SECOND CHANCE SALOON

 

Maître Alchimiste: On the shelf to your left, you'll find a flagon containing fricasseed newt tongues in apricot jelly.
You'll want to mix it with elm sperm after midnight at the New Moon.
 Allow the mixture to coagulate for a fortnight (bringing it to the Full Moon) and then you must heat it to a boil and add a goblet full of the urine of a pregnant horse. Allow it to cool. Add a handful of saffron and cinnamon. Don't skip this step or the taste will gag you.

Isisdora: What on earth are we doing? 

Maître Alchimiste:  Alchemy - combining elements to create new things or, in this particular case, to manifest a desired outcome. 

Isisdora: Must I pepper you with questions or will you simply tell your plans for this...this...stinking goop?

M.A.: This is a recipe that will provide you with LAFS - Love At First Sight - something that all maidens of your natality dream of. 

Isisdora: Piffle! I no longer trust falling in love at first sight. It's killed me more than once. It always ends in buckets of pain and blood.

M.A.: Ah, but it inspires your creativity, does it not, Maîtresse des Arts? Are you saying that you don't want this recipe? 

Isisdora: I do not want this particular recipe, no. What I'd like in its place is a way to increase creativity without having to withstand another failed romance, if you don't mind.

M.A.: Sigh! Very well then - I'll consult the Lacnunga - my book of remedies. I'll make use of the nine sacred  herbs: mugwort, plantain, shepherd’s purse, nettle, bettony, chamomile, crab apple, chervil, fennel. If it doesn't increase your artistic genius, at the very least if will clear up any skin conditions that you may suffer from.
No matter, it will work like a charm because it is a charm. Oh! How I amuse myself.

Isisdora: I must be on my way, Maître. Send me a turtledove to announce when this spell has been completed.

M.A. : Oh no, no, no, no, no, Maîtresse! You must fully participate in this ritual to bring it to fruition. Tomorrow night at dusk, you must present yourself to my charm circle in the forest. Are you familiar with it? It's west of the mere and four steps backward from the bent pine.

Isisdora: What shall I wear for this ritual?

M.A.: Nothing. We will be sky-clad.

Isisdora: Uh, no. I suspect an ulterior motive on your part. I've heard what you get up to with the village maidens in your charm circle. I'm not like the other girls; you should know this by now.

M.A.: Ah ha ha ha! You have me there, don't you? All right, wear a gown of gold.

Isisdora: I'll be all in blue.

M.A.: Am I getting old?

Isisdora: Oh no, not you. 

M.A.: Be off with you, ya lttle scamp - I have spell-casting to do. 

On the morrow, the two meet to greet the dusk and cast the spell. However, the alchemist has shifted the focus of the intention. He plans to cause Isisdora to suffer LAFS for him against her Will. He doesn't realize the power that she holds against the magic of those who have their own benefits in mind while casting spells.

The spell in question:
Take the fragment of the tip of a toenail, add man seed together with blood from a cat… Pound the seed and add mandrake root and put it in a cup of summer wine. Recite the spell seven times over it and have the woman drink it in the fading light of day. Thus, the drinking will cause LAFS with the first man encountered.

After the magic has been completed...but the charmed fluid not yet drunk...

M.A.: There! That was easier than I thought it would be. Here have a little sip of the prepared beverage. You'll be flying high with ideas in no time - trust me!

Isisdora: My father always warned me not to trust anyone who says "trust me" because it means they cannot be trusted. I suspect a ruse on your part. Have a little sip to prove that this is no trick.

M.A.: Oh, I couldn't! This is meant for you, my sweet. Really. I shouldn't. It could be hazardous to a male.

Isisdora: Drink it! Now! Or there will be hell to pay!

M.A.: There are worse things than hell to pay. I didn't prepare a counter spell.

Isisdora: DRINK IT NOW!

M.A.:  Please, no. Please...be merciful.

Isisdora: (raises her arms and inhales deeply).

M.A.: Wait! WAIT! I will do your bidding! (takes a small sip)

Isisdora: MORE! Drink it down! 

M.A.: (weeps as he guzzles it down)

Suddenly, a masked horseman rides into the clearing. Maître Alchimiste falls to his knees as his eyes take on an admiring gaze. He's besotted. He's smitten. He's infatuated with the broken-down Knight of the Second Chance Saloon riding his old gray mare.
Isisdora laughs merrily at his fate.

Isisdora: How long does this spell last, Maître Alchimiste?

M.A.: Not long enough, I'm afraid - I want to love this man forever. He's my Knight in Shining Armoire! 

Isisdora: He's furniture to you? 

M.A.: The finest closet a man can find.

Isisdora: Let this be a lesson to you - never use magic if you intend to take advantage of the petitioner. Now you'll learn the hard way just what having LAFS entails.


©Ellen Pepper 2025


 

A Story for Κάρολος

 

 

"Where have I been all your life?"

Belle: "Why are you speaking to me?"

"I heard you orating before the philosophers. You know more than you let on. Also, you're wearing a fetching gown."

Belle: "This old sheet? It's just a little scrap of cloth I found in the agora at Thessaloniki when I travelled through there. What do you want with me? Who are you?"

Damon: "My name is Κάρολος but you can call me Damon Eudoxus Lysander. Some refer to me as Xenophon because I am recently come from Massalia, in Gaul. I'm Professor of the Humors."

Belle: "And why do you detain me?"

Damon: "I am offering you an invitation to join a forum group that I organize. We're philosophers who spend much of our time discussing the meaning of life and how the living of it can be improved. I’ve heard you speak to the crowd at the agora lately and I found your ideas to be novel and fascinating."

Belle: "Really? A man who heeds a woman's speech? That's unprecedented in the land of my birth. What does a Professor of Humors concern himself with, pray tell?"

Damon: " Ah, now that's a tale that calls for a shared beverage. Shall we rest a while and savor Ellinikós kafés together?"

Belle: "It's a fine idea but I must return to my father's house in time for the evening meal. Perhaps we can meet again on the morrow."

Damon: "As you wish, lady. Say, who are you? I don't know your name."

Belle: "I am called Belle... but I'm known to be a beast because of my fiery temper and easily roused rage. A man scorned me and, for that, my demeanour took a turn for the worst. Men fear my fury...and rightly so. I do not suffer fools gladly."

Damon: "Do you suffer fools at all?"

Belle: "Don't test my patience, there's precious little of it."

Damon (with a grin): "I will attempt to please you, Belle."

-----------------------------------------------------
When next they met, Damon laid out for Belle the theory of the Four Humors initially developed by Hippocrates in which it was proposed that health and temperament must have a balance of the four humors (fluids) in the body: blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm. *

Belle was fascinated and asked Damon to become her mentor.

Damon: "Are you certain that this is a viable choice for you? After all, I am a man and you claim to despise men. Would I be endangered by maintaining propinquity with you?"

Belle: "Are you certain that you want to ride so close to the edge of the roof by teasing me, good sir? Don't you fear my scorching choler if I take offence?"

Damon: "Belle, I sense that you already know that my high regard for you is revealed by my harmless banter. I see no need to give you reason to cause a commotion. Come, let us dine and discuss the humors, now that you are to be my student."

-------------------------------------------------

They met to talk
and talk they did.
He taught her Humor.
Was spared her grit.

