Relationship

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, gasping for breath.  I look at the man lying next to me, the human being who is supposed to comfort and reassure me, and I just want to run.  It's like I don't know why I'm here, why I ever came here, nor why I stayed.  I feel trapped and I just want to get out. But then I remind myself that's crazy.  I'm here because I love him, and he loves me.  All these dreams of monsters and demons and being forced to become something you aren't... it's nonsense.  You can't force another person to love you, no matter how hard you try.  I love him because I love him, not because he's making me love him.

But still, just in case, I felt like I had to write this down, just in case... just in case it turns out to be true after all, I want someone to know that I suspected, that I wasn't totally fooled.

---

Darren is an amazing man.  The week we met and started dating seems like a blur.  There was a convention and a hotel bar and then a hotel room and that's about all I remember.  By the end of it, though, we were deeply in love.  Well, maybe "deeply" isn't quite the right word, more like passionately or madly.

Some would simply call it lust, but its more than that.  I feel a connection with him that I've never felt with anyone else.  I can't really explain it, but the closest I can come is to say that it feels like he's inside my head, like its a part of me.  He knows just want I want before I even realize I want it, and he always gives it to me. No one is that selfless, so I guess it must just be that we always want the same things.  Like I said, it's like he's apart of me, sometimes it's almost like we're the same person.  It's amazing; I hope everyone gets to experience it at least once in their lives; and I never want to leave.

---

I woke up alone last night.  I mean, Darren wasn't there, even though he's always there.  I felt a panic sweep over me like I never had before.  I didn't even throw on my slippers before I rushed out into the living room to see him staring out the window, watching the white snow gently fall.  It was all so surreal.

"That's what it will feel like," he said, slowly turning to face me, his gorgeous brown eyes connecting with mine.  "If you ever leave me, that's what it will feel like all the time."

I nodded as I caught my breath, and just as I was about to start crying he smiled at me and I knew everything was going to be okay.

"Let's go back to bed," he said, and I nodded and led the way.

I know now that I can't live without Darren.  No matter what doubts I might have, there is no one else for me.

---

We had a visitor today.  Well, not really a visitor as much as a delivery person, a girl, barely old enough to drive I would have thought.  She was delivering some new clothes Darren had bought for me online.  I picked some out and he picked some out, but we both wanted me to wear the same things anyway.  It's so cute how that always happens.

But it was the strangest thing:  Darren, when he was signing for the box, I could have sworn I saw him look at that girl and lick his lips, not in a suggestive sexual way (I know he would never cheat on me), but like he was hungry.  She wasn't a pizza delivery girl.  Why would she make him think of food?

It was almost nothing, and I forgot it as soon as he turned to me and gave me my new clothes, but I'm remembering it now, and I don't know why.  Maybe I should just ask him about it, but somehow I don't think that would be wise.  I know its nothing, but somehow it was strange.  Sometimes I think I might be going crazy and these little bits of myself that I write out from time to time are just meant to document my fall into insanity.

---

Darren is always looking out for me.  We went out tonight, for the first time in what seems like forever, and this creepy guy was hitting on me.  Darren got him to back off fast.  I think the guy might even be scared of him.  I couldn't help but smile a little at the thought of anyone being scared of Darren.  He would never hurt anyone.

But this guy at the bar was really weird.  He came up to me while Darren was at the bar getting our drinks and with this really bizarre look of what I think was supposed to be concern on his face asked if I was okay. Who does that, just walks up to a girl and asks if she's okay?  It was really weird.  Luckily, Darren got back before the guy could say much more than that I looked a little woozy or weak or something.  I don't really know what he said.  It was all so bizarre.  I'm just glad Darren was there to tell the guy to back off.  I'm not really good at defending myself.

I'm so glad Darren is around to defend me.  I see now, too, why he hates taking me out so much.  The world is a mess out there.  I just want to stay where it's safe and warm, in Darren's arms.  I don't need anything else.

---

I woke up last night, thinking I heard screaming.  Darren was gone again, the second time ever that I've woken up and he hasn't been there, and I started to feel panic steal up into my body again, but then he walked through the door.  The lights were on in the hallway behind him and he almost looked like an angel.

"It's okay, sweetie," he said, though he sounded a little sad, "go back to sleep."

I nodded and did as he said, but as I was drifting off, I thought how stressful work must be getting for him.  I really wish he would let me get a job, but he wants to be the provider and who am I to refuse.  But yes, it must be getting very stressful for him.  He clearly couldn't sleep either, and I think he had been up having a glass of wine to help calm his nerves.  I thought I saw something red on his lips when he was standing in the doorway.

