Angels, "A Samuel Light Story."

Jimbo rubbed his nose vigorously, trying not to sneeze. Samuel was opposite him on the other side of the walkway, which was lined with heavy shrubbery. Their hiding places. That darned fly kept coming back and tickling his nose. He could have swatted it any other time, but he didn't want to make any loud noises. The terrorist group Mahmud, dressed in blood red, with dark red knives holstered through red belts and short snub nosed Rat guns, a new release from the Iranians that combined the power of a machine gun with a snub nosed pistol. It could fire hundred two caliber hollow point bullets in less than a second.

One might think that's not so bad, until you realize that at the velocity the bullets travel they will open a tenth penny hole on one side of you and blow out the other the size of a silver dollar. In other words size doesn't matter. Power and point do. You're dead. Bleeded out within several seconds.He'd seen them practice with one of the weapons on an Egyptian soldier who got in their way. The man hadn't even been able to scream in pain. His body looked like Swiss cheese on one side and shredded tissue paper on the other. He had died instantly. No one walked away from a stream of those bullets.

Samuel could feel Jimbo's anxiety and let his hand rise several inches. A soft radiance glowed about it and then vanished.

Jimbo couldn't see the radiance when it struck him in the heart, but suddenly he felt as easy going as a smooth banana crème pie. 

The troops finished passing and he and Samuel rose from their hiding places. Samuel pointed to a building to their left and Jimbo hightailed it there, knowing Samuel would be behind him. Only thing was, when he got to the building, Samuel was nowhere in sight. Then he heard the unmistakable rattle of the Rat guns.

"Damn it!" He roared, then hightailed it down the path, hoping he wasn't too late.

Samuel stood at the other end, surrounded by the Mahmud, their weapons smoking in their hands and everyone of their bullets smoking in a heap about Samuel. Not one bullet had struck him. Samuel just stood there with the most devilish of smiles, his hands out, the palms glowing a brilliant white.

Finally, the Mahmud ran. Not towards Samuel, but towards Jimbo.

Jimbo dove from their path. Not one of them slowed to try and catch him. He saw a brief glimpse of the face of one of them as he passed and the man's eyes were as big as moons. He ran as if all the Ifrits in Arabia were after him.

"They are." Samuel said as he gave his friend a hand up.

Jimbo turned to watch the Mahmud scramble for their jeeps, hop in, swerve in circles of dusty clouds, then race towards the horizon, leaving the grassy area Jimbo and Samuel stood within untouched and unharmed.

"But not for long."  Samuel answered to Jimbo's unspoken thoughts. 

"You're right." Jimbo said. "We've got work to do."

And they did. Rescuing the son and daughter of a teacher who was preaching peace to all men in the Middle East. His name was Gandhi Mohammed, and he bore an uncanny resemblance to all the portraits that had come down through time of the real Mohammad. His eyes were large and luminous and his children were all equally as bright and beautiful in their own ways.

They reached his humble abode, which had been surrounded by the brief grounds of shrubbery and grass. To the sides were simple gardens, with vegetables growing and clothing hanging from clothing lines strung from one post to another, flapping in the hot, arid winds of the desert they were in.

"God is with you." Gandhi told them as they hustled up to his porch, both breathing hard.

"Grab your children. We must hurry before they realize those weren't real demons after them." 

Samuel croaked, his throat dry from the hot desert air and the exertion of will he had just made to defend the humble abode.

Gandhi smiled patiently. "I will not be leaving here. Not now. Not ever."

Samuel and Jimbo exchanged looks of surprise.

"But I thought you hired us to rescue you." Samuel finally blurted out, confused and puzzled by the man's attitude.

Gandhi motioned to them. "Come inside. My daughter and son have prepared something to drink and eat for us."

They went inside. The interior of the home was as simple and humble as the exterior. All the furniture were handmade, and carefully crafted. The stove was a clay stove on the floor in front of which Darmilla, Gandhi's oldest daughter squatted warming up flat bread for their repast. Several moments later Desh, the son, came inside with a bucket brimming with fresh well water. He brought it to a counter, also handmade and then began filling clay mugs from it.

Gandhi said no more, but helped his children distribute the bread and water about the table, motioning to Jimbo and Samuel to sit as he did so. They sat, no longer confused, but wondering if the man had lost his mind.

