Why do we park on a driveway and drive on a parkway?

If olive oil comes from olives, and peanut oil comes from peanuts, then baby oil comes from . . . And how does when get the job of baby squisher? These are some of the many thoughts that rattle inside my sometimes vacuous head. Thoughts jump from point to point with connections that only I get. Don't ask me how I got there, I just did, ok? Ideas metamorph into grand epic tales leaving people glued to the edge of their seats. Life of the party. Belle of the Ball. I delight and amuse all who enter my orbit. However, surrounded by beings rapt by my sagas, I am still lost. I remain untethered. I am drowning in self doubt. Am I talking too much? "Shut up already". But, they remain interested, seemingly. Should I stop? But, I have so much more so say, me and my neuro divergent brain.

A Whole New You

"Do you wish to proceed?" The words flashed on the screen taunting me as I thought of the person I was. This version of me had made many mistakes. I had let a man use me for my looks and let him get away with undermining me at every turn. I had let myself be undervalued at work. I was not kind to myself and therefore gave way too much of myself to others. The new me was just waiting to be born. These days that is how it is done. The amazing advancements in technology made it so that we could shed our skin like a snake and reinvent who we were. I looked at the shells of my past self all sitting there dead and forgotten. When your consciousness was uploaded into a new shell you retained your old memories. They did not want you to repeat your old mistakes.

Would Marianne version 44 be any different from the ones that went before? Every year since I was born my parents pressed that button, allowing for my "rebirth." I had the option of not pressing that button, delaying my resurrection for another year. I so desperately wanted to escape who I had been. All I needed to do was to press that button. The new me would have to leave things in the past . . .

"Marianne you can't stick you head in the sand forever. At some point you need to grow up!" The words pierced her heart. She looked up at the man she thought she would spend the rest of her life with and could not find him. Where had the gracious, sweet man she had fallen in love with gone? This creature staring at me, reading me the riot act was foreign to me. I felt crushed and wanted to turn and run the other way.

"What has changed?"

"Me," his eyes turned down, his face blushing a deep shade of red. I knew that he was not being completely honest with me. I needed for him to tell me what I had done wrong.

I waited patiently for him to elaborate.

"Look, Marianne it isn't anything you did, I just don't feel the same."

"Overnight? Your feelings were there last night when we made love. Whether you intend to or not, your body makes a promise when you sleep with someone. When you close your eyes and kiss me, your lips make an unsaid vow to love me forever. All lies?" My eyes stung with rejection. I could not help but think that had I been brighter, prettier, nicer, that maybe he would still be in love. I had just not been enough. All of who I was, had not been enough for him.

"Marianne, I know that you think it was something you did, or did not do, but I just fell out of love. These things do happen," I nodded at him dumbly. Would the new me finally have a backbone? Would the new me have some self worth? Brandon treated me the way he did, because he knew he could get away with it. I had shown him through my actions that it was okay to treat me poorly. I wondered if there was going to be a new me, would there be a new Brandon? Would new Brandon and new Marianne be right for each other?

I shook myself out of those thoughts. New Brandon, or not I should not be entertaining the idea of being with him. He was toxic, and could a person really change that much? There were opponents of the New You project who believed that who we were as people was hard wired, and could not be changed no matter what. I was not sure what to think. There were people who did not subscribe to the New You project and therefore stayed who they were. No shedding of their proverbial skin.

I was ready for a more confident, more self assured me. I was tired of being the good natured doormat. I was more than ready to be assertive and strong. This new me would stand up for herself. This new me would have no problems telling people where to go. This new me would set healthy boundaries. As I looked out at the sea of discarded Marianne shells I could not help but shudder. It looked like a massacre. It was as if someone had committed a genocide against a highly specific portion of the population.

I took a deep breath. I watched as the flashing question badgered an answer from me. I closed my eyes and pressed the button.

A throat resembling the texture of sand paper burned as the sweet slippery

freezing liquid coarsed through her esaphogus. It brought with it a false sense of security. She struggled to stay awake as it also made her feel as if she were floating down a sea of tranquil everlasting sleep.

