check the security cameras. If you see him leaving on any of them, radio in where.” A female security guard nodded and took off herself. The older man, now only accompanied by one other security guard, turned towards David. “Alright sir, where is he?”

David didn’t say a word. He just kept looking down at the floor.

So instead, Nicholas spoke up. “Okay, for the last time. What is going on!?”

The security guard glared at David before turning to look at Nicholas. “Michelle, the nurse from before, told us that when these two reached the maternity ward, she’d just finished putting the ankle tag on your boy when she turned around for moment. She claims that when she turned, he was gone and the baby was nowhere to be found.”

“So what? Your saving my brother abducted my son?” That’s stupid, he’s right here. Tell him Dav.”

David once again said nothing.

The radio on the guard’s shoulder ‘chhrk’d to life and a voice called through it. “Sir. The child in nowhere in the maternity ward.”

The guard leaned in towards his radio and pressed a button. “Roger.” The guard sent a David once again. “Tell us where the kid is. Now.”

Nicholas had enough of this. He stepped between his brother and the guard, holding up his hands towards both of them. “Okay, look. I’m sure this is all just a mistake. My brother wouldn’t do a thing to hurt my children. Tell him Dav.” Nicholas got no response. That prompted him to turn his head to face his silent brother. “David?”

David looked up finally, meeting his younger brother’s gaze. Then his lips parted and he finally spoke up.

What he said horrified everyone in the room. “I did what I had to.”

…

Screams of surprise came from the people in the hospital hallway and lobby area as a wall exploded in a shower dust and drywall. Two bodies came sailing through the cloud of dust, one was tackling the other to the ground. Several dull ‘thuds’ were heard from the settling cloud. As the dust thinned, they saw exactly what was happening.

Nicholas was kneeling on top of David, his fists were raining down into his older brother’s face. Blood sprayed as his nose shattered. Aura be damned, Nicholas’s punched harder than a Ursa Major.

David tried to fight back, throwing is own punch up at Nicholas. Nicholas caught the punch by David’s wrist. Without a second though, Nicholas hammered his free hand as a fist into his elbow, bending it inward and breaking it with an unforgivable ‘CRACK’.

David screamed in pain as his arm fell limply to his side. Nicholas slammed his hand down on the shattered elbow, getting another scream from his ‘brother’. With a look of absolute rage, he roared in the bleeding man’s bloodied face. “WHERE IS MY SON YOU BASTARD!?! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HIM!?!”

Through what was probably a broken jaw, a concussion, and pool of blood forming in his mouth, David sputtered out, “B-ba-ac…g-ga-targ.”

“WHERE!?!”

David had to swallow the blood pooling in mouth to speak again. “G-g-ta-age.”

Garage. Nicholas didn’t waste anytime jumping to his feet, accidentally knocking down the few people that had been trying to pull him off the man. Nicholas bolted off down the hallway.

As Nicholas’s thunderous footsteps grew quieter and quieter. Another sound was heard by the crowd that had gathered to see what all the commotion was.

Juniper Arc sobbed openly into her hands. Her mother-in-law quickly stepped over and hugged the distraught mother into her shoulder. She wailed on as everyone watched.

Everyone except Alexander Arc. The old man walked forward towards his one....son. The man was now sitting up, but being detained by the security guards that had been in their room. The blood was no longer in his mouth and was instead running down his chin onto his shirt. “What have you done David...”

David looked up at his father. The cold stare that was staring him down was something he’d feared since he was a child. With his Aura finally kicking in to repair the damage Nicholas had done, he was able to speak a bit more clearly. “W-what needed to be done. That disfigured thing would only have been a disgrace to the Arc family.”

Alexander’s glare didn’t change. “No....the only disgrace to the family here is you. And you better pray Nicholas finds his son.”

...

The door into the hospital’s parking garage blew open as Nicholas slammed through it. “JAAAAAUNE!” He new his son couldn’t answer him, but he hoped for something. A cry, a gurgle, a cough, a sneeze. Anything that could help him find his son.

Nicholas sprinted through the entire garage, looking around every corner and under everything. He kept calling out his name and asked everyone he saw, but no one had seen a child missing his left arm. Nicholas reached the last floor of the garage, and he hoped and prayed his boy would be here.

But he wasn’t. His son wasn’t here.

Nicholas fell to one knee on the concrete. Tears had started flowing sometime during his search, and they only flowed harder now. His son was gone. Somewhere out in this cold world all by himself.

Nicholas let out one last “JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUNE!!” before his voice cracked and he broke down, weeping into his hands.

Jaune Arc, his son who he’d only had the chance to hold for a few measly minutes, was gone...

(This is probably the darkest thing I’ve ever written, but it was a nice change of pace.)

#rwby #jaune arc #nicholas arc #papa arc #juniper arc #mama arc #david arc #alexander arc #arc sisters #arc family #abandoned arc au #ask #sfw #angst #dark #soulreaver656

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isaacbendavid · 3 years

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While he hadn’t been a Rabbi for very long in the grand scheme of his life, Isaac Ben-David had attended plenty of funerals. Jewish funerals. Where the kippot covered heads and the tallit covered shoulders, where mothers and brothers wept and G-d was praised. The Mourner’s Kaddish, in fact, never mentions death or loss. It speaks, instead, of the glory of G-d. How many times had Isaac lifted G-d’s name up in glory, mourned with the People Israel, Kol Yisrael? It was different, now, to be mourned with, to stand before the grave of his wife, to praise G-d as he held his son’s hand, this yahrzeit coming to a close.

What a year in his life it had become. It wasn’t so long ago that Isaac was still waking up each morning with his wife next to him in bed, auburn hair tousled about. When his day consisted of drinking coffee with his grandfather, walking along the beach with his wife and son. When he had been a Torah scholar, a true mensch. Everything had once felt so alive and full of possibility, when they were expecting a daughter, their beloved Talia, whose grave sat beside Shoshana’s now. Isaac had been inconsolable during their shiva, bound to fits of sobbing and then of rage, screams of grief muffled by the shoulder of his father or mother as he fell into them. But such overt displays of resentment and disbelief had been relinquished on that seventh day of mourning, when the eyes of his son had peered up at him, old enough to comprehend his loss. They had lasted only a few months in Tel Aviv following the burial, when Isaac finally admitted he needed help, and Levi and Eliana Ben-David welcome their son back to Eureka.

How strange it was now, to stand in this crowed group of mourners, his parents, cousins, dear friends, worse still, Shoshana’s family. Asher and Sarah Kopel, his brothers and sisters-law, all standing with devastation in their verdant eyes, the same as Shoshana’s. He wondered, often, how they must loathe him. Shoshana had been so young, only twenty-six. They’d not been pleased to learn she was going to run off to Israel and marry Isaac, the then dubious rabbinical student with seemingly limited prospects. They had wanted her to see and have more of life, and then hers had come to such a sudden end. His mother-in-law had cautioned them on their quickness to marriage, that something so sudden was not built to last. They couldn’t comprehend the depth of this love, a love that had given them Noah, a love that would have brought Talia and countless other auburn haired, brown-eyed babies into the world if they’d only had the chance.