Belle learned to laugh
and trust
and learned that some
are not all.

Unlike other suitors,
he listened to her.
Unlike herself,
Belle was kind to him.

To be continued...

©Ellen Pepper 2025

*https://psychologyfor.com/the-theory-of-the-four-humors-by-hippocrates/
ref: https://ellenpepper.substack.com/p/ma-belle-dame-sans-merci

Oh, Susanna

 

 

Oh, Susanna

by Ellen Pepper

Susanna: Doc, the medication is hampering my cognitive abilities and decimating my memory.

Doc: In what way? Can you be specific?

Susanna: It's like this, see - I have to think about thinking now. Before I started with the meds, and during my time of being non-compliant, I was able to simply think of things. Now, I have to make plans to think.
For instance: I'm standing at the sink and realize that I need to get something in the fridge.
I start walking the 6 feet to the fridge but with the first step, my mind goes blank about the reason I'm going there. With each step, I search my memory to no avail. Then, I decide to wait until I'm actually standing before the open fridge to jog my memory.

Door open, I am still blank.

I look over at the sink and realize that I hadn't been standing there at all, I'd been at the counter preparing a salad and that what I needed in the fridge was the container of Feta cheese. 
It's not as simple as just thinking that I should grab the cheese and doing so - it takes more thought than it should.
My mind isn't working properly anymore.
What can we do to fix this?

Doc: It strikes me that you are simply over-thinking. You're making too much of simple tasks.

Susanna: Exactly my point - my cognition and memory are obviously affected by these meds.

Doc: I disagree - your overthinking is nothing more than a symptom of anxiety about having to take medications to stave off the fact that you are dying. You're in denial. 
Look at it this way: you are able to observe and be conscious of how your mind is working, therefore your mind is working...just differently. 
Your memory is lagging a bit but still functional - you may forget the cheese, for instance, but you haven't forgotten what cheese is and what it's used for, correct?
Your memory is functional.

Susanna: I don't think that you are taking this seriously enough. I'm very disturbed about this and want to rectify it somehow. Immediately, if possible.
Can't you prescribe different meds that won't have this effect?

Doc: Susanna, you must acknowledge that none of this matters because you'll be dead within 3 months. There's no way out. There's no cure. Surely you can cope with alternate ways of thinking for 3 months? Put on your big girl panties and deal with the fact that you're terminal.

Susanna: Oh Doc, your compassion and empathy overwhelm me. Thank you most graciously for being direct and honest. I can only hope that you are given the same response when you next consult a physician.
By the way, you don't have 3 more months. You'll be dead before me. A sudden accident. You'll greet me when I reach the Other Side. Mark my words.

Doc: That's enough for today. Let's meet again next Thursday.

Susanna: No. Sorry, Doc - you won't be able to make it. Thanks for everything. See you soon.

Dr Witherspoon died in her own home. She  was the victim of a plane crashing into her house on the following Wednesday.

 

©Ellen Pepper 2025

  
 

WHEEL of DESTINY

 
They all died...eventually. All of them, though they damn well desired to die sooner than they did.

They all died - those misbegotten creatures who doomed their fellow humans to pain, suffering and premature death by assenting to the notorious Murder Bill put forth by Satan's minion, the Demented Orange Despot. They passed it on the 3rd of July 2025 because they'd planned to have a holiday on July 4th - what should have been Independence Day.

The People had finally rebelled when they realized that their elected representatives had come together to destroy the lives of their constituents. 
They grabbed their sacred guns and headed to Washington DC to teach the murderers by proxy that the People were even more dangerous than the blackmail that Trunt et al had held over their heads,
Millions of angry Americans came by truck, car, train, plane and tractor - armed and dangerous. 

The Army, Marine Corps, Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard were called in to defend the city. Told to prepare to fight to the death to save those who had consigned others to suffering and death.

The guilty politicians having heard of the revolutionaries advancing toward the city, made a hasty retreat to their holiday homes, thinking they'd be safe there. They were wrong, but we'll get to that.

The critical degree was reached a week after the call to arms was made on radio and via internet. 

40 million people descended on DC with rage in their hearts. 

They tore the place apart and the military joined in the melee because they are humans and their friends and families are human and everyone who isn't a billionaire or corporation would be damaged by this steamrolled bill.

In every city and on every road and highway, millions more stood in silence. The media, seeking advertising dollars, sent reporters who tried to interview some of them until they were murdered by furious folk who held them responsible for not reporting the facts to the public long before the so-called government went insane and became fascistic. The media representatives were killed because their bosses were in hiding and couldn't be found by the mob.

Meanwhile, there was a groundswell of raiders rounding up politicians wherever they were found and putting them on trucks to be taken to Florida's newly opened and notorious Alligator Auschwitz, originally meant to be used for the ethnic cleansing of brown-skinned humans who were abducted and held regardless of their proof of citizenry or lack of criminal charges.

 After a few weeks, almost all of the still-living politicians were imprisoned there to suffer the extreme heat, high humidity, insects, lack of nutrition, filthy, disease-ridden water, lack of hygiene facilities, and, of course, the site's much vaunted specialty, daily cruel and unusual torture. Horrific screams could be heard throughout the concentration camp every hour of every day. 

There was a court in session daily for the first few months to ensure that all prisoners were indeed guilty of assenting to the Bill's aim of decimating the population through dire suffering. 

The prisoners were given the same amount of medical aid that they had consigned the citizens to in the Bill - which was none. Quite a few perished from this lack.
No medicines were given. No doctors provided. Some died of infections that could have been easily treated with cheap medications but the insurance companies were no longer paying out - mostly because their greedy executives were also dead or in prison.

The evil ones were given boiled rice and crackers. Water was in barrels that sat out in the heat all day.
They lived in cages - men and women together. Rapes were common. Deaths happened weekly. Beatings went on by the hour. Prisoners were kept naked at all times lest they use clothing in an attempt to commit suicide. No blankets were provided for the same reason.

Nobody was allowed out to walk in the yard. The cages were deliberately overcrowded.

They were living in agony, torment, and purgatory and yes, they begged to be put out of their misery but the networks were making too much money by selling advertising for the 24 hour a day closed circuit tv/internet pay per view. Pure, raw entertainment for the enraged masses - it was very popular. The networks were run by the young people who had taken over after the executives were executed for mendacity and propaganda. 

Eventually, all the soul-sellers died and the shape of government had been radically changed in favor of the citizenry. 

Anyone who wanted to run for office had to prove they were dedicated to serving the people and not the rich or themselves. 

Children were taught real history and ethics and civics and fiscal prudence so nobody could claim ignorance when voting. Science was once again respected and learned by all. 

Voting was no longer a privilege or a right but compulsory. Exams were taken before every election to ensure that voters had in-depth knowledge of what was at at stake.

Nobody was ever forced to go hungry or do without medical care. Enough housing was built. Rage became a rarity when all humans were treated with respect.

Ultimately, what happened was that the common people realized that only they could responsibly care for each other and the community so they  tried to ensure fairness and opportunity for all as a moral obligation.

We had learned how to take a detour from Hell in order to get to Paradise.


