That’s pretty much it. My life has worked out where I finally might have the time and creative energy to spare for this. I’ll keep you posted.

Greetings all. I just wanted to drop this note in here to say it is my plan to start writing again. I have been working for the past couple of years on other creative projects that have nothing to do with writing so now I am going to try to get back into it.

I will be adding some things here, hopefully soon. I'll keep you posted

Gifted Chapter 2 part 2

It was early afternoon by the time he made it back to the farm house. Amanda had pierced the air with her yells as he came in for a landing. This time though she shouted Pilot, instead of Gifted. He felt welcomed, and that was a feeling he had not had in a very long time.

The lady, her name turned out to be Sura, and he was a embarrassed that he had not bothered to find out the first time they met, had informed her husband, Teb, of their imminent dinner party, and of their guest. Teb was as solid a man as the Pilot had ever met. In every way. Physically he was stout, but not fat, medium height, dusty brown hair, which he kept hidden under a cap that was at least as old as Amanda. He took his responsibility to his family, and to the farm seriously. He was, perhaps, a bit to serious, as he never seemed to smile. But he was clearly honest, hard working, and a very caring father and husband. The sort of man that would be described as salt of the earth.

Teb had no idea what to made of all this. Here was a man who lived his life by the schedule of the seasons. Arose at dawn, worked through mid day, rested, then worked some more until dark, then slept. Every season had its chores, but it was predictable, dependable in its monotony. Now, a Gifted had dropped, quite literally, out of the sky, into his solid, predictable world.

The pilot had marked off an area with stones, and warned the family not enter it for any reason, as well as the path leading to it. Once this was done he reached out his thoughts to his old friend and told him all was ready.

If it had been his intention to convince these people he was not a god, what happened next worked directly against him. The family stood around the stone ring and watch as items began to appear, suddenly and out of thin air. First the fire bit was formed, then the roasting spit, then barrels of wine, cheese, bread and dried fruits all appeared. They could only stare in disbelief as this miracle occurred.

In what was only moments an empty patch of grass transformed itself into a blazing fire roasting a succulent tauk, and filled with all manner of feasting items. The Pilot himself was busy concocting his secret sauce, which he lovingly poured over the meat on ladle at a time.

From his perspective this was all perfectly natural. His friend was a Gifted who had been the chief navigator of a starship and now could move with the speed that ancient vehicle had used to conquer the vast ocean of space. He had seen it many times before, there was no real mystery for him.

The family had a very different perspective. To them, all of these items magically appeared, a miraculous boon to a family that lived at the vey edge of survival. A winged man came out of the sky and had promised them a feast, and in the blink of an eye he had delivered one. At one point the Pilot glanced over at Amanda and he swore he could almost hear her thoughts accusing, "not a God indeed."

As the wine flowed the tongues loosened. Each of the family, an extended family it turned out, there were perhaps a dozen guests, introduced themselves to Pilot, and a disturbing number asked for his blessing. They were filled with questions, would it be a good harvest, would the rains come on time, would the rains be too heavy and flood, or too light and starve their crops?

He had no answer these questions, and he tried to tell them that but, given what they had just seen, they were not inclined to believe him.

Then came the questions he did know the answers too, but could not say. How did he become a Gifted? What had happened? Was he one of the First Men to enter this world? Was he a God?

He could not answer these questions, because they raised too many other other questions. Questions they had all agreed could never be answered. But he knew. As the wine poured his mind wandered back to that faithful day. Why had it been him? Why had he stumbled into that hidden cave?

"We did not ask to be Gods." The voice echoed in his head like thunder rolling through a distant valley. Of all the statues they found carved out of the living rock in this hidden cave on their newly adopted world, this one alone seemed to vibrate with a life force they had never seen before.

The statues were unimaginably old. Their surveys had found no other indication of a civilization at all and it was pure chance that they found this cave at all. It was deep and large but the entry to it was small and hidden, and this was a very big continent. Now they knew they were not the first intelligent creatures to breathe this air.

The statues themselves were fascinating. The faces were hard to read but they seemed to convey great feelings. Some were sad, some almost joyful and some were filled with rage. All carried a feeling of vastness of experience. As if the subjects had lived countless lifetimes before their images were committed to stone.

This one though carried the odd combination of great suffering, and great calm. He had never seen anything like it. It seemed to literally carry the weight of the world, of an entire civilization, now long extinct, and yet somehow it found peace in that unimaginable burden. It was honored to be able to carry it. This was the only one that vibrate with life, the only one that spoke.

"It was not forced upon us, this world needs it's Gods, but we did not ask for it, we were born to it. But that was so very long ago. For hundreds of millennium I have waited for you and now the time draws close. Our era is over"

No one had believed him when he told them the statue had spoken to him, in fairness he wasn't sure he had believed it himself. It had simply said "you have made it. You are welcome here". It wasn't merely the idea do a talking statue that overcame him that first time, though that would probably have done it. There was a feeling of power about this place, a beauty the likes of which he had never known. He felt as if he glowed from within, a glow he could not contain and he feared his heart would burst from the pure joy of it. He wept, and laughed and sank to his knees.

He got the chief engineer to come back down with him, and the statue repeated the message. This time it added an instruction, "all who are awake must come" it said. They both assumed that meant the crew and not the hibernating colonists, and did not really question how this thing knew about them. Somehow it would have felt strange if it had not known.

At first the Captain didn't think this was a good idea, potentially putting the entire crew in danger, but when he heard the voice himself, felt the power of that presence, he relented. None of them were religious people, but this place felt holy, sacred, there was no other way to put it.

Now they were all gathered in this natural cathedral, sitting at the feet of an enormous idol talking to a God. They were all highly educated people all scientists, or engineers of some sort and he was sure not a single one of them would have ever dreamed of such a possibility.

"I will bless this world with my final breath, that it may be a good home for your people." The thundering voice rolled through the valleys of his mind. The force was rising in the chamber, that inner glow he had felt before could now be seen. All around him the bodies of his crew members pulsed with light, their faces contorted I what he could only describe as rapture. He felt it too, as hot tears poured down his cheeks. Blue electric sparks occasionally danced around them and to the statue.

"Without this blessing they will fail, for this world is old and must be reborn." The pulsing light took on a steady rhythm, a drumbeat of thunder and light.

"You must do something in return" it almost pleaded now, all the suffering of a world filled that voice now. No one spoke but in unison their minds cried out "what can we do!?" In that moment they would have done anything for this creature they had not known existed only days before.

"Release me..." This was a plea, not a command. They must agree of their own free will, they must make a conscious decision to let this God go from their presence. They could feel it's suffering, it's joy, and a thousand other things they did not understand. They knew what they had to do but it would take great power.

The thundering light beat on, it's rhythm never changed but the intensity kept growing. He raised his hands toward the statue, bolts of electricity surged out of him into the statue, but somehow even more power was being forced through him. Everyone had their hands up now, the entire chamber was an electrical storm of epoch proportions.

It wasn't just the chamber he realized, the force pounding through them coming from, and going into the entire planet. For a moment he could sense every mountain, every ocean, every tree and leaf. Just then they were all unified in an ocean of power, all contributing to it and drawing nourishment from it. This was the Blessing, and it was working.

There was one final, crashing drumbeat that sent echoes of electric light circling the planet and then there was...nothing. He could feel no thing, see no thing. He was floating but on not on any thing. That's how he was when the God spoke its final worlds.

"The world is Blessed and you have accepted."

Accepted what, he thought, though he did not believe he could actually speak.

"The Gift. And my apologies. There was no other way.",

He sat among the family and wondered how you relate such a story to such people. Soon music began to play. He was not aware of who started it but it wasn't long before there were two pipes, an accordion at least two drums pounding out a rhythm. Before he knew it Amanda had grabbed his hand and pulled him into the circle of musicians that had formed.

He danced with her with an openness of heart he had felt for a long time. He picked her up and twirled her through the air as the song played. He loved the sound of this simple, yet complex music. It filled him with joy. This was what he was looking for. Companionship, family, the easy pleasures of rural life.

Amanda giggled with the unbridled pleasure that only a child can muster. In her eyes this was the most amazing night the world had to offer. For her, everything was perfect. She stroked his wings as they spun wildly to the music, lost in the small crowd of common folk, who only wanted to dance.

He probably should not have done it, and in fact, he had not intended to, but it happened nonetheless. His wings spread ever so slightly and the soft breeze that had blessed them all evening picked up just a bit. Without his effort, or even knowledge, suddenly they were airborne. Only a few feet at first, but the more she laughed the higher they climbed. When he noticed the music had stopped they were at least fifty meters in the air, Amanda giggling the entire way.

Slowly he became aware of his surroundings, of what the family must think of all this. With gentle movement of a feather on a summer's breeze he floated back to the ground.

The family had become silent, staring at him as if he were going to fly away with a favorite child.

He set Amanda down gently, she twirled away, still laughing. He clapped his hands loudly, if for no other reason than to break the spell that had taken them all.

"More tauk!" he called with as much merriment as he could muster, "and more wine!" Amanda grabbed her uncle and forced him to dance with her. With that the spell was broken and they seemed, in some deep way, to accept him as a friend, perhaps not quite family, but certainly no threat.

Someone appeared at his elbow with a plate of food and a glass of wine. He wandered off to a bit more secluded area as the music started up. Questions began to form in his mind. Why were there guards at the border of Doc's region? What was the temple for?

None of it made any sense.

Gifted Chapter 2 part 2

It was early afternoon by the time he made it back to the farm house.  Amanda had pierced the air with her yells as he came in for a landing.  This time though she shouted Pilot, instead of Gifted.  He felt welcomed, and that was a feeling he had not had in a very long time.

The lady, her name turned out to be Sura, and he was a embarrassed that he had not bothered to find out the first time they met, had informed her husband, Teb, of their imminent dinner party, and of their guest. Teb was as solid a man as the Pilot had ever met. In every way. Physically he was stout, but not fat, medium height, dusty brown hair, which he kept hidden under a cap that was at least as old as Amanda. He took his responsibility to his family, and to the farm seriously. He was, perhaps, a bit to serious, as he never seemed to smile. But he was clearly honest, hard working, and a very caring father and husband. The sort of man that would be described as salt of the earth.

