CENSORSHIP

 

 

 

 

 

THIS IS WHAT CENSORSHIP LOOKS LIKE. 

COMING TO AN INTERNET NEAR YOU.

ACT ACCORDINGLY.

RESIST 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Exile

We wander this land
our exile from peace.
The ogres have won the horrific battle.
We're torn from home.
Nowhere to go but the lonely desert.
No trees.
So cold in the night.

We remember the old days.
Our land so fertile.
Water so fresh and clean.
We laughed in the days and
danced in the evening.

Our people stood together and 
planned happy futures for the children.
Weddings for the young,
Loving farewells to the old.

Bright sunrises, tending the crops,
Hunting for wintertide, stocking up.
Communal meals.
Sunsets together with music playing.

Then the beasts came riding in on dragons.
Despoiling all they touched.
Foul-smelling and unkempt -
the least of their bane.

They hurt us,
murdered,
burned,
raped,
stole our children for  slaves.

We gathered those we could save 
and made our way here.
The sentinels are posted,
They hide below the next field.

Our homes, our village
All torched to ashes.
The grotesque mutants are still on the march,
Voracious.
We see the smoke in the distance as
they take down other villages.

What will the morrow bring?
Will they return?
The uncertainty overwhelms.
We need our home. We are our home.
The worst of the terror is...
We may never trust peace again.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

SLIPPERY

 

You're a child at the beach.
You grab a fistful of sand and run to mummy,
"Mummy! I caught sand!"
You open your hand and only a few grains remain.
You weep and daddy says, 
"You can't keep the sand, it's slippery when wet."

You're dreaming and find a pot of treasure.
Grabbing a fistful, your grip is fierce
while you frantically wake yourself.
Open your hand to find only the dents of your fingernails -
precious gems slipped back into the night
from whence they came.

Someone gives answers to media questions.
The words slippery from his mouth.
You try to grab onto some truth,
but, if you're awake, there's none to be found.
He's surrounded by slippery ilk,
They nod in acquiescence. 

"Slippery when wet" is lies mixed with spittle.
Mendacity is not a precious treasure,
it doesn't fade with time.
Slippery has no traction.

Either anchor self with truth,
or fall down that infamous slope
to a hellish fate.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

 image credit: deviantart. com/chickenmeister

 

When Everyone is Broken

 

 

Who is going to fix us when everyone is broken?
Look at the poet, struggling through the fetid swamp.
See the painter, his brushes cracked in half.
The bard can't find the songs in her mind anymore.

The memory banks are being erased.
The liars are self-aggrandizing. 
The fascist monsters in the streets stealing people.
The march is on to imprison us all.

Who is going to fix us when everyone is broken?
Where are the healers but taking a nap,
Overwhelmed with grim foreboding.
This has all been seen before.

Fear, rage, sorrow, death.
Soon neighbor will rat out neighbor.
Children accuse parents of treason.
Students pointing out teacher's politics.

Who is going to fix us when everything is broken?
The law is reliable only for power-brokers.
The churches too hypocritical.
There's a noxious odor in the air.

This has all been seen before.
Not so very long ago - the blink of the Universal eye.
It always ends in death and destruction.
Living skeletons soon to be gassed.

Who is going to fix the children?
They'll think this is the natural way:
to hate the other,
to kill the different; to clear the day.

Who is going to fix us when everyone is broken?

 ©Ellen Pepper 2025

image credit: Britannica 

After the Last Writes

 

The Dark Lord Morningstar turns to Lady Lilith; 
"So tell me, My Love...do you have anything in particular in mind as a tribute to our old friend, Zorp?"
"I was thinking a statue would be nice," says My Love thoughtfully, "Perhaps with him sitting at his computer?" 
Looking at the doubtful expressions around her, she continues, "Or maybe with him seated, playing his guitar? Well, whichever pose we decide upon, I think it should be life size. That way we could visit it and feel as if we were in his presence." 

Everyone leans back in their seats to ponder this. 

F*ck the Duck, waddles over to My Love and with a sparkling smile says, "I would gladly do my very best to help make this monument a reality, My Lady! Just say the word and I'll start drawing up the plans!" 

Eyes meet eyes across the crowded room and brows are furrowed with various thoughts. 

Morningstar knows that it would be good for F*ck to successfully complete a task and thinks that this would be a fine opportunity. 
The K's know that F*ck's enthusiasm is no match for his talents. 
My Love finds F*ck to be very endearing, but is unaware of his limitations. 
Anzara knows only too well what F*ck is capable of and groans quietly. 
"Well, Morningstar, what do you think?" asks My Love.

"What do I think?......well, what can I not think..." says the Dark Lord, forcing a smile, while feeling the brandy burn his throat and contemplating the prospect of the proposition. 
Standing before him, the eager little duck smiles in innocent anticipation, pride filling his chest, at being entrusted with such an honourable task. 

The K's unnoticed, meanwhile, look to each other in resigned resignation...and reach for four more tinnies. 

"I will go and sharpen my pencils, and put on my best working dungarees..." says F*ck, the excitement in his voice clear for all to hear. "I've never been asked to do anything like this before...but I promise you all, with my hand on my heart...that I will do my very bestest...just like I always do..." 
And with that, he disappears down the corridor, and waddles off to his workshop. 

Anzara looks to My Love, somewhat bemused... 
"But he doesn't have hands...he has wings...." 
"I'm sure that's just a figure of speech on his part..." 

The K's grimace grimly, and take a large swig of the old golden throat gargle. 

My Love, runs her hand through her tresses, and then turns to the K's, 
"Forgive me for asking what may at first seem like a stupid question..." 

"We forgive you Lady Lilith!" say the K's, in anticipated anticipation. 

"Hmmm, I think I'll let that pass for now, boys, " says My Love in mock admonishment, "But...how did F*ck come by his name? I mean, surely he wasn't christened that way...was he?" 

"Oh...I've got myself a pretty good idea how and why..." mutters Anzara.

"Well..." begin the K's..."His real name is Donald..." 
"And...?" 
"Copyright issues...Disney have some pretty powerful legal advisors..." 