 ©Ellen Pepper 2025

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alligator_Alcatraz

Justice and Redemption

 

 

 

Mentor Dommer: "You've harmed a Protected Soul. Your punishment will be the loss of your trusting husband to divorce. Your prosperity will be dissolved and you will henceforth live in poverty. Your children will turn their backs to you. You'll become a pariah in the Sorcery Commune.
Your illness will increase until you die the gruesome death that you wished upon your victim. 
The only chance you have at Redemption is to throw your fate to the one you tried to harm but note that she has every right and reason to consign you to the flaming bowels of Hell that you hoped would be her end."

 Jesabelah LaVayne Mentider: "She will surely gain pleasure and satisfaction from my suffering and eventual demise."

Mentor Dommer: "She will not. That's where you made your fatal error. She's not like you - she is pure of heart. Your suffering will not only not please her, it will cause her to feel grief. 
You fool! Her Spirit Team watched your attempt to harm her due to your overweening envy. They caused your iniquity to boomerang back to you. Now you will suffer the fate that you wanted to destroy her with and ..."

JLM: "The doctors say there is no hope of a cure but it does look to be a terminal condition."

MD: "PSHAW! The allopaths in Londinium have nothing with which to counteract self-imposed Fekete Mágia. Of course they told you there is no hope - they have no idea what is ailing you.
Really - what did you expect when you unskillfully attempt the most vile of spells in the lexicon all in the service of ill intentions? Do you want to survive this? If so, you must first make a sincere confession and then seek absolution from the one you desired to harm."

JLM: "To whom do I make this confession?"

MD: "To your intended victim, of course - Ángel de la Tierra."

JLM: "I suppose I have no choice but she'll have to come to me, the spell has weakened my once lithe limbs and restricted my mobility."

In due course, a missive is dispatched to Ángel de la Tierra, who immediately makes her way to Jesabelah's sickbed and asks to be told how she can be of aid to the sorceress. 

JLM: "I must make a full confession to you, Ángel, and ask your forgiveness. I have wronged you but in so doing, I have poisoned myself and am soon to perish. Please hear me out, and if you can find it in your heart, I hope that you will grant me peace."

Ángel de la Tierra: "Of course, I'll heed your need, Jesabelah. Speak your words with sincerity and I'll respond in a judicious manner."

JLM: "You are most gracious. Please be seated - this may take a while - I tire so easily now and the tale is lengthy."

JLM inhales deeply, coughs, and then...
"I, Jesabelah LaVayne Mentider, hereby fully confess to the desire and implementation of a Fekete Mágia spell to destroy the pure heart and soul of my rival in love, Ángel de la Tierra, in pursuit of my craven desire to gain control of her mate, Rod Božský Mužský, manipulating him by gossip and lust spells to abandon her and to accept my charms as his wish fulfillment.
I had cast upon you, Ángel, the most vicious and provocative bloodspell that causes despair and illness and leads to an early demise. I was envy-ridden. You have everything I do not: charm, grace, generosity of spirit, pure intentions, compassion, wisdom...you name it - you're simply a paragon of virtue and that fact boiled my viscera in acid. 
I despised myself for not being you. I befriended you in the hope of exposing any darkness within you and cause you to be shamed before the world. I wanted you to lose everything you held dear. I strongly desired to ensure that you'd never bear the children of your mate, Rod. I tried to make your womb shrivel and dissolve.
I used sorcery to enthrall Rod. Someone who witnessed my pursuit of your mate likened it to that of a hungry anaconda in heat writhing around him. Who could resist me? No one could, and neither could he. He betrayed your trust because of me. I was giddy with pleasure because of this.
Please forgive me. I have wronged you. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa." 

Ángel de la Tierra crosses the room and touches Jesabelah's damp forehead. Ruminates for several minutes. Then...

Ángel de la Tierra: "What have you learned, dear one?"

JLM: " I've learned that I only harm myself when I allow envy to devour my soul and govern my impulses, I've learned to think through my vengeful desires. I've learned not to interfere with the loving hearts of two who are meant for each other - their names entwined in the Book of Life. I've learned that I lack the skill to alter reality.
Please be forgiving. Have mercy upon me. Your compassion can dissolve the evil Fekete Mágia and spare my life and, ultimately, save my blackened soul."

Ángel de la Tierra: " You must sincerely vow to do no more harm. By keeping that vow sacred, you'll release yourself from the spell.
I wish you to find joy in the passion to be kind to others. Find depth and meaning in being compassionate. Become a Helper.
Do you so vow,  Jesabelah LaVayne Mentider?"

JLM: "I do - and with the complete commitment of my soul." 

Ángel de la Tierra: "Jesabelah LaVayne Mentider, you are to become well and happy and free from suffering. Be at peace. I forgive you. Now you can forgive yourself. Have the best life."

©Ellen Pepper 2025

TRUCE

 

TRUCE

by Ellen Pepper


"Senor Líder-Salvia, I come to broker peace with you and your clan. We've been feuding down three generations and we've both lost kith and kin to endless vengeful vendettas.

 It's advantageous for all of us to cancel these death-dealing sorties. Let us come together in peace and cease acting like modern day Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, Hatfields and McCoys and all the others. We all share the same lineage, the same great great grandparents.

 Let us come together and take up cudgels against the Northern Invaders. They are our true enemies. They desire to destroy us all. The courage and testicular fortitude of our peoples can swiftly eliminate this imminent alien threat. The scouts have seen them near the caves on the other side of this hill and their attack could come at any moment. We must decide with haste. Our lives depend on it.

Even if we truce only until our mother country has been made safe, it will be worthwhile to give our descendants a safe and secure homeland. What say ye, honourable relatives?"

Stepping forward, Líder-Salvia declares with a gravelly voice, "You speak good sense, Eric Armskeeper. I will confer with my people and give this some thought. We offer you and yours refuge and sustenance for the nonce and hope that you are in agreement that it would be wise to avoid intoxicants until we take our leave of each other. We'll meet to discuss this and give you our decision on the morrow. Meanwhile, sup and be at ease. There will be no hostilities on this night."

Both sides are vibrating with tension and uncertainty. They are all in agreement that this is the wisest course to take to ensure the continuance of their breed but to trust the others after generations of decimation seems to be a bridge too far - too risky. Can they be trusted or is this a vile trick?

While they wait, the supplicants are fed and then bed down peacefully. 

In the meantime, Senor Líder-Salvia is conveying to his people the wisdom of accepting this offer. Again, the only argument against it is the topic of trust. The wrong choice, if it's a trick, could destroy what's left of their own people.
An alternate incorrect decision, the one to resist the offer to fight together and defeat the enemy from the North, could also wipe them off the face of the earth. They're on the horns of a dilemma. What to do, what to do?

They call in Larissa, the Lady of the Book to cast the cards in the hope of finding the correct direction to take.

She settles herself on the bearskin rug, sets out her reading table, and begins to shuffle.
"The first card, the Dove shows that this offer has been made in good faith and in the hope of finding Peace. 

The second card is the Dog, known for Loyalty. A trustworthy creature.

The third card, the Elephant has a good hold on Memory. Your relatives will show care and compassion toward you and will never forget that you took up the fight to save your peoples together.

The Enemy Card is the Serpent - chaotic, fearsome and untrustworthy. They can be defeated by cutting off its head - kill their leader and they'll lose the ability to fight. Their blood will fertilize the fields it falls upon.

The Outcome is made up of the Lotus, the Peony, and the Olive Branch - Happiness, Fertility and Peace. The Northern Enemies who yet live after the battle, will intermarry with your peoples and, ultimately, their mating with your womenfolk will end the generational feud finally and forever.