Teb had no idea what to made of all this. Here was a man who lived his life by the schedule of the seasons. Arose at dawn, worked through mid day, rested, then worked some more until dark, then slept. Every season had its chores, but it was predictable, dependable in its monotony. Now, a Gifted had dropped, quite literally, out of the sky, into his solid, predictable world.

The pilot had marked off an area with stones, and warned the family not enter it for any reason, as well as the path leading to it. Once this was done he reached out his thoughts to his old friend and told him all was ready.

If it had been his intention to convince these people he was not a god, what happened next worked directly against him. The family stood around the stone ring and watch as items began to appear, suddenly and out of thin air. First the fire bit was formed, then the roasting spit, then barrels of wine, cheese, bread and dried fruits all appeared. They could only stare in disbelief as this miracle occurred.

In what was only moments an empty patch of grass transformed itself into a blazing fire roasting a succulent tauk, and filled with all manner of feasting items. The Pilot himself was busy concocting his secret sauce, which he lovingly poured over the meat on ladle at a time.

From his perspective this was all perfectly natural. His friend was a Gifted who had been the chief navigator of a starship and now could move with the speed that ancient vehicle had used to conquer the vast ocean of space. He had seen it many times before, there was no real mystery for him.

The family had a very different perspective. To them, all of these items magically appeared, a miraculous boon to a family that lived at the vey edge of survival. A winged man came out of the sky and had promised them a feast, and in the blink of an eye he had delivered one. At one point the Pilot glanced over at Amanda and he swore he could almost hear her thoughts accusing, "not a God indeed."

As the wine flowed the tongues loosened. Each of the family, an extended family it turned out, there were perhaps a dozen guests, introduced themselves to Pilot, and a disturbing number asked for his blessing. They were filled with questions, would it be a good harvest, would the rains come on time, would the rains be too heavy and flood, or too light and starve their crops?

He had no answer these questions, and he tried to tell them that but, given what they had just seen, they were not inclined to believe him.

Then came the questions he did know the answers too, but could not say. How did he become a Gifted? What had happened? Was he one of the First Men to enter this world? Was he a God?

He could not answer these questions, because they raised too many other other questions. Questions they had all agreed could never be answered. But he knew. As the wine poured his mind wandered back to that faithful day. Why had it been him? Why had he stumbled into that hidden cave?

"We did not ask to be Gods." The voice echoed in his head like thunder rolling through a distant valley. Of all the statues they found carved out of the living rock in this hidden cave on their newly adopted world, this one alone seemed to vibrate with a life force they had never seen before.

The statues were unimaginably old. Their surveys had found no other indication of a civilization at all and it was pure chance that they found this cave at all. It was deep and large but the entry to it was small and hidden, and this was a very big continent. Now they knew they were not the first intelligent creatures to breathe this air.

The statues themselves were fascinating. The faces were hard to read but they seemed to convey great feelings. Some were sad, some almost joyful and some were filled with rage. All carried a feeling of vastness of experience. As if the subjects had lived countless lifetimes before their images were committed to stone.

This one though carried the odd combination of great suffering, and great calm. He had never seen anything like it. It seemed to literally carry the weight of the world, of an entire civilization, now long extinct, and yet somehow it found peace in that unimaginable burden. It was honored to be able to carry it. This was the only one that vibrate with life, the only one that spoke.

"It was not forced upon us, this world needs it's Gods, but we did not ask for it, we were born to it. But that was so very long ago. For hundreds of millennium I have waited for you and now the time draws close. Our era is over"

No one had believed him when he told them the statue had spoken to him, in fairness he wasn't sure he had believed it himself. It had simply said "you have made it. You are welcome here". It wasn't merely the idea do a talking statue that overcame him that first time, though that would probably have done it. There was a feeling of power about this place, a beauty the likes of which he had never known. He felt as if he glowed from within, a glow he could not contain and he feared his heart would burst from the pure joy of it. He wept, and laughed and sank to his knees.

He got the chief engineer to come back down with him, and the statue repeated the message. This time it added an instruction, "all who are awake must come" it said. They both assumed that meant the crew and not the hibernating colonists, and did not really question how this thing knew about them. Somehow it would have felt strange if it had not known.

At first the Captain didn't think this was a good idea, potentially putting the entire crew in danger, but when he heard the voice himself, felt the power of that presence, he relented. None of them were religious people, but this place felt holy, sacred, there was no other way to put it.

Now they were all gathered in this natural cathedral, sitting at the feet of an enormous idol talking to a God. They were all highly educated people all scientists, or engineers of some sort and he was sure not a single one of them would have ever dreamed of such a possibility.

"I will bless this world with my final breath, that it may be a good home for your people." The thundering voice rolled through the valleys of his mind. The force was rising in the chamber, that inner glow he had felt before could now be seen. All around him the bodies of his crew members pulsed with light, their faces contorted I what he could only describe as rapture. He felt it too, as hot tears poured down his cheeks. Blue electric sparks occasionally danced around them and to the statue.

"Without this blessing they will fail, for this world is old and must be reborn." The pulsing light took on a steady rhythm, a drumbeat of thunder and light.

"You must do something in return" it almost pleaded now, all the suffering of a world filled that voice now. No one spoke but in unison their minds cried out "what can we do!?" In that moment they would have done anything for this creature they had not known existed only days before.

"Release me..." This was a plea, not a command. They must agree of their own free will, they must make a conscious decision to let this God go from their presence. They could feel it's suffering, it's joy, and a thousand other things they did not understand. They knew what they had to do but it would take great power.

The thundering light beat on, it's rhythm never changed but the intensity kept growing. He raised his hands toward the statue, bolts of electricity surged out of him into the statue, but somehow even more power was being forced through him. Everyone had their hands up now, the entire chamber was an electrical storm of epoch proportions.

It wasn't just the chamber he realized, the force pounding through them coming from, and going into the entire planet. For a moment he could sense every mountain, every ocean, every tree and leaf. Just then they were all unified in an ocean of power, all contributing to it and drawing nourishment from it. This was the Blessing, and it was working.

There was one final, crashing drumbeat that sent echoes of electric light circling the planet and then there was...nothing. He could feel no thing, see no thing. He was floating but on not on any thing. That's how he was when the God spoke its final worlds.

"The world is Blessed and you have accepted."

Accepted what, he thought, though he did not believe he could actually speak.

"The Gift. And my apologies. There was no other way.",

He sat among the family and wondered how you relate such a story to such people. Soon music began to play. He was not aware of who started it but it wasn't long before there were two pipes, an accordion at least two drums pounding out a rhythm. Before he knew it Amanda had grabbed his hand and pulled him into the circle of musicians that had formed.

He danced with her with an openness of heart he had felt for a long time. He picked her up and twirled her through the air as the song played. He loved the sound of this simple, yet complex music. It filled him with joy. This was what he was looking for. Companionship, family, the easy pleasures of rural life.

Amanda giggled with the unbridled pleasure that only a child can muster. In her eyes this was the most amazing night the world had to offer. For her, everything was perfect. She stroked his wings as they spun wildly to the music, lost in the small crowd of common folk, who only wanted to dance.

He probably should not have done it, and in fact, he had not intended to, but it happened nonetheless. His wings spread ever so slightly and the soft breeze that had blessed them all evening picked up just a bit. Without his effort, or even knowledge, suddenly they were airborne. Only a few feet at first, but the more she laughed the higher they climbed. When he noticed the music had stopped they were at least fifty meters in the air, Amanda giggling the entire way.

Slowly he became aware of his surroundings, of what the family must think of all this. With gentle movement of a feather on a summer's breeze he floated back to the ground.

The family had become silent, staring at him as if he were going to fly away with a favorite child.

He set Amanda down gently, she twirled away, still laughing. He clapped his hands loudly, if for no other reason than to break the spell that had taken them all.

"More tauk!" he called with as much merriment as he could muster, "and more wine!" Amanda grabbed her uncle and forced him to dance with her. With that the spell was broken and they seemed, in some deep way, to accept him as a friend, perhaps not quite family, but certainly no threat.

Someone appeared at his elbow with a plate of food and a glass of wine. He wandered off to a bit more secluded area as the music started up. Questions began to form in his mind. Why were there guards at the border of Doc's region? What was the temple for?

None of it made any sense.

Note: Not sure where this fits in

God has fallen

"We did not ask to be Gods." The voice echoed in his head like thunder rolling through a distant valley. Of all the statues they found carved out of the living rock in this hidden cave on their newly adopted world, this one alone seemed to vibrate with a life force they had never seen before.

The statues were unimaginably old. Their surveys had found no other indication of a civilization at all and it was pure chance that they found this cave at all. It was deep and large but the entry to it was small and hidden, and this was a very big continent. Now they knew they were not the first intelligent creatures to breathe this air.

The statues themselves were fascinating. The faces were hard to read but they seemed to convey great feelings. Some were sad, some almost joyful and some were filled with rage. All carried a feeling of vastness of experience. As if the subjects had lived countless lifetimes before their images were committed to stone.

This one though carried the odd combination of great suffering, and great calm. He had never seen anything like it. It seemed to literally carry the weight of the world, of an entire civilization, now long extinct, and yet somehow it found peace in that unimaginable burden. It was honored to be able to carry it. This was the only one that vibrate with life, the only one that spoke.

"It was not forced upon us, this world needs it's Gods, but we did not ask for it, we were born to it. But that was so very long ago. For hundreds of millennium I have waited for you and now the time draws close. Our era is over"

No one had believed him when he told them the statue had spoken to him, in fairness he wasn't sure he had believed it himself. It had simply said "you have made it. You are welcome here". It wasn't merely the idea do a talking statue that overcame him that first time, though that would probably have done it. There was a feeling of power about this place, a beauty the likes of which he had never known. He felt as if he glowed from within, a glow he could not contain and he feared his heart would burst from the pure joy of it. He wept, and laughed and sank to his knees.