"Oh...I see..." says My Love, wondering to herself just how exactly that answer applies to her question.
 

------------------------
My Love makes her way to F*ck's workroom. 
Seeing him sitting at his desk, staring happily into space, My Love taps gently on the door. 

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, F*ck?" 

"Oh no, My Lady, I'm just doing my preliminary thinking before drawing up the plans. I am always available whenever you need me! How may I help you?"
 
"Well, F*ck, I've been wondering how you came to be named 'F*ck'?" 

"Oh, that was a very exciting occasion! It's a nickname I earned a few years ago when I was given the great honour of designing a tower in Italy! It was a lovely tower, all crenellated and fancy and what not. When it was ready to be unveiled, all the officials of the city were there and there was a great fanfare! And the most exciting moment of all was when the covering was removed and everyone gazed upon it for the first time! The Mayor came running at me, waving his arms and shouting, "Fun ghoul! Fun ghoul!” he was that thrilled! I KNEW then that I had done very well!" 

"Fun ghoul?" 

"Yes, My Lady, 'Fun ghoul' translates from Pisan into 'F*ck'! And that's how I got my name!" 

"But, why did he call you 'F*ck'? 

"Well, it seems that they were expecting the tower to be like all the other boring towers in the world and that it would go straight up and down, but I had a brilliant idea and I constructed it at an angle to the ground!" F*ck jumps for joy at the memory, "They had never had THAT idea before! And nobody has even copied it in all the years since then!" 

My Love chuckles and says, "So YOU were responsible for putting the lean in the Leaning Tower of Pisa, F*ck? You certainly HAVE earned your name!" 

Pleased with her compliment, F*ck almost bursts with joy.
---------------------------------------------------

Later, My Love is reading in the Library when F*ck waddles in looking confused. 
"What's up, F*ck?" My Love asks gently. 

"My Lady, I have a problem, I need to draw up plans for this most honourable monument, but I don't know the most important thing. Just how life size WAS the Wizard Zorp?" 

"Well, F*ck, I'd say that he was 5'10 tall. That translates to 70 inches, I believe." 

"Seventy inches?" 

"I think so." 

"Ok, 70 inches...I must remember 70." 
F*ck flaps his wings 7 times. 

"Is that a mnemonic device, F*ck?" 

"A what? A knee manic advice, My Lady?" 

"No, F*ck, a remembering spell - one tries to remember something by relating it to another thing. But F*ck, if you want to remember 70, shouldn't you flap your wings 70 times rather than 7?" 

"Oh no, My Lady, if I flapped my wings 70 times, I might achieve lift-off again, and the last time that happened.....well, suffice it to say, it's just not a good idea. Flapping 7 times will be my pneumonic-be-nice!" 

"F*ck, tell me, are you dyslexic?" 

"Me? Lysdexic? Naw.....is that a drug? I don't take drugs, Lady! Never have, never will! My body is my temple!" 

"You are to be commended for that. You'll remember to do the entire statue to scale, won't you F*ck?" 

"To scale? Well, I don't know how much it weighs just yet, but I sure will when it's done - you can count on me!" 

"Actually, F*ck, making a statue to scale means that every part of it is in natural proportion to every other part. For instance, a hand should be in proportion to the face, a guitar should be the right size to be played." 

"That's very confusing, My Lady." 

"Never mind, F*ck, I'm confident that you will do a very fine job," smiles My Love. 

"Yes, my Lady! I am working very hard on this!" sparkles F*ck with sweetness and sincerity, as he waddles back to his workshop.

------------------------------
In the Playroom, the 4 K's are laughing uproariously at their favorite program, "Dark Shadows", when in waddles F*ck, his face reflecting great consternation. 

"Hello, fellows," he says sadly. 

"Hey F*ck," says Kinky, "This show is barmy! They should try living with the Dark Lord to see what it's REALLY like!" The K's break out in a freshet of guffaws. Then Kunky notices F*ck's unusually downcast expression. "Why so sad, little F*ck? Is something wrong?" 

"Oh dear, something is very wrong, indeed!" cries F*ck, "I'm afraid I've done something very wrong...again." 

The K's look at each other with the dread that comes from previous experience with F*ck's 'F*ck-Ups'. 
"What's happened, Little One? Is there anything we can do to help you?" asks Kenky kindly. 

"I remembered the seventy, " says F*ck, flapping his wings seven times, "But now I think it was seventy inches, not seventy feet!" 

"Erk!" exclaims Kinky, "This doesn't sound good at all!" 

"It's a tragedy of epic proportions," mewls F*ck, "EPIC!" He starts to sniffle. "I have let everyone down and I tried my bestest and the statue was so grand, so very grand and Lord Morningstar would have been so proud of me and Lady Lilith would have been so pleased, but I think... no - I KNOW that I buggered it..." sniffles the duck, "Now I wonder if anyone will EVER forgive meeee...." 

"Tell us exactly what happened, F*ck, we're here for you!" The 4 K's cluster around F*ck and group hug the little guy. 

"It would have been perfect, I sent it to be cast and then they told me that I'd have to send them five million pounds to pay for it...and I don't HAVE that much money...oh dear, oh dear, oh dear..." 

"FIVE MILLION POUNDS!!??" gasps Kinky, "Why would it cost five million pounds, F*ck, why?" 

"Because I made it 70 feet tall instead of 70 inches and since I didn't have enough money, I told them to just cast as much of it as they could and so......they DID! And it's a DISASTER!" wails F*ck. 

"Do you know for a fact that it's a disaster?" asks Kenky. 

"Yes, yes I do...because it was just delivered!" weeps the d*ck. 

"Well then, buck up and take us to it," says Kunky, "Let us determine just how bad this really is!" The other K's nod in agreement and F*ck leads them to the Loading Dock. 

Looking long and hard at the statue, the K's swallow deeply. When Kinky can speak again, he says, "But that's a lovely piece, F*ck, it's one of your better efforts....erm....where's the rest of it?" 

F*ck goes up to the statue, strokes it gently and says, "This is all of it...this is all I could afford."