 It's up to you - the best choice would be to merge with the tribe of your genesis. 

The most skillful time to strike the enemy is at midnight because, like serpents,  they are more likely to attack before dawn or just after dusk."

Senor Líder-Salvia looks at his warriors. As one, they nod their assent to the Lady's advice. He departs immediately to confer with Eric Armskeeper rather than waiting for morning.

In agreement, the Defenders gather their arms and silently move toward the Enemy. A scout leads a small team to where the leader sleeps on the ground within a cave and his head is instantly separated from his body and carried out by its hair to be shown to his army.

Initially, the Northerners begin to do battle, buckets of blood are shed - but in seeing the head mounted on a pole being carried forth, they fall to their knees, their strength ebbing from their bodies.

They raise the Flag of Defeat and remain bowed down in humility before the victors who have mercy upon them and bring them into the fold as foretold by the Lady of the Book, Larissa.

In the end, goodness and mercy will follow them all the days of their lives.

 

©Ellen Pepper 2025

Image credit: FAUNABELLE TAROT DECK

 

 

Without Trust

            or, the radioactive glow of secrets. 

 

The sad-eyed woman seated at a marble cafe table gently puts down her phone and, with tears wetting her cheeks, removes her wedding ring - placing it on a saucer.
Taking out a notebook, she begins to write: 

Too many secrets cracked the cosmic egg.
Too many secrets caused a lover to lag.
Too many secrets dimmed the sun.
Too many secrets caused love to run.

Then came the time of silence and dark.
Cause love was in choke.
Nothing was said. Nothing to hark.
As sadly, for some time, no words were spoke.

Along came regret. 
What did you expect?
Is it time to return.
Or will true love just burn?

If not for those secrets,
All would have been well.
But secrets are toxic
They ring like a bell.

What will we do now,
when trust is demolished?
What's  to be expected?
Will more lies be polished?

Don't come to her with flowers,
or more prevarication.
She's had enough of mendacity -
it's seen as aberration.

You really should hide, 
Trust has been ruined
Without trust, sail away on the tide.

Do what is destined. 

She stops and gathers her possessions. Leaving the cafe she enters a waiting car.

"Take me home, Jimmy. I have to pack."

"Taking a vacation, ma'am?"

"In a way. It's actually an abandonment. In the end, everything falls apart."

A thunderstorm breaks loose over the city.

-----------------------------------------

©Ellen Pepper 2025

“We all have secrets. Most are guilty, a few are wretched and some are too precious to share.”
~ C.L. Taylor

Making my exit.

 I'll be making my exit at this time.

Don't try to find me because I won't be in any of the old familiar places. I will be subtracting myself from social media after participating in it since 2003. Twenty-two years is long enough to take the measure of any venture.

I've met some mighty fine folks along the way, along with the usual trite and banal trolls who try to bend people's minds with their cruel falsity.

It has been a roller coaster ride and I don't care for fairground amusements. The excitement does not counteract the discomfort.

The recent Summer Solstice and Wednesday's New Moon have clarified many things for me. It's time to be moving on.

I may continue to publish my stories on Substack and on my blog, if any ideas present themselves. Right now I feel bereft of creativity.

There's been so much chaos and confusion and turmoil in this world with no clear resolution in sight and I'm tired.
I'm retreating back into my hermit cave to restore my peace and equilibrium.

Thank you to all who have shown kindness and consideration. Bless all of you who have done the opposite. The lessons were difficult but ultimately worth it.

Fare thee well, those who are brave and stoic enough to carry on.

To paraphrase Douglas Adams, "So long and thanks for all the quips."

Signing off for now, 

Ellen Pepper

 

Magistra Margarita

 

 

Once upon a time...

"Gravity seems to have stronger grip in this forest."
"Yes, Your Majesty - it is the Force of Evil Incarnate, the Beast of Highfell Manor."

He has the Silver Chalice.

Magistra of Dimity Deep wants it.
She's riding with her guardsmen to the Dank Moor where Hugo, the Man-Beast rules with an iron fist the lifeforms unfortunate enough to reside there.

He is not generally regarded to be a pleasant or erudite ruler. In fact, his reputation is that of a cruel tyrant. He wears a dead ferret on his head to hide his shiny pate.

Magistra Margarita wants the Silver Chalice to bring about peace in the war between the people of her domain and that of the Technicians. It has gone on throughout her life.

It started when the Technicians began to decline to provide instruction manuals for the devices they had created. Instead, they presented arcane hieroglyphics and obfuscating arrows - untranslatable and useless to the end users.

The folks of Magistra Margarita's Land known as Yiim Yéetel Kaab deeply resented the Engineers arrogant disdain and refusal to present clearer and easy to follow instructions. This caused them to come together to oust them from the country.

All out war followed, which was unfortunate for the common people because the Engineers had skillz of which those not of their status had no access.
The wealthy folk declined to send their children to fight in the army so those of the poor were disproportionally killed or wounded.

The Magistra Margarita knew that this war of attrition was of not benefit to her country or its people because there were fewer farmers and harvesters and fishermen and nursemaids and generally anyone who provided a service to keep the kingdom alive and thriving.
She knew she had to get the Silver Chalice in order to complete the magic spell given to her by the Seaside Witch. She also knew that time was of the essence.

It was disheartening to realize that the only way to gain possession of the magic cup was to deal with the brutal Beast of Highfell Manor. He wanted to be the King but the Wise Elders declined to give him any more power than he was already abusing.

She had brought some gifts to exchange for the Silver Chalice. She also had several courtiers known for their diplomacy skills. They rode along with the hooves of their steeds sounding like thunder.

At long last, they reined up at the grim and forbidding drawbridge of Highfell Manor. The Brute appeared at the gate immediately and the visitors drew back as one in horror at his grotesque features - like unto that of a rotting gargoyle.

"Whatever you desire will come at a high price," the monster shouted, "You'll regret even asking for it." And he laughed offensively, quite without humour.

Attempting to give him the option of pretending compassion for a fellow ruler, the Magistra spoke softly with a lilt in her voice, "Your help is needed to help put an end to the warfare that is decimating my country, sir. Can you see the tears in my eyes as I weep for my people?"

"Ah ha ha. No. I don't believe those tears are real. I don't care how your country fares. Say...what is it you want? My seers predicted your arrival but gave no details. Tell me what you want and what you're willing to pay to get it. I may or may not grant your wish."

"Oh, kind sir, your benevolence is unknown among the nations of this world but I suspect it lies awaiting its chance to show itself. What I need is the famed Silver Chalice which you keep buried in a barrel of straw under the stairs to your highest resting room. With this cup, I will be able to cast a spell that will end the horrific uncivil war amongst my people. To gain this boon, I offer you great treasure."
Her guardsmen put trunks of gems and gold before the Brute who stands stolidly, unmoved by the splendour.

"No, no. no, that's not going to do at all. I have plenty of that stuff already. It means nothing. Now, what might bring me around to acceding to your wishes is to have access to your fine body for a night. It's very appealing, in its own way." He stands there leering like a drunk espying another large tankard of grog.

Margarita bridles with disgust, "Forgive me for indulging in stating the obvious, but I am not a commodity to be haggled over in this matter. I am the ruler of a country and am of higher status than you, little man. Do not invite my wrath or you will regret it."