He got the chief engineer to come back down with him, and the statue repeated the message. This time it added an instruction, "all who are awake must come" it said. They both assumed that meant the crew and not the hibernating colonists, and did not really question how this thing knew about them. Somehow it would have felt strange if it had not known.

At first the Captain didn't think this was a good idea, potentially putting the entire crew in danger, but when he heard the voice himself, felt the power of that presence, he relented. None of them were religious people, but this place felt holy, sacred, there was no other way to put it.

Now they were all gathered in this natural cathedral, sitting at the feet of an enormous idol talking to a God. They were all highly educated people all scientists, or engineers of some sort and he was sure not a single one of them would have ever dreamed of such a possibility.

"I will bless this world with my final breath, that it may be a good home for your people." The thundering voice rolled through the valleys of his mind. The force was rising in the chamber, that inner glow he had felt before could now be seen. All around him the bodies of his crew members pulsed with light, their faces contorted I what he could only describe as rapture. He felt it too, as hot tears poured down his cheeks. Blue electric sparks occasionally danced around them and to the statue.

"Without this blessing they will fail, for this world is old and must be reborn." The pulsing light took on a steady rhythm, a drumbeat of thunder and light.

"You must do something in return" it almost pleaded now, all the suffering of a world filled that voice now. No one spoke but in unison their minds cried out "what can we do!?" In that moment they would have done anything for this creature they had not known existed only days before.

"Release me..." This was a plea, not a command. They must agree of their own free will, they must make a conscious decision to let this God go from their presence. They could feel it's suffering, it's joy, and a thousand other things they did not understand. They knew what they had to do but it would take great power.

The thundering light beat on, it's rhythm never changed but the intensity kept growing. He raised his hands toward the statue, bolts of electricity surged out of him into the statue, but somehow even more power was being forced through him. Everyone had their hands up now, the entire chamber was an electrical storm of epoch proportions.

It wasn't just the chamber he realized, the force pounding through them coming from, and going into the entire planet. For a moment he could sense every mountain, every ocean, every tree and leaf. Just then they were all unified in an ocean of power, all contributing to it and drawing nourishment from it. This was the Blessing, and it was working.

There was one final, crashing drumbeat that sent echoes of electric light circling the planet and then there was...nothing. He could feel no thing, see no thing. He was floating but on not on any thing. That's how he was when the God spoke its final worlds.

"The world is Blessed and you have accepted."

Accepted what, he thought, though he did not believe he could actually speak.

"The Gift. And my apologies. There was no other way."

So I mislabel the post that said chapter 3. It's really chapter 2 and here is an edited version

He would need to fly straight home and start shuttling supplies back and forth. It was still early morning but it would take the better part of the day, and several trips, to get everything to the farm in time to start cooking. You really should let a tauk roast for hours if wanted to do it right, and he did.

His mind was filled with recipes and lists of supplies when suddenly all thought was blown away like leaves in the wind, by the intrusion of familiar voice.

"Hey Tinkerbell," the voice reverberated in his head, "long time no see."

It was such a shock that his wings stopped mid beat and only started again when he noticed the ground rapidly approaching him.

"Careful son, that would be a really embarrassing way to die. Of course that wouldn't stop me from making jokes about it at your funeral."

"Chief!" the Pilot finally responded, projecting his thoughts directly to his old friend, "How the hell are you? Where are you?"

"Come on down, I'm in that meadow off to your left. Try not to hurt yourself on the way." Even his thoughts the Pilot could hear the irreverent laughter that the Chief had always been famous for.

Pilot circled the meadow twice and swooped in for a high speed, and, he had to admit, particularly dramatic, landing. Waiting for him, arms outstretched, a bottle of wine in each hand, was his oldest, and dearest friend. They embraced with a passion and affection that only be shared those who have a long history of facing trials and tribulations together, true comrades in arms.

"Sorry to intrude without warning," the other man finally said, after much back slapping and face patting, and the exchange of a few friendly insults. At some point, though no one could say exactly when, it had become considered rude to enter the domain of another Gifted without invitation or at least announcement.

"Not at all," Pilot replied, giving one last slap on the other man's shoulder. "You are always welcome, and it has been far too long my friend."

"Thank you," the man replied, the sincerity clear in his voice, "and, if you don't mind, I will hold you to that."

"Please do. Come by any time, and far more often." the Pilot seated himself on the fallen hulk of an old tree and waved his hand to offer his friend a seat beside him. "I see you come bearing gifts. What's say we have a drink to old times, and you tell me what brings about this glorious occasion?"

The bottles were opened and toasts were made. To the Gifted, to the colonists, to the world that had become their home, to old Gods and to old friends. Pilot tossed aside his empty bottle and staggered to a nearby tree to relieve himself.

"You still have not told me why you are here." he called back over his shoulder. One of the Gifted could drink as much as he liked and be as drunk as he wanted, and with half a moment of concentration be as sober as a monk. Right now the Pilot enjoyed the warm glow of the wine and camaraderie and was disinclined to shake off the effects, but something was bothering his friend, and he wanted to know what it was.

"When was the last time to spoke to one of us?" Chief said as, he too took this opportunity to water the local fauna.

"I talked to Marilyn quite recently as I recall. Everything seemed to be going well with her." Pilot answered.

"I talked to Marilyn a month ago, she said she had not spoken to you for fifty years." he replied, buttoning up his trousers.

"Has it really been that long? It seems like only a few months ago." Time did strange things to him. It passed quickly sometimes, and very slowly others. He had recently taken the opportunity to fly around the planet, just to check things out. Now that he thought about it, by recently, he could have meant the last few decades.

"How about Doc, have you talked to him 'recently'?" the man asked him, quite serious now.

"No," Pilot responded, thinking back over, what now seemed like ages, "not in a very long time."

"That's what I thought."' said the Chief, taking a last swig of wine before tossing his bottle aside.

"Look, things are changing," he said, "and I can't quite put my finger on what exactly." he said, completely sober now.

"What are you talking about?" asked the Pilot, reluctant to release the warm embrace of the very fine wine, "Nothing has changed in, well I don't know exactly how long, but a very long time."

"I know, but they are now." the Chief was the model of sobriety.

"A merchant from my region went to attend a trade fair over in Doc's area. He was met by border guards," he paused for a moment to let that sink in. The regions of the Gifted were well define, but that was really for their sake. Nobody wanted to interfere with the others zone of influence, so to speak. They had, at least until now, never interfered with the free movement of the colonists though. This was something new, and went against everything they had believed in.

"They let the merchant through, but still..."

"Why have them at all?" The Pilot finished for him.

"Exactly."

"There's more," the Chief continued, "he said they have built a temple." Again he paused to let the new information digest.

"A temple?" The Pilot repeated, stunned by the thought.

"Yep." He drew the word out for maximum effect. "Apparently quite a large one, with several buildings and, get this, huge golden gates."

"A temple to whom?"

"No idea. But that is something I would like to know."

A temple. That was at least as shocking as the border guards

"I don't understand it, but I need to investigate further. Do you mind if I pop in now then, just to keep you appraised of the situation?"

"Of course not. Please do. Because, honestly, none of this makes any sense at all."

"I am with you brother, I don't know exactly what's going on, but I know that things are changing, and they are changing at an exponential rate. I have... a sense for such things. And I see this storm coming upon us faster than we could imagine." he was the soul of sincerity.

"Speaking of time, I have promised a family I would prepare a feast for them, and I am afraid I have run out of time to do so. I really have to be going. Why don't you join me? It won't be as fine as I promised, but, well, I'm sure we can throw a great party."

"Yeah, thanks, but, two Gifted at one party might be a bit much. Besides, I am not one for socializing. However, if you are in a time crunch, I can help you out. Tell you what, why don't you give me a list of what you need and where I can find it and I will bring it to the farm for you? Just mark off a spot so that I don't accidentally run into anyone, because, you know, at hyper speed that can get pretty messy."

"If you are sure you don't mind," he said, slapping the Chief Engineer on the back one last time, "that would be a huge help to me."

Chapter 3 part 1

He would need to fly straight home and start shuttling supplies back and forth. It was still early morning but it would take the better part of the day, and several trips, to get everything to the farm in time to start cooking. You really should let a tauk roast for hours if wanted to do it right, and he did.

His mind was filled with recipes and lists of supplies when suddenly all thought was blown away like leaves in the wind, by the intrusion of familiar voice.

"Hey Tinkerbell," the voice reverberated in his head, "long time no see."

It was such a shock that his wings stopped mid beat and only started again when he noticed the ground rapidly approaching him.

"Careful son, that would be a really embarrassing way to die. Of course that wouldn't stop me from making jokes about it at your funeral."

"Chief!" the Pilot finally responded, projecting his thoughts directly to his old friend, "How the hell are you? Where are you?"

"Come on down, I'm in that meadow off to your left. Try not to hurt yourself on the way." Even his thoughts the Pilot could hear the irreverent laughter that the Chief had always been famous for.

Pilot circled the meadow twice and swooped in for a high speed, and, he had to admit, particularly dramatic, landing. Waiting for him, arms outstretched, a bottle of wine in each hand, was his oldest, and dearest friend. They embraced with a passion and affection that only be shared those who have a long history of facing trials and tribulations together, true comrades in arms.

"Sorry to intrude without warning," the other man finally said, after much back slapping and face patting, and the exchange of a few friendly insults. At some point, though no one could say exactly when, it had become considered rude to enter the domain of another Gifted without invitation or at least announcement.

"Not at all," Pilot replied, giving one last slap on the other man's shoulder. "You are always welcome, and it has been far too long my friend."

"Thank you," the man replied, the sincerity clear in his voice, "and, if you don't mind, I will hold you to that."