They had all gathered at his grandparents’ home, the looming multifamily complex by the sea, where they tried to laugh, to smile, to honor the memory of their sweet Shoshana. Her brother Samuel spoke of their time as children, of near-death experiences they’d kept from their mother, of inside jokes, of the adulation he’d had for his eldest sister. Her best friend, Yael, sang the praises of a woman who had cherished her friends, had loved her son with every fiber in her being, and thanked G-d for bringing Isaac into her life. The stories went on and on, celebrations for a young soul stolen by foolishness. And then it was Isaac’s turn, after her mother and father had wept, as Levi had kept a hand on the back of his son’s head, letting Isaac lean into him for support. But now it was Isaac Ben-David turn to stand, to attest for his great blessing, to speak of the mitzvah that was the life of Shoshana Ben-David, Rebbetzin, Meyven, Macher, Shayna Punim, his Basheret.

“I met Shoshana by chance, a story you all know by now. Shoshana claimed to be so certain of me that she had picked me out from a crowd of men in the Shuk Mahane Yehuda, where she could have had her pick of the ambition, better looking men fighting in the IDF. Somehow, in some way, I had stood out to this magnificent woman. I admit, for the first time in my life, I found the study of Torah much less practical, as I traipsed around the country following her Birthright trip. That was all the time it took, to fall in love. I waited patiently for that spring, when she would graduate from college and come back to visit me, a visit that became permanent. A wedding planned in record time, something we Jews are quite good at… And nine months later, our gorgeous boy, our tatala. I was always trepidatious and Shoshana was always determined. She ran our family home with an iron fist and a soft heart, caring for my beloved grandparents as though they were her own. Now, I think of the small things, how delicately she would comb Noah’s hair in the morning, the way she looked at me when she thought I didn’t notice, and how much she loved all of you. I used to worry that I had taken something from her, bringing her to Israel to live with me. It’s only in this past year that I realized every part of our brief life together was by her design, and I, the happy test subject. I think of the way she would hold my safta’s hand, the way she would sneak my zaide a cigarette and thought I wouldn’t catch him later. I think of all of this, these unspeakable bonds, a love I cannot properly put into words. I think of this woman, my wife, of the two people who made her, of the brothers and sisters and friends who helped shape her, and what a gift and sacrifice it was to share her with me. I…”

It was then that Isaac paused, catching the gaze of Shoshana’s siblings, all younger than her, all looking far too much like her, and the mixture of sorrow and joy in their eyes as Isaac spoke of her. They had loved to host their family year-round, but Isaac had particularly enjoyed Samuel’s gap year, which he’d spent with them in Tel Aviv. Noah had only been a year old, and he had been a heaven-sent addition even as an eighteen-year-old without a lick of Hebrew under his belt. Sarah and Asher might resent Isaac for the rest of their days, but Isaac knew, at least, that he had allies in the rest of the Kopel clan.

“I am a better man for having been loved by her.” Isaac concluded, feeling heavy-hearted and light-headed. He found himself back to his chair, where his father’s arm wrapped around him, his mother’s hand on his knee. And there Isaac sat, prone to a muted agony until the memorializing was over, and he could sit alone on the sands of the Mediterranean Sea as the moon bathed the ocean in white light, and his brain could finally quiet.

And in that quiet, he wondered if it was truly for the best that he and Noah remain in Israel. So much of his shared life with Shoshana was here, dear friends, so much of his extended family, even now some of hers. He could be happy here, free from so much. As he sat, he concluded this was best. But then, as the Rabbi closed his eyes, there she was.

And it was then Isaac knew Eureka would soon be in his sights again.

#tw death #tw grief #I'm selfish never did think about anyone but myself → muse #; drabble tag tbd.

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akagami-no-rae · 5 years

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ANS Week Day 3 - Wind

AO3

An autumn wind swept through Tanbarun’s western mountains, stirring up orange leaves and a chill that promised an early winter. Most of the Lions of the Mountains were going about their morning chores, the hunting parties who left hours before sunrise were just returning with their haul of deer and rabbits to fill the reserves before the snow came and made food scarce. The wind blew again and a royal messenger from Tanbarun arrived at their gates with horse, carriage, a present, and a single armed guard.

He was there for an audience with Chief Mukaze. The messenger and his guard were escorted into their territory and brought into the big house where council and war meetings were held. The guard stood posted at the doors as a small crowd of gossiping people formed outside whispering about peace negotiations and victory. Mukaze leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin. “Tanbarun’s crown has agreed to our terms,” he repeated back slowly and skeptically.

“Yes, your grace,” said the messenger who sat with perfect posture in the chair opposite Mukaze.

“You can stop that ‘your grace,’ business.” Mukaze waved a hand. “I haven’t been a Lord in years.”

“The title is a curtesy given at the crown’s request.”

“If they’re agreeing to free us from their reign, then tell them they can expect us to be a very different country from what they’re used to.” “Of course, your g- Chief Mukaze.”

“Speaking of,” Mukaze leaned forward in his chair, “What are Tanbarun’s terms in this arrangement? They haven’t fought us this hard, for this many years, just to let us go so easily.” The messenger sat up straighter, “Tanbarun, of course, requires that the Lions of the Mountain ally with them in the war against Clarines. And to insure the bond of this alliance Tanbarun’s crown has less of a condition, and more of an amicable arrangement in mind.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Mukaze narrowed his eyes, his mouth quirked in amusement.

The messenger was silent for a moment, his lips twisted slightly as if trying to find the words to properly explain. “Tanbarun’s crown,” he began slowly, “would like to extend an offer that is highly coveted amongst their nobles. It must be stressed that the fact that rebels are being offered this opportunity, at all, is unheard of.”

“Apparently the royals need these rebels’ help to win their war so spit it out already.”

The messenger’s brow creased in anger. “It has reached the prince’s ears that you have a beautiful daughter with rare red hair, is that true?”

Mukaze chuckled and shook his head. “Choose your next words. Very. Very. Carefully.”

“Are you threatening me, Chief Mukaze?” The messenger sputtered, “To be offered a place in the prince’s harem is a great honor, to the woman and her family!”

“Get out.” Mukaze’s voice was a low rumble.

“Excuse me?”

“Get out!” Mukaze advanced on the messenger suddenly. The messenger stood and stumbled over his chair scrambled to take his present box into his arms before backing away. “She’ll have the prince’s ear!”

“I said, get out!” Mukaze shouted. The council members stepped away from the wall and gathered behind Mukaze.

The messenger stepped backwards until he backed into the wooden double doors of the big house. He looked across the group of men and women in front of him and stood tall. “One day, if she gains his favor, she’ll be the first in line as candidate for queen!”