---

I found the strangest thing today.  I was cleaning out the closet and I found a box full of love letters addressed to Darren.  At first my heart sank in my chest.  I just couldn't believe he had been cheating on me.  We were so in love, it was impossible even to fathom.  But then I looked at the dates on the letters; they were almost 100 years old.

I asked Darren about it when he got home, as I was feeling a bit curious, even though it didn't really matter and it was really none of my business.  He seemed a bit taken aback at first, but then he smiled.  "Those were letters my great-grandmother wrote to my great-grandfather," he explained.  "After they both died, the letters were left to my father and when my father died, he left them to me."

I nodded, still not sure why he cared enough to keep them in the apartment, but not enough to share them with me, but I suppose I was just being silly about that.  Darren shares plenty with me, I can't expect him to share every little thing, and I know he's just a sentimental guy.  "We'll they're very sweet," I said.  "Very... authentic."

I almost thought Darren was going to cry, I thought I saw a tear about to form as he says, "Yes, she was a very sweet woman."

I almost ask if he ever met her, but I'm quite sure he didn't.  I remember Darren told me his father died a long time ago, when Darren was very young, and if his great-grand parents died even before that, I'm sure Darren never knew them.  Someone must have told him about them for him to react to their memory, a memory he doesn't even have himself, like that.  Darren has a great sentimental heart.  I love him so much for it.

---

I hesitate to admit it, but I must:  I'm getting a little bit scared now.  I would think I'm going crazy, but I have to believe I'm not.  The man from the bar a few weeks back, I keep seeing him from my window, outside across the street.  I told Darren, and I had never seen him get so angry.  I know Darren would never hurt anyone, but I can't help but fear, just a little bit, that his love for me might drive him to do something drastic.

---

I don't know why I was so worried.  I watched the whole thing happen, and I'm so glad I did, for it truly put my mind at ease.  I saw the man again, this time with Darren at home, and when I mentioned it, Darren rushed to the door.  "Please," I called out after him, "Don't hurt him!"

Darren looked back at me with a look of pain himself.  "You know I won't do that," he said in his sweetest most reassuring voice, the one that always puts my heart at ease.  "You don't ever have to doubt me."

Still, a part of me was scared, and I watched from the window.  But all they did was talk.  The strange man seemed a little uneasy, and he glanced up towards me a time or two, which made me gasp, but all they did was talk.  Darren never even touched him, and the man just turned and walked away.

I rushed to the door, waiting for Darren to come back in, and as if he could read my mind, my desire to know what happened (which I guess is natural to assume I would ask), he told me, "I reasoned with him, and promised that if he ever comes near you again, I'll get a restraining order."

I smiled.  Harsh but fair.  Just like my Darren.  We curled up on the couch and watched a movie and ate some popcorn.  I must have drifted off and Darren carried me to bed because I woke up a short while ago lying next to him, warm and content, though still feeling a little tired.  I just wanted to write down what a great thing he did for me today so I don't forget about it later.  I seem to be getting more and more forgetful these days.

---

Nothing much of interest has happened lately.  I am happy and well.  Darren seems less stressed about work and comes home often with a smile on his face.  I'd like to think it's a combination of things looking up at the office and his being so glad to see me.  I do have to admit, though, I am getting a little more lonely and bored at home all day.  I am really considering asking if I might start looking for a job.  I know we don't need the money, but I'd really like to have something to do, and, I'm almost ashamed to say it, to get out of this apartment more than once or twice a month.

---

I had the strangest dream last night.  I was running down a dark alleyway, running from something, I don't know what, just some dark figure running or maybe even flying after me.  I hit a dead end, and then suddenly he was there, the man from the bar and from outside my window.  He grabbed me by the arms and I nearly screamed, but somehow, in my warped dream world, I felt comfort in the way he grabbed me.  "It's okay," the dream stalker said, "I just want to help you.  I want to set you free."

And then, from behind me, I heard a cross between a growl and a roar.  When I turned, I saw a beast before me, black and harsh and harry with great fangs, some strange cross between a bat and a wolf and a man, but the thing that startled me most of all, was that it seemed to have Darren's eyes.  Those eyes I loved so much were now staring down at me, angry and mean, like some sort of predator, a look I have never before seen in those beautiful, perfect eyes.

The stalker protector man jumped in front of me and shouted, "You can't have her!"  And when the beast snarled at him, he shouted all the louder, "You can't have her!"