"Well, then, in that case, this conversation is finished. Be on your way. Take your useless baubles with you - they're pointless when a giant of a man like me has vast storehouses of goods."

"Without the Silver Chalice, I cannot work the spell that will save my country. I demand that you exchange it for some other object that you desire."

"All right. I'll tell you. Since you are able to cast spells, change my hideous repulsiveness into manly beauty so I might attract a wife who won't gag whenever she looks upon me. For that, I'll gladly hand the Chalice to you and I'll even gift wrap it with strands of emeralds to match your glorious eyes."

"Will you avow before all the creatures of this world that your promise will hold?"

"I am a man of my word. I may be ugly, but I do have integrity. Besides, if you can transform my appearance, I'll be in a very good mood."

"Very well, then," said the Magistra. She takes some fetishes from her travelling bag and proceeds to mumble some complex phrases, then pulls down a lightning bolt from a cloud and aims it at the Beast.

He falls to the ground in a seizure, groaning and gesticulating, flailing about, heaving and writhing.

Then, just as suddenly, he settles. Sits up. Wipes his face with a towel handed to him by a page. And sighs deeply.

"I don't know what you did," he smiles through perfect teeth, "But I feel great."

Margarita hands him a looking glass. "I believe that I've kept my side of the bargain."

The Brute gazes at himself in fascination. He makes some faces to ensure that he's really seeing himself.

With tears in his eyes, he turns to the Magistra and bows down before her.
"The Chalice is yours. I am a man of my word and you did as you promised. I thank you, most happily."

The Brute became known as The Benefactor.
Magistra Margarita saved her countryfolk from uncivil war.
They all lived happily ever after.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

Yucatec Maya - Yiim Yéetel Kaab = Milk and honey

Salvation

 

You don't have to suffer, you know.
You don't. 
You have it within you to move forward
out of the morass that holds you in its thrall.
You ask me how it can be done.
You ask me if it can be done.
You ask if freedom is even an option.
Ask me, and I'll tell you.
I can answer you with certainty
 that it is indeed possible 
and even necessary.

One day, you'll awaken with your senses intact and the weight of a thousand yesterdays will be removed from your soul.
You will experience joy after decades of anhedonia.
The colours of the world will seem brighter.
You'll see rainbows and unicorns.
Okay, maybe not unicorns because they aren't real except in a young girl's heart.

Now, how it can be achieved is within your being. The solution has  always been there.
Look into your soul without flinching.
You'll see that your demons can only possess you if you turn yourself away and attempt to flee them.
Consider this option instead: face those bastards... because they didn't originate in you. They were tainted gifts bestowed by evil elders in your youth who delighted in witnessing eternal suffering.

Turn to face those demons. Look them in their haunted eyes.
Tell them that you love and forgive them their fears and terrors but you no longer wish to share your life with them. Wish them well and a speedy departure.

Then sit very still and allow yourself to breathe freely for the first time that you can remember.

Now you'll have the opportunity to forgive yourself for all the damage you caused  others to suffer while you were held in the grip of the Mind Monsters. 

Be helpful and kind. Don't expect that those who have been damaged will immediately be healed, but you can give them every reason to believe that your days of cruelty are over. You've made it through the hellscape before death could rob you of the opportunity. 
You have triumphed. You have found salvation.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

 

A Most Amazing Man

by Ellen Pepper

This is a work of fiction. For those who identify as narcissists, do not take this personally. 

 

June 15
Greetings Edith!
        Yesterday, I met the most amazing man at the doctor's office! He gave me a nod, a smile and a wink, if you know what I mean.

He was sitting across from me in the waiting room and we started chatting. He laughed at all my jokes and told a few of his own. He mirrored me so well - he has the same interests and proclivities and he's a bit of a loner, too.
You'd never know it to look at him joshing about with all the staff. 

I can tell that he's a deeply sensitive man because he had tears in his eyes when he spoke of his dead dog. Really nice guy. There were sparks when he held my hand as we said goodbye.

We're going out on a date next Friday! He texted me as soon as he got back to work - he's a Planning Commissioner for the city. 

How's everything with you these days?
~Sarah
_______________________________

June 18
 Hey Edith!

It's good to hear that all your kids have graduated! Next comes college!

Well, we went on a date. Adam was very attentive and told me about his 3 failed marriages. It seems he always marries crazy women who take advantage of him. Poor guy!

The way he treated the wait staff was a bit disturbing. I'm sure he was just stressed out from work. He told one waitress that he'd hoped to have a prettier server to make him enjoy his meal more. I thought that was a bit much, but hey - we all have our ways, right?

He insisted that I pay for everything because he didn't want to be "that guy" who thinks he's in charge of everything. 

He invited me to his place because he thought we should have some private time to get to know each other. He hinted that we should also have sex to see if we're compatible. He didn't take my demurral well - his face got dark and stony. He cheered up in a few minutes but I felt a tad uncomfortable when he drove me home. He said he wouldn't kiss me because I was "playing mind games by pretending to be hard to get".

I'm getting a funny feeling but I'll give him the benefit of a doubt.
We have another date next week. I'll let you know how it goes.
~Sarah
___________________________________

O.M.G, Edith!
He took me out to Lover's Bluff and tried to kill me!
What a weirdo!

It started out nice - we looked out at the stars in the night sky over the lake. It was a bit windy, so he closed the windows and put the roof up. 

Then, I heard the doors being locked. Snick snick.
My gut seized up right away. My bowels got watery. Now I know what visceral fear feels like.

He lunged at me and tried to wrestle my top off but the seatbelt got in the way. I was punching his head to make him stop. I wasn't screaming, I don't know why but I felt very calm - as if I knew that the only way out of this was not likely to save me. The only way would be for him to be disabled and I had no way to do that. Or, so I thought.

Suddenly, I stopped struggling. I could see that confused him. He leaned back and smiled smugly, "I see you've come to your senses," he smirked.

I smiled - even though I was terrified - and said, "There's something I want you to do for me first, before we get to the main event." 

"Sure," he said, "but it better not take too long."

"Put your seatbelt back on. Let's take this car back a few hundred yards and then race it toward the edge of the bluff - stopping right before the edge! Won't that be fun?

He looked at me with suspicion but he put the car in reverse. While he was focusing on that, I reached down for the glass wine bottle resting near my left foot and gripped it hard. Then, after taking a deep breath, I hauled off and slammed that bottle right onto his head and knocked him out.
Then, I turned off the engine, took his keys, and ran like hell toward the road. I escaped. 

I escaped.

I don't know what happened to him after I left but he's never texted me again.

Sorry to drop all this on you, sis, but I couldn't keep it a secret. 
~Sarah
____________________________
©Ellen Pepper 2025

 

Felicity Valentina

by Ellen Pepper

She was just a run of the mill girl of normal appearance - nothing exotic or physically noteworthy about her in photographs.
However, when she walked...
Have you ever heard of, "She walks in beauty like the night..."*
When Felicity Valentina walked, people stopped what they were doing to watch her elegant stride. 
Shoulders back, head held high, a smiling glance at all who approached her - she was grace and poise personified. 