Mukaze stepped forward and in a quiet, almost friendly, rasp said, “Leave now, or we’ll throw you out.”

The messenger slipped one hand onto the door handle. “You should know what you’re giving up: An alliance. A chance at power.”

“I am intimately aware of what you’re offering. Our people knew what we were getting into when we started this rebellion and we won’t sacrifice our children for an easy victory.” The messenger made the slightest turn of the handle and the door flew open, a gust poured in over the crowd and sent the doors shaking on their hinges. Back lit, face dark, cape billowing in the wind the messenger spoke.

“You’re making a mistake you’ll regret.”

He turned and came face to face with a crowd of people all staring expectantly. His guard came to his side in a useless display. The messenger scanned the crowd and his eyes fell on a patch of red hair. He watched as the girl slipped through the crowd and came to stand in the front.

So, the reports were true after all.

The messenger gathered his dignity, held the box in front of himself, and walked towards the red-haired woman. Mukaze appeared from inside the big house and stepped between them before the messenger could get too close. The young woman stepped to the side to look between her father and the messenger. The messenger stepped forward with the box and handed it to Mukaze, “These gifts are intended for your daughter.”

Mukaze reluctantly took the package but made no movement to hand the box over. He simply stared at the messenger who finally turned to his guard. “Let’s go,” he said and the two pushed their way past the crowd and walked towards the town’s gates, a couple Lions followed to ensure their egress.

Shirayuki watched them disappear from view then looked to her father. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” he said, “They simply came to insult us.”

“So, you weren’t going to even give me a choice?” Mukaze and Shirayuki were in their home now. The royal messenger’s visit had created quite the scene. All the Lions were buzzing with what had happened. It didn’t take Shirayuki long to hear it all. She stood across from her father who sat on his chair, the present box opened on the low wooden table between them, its contents on full display. Perfumes, a bottle of fine red wine, a golden hair ornament, apples from the royal orchard, and a dress made of red silk. Tokens of what a life as the prince’s concubine would promise her, meant to entice her. Things she was to use to make herself more presentable to meet a prince.

“What choice?” He picked up the hem of the red fabric, “This is how he sees you. Just a pretty thing he can buy.”

Shirayuki saw the glistening red fabric in her father’s hand turn in her mind’s eye to a blood-soaked sheet on the medic table. Deep wounds beyond her care. The slow fade of a pulse. The Lions were a small faction is this war between two countries. Their high position in the mountains made them difficult to attack and their own strategy relied heavily on guerrilla tactics. Yet this war had taken so many of them. She tended to those who were carried back from skirmishes and raids, some half dead. There were too many she couldn’t help, who were brought to her with infections and gashes that couldn’t be sown together. She helped save hundreds, but how many could she do nothing more than hold as their hands went cold? She’d never be able to look a dying man or woman in the eyes again knowing she could have saved them. Knowing that this war continued because of her. “There are worse fates,” she whispered.

Mukaze’s fingers released the silk and it fluttered back down to the table. His head fell into his hands. “I can’t let you do this,” he said, his voice rasped more than usual, “escaping this very fate is how your mother and I came to the Lions.”

“You always said your uncle tried to marry her...”

“My uncle was the previous king of Tanbarun,” he said, “Your mother and I were newly married, but he wanted to add her to his harem anyway. We’d just discovered she was pregnant with you when they came to take her away. They told me to forget about her and find a new wife. So, I did the only logical thing I could think of: I broke into the palace, set her free, and we ran away to the mountains together. It was winter and we nearly died that first week, I’m sure my uncle hoped we would, but the Lions found us and took us in.” They were silent for a long moment after that. Shirayuki hadn’t heard that version of the story before. Her stomach churned at the thought of the fate of her life being decided by another, but...

“They’ll come for us, won’t they,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “If they’re smart, they’ll wait till after winter when the snow on the mountains melt and our food stores are at their lowest. They’ll come and wipe us out.” Mukaze attempted a protest, but Shirayuki spoke over him. “That messenger came straight to our front gates. They know exactly where we are.”

“We’ll fight them like we always have.”

“For how long?” Her voice nearly cracked. “Until there is no one left?” Her words hung thick in the air. Mukaze was always the one preaching the importance of the retreat, of staying alive and living to fight another day. “My life isn’t worth any more than anyone else’s. Besides, I’ll be okay. This prince is trading a portion if his kingdom for me,” a fire burned in her eyes, “He has no idea what he’s getting.”

Shirayuki spent the rest of that day preparing and stockpiling medicines for the Lions. Salves for topical treatments, medicinal teas, powders for the aching joints of the older residents. She packed everything she’d need for a long journey away. She tried not to think about how she may never come back. She didn’t bother to bring the prince’s gifts with her. Instead she told her father to sell it all and put the money towards food and medicine. The only item she kept was the bottle of wine. Bundled in her traveling clothes, bag over shoulder, she walked through the quiet town.

All the lights were out except for the deck of the bar. She saw her father with his back leaned against the railing, a beer in one hand while he spoke casually with some soldiers. She wanted to remember him like that and continued on her path.

She stopped at the stables to get her horse before going out to the graveyard outside of town where her mother and grandparents were buried. She left the horse to wait for her outside the graveyard gate and found the three plots all in a row. From her bag she took out the bottle of wine and four small cups. She poured a small portion of the wine in each and placed one at each headstone before taking a sip of her own.

She never cared for alcohol herself, but her grandparents had owned a bar in Tanbarun where she grew up. When Shirayuki heard of the Lion’s rebellion she had already been studying herbology for several years and knew that she could help. So, at her behest her grandparents and her moved to the mountains. The two of them ran that bar in town for years before they passed. One sip was enough for her and she set it aside. She left the bottle with them, said goodbye, and left.

On horseback she rode down the mountain path towards Tanbarun. It was a few days travel to the capitol and she hoped that if she rode through the night she’d catch up with the messenger by morning.

It was a long cold night of riding into biting winds. She welcomed it. It kept her awake and fueled something in her to keep her moving forward. She cared about the Lions, she didn’t want to see harm come to them, especially not because of her. But she’d only lived there for four years, all during a time of war, and it never felt like home. Especially not after her grandparents had passed. Leaving Tanbarun, the place she’d grown up, hadn’t been that sad either. Probably because her grandparents had been with her. She missed them but was glad they weren’t here today. They might have tried to stop her, and she might have let them.

The sky was brighter, though the sun hadn’t shown itself through the trees yet, when she finally caught up with the carriage. “Who goes there?” yelled the guard from next to the coach.

“My name is Shirayuki.”

The messenger peeked out the door. “Move along, we’ve no business with you.”

“Your prince is selling a part of his country for me but only knows exactly one thing about me?” She pulled back her hood to reveal her hair. “The girl from the Lions. So, you’ve decided to accept?”

“Yes.”

“Please, come in the carriage and out of the cold. You must be exhausted.”