Finally, Gandhi sat down and began breaking his bread. Before he put it into his mouth, he dipped it into water. "May the waters of Allah purify my soul."

He raised the wet bread to his mouth. "May the bread of Allay feed my heart and mind."

He ate the bread.

The children repeated the prayers, then looked sideways at Samuel and Jimbo to see what they would do. Samuel grinned good-naturedly, and repeated the prayers, followed by Jimbo, who said God instead of Allah.

"Sorry, Mister Gandhi, but I'm not really the Allah type of fellow." Jimbo apologized.

Gandhi and the children burst into laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"Allah and God are one and the same. There is no difference. You drink water in America. You drink water in Arabia. Water is water." Gandhi explained.

Samuel smiled at the confusion on Jimbo's face. "Just accept it, Jimbo. You won't win this one."

Jimbo nodded and began tearing into his bread big time. In a matter of seconds he had it finished and Darmilla scrambled back to the oven and pulled out a warming plate of ten or more to place on the simple table they sat at.

"But you still haven't explained why you're not leaving." Samuel said, after having ate one piece of the bread, which felt light in his stomach and very filling.

Gandhi finished his own bread, as if having not heard a word, then wiped his hands on a simple cloth and looked into Samuel's eyes.

"There never was any danger."

"What do you mean?"

"God tests us all, Mister Light, does he not?"

Samuel shrugged. He didn't disagree, he just didn't get the point.

Gandhi smiled. "I just wanted to see the two of you, and to thank you for the service you have offered my people and the people of the world. That is what I wanted the rescue from. From not thanking you."

He rose, then motioned to the door.

"When you return tomorrow. All will be explained. For now, be at peace and God be with you!"

Samuel and Jimbo got up. Jimbo snatched a couple more slices of the flat bread. The children burst into renewed peals of laughter, but said nothing.

Jimbo blushed and hurried outside, and Samuel followed him.

"Man, that has got to be one of the strangest dinners I've been invited to." Jimbo finally said, after polishing off the last of the breads.

They cut to the left and sought the shelter they had made earlier in the day. It was well hidden in the sands of the desert, using a cloth that blended with the sand colors. Beneath it was their jeep and supplies. Both men settled in for the night and laid down quietly to rest.

"Sammie."

"Yeah."

"Do you believe in demons?"

"Not really."

"Do you?"

"Not really. Why?"

"Nothing. Just wondering is all."

Samuel was just about to drift off to sleep when Jimbo spoke again. "I believe in angels."

Samuel sat up so fast  he banged his head on the open door of the jeep. "Owww!"

"Sorry."

Samuel rubbed the sore spot and lay back down.

"What brought that burst of silliness?"

Jimbo rolled over and looked at Samuel, the faint moonlight of the desert Moon shining inside their camouflaged tent.

"I don't know. We've been through so much by now. I've got to start believing in miracles sometime, even with all your stupid powers."

Samuel laughed. "Go to sleep. We got to get up early and say goodbye to Gandhi and his children."

"Yeah. There's that." Jimbo said with a yawn. "Night, pal."

"Good night." Samuel said, falling into a peaceful sleep that night that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

When he woke up in the morning, Jimbo had everything packed and ready to go. Even the tent was down and packed into the back of the jeep. Samuel rolled up his sleeping bag, tossing out a lizard in the process. He picked it up and put his hand on it. "Sorry little guy."

The lizard's head perked up and its eyes rolled as a gentle green light flooded its shape. He set the lizard down and it looked up at him, then almost smiled and shot off like a rocket.

Jimbo started up the jeep and headed back towards the house. As they drove Samuel and Jimbo became more and more alarmed. The shrubs were gone. The path was gone.

Jimbo looked at his dash. "We should be seeing the house, where is it?" 

He pulled the jeep to a stop and they both climbed out. They walked the area for about twenty yards in all directions, but no signs of anything having ever been there before.

Then they climbed back into the jeep and rushed towards where the other jeeps of the Mahmud had  been. No marks there either.

"No storm last night." Jimbo drawled in his husky Texan accent.

"Jimbo. I get it." Samuel said, relaxing against his seat finally, the tension flowing away.

"Get what?"

"Why you should believe in angels." Samuel answered cryptically.