“It’s just a foot,” says Kinky.

 

©Ellen Pepper 2025

From Zorpack's quill...

 (In which the sacred Laws of Physics may be carnally violated.)

"Well, I guess we're only about 2 hours from Boston. Everybody ready for tonight?" Zorp says as he looks around the cabin at the comfortably lounging group of lizards. 
"Hey, what about my raise, Zorp?" asks Skeen. 
"Done." says Zorp, smiling. 
"Where're my bloomers?" asks Floating Rocks. 
"Ah, freshly laundered, folded and spindled in the drawer right behind you." 
"Hey hey hey hey?" asks My Love 
"But of course, My Love." Zorpack turns and walks into his private cabin to dress. 

Reflecting on the events of the last few years, the initial thrill of being on stage with his friends, the first hits, the adoration of the crowds, he smiles to himself. 
"It's been fun for the most part" he thinks. But deep inside he feels the irksome presence of a question he's been trying to answer for the longest time. It raises its head and reminds him of a quest he'd been trying to abandon for years. He's immediately depressed. 

All the roads he's travelled, all the efforts he's made and all the attempts to explain have fallen onto deaf ears for the most part. 
The sickening feeling of failure contaminates his soul with remorse. 
There aren't any regrets or blame, just the feeling that no matter what he tries, or how hard he works, the results will be the same. 

The jumbo jet abruptly hits a spot of turbulent air and shakes the cabin momentarily. He holds on for a second then continues to ponder. 
It's seemingly impossible, he thinks, to waken the masses to the reality that they're mere tools at the hands of master manipulators who use lies, religion, corporate slavery and brutality to keep them in their place. 
His attempts to break the molds have made him both hero and villain with the resulting net balance equalling zero. 

Another patch of rocky air interrupts his thoughts. "What th...?" 
He picks up the phone and calls the front desk. 
"Steve, I thought you were going to make this a smooth flight. Everything alright?" 
"Yeah, everything's fine. I just climbed another 1000 feet to get out of these clouds. Actually, I'm a little surprised. I didn't see anything in the weather report to indicate heavy weather, but I swear I'm seeing a lightening storm up ahead. Weird." 
"Can you call someone and find out what's up?" 
"Normally yes, but that first bump we hit must have caused a short in our transmitter. We're going to the back-up now. It shouldn't be much longer than a few minutes. I'll get a weather update then and let you know." 
"Steve, should I be worried?" 
"Ha ha...not unless you want to survive." 
"Ok then, get back to me if there's anything new." 
Another shock convulses the large jet. 
"I will. I'm gonna take her up another 500 feet. That should do it." 

Resplendently dressed in a full length shimmering blue robe, tight black jeans, flaming red silk shirt and 3 inch platform hobnailed boots, Zorpack sighs with resignation. 
"Maybe I should just start my own religion. The Reverend Zorp, can I get a big amen?" He chuckles and steps back into the main cabin. 

My Love notices his entrance that goes without being noticed by the others. 
"What's all the turbulence, Zorp?" 
"I don't know for sure. I talked to Steve and he said he'd get....." 

And then...SLAM! 

The whole plane began to shake violently. The floor beneath Zorpack's feet dropped away leaving him floating weightless for a second before he crashed down. Drinks tipped over on every table and the water from the hot tub was sloshing from side to side spilling out across the cabin floor drenching fine carpets and feet along the way. 

"Jeez...I need a smoke." said Floating Rocks. 
"Christly, I need an aspirin." said Skeen. 
"I need some new clothes" said Zorpack. 

The light on the phone began flashing red and Zorpack grabbed it up. "What the hell was that?" he asked Steve. 
"Steve? Steve? What is wrong with this thing? Can you hear me Steve?" 
By now Floating Rocks and Skeen had gathered around Zorp trying to hear what was being said. 
"I'm coming up front, I can't hear you on this line." Zorpack said and hung the phone up. 
The turbulence had stopped abruptly. 
"Why don't you guys settle in for our approach. I'll go see if I can find out what's going on." 
"Don't get lost" purred My Love. 
Zorpack glanced at her briefly, curious, then moved quickly down the corridor leading to the front of the plane. 

The level of destruction stunned him as he hurried forward. There were cables hanging from the ceilings and sides that burst into sparks as they touched metal. Papers and furniture were strewn all around. On several occasions he had to push the debris out of the way in order to get past. 
"Good God" he thought "It didn't seem this bad in the back. What the hell is going on here?" 
Finally, he reached the pilots cabin door and pushed it open. 

He was hit with a blast of cold air as it poured in through a huge puncture in the window. Lights were flashing and warning bells were sounding as he surveyed the mayhem. 
Then his eyes settled on the pilot, Steve. 
"Holy Jesuit. Steve, are you alright?" he asked. In his heart he knew that Steve was beyond hearing. 
A look into the co-pilot's seat showed much of the same thing. Both of their faces had been severely burned and their hands were fingerless stumps. It was only then that Zorpack noticed the stench of burnt flesh. He shivered. 

"Aw Steve, I'm so sorry." he said to the corpse. He found two blankets and covered the pilot's faces gently. A tear ran down his cheek as sadness overcame him. Steve had been their pilot since the beginning and they'd become close friends. 
Guessing a flash fire had reached out and killed the two he looked at the panel to see if he could make sense of it. Something outside grabbed his attention. 
His eyes grew wide and the hair on the back of his neck tingled as he stared out the window. 

The jumbo jet seemed to have been set on auto pilot and was circling a large volcanic mountain that was spewing ash and molten rock from its peak. It shone with a hellish yellow/red glow. 
"That doesn't look like Boston." said Zorpack out loud. 
As he watched, there came a sudden loud metallic noise behind him that ended in a sickening crunch. 
"Uh oh." thought Zorpack. 
Then it was just the sound of the wind blowing in through the broken window. The engines had stopped. 

As the nose of the giant plane began to angle downward towards the volcano's peak Zorpack noticed the phone light flashing. He picked it up. 
"Hello?" 
"Hey Zorp. What's going on up there?" My Love asked. 
"Well, I think we're going to crash." 
"Long night?" 
"No, the plane." 
"Oh. I thought it had gotten quiet." 
The nose continued to angle downwards, picking up speed. 