She hated that he was right. She dismounted and the guard tied her horse to the bridle of the ones leading the carriage. She took a seat inside and the messenger offered her a blanket that she accepted.

“You’re not wearing your gifts?”

“Silk isn’t very practical for traveling.” He didn’t need to know that she left them all behind. She fell asleep before he could ask more questions.

Shirayuki awoke to find herself in midair. Her head suddenly hit the side wall of the carriage which was now below her. Her ears rung and her neck radiated an icy pain. She took stock of herself to make sure she could move, wasn’t bleeding, or trapped. When she was convinced, she was fine she looked around to see the messenger standing and trying to peek out the cracked door above their heads. He must be feeling fine, but she’d wished he’d let her evaluate him first. But he didn’t know her name, how could he have known she was a healer. His face was a pale white.

“What is this?” He turned to Shirayuki. “Do you know these, men?”

Shirayuki’s brow creased and she crawled to her feet and rose to her tip toes to look out as well.

The guard, bless him, stood between them and group of about six armed men. The one who stood in front of him now hit his sword against the guards playfully, like a cat pawing at a mouse. The guard’s leg was obviously injured from falling off the carriage where he rode.

The guard lunged forward, struck once, twice, then the butt of the other man’s sword struck him in the back of the head. The guard crumpled to the floor. The men watching laughed and jeered.

“Are these the Lions? Have they come to steal you back?”

“No, I’ve never seen these men before.”

The men turned their attention to the wagon and Shirayuki dropped to her knees. She searched for her bag in the wreckage of the interior. She felt blindly under a blanket and got a handful of glass. She recoiled, balled her hand into a fist, and pulled the blanket back. Glass shards from a broken window and her bag. She grabbed it and fished around with her good hand. She pulled a small bag of powder. She’d been saving it as a present for the prince, but she needed it now.

She turned to tell him her plan when the messenger forcefully grabbed her hood and shoved it over her head. “Act mute, girl,” he hissed. She didn’t appreciate the rough handling, but she wasn’t going to argue right now. She slipped the powder up her sleeve.

He shouted at the door above, “Take our money! You can have it, just let us go!” The toe of a boot appeared in the crack of the door and kicked it open. He whispered to Shirayuki “Quick give me your things." She looked at him pleadingly and shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he shouted and grabbed her bag from her. He rifled then turned it over. Rations, first aid, packets and jars of medicines, a couple books that had been her mother’s. “Where are they!?” Shirayuki stared daggers.

“No gold?” The man above sighed. “That’s fine, we trade in other things.” Hands reached down and hauled the messenger out like he was nothing. Shirayuki heard him thud to the ground outside. “Please, I don’t have anything, I’m just a messenger. Our food is strapped to the roof-er-side, now.”

“Is that so? What about the girl?” The man above turned and looked down at Shirayuki with a smile. She glared back.

“Some mute girl lost in the woods,” the messenger lied, “Poor thing wouldn’t hurt anyone, best to just let her go.”

The man above jumped down into the carriage. Glass cracked under his boots. He towered over her; he tipped his head to keep it from hitting the new roof. She stood to face him. “Prettier if you didn’t scowl so.” He lifted a hand to brush her cheek. She slapped it away before he could. He looked intrigued then yanked back her hood. Her hair pooled around her shoulders in red waves, her ribbon having fallen out. She thought to use the powder but using it in close quarters with a sure to be angry man thrashing around was too dangerous. She’d wait for the perfect moment. He called back over his shoulder, “Looks like we found our prize!”

They locked her in the carriage that night, took her bag and supplies, but didn’t search her. Nor did they let her treat the cut on her hand. They let the guard, coach, and messenger go. Told them to tell the royals the Talon of the Sea bested them. Seemed an idiotic thing to brag, but Tanbarun’s crown had famously ignored the Talon’s doings for years, or at least they were good at covering up their failed attempts to thwart them. Why not brag?

Unable to sleep she stayed up planning an escape instead. Since someone sat guard on the door above, she could hear him snoring, she made a plan for morning, but it also occurred to her that aside from a quick peek outside earlier she had no clue where she was aside from inside a flipped wagon. If she somehow was able to make a break for it, she didn’t have much of a plan beyond that. She supposed it didn’t matter too much though.

“Psst, wake up. Do you see that?” She heard the voice of the man above. The snoring stopped. The door rattled under the moving weight of the man as he sat up.

“What?” Asked a groggy voice.

“There’s a soldier approaching. Rich one too from the looks of it.”

“That’s some nice-looking armor.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” A sharp whistle. “Boys, get up. We got a quick job coming our way. Probably coming home from that battle between the warring countries. We strike quick and he won’t know what hit him.

“Soldier, stop right there!”

“Looks like you’re having some cart troubles,” a more distant voice said.

She hoped this soldier had a sense of humor and wasn’t actually that stupid. She heard the twang of a bow string then a slash and crack. “Whoa there, I’ve had enough fighting for one day.” He sounded unhurt, friendly even. “I’m just trying to pass by.”

Without another word the sounds of fighting began. Swords and bows. Horses whinnied. She heard the man above her swear and hop from atop the carriage. Without missing a beat. She pushed the door open and pulled herself out. She looked around to get an idea of the area and the best direction to run. She saw the soldier fighting the pirates on the road, it was dark, but the full moon shone on his hair, pale as the moonlight itself, and his armor. It looked well-fortified and decorated, though she couldn’t imagine killing someone over it. She looked elsewhere for an escape and saw that part of the road and been dug out. The pirates must have cut loose the horses and without control the carriage rolled over the soft dirt and flipped.

Then she saw a narrow bridge ahead. Only wide enough for a single wagon at a time. She remembered taking that bridge to the mountain’s years ago, she’d been afraid of it, but Grandpa and Grandma assured her it’d fine. She hoped they were right tonight. She hopped down and ran through the pirate camp, stopping only briefly to grab her bag and quickly check its contents- all there. She thought to grab her horse, only to see all but the soldier’s horse was running away. She supposed she couldn’t blame draft horses nor her own mare for being scared off by the noises of a fight. Without wasting a moment more she ran for the bridge.

Just as her foot was about to land on wood panels a hand yanked her shoulder. The man from above was there grabbing hold of her.

“I’m not going back to Umihebi empty handed.” He tried to pull her and grab her arms, but she freed herself. She pulled the powder from her sleeve, opened it, and threw it at the man’s eyes. He screamed, clutching his face, trying to rub the powder away. She ran from him, not taking a breath until she was certain she was far enough away.

Adrenaline fueled her, telling her feet to run faster to forget height and rushing water below. She almost didn’t hear the sound of hooves over the sound of her own heart beat. The soldier on his horse pulled ahead of her before slowing and reaching down a hand.

“He’s about to cut the lines,” he spoke the words and her head whipped back to see the man above eyes swollen and red sawing on the corded ropes with a knife. They were only halfway across.