They spent the rest of their drive pondering what they had experienced, and it wasn't until both of them climbed off the stairway from the Southwestern Airlines flight into Las Vegas that Jimbo announced. "They were angels. Damn!"

Samuel smiled. "Al would be glad to hear you believe in him."

Al appeared in front of them grinning. Samuel waved.

"He's there?"

Samuel nodded.

Jimbo talked towards where he thought Al was. "I think I believe in angels now."

But Al was not in that spot. He was to the right. A very pretty red head was in Jimbo's line of vision. She perked up at his words, then grinned.

She came to him and reached out a hand. "You're from Texas, aren't you?" She asked.

Samuel nodded to Jimbo and he headed towards the lounge with the redhead, talking up a storm. Al dropped back alongside Samuel as he headed for the lounge too.

"Can't win them all, Sam."

"How about one?"

Al laughed, then like the wise man he was...he vanished.

Magic and Illusions "A Harry Houdini Story"

Magic and Illusions

"A Harry Houdini Story"

"Shhh. Not a sound!" He whispered, his voice echoing throughout the theater, which had been acoustically modified to bounce his voice from one area to the next, amplifying it until it vibrated the bones of the ears of everyone listening. That caused their very bodies to vibrate, as if a gentle massage were being applied, and calmed them.

He needed to calm them. His next stunt was dangerous, even for him. He thrived on danger, not reckless danger, but danger that involved him mastering a challenger, or taking on a challenge he had yet to face and grow from.

Harry Houdini was the consummate escape artist and magician. He used his various skills to manifest an act of such profound terror and awe that the audiences sat spellbound through every minute, every second of it, some of them even fainting from holding their breath too long. Others piling on the popcorn, candy and teas that the vendors who moved silently throughout the theater and sold.

That very side job was what truly paid him, not the theater tickets. Most of that paid for his helpers, the light engineers, the stage workers, the ticket takers, the manager and the rent of the theater. He owed it. It was named "Magic and Illusions" after the very acts that he produced throughout the year.

Since he was as likely to go on an adventure or assignment with his Baker Street friends, he had created a career that could be hot sparked at a moment's notice to create more income for him and his people relished the time off they had in between job assignments, as he didn't hold back on sharing the monies freely with them. There were no poor people working for him, at least not after they had been employed for a time.

He hated  poverty and its lack of medicine, the snide remarks, the dark consequences of mixing in with those of more. He had endured all those things until he had built a career that was magnificent enough he could rise from his own poverty and then begin to spread his own abundance around to alleviate the suffering of others.

While he was wealth in laymen terms, he was not onerously wealthy. He didn't have a home that was ten stories tall as some of the wealthiest did, nor have expensive imports and portraits painted by the greatest artists of his time. No, his home was a single story dwelling with enough room to sleep in, plan his acts in...a cellar basement for that with two rooms for storage and invention...and four bedrooms, a dining room, a library, an exercise room and a kitchen. It would seem like a lot to the very poor of London, but not to a middle class citizen, of which he was not. He prided himself on the simpler abode, for he often had guests, so the extra three bedrooms were as likely as not to be filled with either family or friends, or both. 

His near Baker Street friends such as Watson and Holmes came to visit, but rarely stayed, but some of those who lived under the sea such as Captain Nemo, or in the clouds like Wells and Verne, they would come and stay sometimes for weeks or even months if they had an adventure together in London.

It kept his life full and rewarding. He had no woman in his life, he didn't think it fair to involve them in the risks he constantly took on stage and in the battlefield of crime and adventure. Though he did have a sweetheart he saw infrequently, who someone kept true to him and steady in his affections, whom one day he just might settle down with and have little Houdini's.

He smiled at that as he clasped one muscular hand and arm after another on the rope and climbed into the gigantic bottle that looked like an enlarged wine bottle with a narrow neck he could only get through with great effort. This was the sale of his act this time. He would submerge himself within the well of water of the giant bottle, have three chains tied to his ankles and feet, five metal balls, and his hands padlocked behind his back so he couldn't work his personal magic.

Oh yes, he smiled. He could do REAL magic, but he preferred the stage magic for the excitement of it, keeping the more ethereal magic for his adventures with the Baker Street fellows, or the occasional research he would do in the Orients for little known magics and fantasy elements he could incorporate into his act.