"My Love, do you think we're being punished by God for our bad behaviour?" 
"I didn't behave badly. Did you?" 
"No, not really. Do you think that it's fate that's bringing about our destruction?" 
"Fate's a little complicated. In order for us to be here, crashing in this plane, fate would have had to go through a lot of trouble. Seems to me in order for fate to influence day to day events in our lives, you'd have to trace the origins of our lives all the way back to the first hand." 
"That's true My Love, but we are living in a ten dimensional universe, or at least some say so, so who knows what's really going on at those tiny levels of uncertainty that could affect our daily lives?" 
"How much time do you think we have left?" asked My Love. 

Zorpack looked out the window and saw that the angle had increased to almost forty degrees down and they were circling faster and faster around the flaming peak. 
"Probably a couple of minutes. Are there any parachutes back there?" 
"Yes, there were four. The steward and his assistant have already jumped. Skeen and Floating Rocks are dressing in the last two now as we speak." 
"Dammit, tell Skeen I'm sorry about her raise. Oh, and tell Floating Rocks to 'keep on rocking, girl.' Where's that leave us?" 
"Uh...duh. In the middle of a conversation?" 
"Oh, right..."
 
The plane was picking up speed dramatically now as it continued to circle. Two figures could be seen rushing away from jet as the wind caught their parachutes. They would be safe. 

"Care to join me?" asked My Love. 
"Why not? It's a bit windy up here anyway. Did you prepare champagne for our guests?" 
"Silly boy, of course I did. Now hurry." 

Zorpack tossed off his clothes and stood naked for a brief second, then watched as his body began to blur and become vague. He carelessly tossed what remained into a corner and became a humming mass of bees hurriedly flying towards the back of the plane where My Love and their guests waited. 

On the way the conversation continued. 
"I'm not sure if we'll ever really understand what brings us to certain points in our lives." said My Love. 
"Well, if you think about it, isn't the right to choose your own path an illusion if your life is determined by fate?" asked Kate. 
"Or for that matter if it's determined by a God. Could you pass the champagne?" Morningstar asked with a smile. 
"It just seems to me that religion, fate or anything that claims a higher knowledge and understanding that is incomprehensible to humans, and therefore must be accepted on faith alone is just another form of tyranny." said Zorpack. 
"I despise tyranny. Hand over that bottle Morningstar." said The Wraith, reaching. 
"My question is, does it really even matter whether we know how we got somewhere? Isn't it more important to recognize that we are where we are? Regardless?" asked My Love. 
 

Zorpack  joins the group, and the five of them form a huge swirling mass of buzzing points of light so thoroughly mixed and intertwined that they are indistinguishable from each other. 
The plane's nose dives straight down into the lava filled crater immediately becoming incinerated molten refuse. 
"I think I agree, My Love." says Zorpack. The others nod in agreement. 
"People waste too much precious time worrying about this rule that rule, this god that god...." says Kate, taking a swig from floating champagne. 

The jet inches its way into the volcano's maw at an astounding nine hundred miles per hour, melting cheerfully. 

"Let's face it," says The Wraith, "the only real rule is to love each other." 
"Hear! hear!" says Morningstar, "Too much blame, guilt or jealousy over nothing. Emotions that are squandered instead of used for loving." 

By now the plane has rocketed half its length into the mountain. Lava splashes and sparks fly violently. 
"Well, you know my stand. I think we should all have sex." 
"Jeez, Zorp, you are such a pig." laughs Kate. 
"At a time like this?" asks Morningstar. 
"I thought we already were." laughs My Love.
"Oink... oink." says Zorpack. 
"You are a bunch of knuckleheads. Anybody bring some food?" asks The Wraith. 
And the entire fuselage is engulfed in a burning burst of searing white fire. 

From the darkness... 
"Was it good for you?" 
"You idiot, what a question." 
"God, I'm hungry." 
"Where's the wine?" 
"I've got a whine." 
"Oh yeah, well I've gotta pee." 
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...they all laugh in unison, and continue their discussion.
--------------------------------------------------------

RIP Zorp, you were a thoughtful and very funny man. Gone to dust. You are missed.

From the MORNING STAR

“Remember when you were young?”

It’s calling to you...stop for a moment, open your heart, listen, can you hear it?
 
“Remember when you were young?”
 
How the world was a wonder full place filled with imagination and mystery. Where nothing that could be imagined couldn’t exist, and often did. 
Where summers lasted for years, warm and golden, but with a heat that was never tired, or tiring.
And the nights...never lonely, just filled with dreams to fire desire, with lists of things to do tomorrow, as if the days were never full enough already.
 
“Remember when you were young?”
 
And then, slowly at first, you grew up, and the world became a darker, colder place.
The shadows you once caught out of the corner of your eye grew to cloud your vision.
The dreams still came, but no longer to be embraced, now just a burden, on a life ever complicated more and more by living.
Caught up in a time, where time seems ever shorter, ever faster, ever more precious.
 
“Remember when you were young?”
 
How the memory falls further away now.
Fading like a dream, as reality becomes the illusion given to you by others, replacing the hopes you once held so close, now scattered to the wind.
And yet, every so often, without warning, captured within a scent on a breeze, you catch the moment, and hold it close to your soul, because you know that whatever they tell you, the truth which is yours is still there.
 
“Remember when you were young?”
 
Why did it ever come to this…why did you ever allow it to happen, where did all the possibilities go, what once was fertile now overgrown with weeds, planted like a disease in the mind.
Your hope and strength, a castle in the midst of briars, waiting to be released, with a kiss, set free once more, with musical passion and whimsy, fluttering unfettered, borne like spores upon honeyed summer air, distilled from solar wine. Carried to who knows where or when.
 
“Remember when you were young?”
 
You still are.
And here’s the real truth. You will always be, it’s always there within you, it’ll always be there within you.
For a truth can only ever be hidden or lost, it can never be destroyed, for that is its nature.
It waits, sometimes forever, twinkling as a star in the night, out of time, out of reach, but then falling to earth, like ripe fruit from a tree.
 