Her father, Guido, was in the family business - fishmongering. Selling fish that was caught daily right off the East Coast of America. Sure the cops thought he was a made man, but he denied it every time he was charged with murder. He'd come from southern Italy just after the war and was now a proud American citizen.
Felicity was the apple of his eye.

As she matured, her father decided to arrange her marriage to one the sons of another member of his social circle.
All of them had watched her growing up. She didn't become what is commonly considered to be beautiful but she sure looked good walking.

Several fathers vied to affiance their sons to her. She came with an excellent pedigree - her father was high-ranking in the group and he was also quite rich. 

A problem arose the day she was sent to the butcher shop to pick up her mother's weekly meat order. She met Sam. Sam McGillicuddy from... Ireland. His bright blue eyes pierced through to her core. She was besotted. He was smitten. Sam was neither Italian nor a member of her social circle. Their infatuation was doomed to be curtailed by his family or hers. It was just not meant to be.

Nevertheless, while her father was meeting with other fathers to discuss a dowry and special concessions - just like royalty in bygone eras arranged the marriages of their offspring, Felicity and Sam were planning their future together.
They weren't unaware of the barriers that would block their union. They just planned around them.

Meanwhile, Felicity's charms were growing. Men would moan and groan when she passed by, walking as gracefully as a swan on the water. Her hair was lush and fragrant. He eyes took on the shade of a golden sunset in autumn. For a girl with plain features, she became beautiful. Her bride price was increased. The young men of her acquaintance were drooling in anticipation of being the one chosen to take her in matrimony. 

One of them, Paolo Nuratini was smugly certain that he'd win her hand due to his extreme wealth, lofty position in the elite group of high-falutin fishmongers, his father's command of la famiglia, and his own predilection for escaping the consequences of being a complete and utter jackass. He thought for sure he had this in the bag so he didn't even attempt courtship, which was fine because Felicity cringed at the thought of being in the same room with him, let alone having to share a bed. 

Paolo had Felicity followed when he realized that she was not swooning in his general direction as all the other girls did. As a matter of fact, he was annoyed that she seemed uninterested in him. The private investigator showed him photographs of Felicity meeting Sam near the new opera house. It was obvious that they were in love. This knowledge infuriated him since he was accustomed to always getting what he wanted with no interference and he sensed that Sam would be a thorn in his side. He decided to warn him off. He sent a team to rough up Sam when he closed his shop at night.

What they didn't realize was that Sam had been specially trained in a secret combat unit. The men sent to beat some sense into him ended up in a hospital, quite broken in mind and body. This enraged Paolo even more and he vowed to have Sam exterminated with extreme prejudice.

What he didn't know was that Sam and Felicity had been warned by the seemingly random attack and had moved ahead with their plans to disappear from the city. Sam offered to de-bone Paolo before leaving but Felicity thought it would be wiser to just leave.

When next we see Felicity and Sam, they're aboard a ship headed for England. They decided not to settle in Ireland because her father's men would look for them there as it was Sam's homeland. 

In England, they bought a farm and raised vegetables that they sold in their little shop in the village. No children blessed their lives. Instead, they gave sanctuary to abused animals. 

The years passed, as they often do, and the day eventually arrived that age had robbed them of their vitality and health. Felicity no longer walked like a swan. Sam had lost his stamina and strength and his heart was weak. At that time, England had not yet made it legally possible for people to end their lives with medical assistance so Sam and Felicity devised another plan. 

They drove to the White Cliffs of Dover and, hand in hand, ended their lives there one sunny day.

__________________

©Ellen Pepper 2025

*She Walks in Beauty
By Lord Byron (George Gordon)

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
(etc)

 

 

Anthony Spring- A Good Man

by Ellen Pepper

 

What can one say about Anthony - one of the good guys that one only meets once in a blue moon in life. 

An honest man - he could always be trusted to tell the truth.

A compassionate man - he cared for the helpless, the innocent, the animals, the disenfranchised humans. He cared for those who needed caring. A fine man. A gentle man.

Anthony was a charismatic man - he held people enthralled with his words. People giddily queued for his attention. His very being was magnetic. He was known for his great good humour and quick wit.

A talented man who wrote with passion and élan about pivotal world events and historical fantasy and the human condition - always with thoughtful insights. He brought inspiration to those of the masses who hungered for a reason to go on while living in difficult times.

Anthony was a man who meant no harm to those with a pure heart. He was kindness personified if he sensed your purity of spirit, but woe upon the snakes in the grass who'd harm others. He went after them with the Knife of Doom. It was his mission to rid the world of their infernal presence.

Anthony was gentle with animals, children and geriatrics. For this, he was loved and trusted by all.

Anthony was a man of high empathy - it wounded him intrinsically to witness the pain of others.

In olden times, Anthony would have been the King of a settled and happy domain. As it was, he ruled the airwaves with justice and mercy by writing his missives of hope. 

 Despite all of this, Anthony frequently felt misunderstood. His way of seeing the world as it is often caused others to recoil because they preferred to have the world explained only with a generous dose of sugar coating. He couldn't ethically do that because, to him, that would be an evasion of reality. And Arthur preferred to inhabit reality. Even so, he wrote fantastical fiction that made it easy to rest oneself in another world for a brief hiatus from the cruel and fevered exigencies of daily life.

Anthony's generosity of spirit was well-known and applauded.  He mentored those who wanted superior instruction in writing, composition and communication skills. 

Anthony wrote songs that stirred the heart of the disheartened. 

Anthony Spring is not dead. We came here not to bury Anthony but to praise him. He should know now how others see him. He should know that he and his work are appreciated. Why wait until Death creates a ghost of him? Tell him now.

You're a good man, Anthony Spring - take that to heart.

  ©Ellen Pepper 2025

 

 

 Twyllo Snyder 

by Ellen Pepper

 

Twyllo Snyder had it all. Well, not really. He didn't have a whole lot of money. Nor did he have any property. Nor did he have a wife (anymore) or a child.

All Twyllo had was himself in a small apartment in a no name town and a predilection for writing stirring poetry exhorting the masses to stand tall and fight hard against the oppression of a dictator and his regime. He didn't even keep company with animals.

 Good old Twyllo was modest and humble, or so he'd like to believe. He grew up in a small town with several siblings, of whom he'd lost contact after they scattered when high school ended. They didn't really have anything in common, other than a indifferent mother and an absentee father. There were no happy childhood memories: no Christmas or birthday celebrations, no Thanksgiving, no nothing special. Just grinding poverty and second-hand clothes. 

Poor Twyllo had some brief encounters with girls and women as he grew older. He had several types of jobs - but no career, per se. He moved from town to town until he reached 36 years, and hen he settled in one place when he discovered the internet.

Oh, joy! Oh, happy days! Twyllo jumped into social media like it had been constructed just for him. He made "friends". He wrote and posted his songs and poetry in various publications.

One day, he made the acquaintance of another writer - Estelle. They hit it off and amused each other. For several years, they were in daily contact - chatting about the day's events and personal political opinions.  It was strictly a platonic friendship, Twyllo never let on by word or deed that he was interested in a romantic relationship with Estelle - as a matter of fact, he claimed to have no interest in any woman. He just treasured his work and wanted no emotional entanglements to interfere with the execution of what he saw as his duty to rouse the rabble against tyranny.