He would only use real magic when his life or that of another's was in danger. Though he and Conan would sometimes use it to defraud charlatan psychics and wizards who claimed powers they didn't in order to fill their bank accounts at the expense of those with broken hearts. They didn't bother the ones that read palms and predicted marriages, and such, for they never overcharged, but the ones who claimed to be just somewhat short of gods, they had to be accountable. One way or the other.

So in the course of time and years of learning he and Conan had made many friends, saved many a poor soul the loss of their fortunes, and been scorned as heathens and worshippers of the devil by the very people who actually did so.

Harry laughed inwardly as he reached the top of the bottle and turned to face the crowd. He waved his hands as he delicately balanced on the edge of the bottle to the cheer of the crowd, then waited as  his crew hefted the balls and chains to the top of the bottle, in preparation for plunging them into the warmer waters and then he as well.

Outwardly he exalted at the pleasure he brought the audience, but inwardly, he was a bit nervous, for he had seen an old enemy in the audience this night. One he had not seen perhaps for five years. Time had not been this man's friend. He had never been a looker before, but on this night he looked as dark as a devil. And no doubt as malicious and dangerous as before. The last time they had met, the man had tried to stake him in the heart, mistaking Harry for a demon of the night...a vampire.

He laughed inwardly. Vampires were not demons, but modified humans with a touch of magic mixed into them from Elven heritage. 

Harry had ended up in the hospital for a month from the wound, which only the skilled hands of Doctor Watson and the dear Madame Curie had been able to preserve him.

He had discovered the whereabouts of the scoundrel, then used his real magic to send him off to a side realm...a parallel world where his kind could prosper with fellows of a like mind. Some might call that cruel and unusual punishment, but he didn't think it was cruel to offer a man who had attempted to murder him because of his misguide religious beliefs a way to redeem himself. He had given the man a path back to their London, but only if he were to change his ways.

But tonight as he looked out into the audience for the man, and remembering that look, he knew the man had not truly changed at all. Which was unfortunate. For both him and Harry.

No matter. Each challenge on its own merits he thought as he slid into the water feet first, the balls and chains collapsing to the bottom of the bottom and pulling him to follow.

In moments bubbles of air began frothing to the surface of the bottle as he squeezed through by squeezing through its narrow neck. He would not be able to come out as easily, for the pressure of the water and its viscosity would cause his body to swell somewhat because of its warmth and he would have to painfully squeeze back out after unhinging his shoulder blades, which would cause him remarkable pain...at least until he moved them back into their proper orbits once more.

His crew corked the bottle with a jazzy looking cork that was sparkly and gorgeously decorated to offset the danger of what he was doing. For it was dangerous. Extremely.

He heard his announcer, Jacob Marley, tell the crowd. "From the moment we corked Harry Houdini into the bottle he will have only seventy seconds to escape the bottle. His ability to hold his breath is no more than seventy seconds.

"We pray he shall prevail so we can all applaud him and come again for another night of thrills and chills in the House of Magic and Illusions."

Harry's cue had been spoken. He began twisting and pulling, unhinging his wrists so he could slide the padlocks from them. Once dropped,  he carefully began to raise his feet one at a time and working on the balls and chains. There were three on each leg, so it took him another twenty seconds to do each leg. He had used fifteen seconds already for the announcement and removing the pad locks. He now had twenty seconds of air left and already he could feel his lungs straining to not let go what precious oxygen he had left and suck in the water for air instead.

Outside Jacob announced, "Nineteen seconds. Eighteen Seconds."

Harry kicked free the last of the balls and chains, straightened up and hinged his arms and legs properly again as he wriggled towards the cork to free it.

"Nine seconds. Eight seconds." Jacob's voice droned outside the bottle.

Harry smiled. Piece of cake. He lifted his hands and pummeled the cork. It had taken him five seconds last time, and he still had seven.

"Seven seconds."

Harry pummeled the cork again, but it didn't budge. 

Must be the extra curry I had for breakfast this morning he thought to himself, then still smiling pummeled the cork again, even harder.

He could feel his lungs on the verge of exploding.

Spots were beginning to form before his eyes.

"Two seconds."

The cork wouldn't budge.

The crowd in the theater rose as one in horror, hands holding each other, clenched to mouths, looks of horror as Harry appeared to be unable to get free.

Harry started to panic. He was out of air.

The old enemy in the audience rose from his chair, a look of satisfaction on his face as he saw Harry's look of terror and his thrashing to get out.