“Remember when you were young?”
 
The dream never died.
Or, went away.
You merely forgot how to dream it.
Now it waits, out of the corner of your eye, to be born anew…
For to everything, there is a season.
 
“Remember, when you were young!”
 
Remember.

 

 ©Ellen Pepper 2025

Casting a Different Shadow Part Five

 

Casting a Different Shadow

Part Five

 

~Violet~

Dear Patsy-

Burn this after reading!
I have such a passionate crush on Jacob.
Don't tell anyone or I won't be your friend anymore.
I mean it.
He came in today and teased me again.
He keeps saying my eyes are BROWN!!!!
He makes me so crazy.
But he's SO cute!

V.

_________________________________


Patsy: Hey Vi, look what I found today while cleaning out my old school stuff. It's a note about Jacob.

Violet: Oh........Jacob. Yes, I was a little silly then, wasn't I? Huh! Well, I DID like him.

Patsy: Like, my ass! You were enthralled. (Laughing)

Violet: Yeah, I guess. But it seemed so impossible back then. Funny how things change, eh?

Patsy: Yeah...funny. Who would have guessed it would have turned out the way it all did?

Violet: Life's a mystery, Patsy. No kidding.

Patsy: Will ya ever tell me the whole story, Vi?

Violet: Yeah, Patsy, in my own time. 
(whispers) He changed the way the world was supposed to be.

Patsy: What did you say?

Violet: I'll tell you later.

------------------------------------------
©Ellen Pepper 2025

Casting a Different Shadow Part Four

 

CASTING A DIFFERENT SHADOW

Part Four: 

 

Mrs. Naccaretto

I saw the boys heading down to the caves near the river that day,
even though I didn't realize it until much later.

I was walking along the path with my newborn, Miranda,
and I saw a gang of youngsters horsing around.
There could have been four of them,
there could have been seven -
you know how boys that age move around too quickly to be counted.
There were two dogs with them as well,
one a long sleek white whippet-type,
and the other was a tiny black furry yapper.

Had I been closer, I would have recognized them
from my fourth grade class of the previous autumn.
I'd started the year as their home room teacher,
but had to leave after a few months when my pregnancy became
embarrassingly noticeable.

Something happened to those children that day.
At the time, I wanted to rush forward and warn them not to play in the caves,
because of the danger, but, knowing boys,
that would have positively driven them to go there.

As it turned out,
no warning would have spared any lives or minds that day.
Whatever happened was meant to be.
I'm sure of this.
There was something in the air that day,
the sky was too steely-blue, the sun too bright,
every sound too frighteningly clear.

Miranda is grown now,
but has often asked me to tell the story of that day.
I don't know what happened, really.
But I saw them that day;
and taught the ones who were still alive
when classes resumed in the Fall.

That first day of school I told them that their homework would be
to write a composition entitled,
“How I Spent my Summer Vacation”.
I had the hope that someone would tell the truth.

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

 ©Ellen Pepper 2025

Casting a Different Shadow Part Three

 

Casting a Different Shadow

Part Three

And so it was a summer day around noon when the boy set off for his friend Benny’s place. He was the kind of kid who was teased about his unruly hair and gawky body but was generally well liked by those of his generation. He and his friends had built a tree house in the as yet undeveloped suburbs in which they lived. He habitually wore the uniform of his tribe: blue jeans and T-shirts and sneakers. He was a typical boy of his time with one exception – his was an unusually well developed intelligence because he spent much time reading books. Not just any books mind you, but magical books – tales of wonder and power.

This boy devoutly believed that he could manifest the reality he chose by employing willpower and strange rituals, some of which he designed himself. This boy wanted to create a better world for everyone where no one would go hungry or homeless or be lonely or old.
This boy’s name was G-185: his human name was, of course, otherwise.
He was known to his friends as Jacob. His sister called him Brat and his parents used the word “Son”.

What this boy caused to happen through magic would echo down through the generations – he changed the way the world was supposed to be.

 

©Ellen Pepper 2025

Casting a Different Shadow Part Two

 

 Casting a Different Shadow

Part Two

When we were ten years old we started Fifth Grade and Mrs. Nacaretto was our teacher. That first day of school she told us our homework would be to write a composition entitled “How I Spent my Summer Vacation”. She wrote the words on the board. Shadow and I glanced at each other across the classroom and immediately looked away. How could we ever write a truthful account of what had happened to all of us?

Do you remember why your nickname was Shadow, Benny? Probably. Wasn’t it because of that Saturday night you were sneaking a peak at Bess through the bathroom window and the power went out and the streetlight shining behind you cast your shadow on the door just as my sister reached for it. Man, did she scream.
“A shadow! A shadow! AAAA! A shadow in the bathroom! Get me outta here! Help, help, a shadow! A huge man is trying to break in! MUMMMMY MUMMY MUMMYYYYYYYY!” 

Meanwhile, you ran away as fast as you could and I didn’t find out till the next day that it was only you. I found out when you slyly asked me if anything strange had happened the night before and then turned red.

I’m standing in front of your very luscious and authoritative receptionist in your very grand foyer. She’s sniffing as if there’s a very bad smell coming from my general direction. Her eyes are cold and there’s an absence when you look directly into them. Don’t know how to describe it but it’s as if you’re looking into the shiny, empty glass eyes of a doll. There’s nobody operating that bodacious machinery. Scary.

Shadow and I talked about it as we walked home after the first day of school. I was sure that all she wanted was standard vacation stories like “I climbed three trees and skinned my knees while riding my bike through a big bunch of bees.”