“Hurry!” He shouted and she took his hand. He swung her to sit in front of him on the saddle and kicked hard. They galloped, hooves barely making purchase with the bridge before already making the next step. Then the next step didn’t come, and they were falling.

#ans week 2019 #answeek2019 #wind #war au #day 3 #really getting down to the wire on these #I couldn't stop adding to it it just felt weird ending without her and zen having met up #like why else am I here?#I found a draft of this is my notes wrote A YEAR AGO #so I brushed it up a little and #gave it an ending #posting without editing!! what could go wrong!!

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worryinglyinnocent · 5 years

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Fic: When We’re Old

Summary: Gold and Belle discuss getting older and what will happen to their relationship in their twilight years.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “That might just be the least romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” This was also inspired by the song of the same name which was Lithuania’s 2018 Eurovision Song Contest entry. Don’t ask…

Rated: G

When We’re Old

“Have you ever thought about what will happen when we’re old and grey?”

“That might just be the least romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Belle looked sideways at her husband.

“Be that as it may,” she said, “you didn’t answer my question.”

Gold sighed. “I try not to think about it. I’m already halfway to senility and I’ll reach it long before you do. I don’t want to imagine a world where I look at you and I don’t know who you are.”

“None of that.” There was no sternness in Belle’s voice, just fondness. Her eyes told a different story, a hint of sadness in their striking blue depths. Belle’s eyes had been one of the first things that Gold noticed about her. They were so expressive. No matter what she might be saying or how she might be smiling, Belle’s eyes always betrayed her true feelings.

Gold knew that she didn’t like it when he spoke so disparagingly of himself. It wasn’t that what he had to say hurt her in herself; it was not that she disliked being reminded that she’d married a man several years older than her. She hated the bitterness in his voice. She hated that he hated himself.

Over time, her love, and moreover her persistence in it, had begun to change his perceptions of himself. If Belle, so bright and young and bold and so unashamedly good could see the good in him and think him worthy of her love and affection, well, maybe there was something in there after all.

“I hope that we’re together when we’re old.” Belle tucked her feet up under her on the sofa and gave a happy little sigh as she snaked her arms around Gold’s middle, burrowing in under her arm and staying there, curled up tight and snug like a cat. “I can just picture us sitting out there on that little bench in the garden, covered in blankets and sipping our tea, all grey-haired and bespectacled. Like stereotypical grandparents, you know. Maybe we will be grandparents by then.”

“We’re already grandparents,” Gold pointed out. “Well, I am, at least.” He thought of little Henry, nearly six months old now and growing fast.

“Great-grandparents then. Can you imagine Henry growing up and having kids of his own?”

“I’m still coming to terms with Neal growing up and having kids of his own, let alone Henry.”

He couldn’t help giving another sigh, and Belle looked up, unhooking one arm from around him and pressing a fingertip to the frown line between his brows.

“Why are you so tense?” she asked, gently rubbing his forehead. “I know that you’re older than me, love. I’ve always known that. I’m under no illusions that you’re going to get old sooner than I am. I can do basic maths. And you know me well enough to know that I’m not going to run for the hills when you do hit your senior years. You’re stuck with me forever, whether you like it or not.”

“I do like it. God, Belle, there’s nothing I want more than to see your face every day for the rest of my life.”

“So, what’s the problem, my darling? Please talk to me.” She untangled herself from him fully, squirming around until she was sitting in his lap, and Gold couldn’t help melting into her ready embrace.

“It’s not fair on you,” he mumbled to the curtain of her hair. “You’re my wife. You shouldn’t have to be my carer.”

“A carer is exactly what a spouse is,” Belle said levelly. She was stroking his hair, letting him rest his head against her shoulder. God, he felt old. “We care about each other.”

“It’s still not fair.”

“It’s life, love. It’s just the way it is. I don’t think it’s not fair.”

“You can’t exactly be looking forward to it.”

“No. But I’m not dreading it either. My feelings towards you getting older are entirely ambivalent because we all get old. I’m getting older too, just not at the same rate as you. In twenty years when you’re a pensioner, I’m not still going to be the same age I am now, am I? You’ve got a head start on me, that’s all.”

It made sense to think of it in that way. Perhaps because there were twenty years between them, Gold had never been able to visualise Belle as anything other than her young self, even though, looking back, he had known her for eight years and she was definitely not the same fresh out of college girl she’d been when she had first come to Storybrooke. When he thought of the future, of him a frail and weak old man, he never aged up Belle in unison. To him she was eternally young and lovely, and he knew he would always see her that way even as she did get older.

Maybe the same went for Belle. Maybe she would always see him as she saw him now.

“Ok, think of it this way,” Belle began again, and Gold realised that he hadn’t actually said anything for the last few minutes, too lost in his own musings. “If our positions were reversed and I was older than you, would you think it was unfair on you that I would hit my dotage before you and you would have to take care of me?”

“Of course not.”

Belle heaved a dramatic sigh and took his face in both her hands. Her eyes were smiling.

“Then why do you think that I would feel any differently, you silly sausage?”

“Erm.” Gold didn’t have a ready answer for that one, and Belle laughed, kissing him softly.

“You’re not a burden,” she said. “You never will be, to me, because I love you. I know that so many people have devalued your worth all through your life, but love is never a burden. You looked after your aunties when they got old, didn’t you?”

“That’s different. They raised me; they looked after me when I was young. I owed it to them.”

“No, you didn’t. Not like that. You owed it to them to make sure that they were cared for, but you could have used your money to make sure that they were well looked after and not got involved yourself. You went beyond that. You were there for them. You brought Aunt Elvira to live with you and Neal after Aunt Miriam died, when you could just as easily have put her in a nice old people’s home. That’s love, you daft thing.”

“If you love me so much, don’t call me daft.”

“You’re being daft. I merely speak as I find.” Belle rested her forehead against his. “I love you and I always will. I’m not saying that there aren’t going to be ups and downs, and I know that getting older isn’t going to be plain sailing for either of us. But don’t go doing anything drastic because you think I deserve better.”

“The thought never crossed my mind!” Gold protested, even though before this conversation it had done. Several times.

“The only unfair thing about you being older is that I’ll likely have to live in a world without you at some point. And we’re not talking that far in the future. Ageing is inevitable. Why worry so much about something you can’t control?”

Gold knew that he was irrational, especially regarding Belle and her sheer tenacity when it came to love. And to him. More specifically to loving him. He’d tried to talk her out of it so many times, always on the path to self-sabotage, but Belle had always stood her ground, seeing through his bluster and bravado, seeing through his coldness to the insecure man beneath, desperate to be loved but afraid of the terms and conditions that love had come with in the past for him.

With Belle, there were no conditions. She loved him, for all his flaws, and now that they were married he had finally just about stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop and accepted that she loved him and that was all there was to it.