"Good-bye, old friend." He muttered as he turned to leave.

As he did so he came face to face with Sherlock Holmes and Watson, behind them was Inspector Bloodstone.

Harry suddenly froze in the bottle, closed his eyes, then as effortlessly as a seal sliding through a hoop, stepped through the glass of the bottle onto the stage, his whole body dripping water. He began gasping for air. His crew rushed forwards to drape him in warm cloth, then lead him towards the backstage as the audience broke into thunderous applause.

"You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Master Magician and Illusionist, Harry Houdini." Inspector Bloodstone said sternly.

The old enemy snarled and broke free, running for the stage, drawing a pistol as he fled the law. "Die Harry! You foul heathen and offense to God!" He cried out and fired, the same time as Watson and Holmes fired their own weapons.

The old enemy snapped backwards, then collapsed.

On the stage, Harry dropped the cloths about him, turned around smiling and revealed a smoking bullet in between his fingers.

The audience, thinking the death was staged, broke into thunderous applause, yelling and screaming their love for him.

Harry, however was not happy. He had tried to save a soul and it hadn't worked. Some just would not change no matter how many chances they were given.

He dropped from the stage and felt his old enemy's throat for a pulse, then motioned to his helpers, who came down and covered him with cloths.

"Magic and Illusions." He uttered to the dead man. "That's all I am. Magic and Illusions. But you had life and breath. Now...not even that. May God have mercy on your soul."

He turned around and climbed back onto the stage to prepare for his next act. His friends had used his act to help him catch the man, but instead all had gone wrong. He had much to think about where he had gone wrong in his own actions, to allow this soul slip through into a self made hell.

Sadly, he left the stage. With great remorse he went to his stage room to ponder the meaning of his life. Such was the life of Harry Houdini that night.

The Tantalizing Fly by Max Fleischer

A combination of live action and animation. Made a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

:)

Zombies of the Stratosphere, Chapter Eight

Zombies of the Stratosphere Chapter Seven

fractals galore

New fractal

The Awakening "A Lovelight Story" by John Pirillo

She couldn't remember the first word she said to her father, but to her mother she remembered everything. "Beautiful."

Her mother had made a sound like a kitten mewling as she held her in her arms. "She remembers."

Her father had said. "That's ridiculous. Babies don't remember what you say in the womb."

She remembered the smile on her mother's face. It was like the sun coming from behind the clouds to brighten the day. "Lovelight does."

Her name was Cynthia Lovelight, but everyone called him Cindy for short. Her teacher called her Lovelight and that kind of got nailed to her as she grew up. Her friends, whenever they were in a mood to tease would say, "Hey! Has the light gone out yet?"

She had looked at Jimmy Patton, the first one who had teased her. He had this big green and yellow aura and there was a huge black area that was growing near his lungs. She had been totally frightened at the time and said nothing, her heart pounding so heavily in her chest; she had wanted to scream out in pain and fear. But she hadn't. Something she learned quickly over her early years was not to give into fear. It was the enemy.

Jimmy had died several months earlier from advanced TB, Tuberculosis. Had she known at the time what she was seeing, maybe she could have saved him, but later as she grew older and read about how the cancer spread, she knew she couldn't have. She was just being given an insight. She didn't know how to weigh it in her heart and mind at the time. She was too busy getting prepped for the Senior Prom, which Elmer Wilson had invited her to.

All the girls teased her mercilessly about him. He was awkward and shy, even if over six feet tall and stooped over as if afraid for anyone to see how tall he really was. She never did find out, because they never made it to the Prom. He had crashed his car on a mountain pass, and narrowly avoided death. She hadn't known about it until the next day, after many anxious hours of negating herself and blaming herself for him abandoning her at the last moment. She had gone to sleep that night and seen him in a dream where he was smiling, very tall and very handsome, wearing a gun holster and a cool suit and tie. 

He had told her he loved her and always would. "Everyone calls me Ed."

He winked broadly, revealing a perfect set of teeth and a smile worth a million dollars. 

"Rumors of my death were...to quote William Shatner...premature."

She had laughed in her dream, because the way he said it was so jokey. So cool. If anyone could have won a prize for being the coolest guy, he would have, if he were real.