Shadow: “I think we should tell the truth and really flip her out.”
Me : “Naw, are you nuts? No one would ever believe us.”
Shadow : “That’s the best part – everyone would think that we’re premature writers or something.”
Me: “The word is precocious.”
Shadow: “Whatever. We’d get to write a book and go on TV and they would HAVE to make a movie of it. We’d be famous. We’d have it MADE.”
Me: “Let’s try to remember that there are other people involved in this. We could get in big trouble telling stories about what happened to them. Really BIG trouble.”
Shadow: “We just have to tell it from our angle. That’s all. What happened to us and all. Like our, y’know, feelings and such. Then no one could ever give us a hard time if it’s only our story.”
Me: “Now how in bloody hell can we talk about our FEELINGS if we don’t say what happened to make us feel those feelings? Don’t you get it? If we write about our bloody, blasted, damn-it-to-hell FEELINGS we HAVE TO TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO JOEY!”
Shadow: “Oh………Um, yeah, right. But couldn’t we just make it out to be a pretend story?”
Me: “Then what’s the point? Let’s just give her the usual shit.”
Shadow: “But, we could get rich with a story like this. I hope you realize what you’re doing by saying no.”
Me: “Probably keeping us alive long enough to grow up.”
Shadow: “Maybe someday……”
Me: “Yeah, right. When we’re really old...like thirty-six or so.”
Shadow: “I’ll forget by then.”
Me: “I’ll never forget.”


So now I’ve been graciously requested to have a seat in the “Lavender Waiting Room” by the mistress of the appointment book. She is ever so discretely spraying an atomizer of citrus-scented odor killer. I think I love the fact that she just doesn’t have a clue about the meaning of life. Actually, I’m having a burning-in–the-gut resentment.

Ah yes, you look like an older and wiser version of yourself as you glide from your office to greet me. It’s funny, but when we were kids and you told me that one day you would rule the world I would shake my head privately in fearful reflection of what you’d be like if you ever had to force your way out of your habitual lethargy and actually commit to an activity. And now, go figure; you almost do rule the world… or at least what seems to be a pretty important part of it.

Shadow: It’s been a while.
Me: Unh huh.
Shadow: Come on in to my palatial office and have a jaw wit’ me, oh solemn soldier of Fortune.
Me: Ok.

I was always the loquacious one. And now we venture across your fancy-smancy designer office and I’m introduced to all your toys and gadgets. And you could probably house an entire Asian nation in this amount of floor space. And who is the athletic-looking blonde standing by the room-size windows looking out over the glorious city?

Shadow: This is Vesta. She helps me in my work.
Me: Uh, I kinda hoped we could talk privately.
Shadow: Anything you can say to me, she can hear. She is the keeper of the secrets.

Later I will realize that I should have paid closer attention to that introduction. It would mean more than it seemed just as Vesta turned out to be exactly who Shadow said she was.  

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

 ©Ellen Pepper 2025

Casting a Different Shadow Part One

 

Casting a Different Shadow

Part One

There was something I wanted to tell you about that summer day. Sometimes I can’t remember what it is - sometimes, I’m really not sure I should. Spanker’s gone now and from what I hear, he won’t ever be back. So the secret is perfectly safe with him. Especially if he’s dead. See, even though you were there and even though I shouldn’t have to tell you about it, I’m pretty sure that you don’t remember at all what happened to Joey.

Maybe if I start real slow and pretend that it was a regular summer day it’ll slip out of me and we can talk about it. Well, I woke up that morning and the sky was already that dull, steely-grey looking plate that meant it was going to be hot and sticky again. My skin smelled all sweaty and tired. My sneakers in the corner of the room still reeked of the swamp we walked through last Tuesday. I started thinking about getting a waffle cone ice cream this afternoon if I could scam up some cash. And, of course, I’d have a good excuse to stop by Sanderson’s to get the cone. And, of course, Violet would be there, working her way through summer for her Pops. Violet had brown eyes, even though she said they were violet and that's why she was given that name. I told her so many times that my ma says that there’s no point naming a baby after the colour of her eyes before she’s even 3 months old because babies’ eyes don’t have any colour till they can see. And they can’t see when they’re born. But Violet doesn’t seem to hear me when I say this. She just flings herself over to another part of the counter.

So now, here I am at the breakfast table, which my ma insists on calling the nook. And I’m eating Shreddies with cream and banana slices. Then I have some crispy cinnamon toast. I read the comics. My older sister, Bess, is playing her radio. It’s annoying me because she likes the rankest music around and thinks it actually sounds better when the volume is cranked way high. I could just smack her. Someone should. I’m so pissed off that I yell out, “Bess, you turn that stinkin’ noise off right now!”
“What?”, she screams back.
“Shut off that hellfire noise!”
“What?”
I bounce up the stairs and pull on her door and she’s got the bloody thing locked!
Me: “Open up! Open up! Right now! Open this door!”
Bess: “What do you want?”
Me: “I told you to open this door now!”
Bess: “Why?”
Me: “Because I want to tell you something!”
Bess: “What?”
Me: “Just open the door!”
Bess: “What do you want, you little beast?”
Me: “I want you to shut that damn radio off right now!”
Bess: “Make me.”

So I give up.


Okay, now I’m pedaling my bike over to your house, Benny. The air has a weird smell now, almost like the smell when a plane is taking off. The sky is getting darker and looks a bit sickly green. My tire hits a rock and I go flying over the handlebars and land face first in the lilac bush that Mrs. Konfeer insists is a tropical vine. Now I look like a conquering hero, complete with battle scars and blood.

I throw my bike down on the end of your driveway and careen dramatically over your father’s perfect lawn shouting your name. Suddenly all the hair on my body stands up and starts tingling. There’s a really bright light and a huge crash and the whole world looks like a negative. I fall to my knees and the world starts doing a slow and darkening spin.

Next thing I know, I’m smelling burnt hair. And then I’m opening my eyes. My face is stinging. Then I start to hear people talking but they sound so far away. I decide to get some sleep but someone else decides to put something on my face and I shriek.

Twenty years later, I’m standing on the sidewalk outside the office building in which you preside over an impressive computer something-or-other company. You’re doing well, Benny. Were you afraid that I’d come to you today and want to talk about what happened to us on our summer vacation so many years ago? We’re the last ones who were there; there’s no one left but us. You and me, Benny. Do you remember Joey? Last time I saw Spanker, he said, “Joey who?” I hope that didn’t happen to you, too, Ben.