Her chestnut locks whipped around her rather masculine face as she fought to keep

her composure. She knew that her people were in trouble. In dire need of saving from

that horrible tyrant. Black death -- scorched Earth, laying to ruins the country that she so

loved. To have escaped from the clutches of one mad man only to be thrust into the

arms of an amoral cretin was too much for her to bear. She simply had to do something.

She couldn’t just sit idly by while her people starved. How could she call herself a proud

French Nationalist if she just did nothing?

They think her insipid and dull. It is true that she cannot read nor write, but she is

capable of independent thoughts. Farmers are not as simple as the bourgeoisie would

have you believe. Would Saints choose to show themselves to a dullard? She was special.

Saint Michel, Sainte Catherine, and Sainte Marguerite didn’t have time to waste on fools

who could not get the job done. Charles was what the country needed, and she was the

only one who could get him where he needed to be.

A Valkyrie riding into battle, commanding men some older, some wiser, but none

as brave or as valiant as she. She would forever be held in the hearts of her people as a

martyr for a cause that they held so dear -- the idea of France. As she sits in her cell, tried

and convicted of a crime that is as outrageous as her claims were. Sitting in a dank,

dreary pit of despair. She is bereft with the notion that she has not only failed her people,

she has also failed her country. She meant to do so much more to help, but in the end,

she just wasn’t as strong as they thought she was. She once believed that she could be the

saviour that they so desperately needed -- now she wasn’t sure if she was capable of even

saving herself.

Her belief was so steadfast in the fact that she was doing God’s work had made her

so certain that she would prevail. However, it turned out that Lucifer was strong in the

hearts of her opponents. She was ashamed to say that he turned out to be stronger here

than God’s will. No, she took that back -- God’s will would prevail, but for that to

happen she had to be made an example of. If Christ could endure all of that suffering for

his people to live, then surely, she could do the same. She was no son of God, but she

was one of his pupils, and she would do this one small thing that He asked of her. Just as

she was about to fall into the sleep that only one who had made peace with their fate

could be capable of, she heard the whisperings of an Angel.

“Mademoiselle.”

Her ears pricked up at the breeze that she thought called to her. Unremarkable eyes

attempting to adjust to the dim light that was beginning to grow dimmer as the sun

began to set on the night before her execution. No, she must have misheard. As she lay

herself down upon a hard cot, she could hear the unmistakable footfalls of another

human being make their fruitive way down the prison corridors.

“Who’s there?” She attempted to sound as if she weren’t terrified. No words cried

out to her in the dark hallway, only the sure-footed steps of a man possessed by the

certainty that they were about to do something significant in the history of mankind. She

was chilled by this realization. She was chilled by the cold fact that she was to meet her

doom by the rising of the sun, and there was nothing that could be done to alter that fact

of this she was sure.

“Ah, Mademoiselle, it is true what they say! You are in fact resigned to this dismal

fate that they would lead you to!” An amused rather plain faced man’s eyes twinkled

down at her through her prison. His voice sounded rather familiar, but she could not

place it. However, something told her to trust it.

“And why would I have reason to feel otherwise, Monsieur?” She averted his steel-

eyed gaze at once. He grimaced at the reasonableness of her statement, but only

elaborated on why he had come to visit her on a night where surely, she deserved to be

afforded some time alone in contemplation.

“We must act in haste, or at least I shall be permitted to speak plainly as for you to

understand the urgency of the matter at hand.” His words had her hoping that she was

not entirely lost.

“Désolé Monsieur, but have we met?”

“No, not strictly speaking. But I am a friend of Gilles.” He caught that look of

relief and clarity flash in her otherwise dull haggard eyes. He knew that mentioning his

mentor’s name would have the desired effect. She must be saved, at all costs. If he were

to burn in her place, then… That would have to be the price he would have to pay. It

was not too steep a price to pay to ensure the prosperity of France.