Then the next morning her mother had awakened her gently and said that Elmer was all right. But that he had been in a car accident. She had cried then with relief, first for herself, to her shame, and then for him. 

"Mom! We've got to go and see him at the hospital. He'll be all alone!"

Her Mom had smiled and dangled the car keys in front of her. "All ready parked out front, ready to go."

She had hugged her Mom, run into the bathroom, showered and did all the things a young teen does when she's a girl, and maybe a few more, then ran outside to join her Mom, eating an apple as she ran.

Her Mom scooted over from the driver's wheel. "You drive."

She had gotten in. All excited. She had only passed her Learner's Permit a week ago.

She gave her Mom a quick hug and kisses, then turned the engine over and laid a strip of rubber out of the driveway, leaving a smoking trail behind them.

"Whoops!" She had blurted.

Her Mom, always the gentle one, patted her knee. "I crashed my first car. Backed it into the garage when I punched the gas pedal, instead of the brake."

They both laughed, and then remained silent the further ten miles to the hospital. They lived on the e outreaches of a small mountain town named Placerville. It had all kinds of rumors and mythology hanging about its neck, just like the dead miner hanging over the Post Office for all to see. A sign, not a real person. 

Lots of miners had come there for gold and found little, if nothing and many had met tragic deaths through greed and quarreling.

They reached the Placerville Memorial Hospital and she parked as carefully as she could, only running up over the curb twice, before finally settling the old Ford into place. She blew out a breath of air, then took in a deep breath and looked at her Mom, who nodded, then got out.

They held hands as they went through the lobby doors. At the receptionist desk her Mother told them they were friends of the family and were given a Candy Striper to guide them to his room. He was seated up in bed, sipping some water when they entered. No flowers, no cards. No family. No one.

For some strange reason Lovelight ran to him and hugged him tight, then began crying as if he were dead instead. He had given her a look of surprise, then held her close, thankful for her warmth and her spirit. He looked at the Mom, who was smiling at the both of him. She whispered, "Be right back." And exited.

Lovelight pulled back and sat down beside his bed, took one of his hands and pressed it. "I was so mad at you last night for dumping me!"

He laughed, and then made a painful expression. Then laughed again and looked pained again. "I think I better not laugh again; it really hurts."

"Why are you laughing?" She had demanded, starting to get angry instead of relieved as earlier.

"Because the whole time they were hauling me here in the Ambulance, I was thinking I just screwed up the best and only date of my life."

She barked with laughter and despite the pain of it, he laughed again as well.

"I see you two are enjoying yourselves." Her Mom had said, entering the room with a vase of flowers. She set them down on the bedside table, then pulled out a wad of comic books from her purse and handed them over.

He grabbed the comics and stared at them so hard, Lovelight thought his head would explode. Finally, he looked up and she could see tears in his eyes. "I don't know how to thank you. No one has ever been this kind to me before."

Her Mom looked at her, a concerned look in her face, then took his other hand and pressed it. "You're very welcome, Elmer."

"Call me Ed. I like that name better."

Lovelight gasped. 

Elmer and her Mom looked at her in surprise. "What's wrong?" Her Mom finally managed to say.

"That's what he told me in my dream last night. My name's Ed!"

Then she felt this pulsing in her forehead and a beautiful red aura wrapped around Elmer's body, pulsing with bright streaks of white light that danced about his head.

"And you said...you said..."

"What? Said what?" He asked, tensing as she prepared to answer.

"That you were visiting and just wanted to say hi and could you borrow five for your lunch?"

He laughed again, wincing in pain, then said. "That is so me."

Lovelight and her Mom drove home in silence a long time, negotiating the steep hills and slopes of the mountainous region, their windows open, allowing the fresh mountain air to soothe their spirits. As they drove Lovelight could only think why she had lied to Elmer. Then again, why not? He didn't need to know everything. He wasn't anything to her, then what a might have been first date.

She smiled, and then laughed lightly.

"That was sweet thing you did in the hospital."

"What thing? She answered without thinking.

Her mother smiled. "You're not the only one with psychic powers, my dear."

Lovelight almost drove off the road when her Mom said that. She screeched in alarm, and then slammed the brakes on, sliding their vehicle partially onto the side bar of gravel. She twisted around to look at her mother.

"It's time we talked." Her mother said, a twinkle in her eyes. "Of cabbages and kings and those sorts of things."