I was shrieking because it felt that my face was covered in burning acid. It was rubbing alcohol. Your mother thought it would help. Why wasn’t she at work that day? Someone told me that I just missed being struck by lightening. Your mother said that what that meant was that my life had been spared to do important work. Yikes. As if...I mean really, what have I accomplished after all?

Benny, I’m coming to see you. We have to talk.

____________________________ 

 ©Ellen Pepper 2025

Blessing for You

 

She made a spell of you,
for blessings and guidance,
to cut through to the truth.
To shift you from silence to action.

You ran in fear.

She meant only the best.
Maybe not rainbows and unicorns.
But truly, to let depth be your compass.
To co-create you as a codespeaker.

She was unforgettable,
from the edge of underground.
You thought you knew her.
Yet, too much an enigma profound.

Don't run in fear.
Connect the dots.
She taught you how, by example.
Once connected, resilience will grow.

She put a spell on you,
To bring you sight and understanding,
Of true morning and fervent night.
She never meant you harm.

She asked your permission.
You had your chance to expand,
those horizons too close
for freedom.

Still, you ran in fear.

This boon will never come again.
Your tears cannot call it back. 
Shine on forever, you're now the
Plaything of the gods.


©Ellen Pepper 2025

With gratitude to LM and her Book of Shadows

How can we sing of hope?

 

How can we sing
when the world is this broken?
Who will sing,
What manner of song?

Sing the miracle of hope into being.

The birds sing,
the whales
and bats
and gibbons sing
as do tree frogs
tadfish, katydids,
crickets 
and antelope squirrels.
Song is how male mice attract mates.
Singing is Nature's Way.

Rather than enumerating all the tragic reasons
why humansong can be curtailed,
by the relentless daily horrors,
sing the miracle of hope into being.

Continue to sing, 
no matter the news.
Sing out the happy,
not so much the blues.
Sing the miracle of hope into being.

Sing out the possible:
Joy, laughter, freedom,
loss of demon's minions by "happy accident".
Sing out the dance of victory over darkness.
Sing the miracle of hope into being.

Keep singing, no matter what.
Sing the miracle of hope into being.


©Ellen Pepper 2025

Image: Forest Choir in Tranquil Trees  @redoakradio

Be well...

Since the world can be a grim and scary place with few oases of comfort and joy.
And, since we're not always near enough to embrace with love,
This is my prayer for you...

Firstly, the basics:
Fresh air, clean water, good food.
A safe place to sleep.
A shelter from the vicissitudes.
Proper footwear for every occasion.

And then up a level to:
Lascivious lashings of summer rain after drought.
The sparkle of sundrops on your lashes.
The intoxication of a new infant's aroma.
The ability to see. Both far and near. Micro and macro.

Next up:
Valor. Honesty. Authenticity.
The knowledge of good and evil. Discernment.
Welcoming challenges as Life's pop quizzes.
Persistence. 

And, above all else:
Having the blessing of perspective.
Making connections between values and actions.
Music that elevates your soul.
Dancing joyously through to the finish line of your life.

This is my prayer for you.
Amen.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

image credit: dreamstime.com

GRAVITY IS A BITCH

Plodding.
One foot up,
One foot down.
Bend the knee.

How long has it been so far?
Three minutes.
Only 3 minutes?
Seventeen to go.

Can it be done?

Walk the treadmill, they said.
It'll strengthen your heart, they said.
Meanwhile, gravity is a bitch.
Who can lift these legs of steel?

Keep going.
Don't give in to the
overwhelming fatigue...
Thoughts of tired.

A nap beckons.
"Why do you torture yourself?"
Grimly checking the time again.
Eight minutes now.

The bed is smiling coyly.
Inviting treadmill truancy.
Don't give in to comfort.
Don't stop yet.

Thirteen minutes.
Hard to breathe now.
Time to give up?
Try for 5 more minutes.

Why is this like climbing a rock face?
Only 3 minutes more.
You can do this.
Grit your teeth.

And now, it's done.
Where's the dopamine rush?
Not feeling it.
All that's left is relief.

There must be an easier way.


©Ellen Pepper 2025

image credit: freepik.com

Midas Cursed

 

Greed is the sin.
Not the gold,
not sex,
not money,
not anything of ascribed, false value.

Greed equates to suffering.

Spanish conquistadors with the Americas.
Henry VIII with monasteries.
Ponzi schemes.
Rockefeller.
Mansa Musa.
Genghis Khan.

They all died, empty-handed.
The greed didn't fill them up.
It left them alone, bereft.
A shroud has no pockets.

Insatiable hunger for more
left nothing in store.
The good that could have been done.
was done by none.

If it's gilded, it's foolishness.
Means nothing.
Gives nothing.
Lacks intrinsic value.

Greed is the sin.
Not the love of stuff, itself.
Greed is not good enough.
Find something real.

Authenticity is the treasure.
It swells the heart with joy.
Midas died with gold-free hands,
as do we all.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

 
image credit: wholeguidance.com

You get what you give...

From the infant's first cry of birth-shock,
to the dying elder's final gasp before leaving.
The inhalations and exhalations,
breathed life into the body.

You take what you give
and give what you take
and most of the time you're unconscious...
going through the decreed motions.

What you were trained to believe.
What you hoped to achieve.
Where you went,
and if you returned.

Somebody knows your true name.
Somebody sees your soul.
You thought you were hidden,
and thus tried to be seen.

A mind in motion
stays in motion.
An untethered mind
only gets lost in the maze.

Have you given enough?
Have you been given enough?
Have you found or lost your way?
It doesn't matter.

In the end,
you did what you could.
Maybe not the best of all time.
But you breathed.

So breathe your way through the final act.
No more anxious moments, 
the stage is finally ephemeral.
And the spotlight will soon fade.

Remember: you got what you gave.
In this prison of sighs.



©Ellen Pepper 2025

image credit: webneel.com

 

Personal Butterfly

Heart fluttering like the wings 
of that white/yellow butterfly 
that follows me around these days
every time I go outside.