And then along came Rose. Well, now. Rose was sweet and endearing and always cheerful and kind. She liked the same music that Twyllo did and they hit it off by sharing their favorites with each other. Then they started speaking privately about their hopes and dreams and the facts of their lives. Twyllo was more the listener in this scenario - Rose more than made up the conversational gambits. Twyllo seemed tongue-tied when he wasn't writing. His thoughts came out on the page/monitor rather than from his mouth.

Estelle watched the relationship growing between Rose and Twyllo and asked him what it was all about. Had Rose taken her place in his life? Not that there was much to usurp - Twyllo was somewhat negligent in his conversations with both women. 

Rose and Estelle started conversing because Estelle knew some things that interested Rose. Now, Estelle had another acquaintance named Moira who saw a friendship developing between the two and felt left out. She did a few underhanded things to break up the incipient alliance - starting with privately communicating with Twyllo. Flirting with him. Teasing him. Showering him with feminine attention.

Twyllo, still somewhat naive, was flattered. He enjoyed having three women in his message box. They all felt they had a secret intimacy with him. He was very gratified, of course. Every morning, he made his rounds in messenger saying good morning to his women and after a day of chatting with them individually, one by one, he wished them a good night. Not bad for a guy who only ever left the house to get groceries.

Estelle started noticing that Twyllo was becoming less enthusiastic in replying to her messages. Then she saw the flirting that he and Rose were engaged in. Then she heard about his messages with Moira.

And then, Estelle wrote a story about all of this activity. Not as a soap opera but to process all that was happening and discover how much further she intended to travel down this road with two other women and a man who was merely tolerating the two who would drop everything to help him  with something - to promote his work, to cheer him on. To show him that he mattered.

Twyllo read that story. He told Estelle to "Never fear writing the truth." Then he blocked her. Never spoke to her again.

He then blocked Rose with no explanation. Broke her heart because she had thought that they were very good friends. She tried to ask him why he'd done this because, as far as she was concerned, everything had been going along as per their normal routine and then suddenly he was gone. No word of why. She was abandoned. She asked again and again but he never replied. His heart was a shard of ice. She didn't know what she had done.

The only person he didn't block was Moira. Nobody knows what happened to her, though. She went quiet, as well.

Twyllo continues to write his epic poetry and anthemic songs. 

Rose continues to wonder why. She had never been blocked by anyone else in her life and she was quite properly traumatized. It made no sense that he had shunned her. No sense at all. What she did know was that he wasn't moved enough by her pleas for clarification to even reply with a few words to ease her mind. A callous approach toward someone who had tried to help him. She has good days and bad days.

Estelle. Well, after initial shock and dismay over his poor behaviour - with him lacking the intestinal fortitude to explain what was bothering him and then running away without a word, Estelle went on with her life.  She continued to write her little nothings. She went out and about meeting new people and trying a novel approach to social interaction - meaning: meeting with actual living, breathing people and touching them. Estelle went back to walking in sunlight and avoiding the dark alleys of soc-med. Those haunted places populated by wee ghosties. Those deserted lands with tumbleweeds rolling in an arid breeze down lifeless streets. The buildings of shattered dreams where friendships used to live.

  ©Ellen Pepper 2025

 

 

 

A Man Called Patrick

by Ellen Pepper

 My mind was on a thousand thoughts cascading through my synapses as I passed a poorly lit alleyway in the city. A clump of white hair caught my attention. It was on the head of an elderly man lying on the pavement with a booze bottle loosely held in his hand. Something about him looked familiar and I fought with myself about going over to check him out. I knew that I should investigate whether he needed medical attention but with the thought that he was probably a homeless drunk who might want to remain undisturbed, I hesitated to approach him.

 Minutes went by as I considered the possible ramifications of interfering in this man's life. And then, he shifted and groaned - a groan that came from the depths of pain. I felt then that I had no choice but to intervene.

 "Hello." I said as I approached. "I'm not from the government and I'm here to help you."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Patrick PotatoMan.  Patrick...the guy who likes potatoes in a liquid form. Now get the fuck away from me - I don't need no do-gooders. I'm perfectly fine as I am. Be off with ya!"

"Ha ha - NO. I'm not leaving until I'm sure that you aren't in need of medical attention. Understood?"

And Patrick said, "Is this the part of the story when I break down and tell you the pitiful tale of my pathetic life and ultimate descent into mad, chaotic drunkenness to ease my existential pain? I'm not that ruined. Just go away. I'm not interested in chatting."

"Patrick? You remind me of a man."

"What man?"

"A man with the power."

"What power?"

"The power of hoodoo."

"Hoo doo?"

"You do. You remind me of a man."

Patrick laughingly said, "I remember that schtick. It's from the 1947 film The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer with Cary Grant, Myrna Loy and Shirley Temple. Great flick. Saaaayyyy...you look far too young to be familiar with that. How old are you, anyway?

"Younger than springtime and older than the sea and that's all the info you'll get from me."  

Patrick sat up, leaned against a graffiti-strewn wall. "Well, since you don't appear to be vamoosing, tell me your name." 

"None of your business. I don't give my name out to just any Tom, Dick or Harry." 

Patrick chuckles, deep and low, " Tell me your name or I'll think this is a game and I'll disappear."

"My name is Sekrè."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sekrè. Do you want to hear the story of my miserable existence now? It'll cost you, though. I need more vodka."

"No, I'm not interested in your version of your life. I already know you from the theatre scene, Patrick Madison. I watched you have it all and then throw it all away when you got involved with a woman who devoured you from the inside out. I witnessed you gradually giving yourself over to her toxic machinations and losing your creative edge while she taunted and then shunned you. I saw her break your spirit - so, yeah, I'm quite familiar with your tale of woe. I'll get you more booze after we have some food and get you cleaned up. If you don't mind, of course. You don't seem to have lost your cognitive abilities along the way so you aren't exactly a lost cause. When was the last time you wrote anything?"

"Fuck if I know.  Or care. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Look, Patrick, if you were a feral cat I found injured on the road, I'd take you to a vet for a checkup. Since you appear to be human, I should take you to a medic. How do you feel about that?"

"I'd prefer to eat and then drink. Now, where's the grub?"

And thus began my friendship with the man I had admired for years - wishing and hoping to some day meet and charm him. I had hoped to become his collaborator in theatre works. I broke a little inside when I observed him being abused by a fata morgana - a femme fatale, such as she was...

After he was properly fed, and seen by medics and given drink, he was provided with a decent home in the subsidized residence for senior entertainers. That's when he began creating again.  When that happened, he no longer drank to excess. 

Last week, he asked me, "Are you my Guardian Angel, Sekrè?"

In reply I smirked and said, "My job here is done. Tonight I venture back to Alpha Centauri from whence I came."

Patrick chortled, " Say, that's a great idea for a play. Hand me my laptop and let's write it right now."

Patrick is back in the saddle. Halleluia.

 

 ©Ellen Pepper 2025

 

 

 

A Town Called Discord

 

A Town Called Discord

          or Matters of High Strangeness

by Ellen Pepper

A few years ago, in a town called Discord,
There was a merry group of chanticleers,
not roosters but their human equivalent,
larking about singing songs of dread combat in the outer world.
The flock angled hard for comforts and ease of cares.
Folk in the commune allowed them congress in the town square.
It was the good of times.

As time went by, the group began to shed members.
Some through ennui,
Some through mendacious harm,
Some to seek fame and fortune in the greater collectives to the south.