“Then we must act quickly!” A fire seemed to have been lit from within her. She

was at once revived in her initial unwavering purpose. He could see it flush up in her

face, and he was at once relieved to witness it. It meant that hope had once again been

restored. He nodded. He whispered his plan through the oppressive bars that held within

them the saviour of their people. When she would look back on this day, (and she often

would with the fondness one reserves for such treasured moments as the birth of a child)

she could not help but think of that earnest young man and all that he was willing to

sacrifice.

Their plan had worked like a charm. It had the desired effect, the powers that be

thought she had perished along with France’s dreams of a better future where all men

were truly treated with respect and dignity no matter their station in life. It was so simple

when one stopped to think about it. Her only regret had been that she was made to lay

in the shadows and pull the strings from afar. She kept reminding herself that she had

not survived to be recognized and congratulated, for her triumphs were seen in the eyes

of the poor and down trodden.

Her eyes were sufficiently wild and remorseful as they led her to what would be her

final stand.

“Burn her!”

“Let the Witch burn! She is no saviour to us!”

It hurt her to no end to hear those words spewed from the mouths of those who she had

sworn to protect. As she smiled at them through their insults, she was consumed by the

notion that she would get through this. She had faith. He had told her to let go. Let go

of all the fear. Let go of all the doubt. Trust in Him. These were the thoughts – the

emotions that were fluttering through her head as she let the crowd’s hate wash over her.

Their hate was a living breathing thing. However, it was not all hate that was emanating

from the crowd. She also felt fear and anguish. She felt sorrow and remorse.

‘Forgive them Lord, for they know not what they do,’ she thought. Those words

spoken by an honest, God fearing, forgiving man brought her tranquility.

“Any last words, Witch?” He spat as he sneered the last word. She smiled down at

the people of France who had come to witness her demise.

“L’espoir est eternal!” Her words brought tears to the eyes of some disgusted

guffaws from others. As the spark was lit her body convulsed in anticipation. She waited

to be engulfed in flame. As the fires consumed her, crackling. She remembered to writhe

in pain and put on a show of anguish and torture. Her torturous cries made even the

hardest of hearts turn into mush. It was a show, for she did not feel anything, but peace.

As the smoke surrounded her, she could not be seen by the mob any longer. She looked

up at the smiling face of the Angel Gabriel and was at once surrounded by the

knowledge that everything was going to be okay.

August 1432

The sun shone down on the little cathedral, bringing with it not only heat, but also

happiness. The plump little hand that the woman held in hers was sticky with sweat. He

wriggled in her grasp, the heat making him sleepy. He pulled at his tie.

“Why do I have to wear this dumb thing!” He bemoaned. The woman,

(presumably his mother) gave him a look that was meant to silence him. When he

opined his undeserved fate once more at a higher decibel, she audibly shushed him. This

made the young lady sitting behind them take notice.

“Awww, the little monsieur has a point there madame. God doesn’t care how you

dress when you are in His house to pray in His name.” The young haggard mother

sighed in defeat.

“I guess you are right mademoiselle.”

“We not need be so formal call me Joan.”

I don't think it's fair that people fear me. I didn't ask for this job. I always thought a nice job in marketing would have been nice. A corner office with a view. And the whole long hooded robe thing is a vile schtick. I can hardly breathe under there. I guess I don't really need to, considering that I'm already dead, but it's the principle of the thing. Even the name given to me sounds so dreary, 'the Grim Reaper'. I can be as jolly as the next guy.

People fear me because they don't know where it is I take them after they pass. I can't share that information with you, only to say that there is SOMETHING after all this, but what it is I cannot say. Why I was chosen for this particular job, I don't really know. Maybe it has something to do with the way my mother used to always say, "Bo, you'll be the death of me." And I literally was. I died before she did, at the tender age of 17 in a motorcycle accident. It was all very tragic, but I'm not a bad guy. I'm just misunderstood. When it's your time it's your time. I don't decide.

I hear a lot of pleading in my line of work, especially if they were a vile human being in their lifetime. I don't pass judgement, that's for the big guy to do. I am just a messenger. When I feel the saddest about my job is when I am called upon to gather the soul of a young child. During these times, I do feel like the villain they paint me out to be. On the flip side, I take pleasure in gathering the souls of killers, rapists, child molesters, and the like. Their cries for mercy are not heard.