"Please do. Come by any time, and far more often." the Pilot seated himself on the fallen hulk of an old tree and waved his hand to offer his friend a seat beside him. "I see you come bearing gifts. What's say we have a drink to old times, and you tell me what brings about this glorious occasion?"

The bottles were opened and toasts were made. To the Gifted, to the colonists, to the world that had become their home, to old Gods and to old friends. Pilot tossed aside his empty bottle and staggered to a nearby tree to relieve himself.

"You still have not told me why you are here." he called back over his shoulder. One of the Gifted could drink as much as he liked and be as drunk as he wanted, and with half a moment of concentration be as sober as a monk. Right now the Pilot enjoyed the warm glow of the wine and camaraderie and was disinclined to shake off the effects, but something was bothering his friend, and he wanted to know what it was.

"When was the last time to spoke to one of us?" Chief said as, he too took this opportunity to water the local fauna.

"I talked to Marilyn quite recently as I recall. Everything seemed to be going well with her." Pilot answered.

"I talked to Marilyn a month ago, she said she had not spoken to you for fifty years." he replied, buttoning up his trousers.

"Has it really been that long? It seems like only a few months ago." Time did strange things to him. It passed quickly sometimes, and very slowly others. He had recently taken the opportunity to fly around the planet, just to check things out. Now that he thought about it, by recently, he could have meant the last few decades.

"How about Doc, have you talked to him 'recently'?" the man asked him, quite serious now.

"No," Pilot responded, thinking back over, what now seemed like ages, "not in a very long time."

"That's what I thought."' said the Chief, taking a last swig of wine before tossing his bottle aside.

"Look, things are changing," he said, "and I can't quite put my finger on what exactly." he said, completely sober now.

"What are you talking about?" asked the Pilot, reluctant to release the warm embrace of the very fine wine, "Nothing has changed in, well I don't know exactly how long, but a very long time."

"I know, but they are now." the Chief was the model of sobriety.

"It's probably nothing, but I need to investigate further. Do you mind if I pop in now then, just to keep you appraised of the situation?"

"Of course not. Please do. Because, honestly, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Frankly, at this point, neither do I, but I know that things are changing, and they are changing at an exponential rate. Remember, speed is my thing. Time, really. And I see this storm coming upon us faster than we could imagine." he was the soul of sincerity.

"Speaking of time, I have promised a family I would prepare a feast for them, and I am afraid I have run out of time to do so. I really have to be going. Why don't you join me? It won't be as fine as I promised, but, well, I'm sure we can throw a great party."

"Yeah, thanks, but, two Gifted at one party might be a bit much. Besides, I am not one for socializing. However, if you are in a time crunch, I can help you out. After all, speed is my Gift. Tell you what, why don't you give me a list of what you need and where I can find it and I will bring it to the farm for you? Just mark off a spot so that I don't accidentally run into anyone, because, you know, at hyper speed that can get pretty messy."

"If you are sure you don't mind," he said, slapping the Chief Engineer on the back one last time, "that would be a huge help to me."

http://www.reddit.com/r/Andywrote/comments/2a44ca/the_gifted_chapter_1_part_2/

Thanks to /u/e-duncan for this title What's with Jacob Foster

It was hell on earth. There was no other way to describe it, no other way to even think about it. He couldn't remember the last time he slept. How could you sleep in this, this, menagerie of torture and death. For two months, dear God, had it only been two months? For two months they had been huddled together in hole in the ground. Truly a pit from hell. Hundreds had died around them, but there was nothing they could do with corpses. If you so much as peer out of the pit, you died, leaving yet another corpse to be dealt with.

At first they threw the bodies out of the pit, but they couldn't throw them far enough and soon they were unable to throw fresh ones over the old ones. Then they tried burying them in the pit itself. Scratching out the dirt a little deeper where they could and stuffing the bodies in the new holes. By now the ground itself was soft and squishy from the decaying flesh that lay under them. Just the other day they had to expand their part of the pit and so they were filling sandbags with fresh dirt. By then ground was so saturated with human death that they kept bringing up body parts with nearly every shovel full. One man found this very funny and took to calling out a running report.

"Bit of Bill," he shouted as he stuffed a hand into a sandbag. "Another bit of Bill," he laughed as he pushed a part of a leg into another bag. "Bill's ugly mug," he tossed a black, rotting head into the bag. At this the whole line of men cracked up, nearly collapsing with laughter. For the past week he squatted next to the corpse of a friend, half its face missing and its intestines spilling over its boots.

He would never forget the smell of this place. The smell of death, and shit, and fear and unwashed men. New men who occasionally came into the pit said you could smell it long before you could see it, he believed them.

The noise was the worst. It was virtually constant and near deafening, in the louder it was, the closer you were to death. That horrific thunder brought with it a rain of steel, sharp bits of metal filling the air, and men died, even huddled down in their pit. The called it the drums, because the explosions were so close together they sounded like a drum roll. And they seemed to never stop. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept. He just wanted to go home. He didn't care about his comrades here in the pit. He didn't care about the men in the other pit trying to kill him. He didn't care about anything. He couldn't remember the last time he cared. He couldn't remember the last time he had not been afraid.

That's when he noticed it. He didn't feel afraid anymore. He didn't feel brave, he just, didn't feel anything. Nothing at all. He was too tired to feel. He had been brave for a time, angry for a time, afraid for a very long time, and now, there was nothing. He just wanted to go home. The world took on a strange tone, like seeing everything through a light blue filter. He stood up and walked to the edge of the pit. He reached up to the top and started pulling himself up. He could hear men's voices and he was sure they were saying words, but he just didn't care. The drums rolled over them again and brought its steel rain with them.

He didn't dive for cover, he wasn't afraid. It wasn't that he wanted to die, he didn't actually, he just didn't care anymore. He climbed out of the pit and stared across the field, littered with rotting flesh. The metal flew around him in every direction, but somehow none of it touched him. That seemed curious, but again, he did not care. He didn't care about the tiny bits of death filling the air, he didn't care about the voices calling out to him. "Jacob!" they pleaded, he assumed that was his name, he couldn't remember anymore. It was good to stretch his legs he thought.

He knew, somehow, that he had to walk passed the pit on the other side of that gory field. It was really that far, less than a kilometer. He tossed his rifle back down into the pit. They might need it, he would not. He opened his canteen and drank deeply, then began to walk through the carnage. Still death filled the as the drums poured lead and iron from the sky. Steel vipers spit fire and lead at him at an incredible rate. He had hated the machine guns, maybe worse then he hated the artillery. But now, he simply didn't care. He just wanted to go home, and to do that he had to walk past that pit. The day was warm and heat from the decaying bodies made it even warmer. He pulled off his helmet and dropped it to the ground.

As he approached the other pit a strange thing happened. The vipers on the other side stopped spitting at him. By now the drums had stopped, but that would not last long. It all seemed very interesting, if he had cared. Now, he was simply walking, he was as empty as the dead husks of flesh feet. He saw a bridge, a few planks of wood, over the pit and he walked towards it. The men in the pit were staring at him in disbelief, some had their guns raised, but most just gaped at him wide eyed. He saw horror in their eyes. Fear, but not afraid of him or what he might do. They were afraid of what he had become, afraid that same emptiness, which they could plainly see awaited them. Perhaps it was already calling to them even now. Perhaps the biggest part of this battle they fought was not with guns against a foe, but with their minds against the vast emptiness that called out to all of them.

He didn't care. He just wanted to go home.

They watched as he passed over them, they stared in amazement as nothing in the blizzard of death that had become their world seemed to touch him. He did not run, did not even hurry. He simply walked away. Before long they lost sight of him among the trees. No one ever reported seeing him again. They were all sure he had died out there, for the storm was not contained to this stretch of hell. But most of them, perhaps secretly, hoped he got to wherever he was going.

For those of you interested in history, this is a fairly accurate description of living in the trenches at certain times and places in WWI. The story about "bit of Bill" and turning up body parts while digging is straight from a soldiers diary.

Due to copyright concerns I may make this a private sub. However I am still looking for feedback on the various things here. So, if you would like to continue reading these stories, and hopefully giving feedback, please PM so I can add you to the approved list.

Thanks a bunch

Love to fly part 2

New edited version.

Much thanks to /u/pandademic for his feedback. It was literally invaluable.

"My grandpa says our Gifted take care of us. That if we pray to them they will look after the crops and keep us safe. Will you really do that for us?"

The girls was surprisingly intense for her age. Her question completely took him off guard. Pray to him? Is that what people were saying?

"I am not a God." he said emphatically. He needed to nip this in the bud. "It's true I can fly, but I cannot make your crops grow. Ok, yes, I do try to protect you from bandits and such as best I can, but that really doesn't make me a God. I promise you. I am just a man."

The little girl looked at him as if she did not believe him, but she was too polite to contradict him.

"I never met no other man that could fly." she point out.

"Yes, well, I am Gifted but" before he could finish he saw another thought take anchor in the child. She was going to hold her own opinion as to whether he was a God or not, but now something much more pressing occurred to her. She jumped out of her mother's arms and stood before him, her eyes wide with excitement at this new possibility.

"Can you take me flying with you?" she asked, she said it with such confidence and courage that he was immediately taken aback. She was not the least bit afraid of him, nor of the idea of flying with him. She was excited by it. Almost as if he had been some strange horse she was asking for a ride from. Her tone made him inclined to agree. He liked children, and he loved to fly. Seeing the amazement in her eyes, and hearing her laugh with delight as they soared through the air would be the most fun he had had in years. He started to say yes and scoop her up, when glanced up at her mother. The woman's eyes were wide with terror. Her hand was covering her mouth, as if she feared to object, but could not imagine her child flying through the air with this unknown creature. He understood her concern for her child. She did not know him, they had never met before, but some part of him was deeply disappointed.