I lay me down on the viridity of grass.
fragrant from recent mowing.
Looking up, I fall into the cerulean summer sky
while green spears poke through my muslin gown.

If it was night,
I could ascend into a field of stars.
But now, all I have to bounce on
are the sometimes spiderweb clouds.

Holding this heart,
tenderly,
I sing to it a lullaby,
Soothing it like a swaddled child.

Some kittens are frolicking nearby,
some are playing hide and seek.
Some peeking through shrubbery
watching the sighing one.

Butterfly friend beckons.
Wants to be followed.
I'm not ready yet.
There are more songs to be sung, still.


©Ellen Pepper 2025

What did I mean...

 

 

What did I mean when I said what I said.
What did your mind say inside itself.
Why did we misunderstand so comically.
Was it Mercury gone retrograde in our head?

Sometimes the words get in the way.
Sometimes we stumble and fall,
trying to cover it all, 
all that must be said. 

The clock is ticking.
We have to share the news before it changes.
We have to tell the stories before they're forgotten.
We want the memories to match our hearts.

Little did we know,
what we know now.
Nobody led the way.
Nobody told the secrets.

Where are you inside your mind?
Are you laughing at the comedy?
What colour is the sky in your world,
today?

Will you be lonely tonight?
There's no need to be.
Lay yourself down on the grass 
and peek at the sky until
you feel as if you're falling into 
the abyss of stars.

Let a supernova become your home.
Look at it through the eye of a needle,
Perspective is all - 
you'll know what I meant,
when I said what I said.

Remember to speak back with words... 
Don't speak with silence.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

image credit: ar.inspiredpencil.com

Perhaps Farewell

 

For all of you.

Look, I don't know how much time I have left - the doctors all look very sad when they see me lately.
I'll tell you now what I would want to tell you if I left too quickly to say goodbye, ok?

Right.

Well, first of all, I'm sorry. So sorry. More sorry than you'll ever know. I apologize if I've hurt you by word or deed. I may have, occasionally, been a bit spiteful ...but not for long. I mean, I meant it at the time but that was just drama. It never meant that I hated you or wished ill upon you. I may have lashed out like an injured animal, uncaring of the damage that could be done. Also, I felt that you'd be unbothered by anything little ol' me could do to you. And, it only happened because you'd casually crushed me and sauntered away without a backward glance. Not an excuse or justification, just an explanation of the intense emotional reaction, on my part.

Okay, now what? Let me think.

Ah yes - I loved you - all of you... in my own misunderstood way.
You were all so very precious to, and cherished by me. I know I never let on - I wouldn't know where to start. I mean - I get awkward when people hug, for crying out loud. Affectionate gestures feel foreign to me. I am unaccustomed to them. Look, it happens. Not everyone gets kissed and cuddled in life. Most of the world is happy just to have food to eat and water to drink every day, you know?

I'm going to miss you all until we meet again. I won't be looking down on you from heaven because I'll be far too busy on the Other Side. I plan to map out the Universe in my travels there before I'm consigned to another human life. 

We were lied to about what happens after our human life ends. There's no heaven or hell. You're going to be absolutely amazed when you arrive there. Don't ask me what happens to the bad guys because it's not what you'd expect or hope for as a human. It's a perfect ending, though, for souls, once they're there. It all makes perfect sense - you'll see.

Most of you will be blown away by the Unconditional Love that envelops you as soon as you step past the veil. Oh! And the music! The music is beyond anything that humans are capable of hearing. It's aurally phantasmagorical - except you won't hear it with your ears because you'll have left them behind along with your empty body. You'll hear it with your soul... your very being.

The intensity of the colours will make you realize that we've been seeing through a glass darkly all our human lives. The spectrum is vast. 

You'll know everyone there from all of your lifetimes. There'll be laughter. Joy. Bliss. Certainty. 

Everything you've ever wanted to know - every answer to every question that went unanswered will immediately be revealed. You'll understand. You'll laugh at human foibles. You'll be amused by the picayune problems that obsessed you and wasted your precious time. 

You'll understand what dreams really are.

There'll be no more pain.

I've seen all this and it's wonderful but, even so, I will miss the good times and the bad because all the times meant that I was alive and human and not too flawed to learn what's really important.

Anyway, I don't know how much Earth Time I have left and neither do you, as it happens. Nobody knows their expiry date and that's okay. "We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when."
Ti amo. Te quiero. Je t'aime. Ich liebe dich. 愛してる.  我爱你 .
I do love you. All of you. Well, to be fair, most of you. I'm not dead yet but, when I am, I will be able to love all of you, by the Grace of Good. lol

Please have a listen. 
https://youtu.be/2a7_yCxMgZc?si=mc23V_sGClNIXS-3

©Ellen Pepper 2025
image credit: time.com

Hey you!

 

Hey you!
You got lucky, didn't you?
Transcended the chaos.
Remained serene in the face of insanity.
Your heart was stalwart,
Your soul impermeable.
Courage never faltered.
Testicles retained their fortitude.
Never shattered, never broken, you strode like a Colossus
across your personal universe.

Meanwhile...
Kris drowned in a vat of red wine and 50 years of misery.
Dave gave up music to repair cameras and pay bills.
The Boy was lost in a fog of fentanyl and tears.

Kim birthed 4 girls. Her husband demanded a son.
An icy mother fell on her leg when she failed to suicide
because her mate had another family in the next town over.
The leg was lost. 

Anna drove into a transport truck head-on
when she was told she'd need another kidney transplant.
Mike's heart attacked him to the death. 
Lockwood died of cancer. His obituary was merely factual.

Through all of this, you smiled and joked and carried on.
Leaving them all behind, one by one,
 as they dropped to the wayside.
Sometimes you think of them
and their glory days. 
And their cruelty. 
And the summer evening sunlight illuminating the verandah
 where you all sat on that final evening together.
Not knowing how life would turn out.

Most of the time, though, you move forward,
knowing full well that your time will also come to go away.
Unbothered. Unfettered. 
You really got lucky, somehow,
Untouched by the sorrow of loss.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

Image credit: Andy Thornton