“You’re remarkable, you know,” Gold said. He could hear the wonder in his own voice, and he knew that as long as Belle lived, he would never stop being mesmerised not only by her beauty, but by her soul. “I hope that we’re together when we’re old too.” There was really no one else he could imagine spending his twilight years with. And after all, old age wasn’t the end of everything. There was a certain freedom that came with it. Once they were both retired, there were all sorts of adventures that they could go on.

He thought of Belle’s vision of them sitting in the garden together. Maybe we’ll be grandparents by then. There was a lot of life left to live before they reached that point, and he knew how silly it was to be talking like he had one foot in the grave already.

Belle kissed him again. He was definitely stuck with her and he didn’t know what he’d do if he’d followed through on any of the increasingly ridiculous and desperate plans he had made regarding Belle’s future. It was selfish to make such decisions for her in the hope of preventing an imagined heartbreak that he knew deep down would never come.

Gold was never going to be able to let the old insecurities die; they were too ingrained in his subconscious for that. But all he needed to do was look at Belle and see her looking at him like that, and he would know that the dark thoughts gripping him were unfounded.

He saw them old and grey together out in the garden. Maybe Henry would visit from college. He hoped he’d get to see great-grandchildren in his lifetime. And maybe more grandchildren. Belle had brought up the topic of children before, and he had always deferred the conversation, figuring that soon she’d come to her senses and remember that he was too old to be a father again.

Maybe he wasn’t. Belle didn’t think that he was, even if she’d dropped the subject for a while. Perhaps it was time to revisit it, but not right now. Now he was content just to hold Belle close, knowing that no matter how many years might pass, she was never going to be far away from his arms.

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #Belle French #Mr Gold #rumbelle #Fic: When We're Old

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savingsundays · 5 years

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he died having never spoken to his grandchildren; he didn’t even know how many he had. how could he? he was estranged way before they were even born. until they saw his death certificate his grandchildren did not even know his name. he was remembered as a good father, but only when he wasn’t drunk. at his funeral his children spoke about him fondly and sadly, words peppered with regret. his daughter recalled the one time she had to run away from him with a broken ankle, his son another when he punched his wife who sat beside him in the car. but he was a good father, they always made sure to add. he taught them Japanese, he bought them ice cream, he knew Taekwondo. he was a good tailor, he ran a shop in lucky plaza, even the caucasians would come to him for their suits. his last days were spent immobile on the hospital bed, but even then he was still sharp with his tongue. he shouted at his children who visited, so loudly that even the nurses and other patients stared. but even this was not new.

you would think that a person so consumed by bitterness must have truly resented the past, which is why his sons were so surprised when they found a collection of old photos in mint condition from over 40 years ago, in the one-room flat he was sharing with another person. they were possibly his most valuable possession: a glorified past. he had 6 children, all of whom asked if they could take him in. each time he would say no, and reprimand them. he could not help it, his children would reason after his death, he was mentally ill. if only there was counselling back in those days, they said. perhaps he could have been saved—the life of more than one person would look so different now. the heartbreaking truth is that he had such a beautiful family, but didn’t want it.

he had asked for a divorce years ago, for reasons unknown. perhaps it was a voluntary exile. perhaps he had had enough of hurting his wife when he got drunk. perhaps he hated her, like he did everything. which is why she had no tears to cry during the funeral. when her grandchildren asked her how she felt she said she felt nothing. after a moment of silence she said, why was he so stupid? he could have lived a good life. it was her choice to marry him—he was afterall so charming in his youth. he was a good man, but a terrible husband. it was her choice not to get divorced too, even after years of abuse. how could she have known that the charismatic man she had loved would turn out to be an abusive alcoholic? like everyone else she too was surprised to discover that he had kept their wedding photos all these years. a petite woman with a handsome young man. who was that woman who stood so poised, so assured of her future with that man? she no longer recognised her former self. she stared blankly at the photo, tunnelling through a broken past and vaguely recalling the person she used to be. who were our grandparents, our parents, before we became an extension of themselves? we didn’t choose them as much as they didn’t choose us. what did they feel towards each other and did they think it enough to build a home?

in a way his greatest gift to his family was time together. during the funeral his children and grandchildren came together, so did his siblings and their children and their grandchildren. he had no friends, but that was expected. they spoke about him, good and bad. his grandchildren could finally colour in the outlines of what they knew about him from older sketches and stories. all through the nights they folded paper in the shape of Chinese ingots for him, money for the underworld. it was the least they could do for him now that he was dead, since he didn’t want anything from them while he was alive. funerals are not for the dead. they are for the peace of the still living.

of all his children he favoured one—his first son. who else? he was Chinese after all. his entire family had arranged a dinner for his 80th birthday, which was the first and last time some of his grandchildren would see him. he insisted on talking to no one but his eldest son, for whom a seat was reserved at the dinner table. this son would admit later, during the funeral, to his children, nieces and nephews, that he did not know how to be a good father, because he never had a role model. his son and daughter looked down; they could not bring themselves to agree or disagree. life would look so different for them if their father had a good father, but who can twist the hands of time? it is tempting to dwell on happier alternate realities, but they know better now, for that was perhaps their grandfather’s fatal mistake.

looking through the photos his granddaughter finds that there are two versions of this stranger she would remember: one, him as a dashing young man with an intense gaze which exhibited confidence in a bright future and two, the same man reduced by age to a vulnerable and skinny build with a smile that revealed missing teeth and a weariness on his face from a life lived alone.

how could they be the same person? who was he and did he ever think of his family? did he ever feel guilty? did he regret anything? did he look at his hands, ever, and think about what he built and destroyed? she knew he was trapped in a prison of resentment and anger, but nobody would ever tell her what he was upset about. there was much about him she knew but did not understand. when she was younger she used to sleep next to her grandmother who would rehash these stories of abuse. sometimes she was woken up at night by the sound of her grandmother talking in her sleep. she always sounded afraid. who wouldn’t, if your husband punched you while you were asleep? she thought to herself on the first day of the funeral that she could not feign any emotion because she barely knew her grandfather. and besides, he chose this loneliness, knowing that on the other side of it was a richer, fuller life. but on the last day, after all the stories she had heard about him, after he had been cremated, after she had watched her father and her aunts cry, she too felt a deep and honest heartache. she wondered if he had treated himself with the same cruelty he showed his family, if his pain within was as violent and mutant as the pain he had inflicted. she wondered if it was, instead, loneliness that chose him. she would never find out. how could she? he died having never spoken to his grandchildren.

rip yeye. if i had the right words, i would have written them already.

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the-record-columns · 6 years

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May 16, 2018: Columns

Ruth Graham—a lifetime of being good to others...

Editor’s note: The following are remarks give by Ken Welborn at the Tuesday funeral of Ruth Graham.

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Good morning.

My name is Ken Welborn, and I am honored to be given a few moments to speak about a truly remarkable lady, Ruth Graham.