"You are a little to young," he said, looking at the mother, trying to reassure her that he would not take her child dangerously high above the earth, at least not without her permission. "But I tell you what. I fly this way often, so when you are old enough, you set three fires here. In a straight line, like this," he drew three marks in the dirt, a straight line with the points equidistance apart. "When I see those fires, I will know that you are ready. Now, I don't fly by here everyday, so you may have to make them for a while, I can't really say how long, but when I see them, I will come and take you for a ride. Deal?" he said offering his hand to the little girl.

She raised her hand to her mouth and spit in it, then grabbed his own with a surprising firmness.

"Deal," she said, nodding her head. They had just struck a bargain as binding as any in any marketplace.

He raised his eyes back to the woman, who was clearly relieved with this development, the fear was, mostly gone from her face, leaving only the awe. Gently he took another step towards her, offering his hand in friendship.

"I am called Pilot," he said as warmly as he could. He truly did not want her to be afraid of him, and he liked to know the folk that lived in his region. She immediately dropped to one knee and bowed her head.

"I know who you are sir," she said with a trembling voice,.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Please, I hope my daughter did not offend you sir. She is very young, and speaks when she should not." The woman stayed down and kept her head bowed.

"Please, stand up. I am a friend, I promise I won't hurt you. You don't need to bow to me." Now he was getting a little irritated. Perhaps it had been too long since he had ventured out. Where were they getting these ideas from?

She hastened to obey. And that is what it was, she wasn't standing because she thought she should, she was standing because she had been told to. He realized he may have let his irritation come through his voice a bit. He would have to be more careful.

"Please sir, she meant no offense," the poor woman was virtually pleading him.

He reached out and took her hand to help her up. He could feel her shake at his touch. Once she had risen he cupped her chin and lifted her head, ever so softly. He then smiled his warmest smile, something he was actually pretty good at.

"The child did not offend me. I promise you. She is sweet, and curious, and bright, and very brave for one so young. These are all qualities I hold in high regard. Please, you have no reason to fear me. I would never harm her or any of you."

The woman seemed to tremble a little less, but still clearly not comfortable. He understood this, after all, he had no delusions about his appearance. He had been born reasonably good looking and had always kept himself in shape, but since the Blessing he had become much more than that. Obviously his wings were, well, startling. But his body had toned to near perfection. He was muscular, chiseled even, and far stronger than even his appearance would lead one to believe. And perhaps the centuries had given his face a certain look of wisdom.

"Will you stay for dinner?" the little girl piped, obviously taken with, what she considered to be a brilliant idea, grabbed his hand gave him a pleading look. He smiled at her. He liked this Amanda, she was so incredibly bold. Without thinking he reached down and picked her up. She was perfectly comfortable with this and with the most natural of movements, threw her arms around his neck, as if he were some beloved uncle. He then realized that that was exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to be that relaxed with him. He was not a God, he was just a kind neighbor.

"I like that idea. I like it very much. Thank you miss Amanda, I would love to have dinner with you and your family."

"Mama! Did you hear that? He said he would stay for dinner!"

He looked once again at her mother, her face was awash with a multitude of conflicting emotions, awe, respect, fear, disbelief, confusion, admiration, perhaps even a bit of adoration. She quickly dropped her gaze again.

"Amanda," she pleaded, "please, you must not..." she was not sure how to finish the sentence. "Please sir," she continued, "we are but poor farmers, you must have much more important things to do. We will not keep... we cannot set a table that would do you honor." The poor woman clearly had no idea what to make of this, rapidly changing situation. He probably should have simply let her off the hook with a gracious declination, but something in him absolutely wanted to sit down at a table with these, simple, honest, folk.

"Nonsense, this will be fun. I know what month it is, but don't worry about that one bit. I have plenty of supplies for this."

It was early summer here, and at this point of the year this poor family would have dwindling supplies. They would have probably used up most of the stored crops from last year, and would have slaughtered the last of the expendable livestock over the winter. That meat would likely be gone by now as well. This was known as the hungry month, reserves were depleted and new crops had not yet come in.

"I promise I will leave you with more than when we met." He realized he was probably as excited about the prospect as the girl was, well, maybe not quite. It had been a long time since he had been to a feast. And he had already decided that is what it would be!

"Sir, my husband is in the fields and, I don't..." she tried to argue.

"I won't take no for an answer." he told her, bouncing Amanda in his arms. "This will be great. Do you like wine?" he said, almost as an after thought.

"Sir?" she seemed confused by the question.

"Please, call me Pilot. Do you and your husband like wine?" he repeated.

"Yes, sir," she finally answered, then added, "Pilot, sir."

"Just Pilot will do," he laughed. "I have a cask of wine older than you are that is just wonderful. In fact, I have two. If you like it I will leave one for you."

Before she could reply he turned back to the girl.

"Now you, my little friend," he said giving her a light tickle in the ribs, making her squirm and giggle in his arms, "Do you like roasted tauk?"

"Oh yes!" she squealed, "especially when we cook it over a big fire outside."

"That's exactly how I like it," which was entirely true. He had a special recipe for a sauce that make you week at the knees. "You must go and gather some of the wild onions I saw growing at the edge of the field. Six or eight should do nicely.

Other than that, you must promise to let me provide everything else. All I ask of you is the pleasure of your company. Promise?"

The woman was still a little dumbstruck but Amanda piped up.

"We promise!" but then immediately changed her mind. "Wait! Mama and me make the best cherry pies in the whole villiage. We should make pies. Don't we make the best pies Moma?"

"I do make a good pie," the woman woman admitted, "and I have several jars left. We had a good crop last year."

"Did you know," he turned to the child again, "That cherry is just about my favorite pie? Cherry pies it is then. But promise me you won't worry about anything else. I will take care of everything."

"Promise." the girl said.

"Okay, then, you go get busy with onions, and I will see you later," he gave her a hug and put her down. She barely hit the ground before her tiny legs were driving her towards the edge of the field.

"Oh, yes, so much to do," he rubbed his hands together, realizing that he was more excited than he had been in a very long time.

"Well, I should get busy. Remember, my good lady, you don't worry about a thing, I will bring everything." he turned, not waiting for an answer, then a thought occurred to him.

"Ah, one more thing. I would appreciate it if, just for tonight, we kept this amongst ourselves. You know, a sort of family affair. Just the members of your household here. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir," this was all happening way to fast for her, though she seemed to be warming up to the idea. "I mean, Pilot, sir." she added quickly.

He laughed again, "Just Pilot. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"I will?" she asked, realizing that the implication was that she would be seeing more of him.

"Of course. Now, are you sure making pies won't be too much of a burden for you on such short notice?" his mind was already running with possible dessert recipes.

"No, si... Pilot. I like to make pies. And I make good ones." she said proudly.

"Excellent. I can't wait. Well I should get busy. See you tonight. Remember, just your household."

With that he turned and launched himself skyward. His great wings blowing clouds of dust. Suddenly the woman found herself standing alone in the field, covered in a fine layer of dust wondering exactly what had just happened. Had a god really just invited her family to dinner?

Phillip the Garbage Man

Phillip was the garbage man in the village. All day long he collected the garbage that people left out on the street for him. He would collect the bags of trash on his cart and carry them way out of town to the dump. Phillip was good at his job too. He had a certain route that he traveled on certain days. On Monday he picked up the trash on this street, on Tuesday on another street. At special times he would pick up the trash from the restaurants and at other times from the markets. It was all very efficient and Phillip took great pride in keeping his village clean.

One day as Phillip was gathering the trash in a very wealthy neighborhood he saw a very expensive carriage coming down the street. It was tall and had great brass handles on the door and the driver wore a stiff red uniform with a tall black hat with white feathers. The carriage had small flags fluttering from little flag poles attached to each corner and it was being pulled by the most beautiful white horses Phillip had ever seen. Each horse, there were four of them, had tall white feathers attached to their harness, just like the driver had attached to his hat.

Phillip knew right away that this carriage belonged to the most important man in the village. This was the Mayor's carriage and the His Honor the Mayor must be inside. Phillip had never actually met the Mayor. His Honor was far too important to bother with a lowly garbage man like Phillip.

The Mayor was inside the carriage and he was very busy. He was not a tall man and his shortness made his round stomach look even rounder especially as it was sitting atop two very skinny legs. His head was quite bald and sat almost directly on his shoulders, giving no indication that he had a neck at all. The result was that he looked very much like a volleyball sitting on top of a large beach ball, sitting on top of a very shaky stool. In fact he was very funny looking but nobody dared laugh at him because the Mayor was a very important man. Right now he was busy trying to convince the ambassador from a neighboring village that they could better serve both of their constituents if they agreed to a certain fee for the ferry that traveled back and forth between the two villages. This would save everyone money and help the people of both villages. It was a job that only the Mayor could do.

After a while the carriage had traveled well out of town. They were on the road that wound its way around the lake that separated the two villages. This road was long and could be dangerous which is why most people preferred to ride the ferry. Unfortunately the Mayor became quite seasick (or lake sick if you prefer) whenever he was on a boat so he had to ride the long way around in his beautiful carriage.

Suddenly there was a great commotion outside of the carriage. The driver began to swerve the carriage wildly and the crack of the whip could be heard as he urged the horses to go ever faster down the winding forest road. The Mayor looked out of his window and saw that they were being chased!

Bandits had tried to ambush the carriage as it went through a particularly dense part of the forest. Only the keen eye and great skill of the driver had saved them from certain death! He had seen them just in time and spurred the horses to a full gallop and turned the carriage up a small side road away from the bandits.

The bandits were in hot pursuit now and all of the driver's skill was barely keeping the carriage ahead of the fast riding thieves. The Mayor looked back to the bloodthirsty thieves and then up to the driver who was completely focused on the task of steering the carriage and controlling the powerful team of horses. At that moment the Mayor realized the most important person in the world to him was his marvelously skilled driver.