Bickering and shadow boxing dampened enthusiasm.
Couples became throuples and drama accelerated.
Accusations were flung and deflected.
 The bard defected.
Without his offerings, the songs grew stilted
and no one was able to compose the anthems of yore.

Remnants of the choir stayed true but merely whimpered without the stirring melodies for which they had gained renown.

Some stepped aside to sing lullabies to babies.
Some went silent, like unto ghosts.
Some were so busy that they noticed not the shift.
One took to recording the change for future reference.

Eventually, it all came to a halt and the remaining townspeople departed.
Some to join family in far-flung lands.
Some to their hermit caves.
Some just failed to continue living.
In time, the Town called Discord was abandoned.
Only sagebrush and tumbleweeds,
 sweet pea, and lilac
were found still inhabiting the empty roads
and hollowed out housing.
It was the bad of times.
 

The last hermit, in his cave,
 Inscribed on parchment:
"The human body is a cage.
Life & Death operate on a continuum.
While life is cruel and unusual punishment,
Lyrics need the music, even so.
Death is release from pain.
Sorrow ends in time.
The Town of Discord is no more."


©Ellen Pepper 2025

 

Ma Belle Dame sans Merci

by Ellen Pepper 

 

Tale of a Woman who felt Scorned

Gaze no more upon her formidable aspect.
She was a dreadful fiend with fearsome eyes.
She had power to enchant,
and to heal,
and to turn some to stone.
She lived in the distant west at night's border.

Percy was a charismatic man of elegant mien.
Did he set out to slay her tender heart? Of course not.
Fault him not, he bears no accountability.
He is an innocent man.

Our Belle Dame, Belle to friends,
saw him first on a Spring morning.
He was sat at a writing desk near a window
gazing out at the sea.
A quill in hand, he wrote of events of the time,
his opinions thereof,
and his plans to change the world.

They spoke. They laughed.
They found comfort with each other.
Belle saw him as the Ideal Man,
a paragon of masculinity.
With his words, he touched her heart.

Percy saw her as light and entertaining,
without being a distraction from his labour of love.
He had not an inkling of what lurked in the depths of her soul,
The darkness there, awaiting its awakening.
He was naive. Trusting. 

On the night that Belle professed her abiding love for him,
Percy drew away in distress.
He had no desire to wound her with the truth,
but he knew it was only right to say it.
His heart belonged to another - his dedication to his work.
No human could deflect him from his sacred task.

Poor Belle. At first, her heart felt battered and bruised.
After a while, the rage grew.
Rage against Fate, rage against Life and eventually rage against Percy who had sent her away with no further word.
And then, her Dark Side arose.

She vowed vengeance. Retribution.
She composed songs of rage and sorrow.
She wrote scathing missives and sent them via hellhounds.
Passing him at the agora, she uttered words of barbed impact,
delivered by tongue daggers.

Let it suffice to say that Percy no longer felt affection for her.
He felt dismay at first which then became disgust, despair, and finally contempt.
He abandoned his home and settled in a land far away.
He was more careful with women in later days.

Belle went on to marry a Professor of Humours in Athens.
He patiently tamed her violent ways with an ease
that belied his initial trepidation of her fiendish phase.
Her infernal rage dissipated and she was at peace.
When she died, a butterfly rose from her grave.

 ©Ellen Pepper 2025
image credit:  https://luisafumi-digitalart.com/product/medusa-the-gorgon/

Shapeshifter Street

 

Shapeshifter

by Ellen Pepper


Seen posted to a streetlamp in Manhattan: MEET ME ON SUNDAY

Clichéd rain-slicked street reflecting flashing  neon lights.
Man dressed all in black, hunting knife strapped to his upper thigh.
Walking at a deliberately formidable pace.
The sharp aroma of Cutty Sark enswathing him like saran wrap.
Tobacco juice dripping onto his black beard from the dip he chews.
Grimacing as he passes an alleyway reeking of freshly trickled urine.

It's Sunday now and he has a meeting to attend.
He saw a sign on a lamp post.

Sister Ruthless of the Blessed Black Whip, dressed in a habit of midnight blue, sits on a fold-up chair at their meeting place.
She's smirking because she knows that tonight is the night.
For a hefty fee, Sister Ruthless disciplines Saville Row-suited business men who feel that they weren't punished enough in parochial school. She charges by the amount of lashes she dispenses.

Since the man in black, aka Fred, was raised in an obscure cult - members numbering fewer then 300 - he has the belief that all formal religions are also cultish and finds them to be corrupt power plays. Therefore, he's amused by the BDSM outfit the faux nun wears.

"Hey, Sister Ruth! Tonight's the night!"
Both chuckle and they bump fists.
A man on a unicycle rides by shouting, "You can run but you can't hide, Fred! Tonight's the night!"
Fred laughingly says, "How's the poutine in Québec, Théo? Will you be joining us later?"

Théo points at his clown uniform, "Mais oui, Freddie, but first I must change to appropriate event attire."
Fred replies, "Don't go changin', tryin' to please me. Come as you are."
Théo pulls out an ebony silken cape from his magical clown bag and ties it around his neck, covering his clown suit. He takes up his position beside Fred.

 In the distance, there arises a tremendous clatter of hobnailed boots striking the cobblestones as what appears to be an army of very small men approaches.

 Théo swears under his breath, "Merde! Tabarnak! Are they hobbits??!!"
Fred gently corrects him, saying, "Hobbits don't wear boots."

As the army of little people draws nearer, the nun, the clown and the man in black notice that they are brandishing weapons - mysterious shining light-forming sickles.

Sister Ruthless, somewhat aghast wonders how they can possibly beat this team when they've never seen weapons of this kind before. Suddenly, the night takes on a threatening ambiance.

"Fear not," whispers Fred, "I have an idea."

As the diminutive troupe comes within a few strides of the three, Fred takes a menacing stance and without shouting, projects his voice to state simply: “I am obliged by law to warn you not to continue.”
Then, chameleon-like, he sheds his man in black human casing to reveal a nile-green reptilian form and the miniature army draws back in fear, raising their lit-up weapons.

Sister Ruthless snickers and says, "Fred has earned First Blood by causing fear. Will you concede victory and retreat now or would you like to experience the full panoply of what we have to offer?

The Leader of the opposers confers with his soldiers.
"We will fight to the death. We fear not the Shapeshifters. Our Land is sacred and we must defend it."

Sister Ruthless shimmers for a moment before she is revealed in her true aspect - an arachnid. A rather large terrestrial invertebrate...a scorpion.

Again, the small guys retreat a few feet. They mutter amongst themselves. The Leader steps forward, trembling a wee bit.
"You can only defeat us if we fear you. We do NOT fear you. There's nothing you can do to cause us to ..."
He gasps and pales as Théo unties his cape and slowly reveals his...
CLOWN SUIT!!!!

Shrieking in terror, some of the little guys drop dead in fear immediately. The invading army turns tail and tries to run away, falling all over themselves and each other, screaming, "IT'S A CLOWN!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

It seems that, of all the Shapeshifters on duty that night, the Clown was the most effective at routing the hostile enemy.

The dead tell no tales. What happens on the street stays in the street.  I know because I live on the street.  It can be dark and grim. Welcome to Planet Earth. (BJW)

©Ellen Pepper 2025