On Monday afternoon, when I called Dickie Whittington to tell him I might be a bit late for the Rotary meeting because I was going to Ruth Graham's wake at Reins-Sturdivant, he went silent, then he drew a long, slow breath and said simply, “Heaven got another angel this past Thursday.” That reaction was universal-- sadness, and then a quick recount of something Ruth had done for them, their family or a friend.

In addition to her work as a wonderful nurse, and as director of nursing at Wilkes General Hospital, she was also involved with many outside groups and organizations, notably working tirelessly on the Dr. Fred C. Hubbard Scholarship Fund.

She had a deep abiding love of God, and for this historic church in which we have gathered to remember the wonderful soul that was Ruth Graham.

And how she loved this church (the First Baptist Church of North Wilkesboro). Her obituary noted that she was a member of the Home Health Board, a Deacon and Assistant Clerk, as well as serving on the Library Committee, the Homebound Committee, and the Benevolence Committee. Just the names of the groups on which she served speaks volumes to her kindness and sincere interest in the welfare of others. Her name would come up in the company of folks like Raymond Blevins, and U. W. Foster, just to name a couple of First Baptist icons in their own right.

There was simply no downside to Ruth Graham. If she had an enemy on this earth, they have had the good sense to keep their mouth shut about it.

Most of my life with Ruth revolved around her long-standing friendship with my second father-in-law, Dr. William L. Bundy. They had worked together for many years at the then Wilkes General Hospital after Ruth had moved to Wilkes in 1954 with her husband, James “Jim” Graham, a teacher at Millers Creek High School. While she did not work for Dr. Bundy. she certainly worked with him a great deal, most notably often making hospital rounds with him at night after his office had closed. This was a blessing for Dr. Bundy and his patients, because his hearing problems were legendary, and, while Ruth's notes were a great help, her hearing clarified many a patients concerns and conversations with the good doctor, to the benefit of all.

Circumstances create a lot of twists and turns in people’s lives. If ever the saying “when one door closes another door opens” has a home, it is in the lives of Ruth Graham and Bill Bundy. In 1989 Jim Graham died suddenly and shortly thereafter Beatrice Bundy also passed away. Call it what you may, random changes, fate, karma, but, after a few months had passed, Ruth Graham and Dr. Bundy, already friends for many, many years; were inseparable.

I already knew Grandpa Bundy to be as kind and as forgiving a man as you could ever want to know, and I soon came to know Ruth Graham as an angel on this earth. As he became more feeble, I would offer to do some task or errand for him, but he would always brush it off, “Graham knows who to call,” or “Mrs. G. has already looked after that.” The one thing I did do for him was to start putting his morning paper behind his storm door after I saw him almost fall down the front steps one morning. He did go along with that one.

Bill and Ruth went everywhere together, and it became obvious they were far more than just friends. In some ways shy, and certainly not the most demonstrative person you ever met, Grandpa Bundy never really confided his feelings to me. Then one evening when Ruth had called me to go check on him because he wasn't answering the phone, I went to his house on Cowles Street in North Wilkesboro. As soon as I arrived, I knew exactly what the problem was--his hearing aids--because I could hear the television set outside in the driveway. His batteries had run down and he had gradually cut the sound up on the TV so he could hear the programs, and he couldn't begin to hear the phone ringing.

After I let myself in and got his attention, we changed out his batteries and he called Ruth to let her know he was all right. As I sat in the chair next to his recliner, they spoke for about five minutes. I waited patiently till they finished, because on these particular evenings I would often stay awhile and we would swap stories. He could be funnier than Jay Leno. He then closed the phone call to Ruth with “I love you, goodnight.”

Well, I don't know that I had ever heard him utter those three words to anyone since I met him as a high school student in 1965. So, with my new found opening I felt emboldened a bit and asked him if he would mind if I asked him something kind of personal. “What's that?” he replied. I told him that I had heard him say out loud something that I and everybody else already knew, that he loved Mrs. Graham.

He smiled broadly and queried, “And?” So I blurted out, “Why didn't you just marry her and get it over with?” “Kenneth,” he began, “I had no idea she could manage to keep me alive this long, or I would have.”

And take care of him she did, to the very end. Ruth, me, and a niece and nephew were at home with Grandpa Bundy when he drew his last breath on a hot Friday evening in August of 2003. Jimmy's wife, Diane, told me that the last sound Ruth made was to say, “Bill…, Bill...” just before she died.

Now that's a love story for the ages.

I'm just about finished, but I want to leave you with something that I know will have Ruth smiling down at us today.

In her obituary, when it came to the part about the family visitation at the funeral home on Monday, it said that “... those attending can help celebrate Ruth's life by wearing red.”

Well, anyone that knew her knew that she was the enthusiastic N. C. State Wolfpack fan that ever lived. She will be wearing her bright red jacket throughout eternity, complete with an N. C. State pin.

It is with this in mind that I share with you her favorite bumper sticker of all time, one which she faithfully displayed on her car. So with a nod to Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson, here it is, words to live by from Ruth Graham, “Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be Tar Heels.”

Thank you.

Ruth Long Graham

September 8, 1925 – May 10, 2018

Rest in Peace

After Mothers Day

By LAURA WELBORN

It's the Mothers Day cards and good wishes that make Mothers Day all worthwhile. Behind the cards and sentiments is the feeling of being appreciated. We may not do everything right but when we get the chance to see our children become parents and when they acknowledge how hard being a parent is that we realize our life’s work is worth it. Because being a parent is the hardest work we do.

As a grandparent I work hard at keeping my mouth shut and not constantly reminding my child that I was a Pediatric nurse, a child development specialist and a mother and stepmother of nine. The inside of my mouth has sores from chomping down and not giving advice. (I am not always successful as I do slip more than I care to admit) I am reminded of the saying, “You are never a King in your own land.” Quite frankly I found being a stepparent much easier as I could relax and just be a “buddy” and not be responsible for the outcome. My best advice comes from living and “walking the talk.” I try to plant little seeds of wisdom and hope they grow without me hovering and over watering the seeds.

I like to think of myself as raising my children in the “free-range parenting style” versus the helicopter parent, but being a grandparent has challenged that theory. I guess as we get older we worry more see the upcoming hardships and want to change the story. What I have found is that I try and make my advice general life lessons that I have learned (usually the hard way) and stay away from the direct advice of “don’ts and do’s” they listen more. So here goes:

What we focus on grows stronger in our life, so its important to focus on the positive and take responsibility for our happiness even when we don’t feel like it. How do we train our mind to make the best of what we’ve got in front of us, even when it’s far less than we expected is the key.

The stories we tell ourselves change what we see in life. When we enter an experience with a story about how life is, that tends to be what we see, even when there’s plenty of evidence against it. So it becomes important to check our stories to make sure they are not reinforcing our own viewpoint.