The driver's hands, hardened by years of holding the rough leather reins that steered the great team of horses, were covered in sweat and beginning to grow slippery. He struggled to keep control of the carriage as he guided the horses, going ever faster, over the twisting and bumpy forest road. He could hear the thundering hooves of the horses as the bandits closed in on his carriage. His heart was pounding in his chest as the realization grew in him that the weight of his carriage was too great and they could not out run the horses ridden by the thieves. Then he could see out of the corner of his eye the nose of the lead horse just catching up to him. Time seemed to stand still for him as he saw the quick flash of steel as the bandit's sword caught sun and threw the glittering light back at him.

The driver thought all was lost and that the bandits would surely kill him and his passengers. He had used all of his skills and still he had failed to protect his Mayor.

He pulled back on the reins to stop his team, there was no sense in letting the horses kill themselves by tripping on this rough road. He loved those horses, and they loved him and he knew that if he allowed it they would run for him until their very hearts burst in their chests, but that would be pointless, the race was lost. As he turned to face his attackers, determined to fight to the very end he was surprised to see the man with the sword suddenly scream and fly backwards off of his horse.

This confused the driver for a moment, as people did not generally fly off of horses for no apparent reason. At least people who were accustomed to riding horses at all. Then he saw the Knight and it all made sense to him. Never before, or since for that matter, was the driver so glad to see anyone in his life.

One of the village knights had been traveling along the road when he heard the shouting of the bandits as they chased after the Mayor's carriage. He knew that there must be trouble and so he followed the sound of the shouts until he could see the carriage with the bandits close behind. It is the job of a Knight to protect people from just such an attack. He had trained his entire life to do this job and was not going to let these bandits attack that carriage on his road! He cut through the forest as fast as his noble steed would carry him and came out from behind a stand of trees just as the carriage passed by. He quickly swung his arm and caught the bandit swinging the sword squarely in the chest.

Have you ever ridden your bike, or been running at full speed and then run into a pole or a wall? Well that is pretty much what it felt like to the bandit as the iron-covered arm quite suddenly blocked his path. He came to a complete stop, but his horse kept going. Naturally when he looked down the horse was no longer underneath him and he let out a scream as he flipped over backwards from the force of the blow.

Now the remaining bandits quickly surrounded the Knight and a terrible battle broke out.

The Knight had dealt with bandits like this before and it was never pleasant. There were five of them remaining and two of them were trying to distract him while the others slipped in behind him. He was too smart to let that happen and just as the one of the bandits started to sneak up on him he jerked on the reins of this horse just so and the well trained animal kick backwards with its powerful legs.

Now there were four bandits left. The fight continued for only half a minute or so before the bandits, at least the ones left standing, turned and ran away.

In the course of the battle though the Knight had been hurt, a dagger thrust by the treacherous thief had slipped between the plates of his armor and cut deeply into his chest. The Driver managed to get him into the carriage and drove them all back to the village.

Once there they rushed the Knight to his home and quickly fetched the Doctor. The Knight was badly hurt and nobody, including the Knight himself, seemed to think he would survive. He began to run a fever and started drifting into unconsciousness.

The Doctor arrived without a moment to spare. She had been treating another patient when they called her. The man had suddenly fallen sick, so sick he had to be rushed home to bed. The Doctor was in the process of figuring out what was wrong with him when she was called to the Knight's bedside.

She quickly went to work on the Knight. Her hands were soft, not hard like her patience's but they were skillful. She was deeply worried about the man stretched out on the bed before her. The cut was very bad and beginning to get infected. The Knight's fever was going up and he was becoming delirious. The Doctor had some very special medicines and ointments in her bag and she began to apply them. Then her small, delicate hands sewed up the wound on the patience's chest and she carefully wrapped a clean cloth around it. The patient mumbled something that no one could understand and the drifted off once more into sleep.

For three days the Doctor stayed by the Knights bedside making sure he survived this fever. She hardly slept at all and ate only soup that someone brought her occasionally. She was a good doctor and skilled at healing but even with that the Knight nearly died from his wounds.

On the third day the Knight began to regain consciousness. The first thing he saw was the face of the Doctor and he knew that the woman had saved his life. He owed the Doctor everything.

The Doctor began to notice something else that day. There was a smell that was beginning to seep into the house from out on the street. A rotten smell that got worse as the day began to get hotter. Finally when she felt the Knight was well enough the Doctor went outside and was nearly knocked over from the stench.

All along the street were piles of garbage, some as much as three days old it seemed.

Suddenly the Doctor remembered something and began running down the street. Once she arrived at the house she quickly rushed to the bedroom to find the patient she had been helping before they had called him away to help the Knight. The man was even sicker than he had been and by now he had begun to develop spots on his skin.

Poor Phillip could hardly raise his head to greet the Doctor as she came into the room. The Doctor recognized the spots at once and reached into her bag for a certain medicine that she knew would cure the sick little Garbage Man. It took another two days but Phillip was definitely getting better.

By the third morning Phillip was feeling fine and quite ready to go back to work. He hitched up his team to the garbage wagon and began his route but was amazed at what he saw.

He knew there would be more garbage than usual but he was not ready for the piles that grown up in such a short time. All of the restaurants and all of the markets had stacks of rotting food. There were rats beginning to make nests in some of the piles and the flies were as thick as a fog around others. And the stench! The whole village smelled like the garbage dump!

He could see the Mayor out there trying to negotiate, and then trying to order the garbage away but that didn't help. He could see the Mayor's Driver trying to lead a carriage full of garbage but he didn't know the route and could not find the dump. The Knight even offered his sword to help fight the garbage but no one could see how that would help. The streets were lined with people trying to solve this horrible problem.

Just then someone spotted Phillip the Garbage Man and his old garbage wagon. Slowly at first, but then stronger and louder a cheer began to grow throughout the village. As Phillip worked his way down the streets people were out there helping him throw garbage onto his cart and applauding him and slapping him on the back. Even the Mayor shook his hand as he went by City Hall.

The village began to chant "Phillip! Phillip!"

Right then, for the first time in his life, Phillip knew, he was the most important person in the village.

Everyone has a part to play and to someone everyone is most important and those whom we think are lowly may be the most important of all. So when you meet someone, anyone, a Doctor or a Mayor or a Driver or Knight or even a lowly Garbage Man remember Phillip and smile and wave. Because we are, everyone of us, the most important person of all.

Someone is downvoting the posts, which is fine, but given that the point of this sub is to get feedback I would ask that if you are going to down vote something, please explain what you feel is wrong with it.

If you feel strongly enough to down vote it please have the curtesy to give your reasons. You don't have to say you down voted or anything, just give some feedback on what you feel is wrong or could be improved.

"Easy now. Take it slowly."

The voice was unfamiliar, it seemed young, it seemed female, though he was a little unsure what that meant. There was a comforting feeling about it. The voice resonated with a genuine concern, not sympathy exactly, had he been able, at that particular moment put a name to it he might have called it empathy. A Friend. Yes, that was it, it was the voice of a Friend, calm and even, but with a familiar warmth.

The voice began asking questions. Do you know where you are, what's your name, what's the date and so on. They were all meaningless. Can you wiggle your toes? Toes? Is there any pain? Pain? None of it made any sense. How do you feel? That was the craziest of all, though he couldn't say exactly why. How do you feel what? Was he supposed to wiggle his feelings? Was he supposed to feel his name? He wondered if the Friend was just putting words together in random order. And maybe even making up some new ones.

Then he began to form questions of his own. Where was he? How did he get here? And then the question that had been darting, unnamed, around his thoughts (thought, there was an odd concept), as if trying avoid detection began to catch his attention. Slowly at first, like a creature gliding from shadow to shadow, only briefly crossing through the light. Now it began to form out of the mist, taking a shape he did not recognize, but could no longer ignore. More light fell on it, it's edges became more defined. But it was a previously unknown thing, so he was not sure if he was really perceiving correctly or not. Until eventually the question fell into form and forced itself upon him.

Who am I?

The question itself brought with a reality he had not known existed. It demanded a singularity, a separation that had seemed to have never occurred to him before. Or perhaps it had always been there and he had simply forgotten it.

The voice droned on reminding him that it was still there. He had momentarily forgotten that fact. For a while it asked more meaningless questions, and though he did not recall giving any, apparently the Friend was pleased with his responses.

"Ok" the Friend announced after some unknown length of time, " I think you've had enough excitement for one day. You're doing very well. Keep working on those toes and I will speak to you again tomorrow."

Again with the toes. Apparently it was important for him to find out what toes were.

He assumed that when the Friend spoke again it was tomorrow. He wasn't sure whether the speaking caused it to be tomorrow or whether it only announced the presence of tomorrow. But the Friend said she would speak tomorrow, and she was speaking so tomorrow it must be.

The Friend spoke for some length and again she was apparently pleased with the way he responded, but he still wasn't sure how or what his responses were. There was much talk of toes.

Then she said something very confusing.

"Your progress is excellent!" She announced, "you need to rest now, I will talk to you tomorrow."

What was that supposed to mean? Wasn't it tomorrow now? Hadn't she told him she would speak to him tomorrow, and then, after not speaking, spoke to him again, thus making it, or at least announcing the fact that it was tomorrow? He decided toes would be less confusing and so tried focusing on them.

The Friend announced, or created, he was never sure which, several tomorrows before much started making sense. At least enough sense for him to start asking questions.

"What is tomorrow and how do you make it?" He asked her on one such occasion.

The question seemed to confuse her. This was not a state he had ever seen her in before.

"I do not make it." She finally replied.

"Then you announce it."

"I do not understand your question." She was genuinely perplexed.

"You speak. Then you say you will speak again tomorrow. Then you do not speak. Then you speak again, making it tomorrow. But I do not know what tomorrow is."

She stared at him silently before answering. "I cannot tell you what tomorrow is. I used the term because as I looked into you it seemed be something you could grasp."

"I don't understand." He said.

"It is difficult for me to explain because we see this particular thing so very differently." She began.

"You said I speak, and then I do not speak, and then I speak again. What happens when I do not speak?"

He thought for a while before replying. "Different things happen. I work on wiggling my toes, or I practice breathing. Sometimes I count."

"And your experience of those events is that one happens, then another and so on?" She asked.