I have no delusions of grandeur. I know that what I do is not technically difficult, but it is soul sucking. I don't like seeing the sick and frightened calling out to me to stay away. They know that this is a futile request. I can't leave them be. It is their time to memeet their maker. So, if you see me, don't be afraid. As long as you have led a decent life the place where I take you won't be so bad. On the other hand, if you were evil...

#grimreaper

Frankie sat at her desk contemplating her future. Brandon had always said she would end up regretting her decision, but she had her mind made up. It was too late to go back now, and what did a 17 year old kid know about life and relationships any way?

Her eyes burned as she attempted to focus on the task at hand. It didn't matter what turmoil was currently raging inside of her she had things to do. Maybe Brandon was right. Maybe she was making a mistake, but it was her mistake to make. She so desperately wanted everything to go back to the way it was before the betrayal. There was a time when all had been right with the world, but now...

Part of Frankie knew that she was being unreasonable. It had happened during a time when she wasn't completely sure that there was even going to be a Frankie and Oskar any more, but she couldn't help but feel as if she had been tricked some how. She was committed to starting her life over again. It had to be done. He wasn't going to turn his back on his own child, and she couldn't respect him if he did.

His child would and should be his number one priority now. It was sad how Lacey had never found it important enough while she was alive to let him know that he had a child, because that she could have handled. If Lacey were alive she could have dealt with the child, but not now that staying in Oskar's life meant that she would have to be a mother to a 10 year old girl. She was not ready for that. She couldn't fill the mother sized void that Lacey's passing had left.

The truth of the matter was that Frankie had not expected Oskar to have found someone else while she had taken some time away from her family to figure out what she had wanted from life. It turned out that she had been wrong. It took all of 2 months for Oskar to replace her, but when she had been ready to come back he had been waiting with open arms. Lacey had been a fling a careless indiscretion. He had insisted that she had not meant anything to him. He had been drunk and lonely and she had filled a hole that Frankie had left when she had decided to abandon them.

What Oskar had failed to understand was that it would have hurt less if Lacey had meant something to him. If what he had felt for Lacey had been something real then at least he had risked their life for something that was worth the risk. The fact that she had been inconsequential had meant that he had jeopardized their love for nothing. That hurt more than anything in the world.

Their 17 year old son understood it, why couldn't he? Frankie's knees creaked as she rose from her chair. She felt ancient. She surveyed herself critically in the mirror in her study and frowned at a few strands of gray that had not been their previously.

Oskar was waiting for her to fold. He was so arrogant when he told her that he knew that she would come crawling back to him. She had done so before hadn't she? She couldn't live without him. He was going to find out just how wrong he was. For once Frankie was going to live life without a safety net named Oskar and for once she wasn't afraid of the consequences. Maybe she had been wrong to come back when she had walked away from their life all those years ago.

She could tell herself that she had come back because of Brandon, but the truth was that she had come back because she was scared of starting over again at 43. And now she was going to start life over at 53. Frankie let out a snort of derision. She knew that she was being a hippocrite of the highest order when she spent her entire professional life counseling women to not settle for less than they were worth, only to herself remain trapped in a loveless marriage. Was it loveless, or had she just floated away from the tether of complacency that had been Oskar?

In any event, Frankie was ready to leave it all behind. She let out an audible sigh as she picked up the phone on her antique desk and dialed.

"Hello, Oskar we need to talk."

My breath catches as my mind spins.

The days robes glowing in amber hues. How quickly they forget that pleasing me should be there utmost priority. People have hung for lesser offenses. I know I must decide on the Treaty of Killorn today. I should be wearing the purple robes. I wonder who it is I must chastise for this error. It is of no consequence, of one wants something done right, one must do it oneself. My sigh echoes through my hollow chamber. Some may say that the emptiness of the chamber is a perfect mirror for my heart. I am not as heartless as they think. I will rule justly in this matter. I know what is at stake. I will earn the love and respect of my people. I only wish that my mother could see me now. On with the show.