How do we keep our children from letting the bad things that happen take over their thinking? Negative thinking stops us from seeing and experiencing life’s positive and neutral outcomes, even when they happen often. It’s as if there’s a special mental block filtering out everything except the data that confirms the negative biases we have. The answer is to redirect towards positive thoughts ultimately helping them change their response. There are people I know that have faced a lot of childhood adversity, yet they keep a healthy happy attitude and their lives are positive against all odds. Then there are those that have less traumatic childhood experiences but they get stuck on the negative and tend to live very unhappy lives.

I want my children to be able to be the ones who overcome the negative (adverse childhood experiences) and pass on a positive happy childhood to their children, so maybe I will slip in a few of these words of wisdom along the way.

Transforming the Landscape

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

Right now in Israel there is much taking place. The US Embassy has moved to from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. The Iranians are threatening Israel on her northern border with Syria and the Palestinians are rioting along the Gaza border sending firebombs attached to kites over the border fence causing Israel’s harvest to go up in smoke. Yet, even in the face of turmoil and chaos, Israel presses on leading the way in so many areas to include science and technology - both of which are important to America’s farming communities.

For example, Israel is a powerhouse in agricultural technology and holds an edge in genetic plant research. Her advances in gene editing (GE) have the potential to make agriculture more sustainable for the world’s booming population, despite climate change.

In arid regions of the world, drought can slash crop yields by up to 25 percent. Israeli scientists are researching desert plants such as East African natural wheat cultivars, which resist drought and intense heat. But wild wheat cultivars expose them to a toxic compound, making them useless for breeding, said Dr. Avi Perl, chief scientist for the Israeli Ministry of Agriculture. “We are genetically editing these cultivars to eliminate the gene responsible for the negative traits,” he said. “Then we can safely use them to introduce drought- and heat-tolerant cultivars into commercial wheat.”

Safe use is key, Perl stressed, emphasizing the difference between editing genes and modifying them. Genetically modified organisms (GMOs) introduce DNA from foreign species into plants, often with unpredictable results. But gene editing simply removes a gene with an undesirable characteristic that occurs naturally in one species.

“Genome editing mimics what God does through natural mutation,” Perl said, speaking by phone from his experimental vineyard in the Mediterranean heat. “In a vineyard growing green grapes, the farmer finds a red one of the same cultivar. This is a natural mutation in color. That’s why gene editing is a safe breeding tool.”

Despite scientists’ duplication of a natural phenomenon, every novel food product in Israel must pass a rigorous risk assessment and regulation process, Perl said. “We read all the genes in the plant to ensure there’s no random insertion of foreign DNA into the crop from another source. There’s a Yiddish saying, “Don’t just wear your belt, put on your suspenders too—in other words, provide an extra layer of safety.”

Because of Israel’s risk-assessment and registration processes for GE foods, the USDA in 2017 approved it as a breeding tool, and also permits the marketing of GE agricultural products without labels. But plants and their progeny into which foreign DNA is inserted remain subject to regulations and guidelines, and require USDA consumer labeling in the United States.

Experts agree that the safety of genetically modified foods has not been proved. But due to consumer concern about GMO safety—it’s important for the public to be informed of the facts as to the safety of GE foods, Perl said. Otherwise, resistance to innovation could curb its potential to combat hunger and disease.

Gene editing can make our foods safer to eat, Perl said. Potatoes are popular, and children love fries and chips. But when potatoes are cooked in hot oil, temperature shock produces acrylamide, a toxic carcinogen that also disrupts hormones, stimulating premature puberty. Israeli scientists are examining deletion of the acrylamide-producing gene.

They’re also tackling a gene in eggs that causes allergies and adverse reactions to measles, mumps, rubella, and flu vaccines, which use egg protein or cells during production. “Eliminating the gene would make eggs a valuable source of hypoallergenic protein and produce safer vaccinations,” Perl said.

Gene editing holds promise for medicine as well. Medical cannabis research in Israel focuses on deleting the THC compound that causes hallucination, while retaining benefits such as pain relief. The new medical marijuana plant may eventually treat anxiety and depression without the risk of addiction.

“In bigger countries, there’s often resistance to innovation when you bring a new technology to agriculture,” Perl said. “But farmers here are eager for innovation, which eases the testing process. Israel is like a small beta [product-testing] site for the rest of the world.”

Though Israel bans commercial GE crop production, it endorses GE research and development, subject to seed-regulation laws. Israel's Ministry of Agriculture has announced the allocation of funds to subsidize GE research for breeding new fruit and vegetable varieties.

Early Summer

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

What do you do when Summer comes early? In the Carolinas tubing and kayaking down a meandering river is a favorite for many. My niece Kaylee enjoys being in the sunshine with family, friends and no cell phones.

As it turns out the Yadkin River is a great place to meet another fun-loving nature enthusiast. 11:00am -6:00pm is a good float time. You can get a good amount of sun, and there are easy access places to stop and enjoy a picknick along to way.

One of the places that Kaylee’s group likes to put in is at the park in Ronda NC and float down to Elkin. The waters are smooth for the most part.

It’s a great way to take the edge off, and even with a group, you can get some quiet time. She says, “it’s just you and the sounds of nature.”

It’s important to know the waters you are in, and responsible floaters always carry a few extra trash bags and clean up after those who are less considerate. Kaylee said, “I would not necessarily call someone out on being a litterbug, however, “We like to leave places better than we find them.” It’s a regular part of our summer life, and it just would not be right to leave the trash for others.”

Many of our Greenways in the Carolinas join up with waterways. I have written about the calm of brackish waters of the moss-draped Live Oaks along the Waccamaw River in Conway SC. It’s a beautiful stop on the way to Myrtle Beach.

Goat Island Park in Cramerton NC features guided and non-guided walking trails and welcomes the South Fork River which is another favorite for many kayak enthusiasts. If you catch the park on the right day you can take part in other local activities.

Falls Park in Greenville SC offers both city dwellers and visitors a chance to enjoy a tranquil moment with nature as the Reedy River provides a natural water feature and the well-maintained trails inspires the user to leave behind the unwanted stress of the day.

It is reported that the impressive Liberty Bridge is unique in its geometry and there is nothing like it anywhere else in the United States.

Harriet Wyche brought the idea of Falls Park to the Carolinas Foothill Garden Club and worked tirelessly with others to see that it was built.

She said “I believe having a place where city people can go is as important to a community as an economy is. A green area is absolutely vital to any urban place.”

In the Carolinas we have many places to commune with nature. The kind of places that allows us to forget about our troubles. If we are lucky, we may just leave most or all of them on the trail. I am sure they are biodegradable.

It’s easy for me to be proud of my niece for embracing nature and a since of responsibility in keeping it tidy.

Of all the things she loves, kayaking with her mother and fishing with her father are at the top of her list. These are the things that bring about her biggest smiles.

I join the list of many others who take heart in the line from the film directed by Robert Redford. ” In life and in love all memories become one and a river runs through it.”

May we all enjoy the heat that drives us to our rivers and streams and the memories that will last a lifetime.

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 seventh year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturday at noon. For more on the show visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com, You can email Carl White at [email protected].

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