"Yes," he replied "though sometimes I do one while also doing another."

"That sequential experience, one thing, then the next, is how you experience time. To you it is linear. It flows from moment to moment. Tomorrow, is a word to describe a part of that line you have not yet experienced."

"But I have experienced many tomorrows. Each time you speak after you do not speak it is tomorrow is it not?"

"Not really," she said thoughtfully, "though I must admit, this part does confuse me. I can really only try to imagine the way you actually perceive it. But the word tomorrow, in this particular case, always means a unit of time, if it can really be called that, linearly as yet unexperienced. You can never actually experience tomorrow because the word itself means that you have not experienced it. Though frankly I have an extremely difficult time grasping that concept."

"I think I understand it. It is always a certain amount of linear experience away."

"Actually, I think that is it! You understood that very quickly. It is much more difficult for me."

"Because you do not experience time in a linear fashion, one moment and then the next moment?" he asked,

"Yes, that s it." she answered.

"But I do."

"Yes"

"So we are not the same?" he had realized this very early on

"This is another matter of perception. I think from your point of view, we are separate, individual. But that is not how i see it."

"Do you have toes?"

* * * * *

Time, as he experienced it, passed. He did eventually learn to wiggle his toes. He learned to walk. He learned to see and to hear something besides her voice. Though he never quite learned to see her.

He could easily perceive her. She was always there but sometimes he felt her stronger than other times. He thought for a while that this was when she was sleeping, but when he asked her she said she did not sleep.

When pressed on the subject she told him that those times he did not sense her as strongly were a result of him putting his attention on something else. She assured him she was always there he was simply placing his attention on other things and when he did that his perception of her dropped.

This concerned him, because he was not completely convinced that she really was there when he placed his attention on other things. If his lack of attention actually caused her diminish, she could possibly disappear altogether. This was something he could not accept.

So he made a very concerted effort to hold her as the single highest priority of his attention. As much as he possibly could he focused on her and her alone. His awareness of her grew beyond anything he could remember. She shimmered and her presence filled him. He understood that she, herself, did not change, only his perception of her. He wondered if this was a similar affect as their relative perceptions of time.

she could sense what he was doing and she seemed to approve. It made their connection that much stronger. He decided he would put his attention on her exclusively. He could neither see nor hear anything else.

Then he ran into a rock.

"I think we have learned something," he heard her say. "It would seem you must occasionally look where you are going. I did not understand that the energy pattern would interact with yours in quite that way."

"I hit a rock." He said.

"Ah. Yes, that would explain it I suppose."

"You did not see the rock did you?" he asked her.

"Apparently neither did you." he could hear the gentle humor in her voice.

"No. But I just wasn't looking. I was looking at you. All of my attention was on you. I could have seen it had I been looking. Could you have a seen it?"

"Not the same way you do."

"I do not see how we can be the same type of creature, as you have said we are. We perceive the world entirely differently."

"I did not say we were the same type of creature."

He started to argue with her, but then he thought back over their conversations and realized she was right. She had never said they were the same creatures. She said there was no separation between them. Where he considered them individuals, she did not.

"I do not understand," he admitted.

"Not yet, but you are beginning to," she replied.

After a few moments she spoke again. "You have learned to walk and to run?"

"Yes, I can even wiggle my toes." This time it was his voice that carried the gentle humor and it was not lost on her.

"Good," she said. "Find a safe place and set down. Preferably a place away from rocks."

"Ok," he said, feeling the curiosity build within him. "Why?" He asked as he made himself comfortable.

"Now that you can walk, and now that you can place so much attention on me I need to teach you something."

"What?" Now he was truly curious. She had taught him many things, but she had never before directly told him she was going to instruct him on anything, as if it were a formal lesson.

"It is time for you to learn to fly."

"This involves a great deal of attention doesn't it?" He asked.

"Yes it does."

"It is very important isn't?" He went on, an odd anxiousness began creeping into his awareness.

"Yes, it is." She repeated.

"It's why I exist isn't it?" Though he already knew the answer.

"Shall we begin?" She asked in a calm, gentle tone.

"When you look around you, what do you see?" She asked?

He looked around and noted the landscape. There was a wall off to his left, the remains of a very old crater, the opposite side having collapsed an unimaginable time ago, having been struck a later meteor. The absence of the right side made the left look jagged and incomplete. The giant planet they orbited hung silently in the sky, and beyond it, the sun glowed brightly.

He described all of these things to her.

"I "see" a series of energy patterns, that, if I think about it in a certain way, makes sense with what you are saying, but looks very different to me."

After a few moments she began to speak again.

"Place your attention on me, fully, as strongly as you can." Her voice allowed no conversation, this was instruction, not discussion. He did as he was told.

He was more aware of her than he had ever been. Every fiber of his being resonated with her.

"Look at the stars with me," she said. "Do you see them as I do? Do see the energy they represent?"

He saw the stars, as if for the first time, they went from being cold lights in the sky to vibrant pulsing, living things.

He was so aware of the fact that he wiggled his toes. The tiny maneuvering jets fired and sent little puffs of dust into the thin atmosphere.

"They are alive," he whispered.

"Yes."

"Are we alive" he asked, suddenly unsure of the answer.

It took her long moments to answer. Her silence made him nervous. He wiggled his toes again, the small jets fired stronger this time raising a small cloud of dust around him. His eyes automatically adjusted to infrared until the dust settled.

"We are alive." She finally admitted, "but we are damaged. We new it was possible, even likely, before we began this journey. But the journey was necessary."

The question that he had never, for some reason, gotten around to asking, suddenly became extremely important.

"Who am I" he asked.

"You are my ride."

"And who are you?" He thought his voice might be shaking. His main thrusters went into standby mode, preparing to fire.

"I am your navigator." Her voice remained.

"And what are we?"

"we are the alchemist, for want of a better word. It is important you keep focusing your attention on me. You must get closer to me. See the stars as I do."

He redoubled his efforts. Pouring his attention onto the Friend. He felt her grow closer, grow larger, stronger, and more familiar. The stars throbbed with life. His main thrusters fired and they left the surface behind. This did not alarm him, he had walked amongst the planets for a long time. But this was becoming different. This time, they were beginning to fly.

"Why are we doing this? How did we get damaged?"

"Please, focus on me, only on me and the stars through my eyes."

This he did. The stars grew closer, and brighter, as did the Friend. He began to understand everything.

They had come such a very long way in search of a material they could not find in their own world. No, it was farther than world. It was dimension. It was something he did not understand. But something had gone wrong. They had not quite been prepared for this universe.

They had been damaged. And trying to repair that damage had forced them into what they were now. In this world, but not of it. A separation where none exists. They needed to gather their material and go home.

They stars were everywhere around them now, flowing and dancing, the Friend was drawing him in and he was flying them out.

"See the stars?" Friend whispered, though the distinction was becoming difficult to maintain.

He looked again and saw them blur and flow into lines, no, paths. They were looking at the way home. But it blurred and blended. Friend could not fly the way on her own, he could not find it on his own. They began to meld back into the original creature they had been. The damage began to repair as they flew through this space of no space. The stars burst with possibilities. They could anywhere they wanted. The roads among the stars were endless and blinding. Paths ebbed and flowed and poured themselves out before the travelers.

There were too many he thought, you can find it she said.

There are a million ways, he thought, but I only need one, they replied.

And there it glowed, separating itself out from the visual static that had threatened to thoroughly blind them. They were singular now, they were the path.

They were going home.

I am seriously interest to hear what people think. Please give me your feedback.

chapter 1, part 1

The wind slid through his hair, it caressed his face and raced across his body in a way that never ceased to thrill him. He stretched out his arms, not to gather the wind, just feel it, to touch it. He raised his arms above his head and plummeted towards the ground, his hands cutting the air like a knife, his body becoming an arrow racing towards its target with ever increasing speed. His stomach rose to his throat, like that sensation you get with any sudden drop. It tickles your entire torso, you want to laugh, and if it is strong enough you want to scream your laughter to the world.

The ground was rushing towards him now at a dizzying rate, and still he picked up speed. Faster, he thought to himself, faster. Speed was rarely his primary objective, but sometimes he loved the thrill of such incredible velocity. At this speed the wind felt hot and rough on his skin. What had been a caress now became more akin to a wrestling match, though really he thought of it as a dance and in this dance one had to respect their partner.

He was beginning to be able to recognize distinct features on the ground now instead of general patterns. A confusing pattern of various shades of green became forests and meadows. Very quickly forests became trees. At the last possible moment he snapped his wings out to their fullest extension, gripping, forming, directing the air, herding the wind, and breaking his fall. He skimmed so low over the forest he could have reached out brushed the leaves. So he did.

God he loved to fly.

The world, once again, began to drop away beneath him as rode the eddies and currents of the wind. The forest gave way to meadow, but as he glanced down he saw that the meadow was, in fact farming land, a field plowed and sown. For a moment he thought he heard something, but the wind wasn't right for it to reach this far. There was a slight shift in the breeze and then he heard it.

"Gifted!" the voice, which was probably quite strong to reach him up hear sound thin and weak, almost a whisper. He thought it was a girls voice, a young girl, perhaps a child, but he could be sure. He always smiled when people called him that. They would never know the irony of it. But, the accuracy of the name could not be denied. He was, in fact, Gifted. His gift bestowed upon him by the very Gods of this world themselves.

He glanced down at his body, making sure he was wearing clothes, as sometimes he neglected to do so when he left his cliffside home. Seeing that he was decently clad he shifted his wings just a bit, dropping one, raising the other, only slightly, moving a few feathers as if they were fingers. All this delicate movement had the effect of bringing him around back over the field, and holding him suspended, for a brief moment, stationary in the air. At which point he once again dropped out of the sky, arrow straight, towards the small dot that was probably whoever had called out to him.

This time he did not do any death defying stunts. He simply flew down and, approaching her from the downwind side, glided across the freshly planted field only to pull up and gently land on his feet several feet from the small girl who had called to him. He generally tried to land softly and some distance away from people he did not know, as his wings had a tendency to frighten them, especially children.

This child was not frightened though, she was running towards him as fast as her little legs would carry her, whatever chore she had been doing was completely forgotten, and no doubt whatever tool she had been using to do said chore, cast aside in her haste.

"Mama!" she was shouting, her high pitched voice pierced the air, "Mama! It's a Gifted! Gifted! Mama!"

When she finally reached him she stopped so suddenly he thought she was going to tumbling. She was breathing hard he thought she would collapse. Gently he leaned down towards her, moving slowly, so as not to startle her.

"Mama!" she yelled in her highest, loudest shout yet, right at his face. He stepped back so quickly that he slipped on a loose clod of dirt fell unceremoniously onto his backside. As he was falling, instinctively his wings shot out wide, flapping, trying to hold his balance.

That seemed to silence the girl at last. His wings were huge, over 12 feet across and startlingly white. Their motions could be fast and they could move an impressive volume of air, even more than their majestic size would indicate. Her eyes bulged as she stared at him, her mouth continued to move and shape the sounds for "gifted" but no sounds came out. He stood up and dusted himself off, laughing lightly. He shook his wings out, to clear off any dust they may have acquired, but in truth, dirt and dust rarely clung to his feathers. Except for his wings he appeared to be a perfectly normal man. He was not overly tall, but perfectly formed, he had dark hair which he kept cropped, he found there was less wind resistance that way. His clothing was simple, a light linen shirt and woolen pants.

Just as he was shaking his wings a woman came stomping out from the trees, clearly the girls mother, looking around for the girl.

"Amanda," she called out, "what are you screeching about..." she stopped in her tracks, obviously seeing the man for the first time. The girl simply lifted her arm and pointed at him, once again mouthing the word, gifted. Then her senses seemed to take hold and bolted to the girl and scooped her up in one quick, practiced move, then took several steps backwards, never taking her eyes off the strange creature.

He pulled his wings in to make himself look, at least a little, less ominous.

"It's okay," he said, as gently as he could, like a summer breeze stroking the air, "I won't hurt you, I promise." he raised his hands in that universal sign that indicated he was no threat.

"Who," the woman started, "what," she continued but she clearly had no way of completing the sentence as he slowly, gingerly, to a careful step towards her.

"Really," he tried to comfort her, "I won't hurt you." he repeated, his voice sounding a bit like wind chimes to her ears.

"Your our Gifted aren't you?" the little girl finally offered, no longer startled by his wings and now, clearly, intensely interested him.

He laughed again, and that laughter sounded to her like the small silver bells they sometimes used at festival.

"Yes," he replied as gently as he could, "I suppose I am."

I think this will be a great sub and want to thank /u/e-duncan and his friends for creating it and inviting us to join.

I just realized how delinquent I have been in giving credit to /u/Pandademic for this story. He wrote the first half of it in /r/FinishInTheComments and it is beautiful. I cannot thank him enough for his contribution.

FLASH

It hit his senses like a supernova of optical sensation. The light filled his mind and he regained consciousness. It's black again.

"Where am I?" He thought to himself. He reached his hand out, almost immediately hitting a metallic wall in front of him. He was in a tube of some kind. His head felt like it was going to explode.

FLASH

As the light faded he could make out a circle shape in front of him. He reached for it-

FLASH

It hurt his eyes, he looked away, trying to figure out what his surroundings were, feeling along the tight walls in the black.

FLASH

Buttons. He could feel buttons. And metal. It's cold, it's all so cold. He tastes blood. What is going on?

FLASH

Claustrophobia sets in. Panic begins. He's trapped. "Help!" He screams, still disoriented by the last flash. "Help! I'm trapped!"

FLASH

Silence. Dark. Cold.

FLASH

He tried to look up but moving his head made him nauseous and accomplished nothing. Dark. Cold. At least now the silence was broken by the thundering of the blood rushing in his ears.

FLASH

"Stop with the fucking light!" He screamed.

Breathe, he told himself. Try to relax. Why was he being tortured like this. What was happening? The last thing he remembered... Wait. Training, he remembered training. Follow the training. He slowed his breathing, counted his heartbeats. He was trained for this. He knew what to do. Why did he know? How did he know?

FLASH

This time he was ready for it. He knew it was coming and he knew it was important. The timing, color, intensity of the light was critical to the process. He couldn't remember why, but it was.

He had managed to slow his heart beat. He tried to remember something, anything, he was trained for this, it had happened before. Three times. Yes he was sure it had happened three times before. His pulse started to quicken. He didn't know what, but there was something unpleasant about those memories. Deeply disturbing.

Remember the training. Breathe. Count the heartbeats.

Relax.

And now the Flash.

FLASH

Why was it waking him? Yes! That was it. He was waking. But from what? He felt as if he had been dead and was somehow being brought back to life. Was that it? Had he been dead? How did he die?

Remember the training. Breathe. Count the heartbeats.

Relax.

And now the Flash

FLASH

No, not dead. Asleep. Not exactly sleep either. Why was he being wakened? Three time before he had done this process, and he had trained for it before then. The last time had been the worst.

Remember the training. Breathe. Count the heartbeats.

Relax.

And now the Flash

FLASH

It was coming back to him. He shuddered, then suppressed the panic that tried steal the very blood from his guts. There must be a problem, one that only he could fix. The last time it had taken him six months. Six months alone, no human interaction at all. It nearly drove him mad. Now panic was trying to make a flanking maneuver through his lungs.

Remember the training. Breathe. Count the heartbeats.

Relax.

And now the Flash

FLASH

He was awake now. He would do whatever needed to be done but the panic had begun to make a beachhead in the lower regions of his mind. He prayed it would not take too long.

They knew that over the course of the hundreds of years they were going to be out here some corrections, repairs, maintenance and such would have to be done. They had planned for it, trained for it. They were as prepared as they could be and they all knew and accepted the risks.

Waking someone from stasis was dangerous. There was a small, but statistically significant chance they would either go mad, or simply not wake up. The more times you went through the process, the higher chances of failure. This was his fourth time and there would of course be at least one more. He figured next time there would be roughly a 25% chance of failure.

For that reason they woke up as few people as possible and only when necessary. Consequently, the last time it had been only him. For six months, it was only him. Now that he had calmed himself and the fog had lifted he could remember that time without panic. Something had changed in him during his solitude. Something had strengthened. He had found a peace, in the end. It was only him and the ship. And God he loved to fly.

Remember the training. Breathe. Count the heartbeats.

Relax.

And now the Flash

FLASH

"Computer, end sequence. Theta 749."

"Authorization confirmed. Welcome back, sir" the voice was, warm, even if it was artificially so, and he was glad to hear it.

The tube was warming up now and he could finally make out a faint glow. The lighting had to raised slowly so as not to damage eyes that had had not been used in years, perhaps centuries. The flashing had stopped, but now he knew it had actually been a very soft light at a level that he would barely register once fully awake.

"Computer, report. What's the problem?" Might as well get right to it.

"All systems functioning within normal parameters." The voice actually sounded pleased with itself.

Now this just pissed him off. It risked his life for nothing?

"Why the hell did you..."

"This is Captain Mercer, do you read me Pilot?" A gruff and very familiar voice rumbled through the tube.

"Yes, sir. What's the problem sir?"

"We have entered system Delta 142857" and now the Captain sounded pleased with himself. Maybe he had been talking to the computer too long.

Then it began to sink in. Delta 142857. That system had been drilled in his head countless times. He knew it by heart. He knew every planet, every orbit. He knew the projected location of every significant piece of rock that was madly making its way through the deep black of space around that beautiful golden star.

The tube opened around him, leaving him standing on a platform in the middle of a room crowded by other tubes. He took one shaky step into the single empty space and sank slowly to his knees. Tears welled, and then overflowed down his cheeks. His body was wracked as he wept unashamedly.

They were here. After all these centuries, they were here. It would take him months to safely pilot them to their new planet, but he would not be alone. It would take more months for them to scout and map the surface. Then perhaps a year, perhaps more, before the crew could begin to awaken the colonists. Food production would have to be well established, known dangers dealt with and a million other details. But they were prepared for that too.

His body convulsed again as he wept. So many centuries. He had dreamt of saying the words but now he was not sure he had ever truly believed he would.

They were home.

Just sort of testing the waters here. We hope to get things rolling on the novel very soon.

I have been to the land of Fa-Al-Mazaar. It was quite the journey, it was very far. Fa-Al-Mazaar is a very strange place, ruled by a king of a very strange race.

The race of Fa starts out much like us, 1 head, 2 eyes, nothing to fuss One face, 2 ears, a tongue and a nose, they do have 2 feet but only 4 toes

But what really sets them apart you see, when it comes to arms, they each have 3 They say on the one hand, or one the other, but the third hand is quite different altogether.

With the one hand they gesture, the other they pose, but the third hand carries their burdens and woes. Wherever they go, whatever they do, their third hand carries a burden or two.

Now another strange thing, as if you need more, the Fa, as a race cannot work a door. It’s hard to believe, I know, but it’s true. There is no door that they can pass through.

The passage is fine, it’s the opening part that makes them bewildered and makes them depart.

You take the doorknob in one hand and give a slight jerk, but the Fa who have 3, just can’t make it work.

So I showed them a door, I gave them a key, they didn’t understand, they wouldn’t take it from me.

One hand, is busy, expressing, they said the other in pose, the answer is clear, I said, clear as your nose

You have 3 hands, I said, not 4, 1 or 2. Use the third to open it, and then simply step through.

They laughed and they scoffed, but don’t you know, the third hand is busy, holding our baggage and woe.

“Put it down by the road, tie it up in a sack, it will always be here if you choose to come back”

But their baggage tied up their third hand don’t you see. They refused the door, wouldn’t take the key.

And so because they won’t drop their burden and woe, they stand before a door, through which they won’t go

This is a test of the andy broadcast system. If this had been an actual post you would have received instructions.