And then I woke up screaming, and gasping for breath.  Darren instantly sat up next to me and assured me it was just a bad dream.  As I hugged him, and told him between my pants and sobs about how the monster had been so horrific but had his eyes (I shouldn't have told him that, but I did), I felt him hold me even tighter.  "It was just a dream," he said, almost sounding angry.

I pulled away and wiped my eyes.  "I'm so sorry," I said.

But then he softened and smiled at me.  "Hey, baby," he said, wiping a tear from my face himself.  "It was just a dream.  It's okay.  I know it doesn't mean anything.  It's not your fault."

I nodded, looking into his eyes, soft and gentle and full of love.  And then for a split second, so brief a time I'm not even sure it happened, I saw in his eyes a flash of what I had seen in the dream, and I gasped.

"What is it, baby?" he asked with a frown.

I shook my head.  If he really was angry, I didn't want to give him any further reason to be.  "Nothing," I assured him.  "I just want to go back to sleep."

He nodded and helped me get settled back in, but as he wrapped his arms around me, I couldn't help but feel a little uneasy and a part of me, just a very small part, almost wished that the stalker man would appear to me again once I drifted off to sleep.

---

Life is wonderful and full of surprises!  I had planned to ask Darren about getting a job today, but instead, oh I just can't build up to it, I just have to say it... He asked me to marry him!  It was all such a blur.  I had been pacing around the apartment trying to figure out how to bring up such a delicate subject as employment with him and he came home and I was about to speak but then he just started beaming and the next thing I knew he was down on one knee with a ring asking me to marry him and saying how much he loved me and of course I said yes.  We've been together so long, part of me thought this was never really going to happen, but I'm so happy now that it has and I see it was all worth the wait and now I just can hardly wait to really be his wife!  He had catalogs too, piles of them, and websites, so I can look for my dress without even having to leave the apartment!  He's so wonderful and thoughtful and I had completely forgotten about the job until now that I am writing it down, but who needs a job now that I'm going to be marrying the most wonderful man who ever lived?!  I couldn't be any happier!!!

---

I know I should be happy and filled with joy, but after those first few days, somehow the joy seemed to fade.  I'm still thrilled that I'm marrying Darren; I couldn't ask for a better man, but somehow pouring over all the catalogs sitting here alone just isn't what I was expecting in terms of wedding preparations.  I expected to be calling my family, my friends, gushing about how happy I was, taking them out to look at dresses with me.  Do I even have friends anymore?  It seems like so long since I've talked to any of them.  And family... my mother lives just a few miles away, but I haven't gone to see her in months, maybe even a year.

But that can't be right.  I know we spent Christmas with my family.  We must have.  What else would we have done?  We certainly didn't just stay here alone... Oh God, what's happening to me?  What's happening to my life?  I have to get out, take a walk, get some fresh air.  I know Darren doesn't like it when I go out without telling him, but if I tell him, he'll tell me not to go, and I have to.  I really have to.  I promise I'll come right back, I just need some air.

---

I took my journal with me and went to the park.  Everything is so familiar yet so strange.  The sun almost hurts my eyes its so bright, but I'm feeling much better now.  Fresh air really does the body good.  I'm starting to feel my head clear so I can really think, for the first time in I don't even know how long.  But wait, I think I see someone I know jogging this way.

---

It was him:  the man from the bar, the man from the street, the man from my dreams.  I know him, I mean, I know him better than I realized.  He had been around before.  In fact, I think he might have been Darren's friend.  It's so strange that I wouldn't have recognized him, and that Darren would treat him like he did, like a stranger.  He actually seems quite kind, and I felt strangely at ease around him, though I'm still a little fuzzy on why he was stalking me.  He tried to explain just now, said Darren was no good for me, that I needed to get out.  But it's just all so jumbled in my mind.  The memories, the clear memories, I had of this man were of someone creepy watching me, stalking me, but somewhere underneath, there are other memories.  Being near him seemed to draw them out, but I don't know what to believe, what to trust.  Could this man really be tricking me?  But then the strangest thing... he looked at my journal, this one I'm writing in now, and asked me to read it.  Just read what I had written.  Strange thing to ask, but he said that I should read my own words and if I still wanted to be with Darren, then be with Darren, but if I wanted to get out, he would help me.  He would be back in two hours for my choice.

I know I should run home, but I have such a jumble going on in my mind that I can't make sense of it all.  I think... I think I might actually do what this man, Michael is his name, requested of me.


---

My God.  I don't know why I didn't see before.  I was about to marry a monster.

---

There was no point in going back.  I was too scared of seeing Darren again.  I cried and I cried, but Michael held me and told me it was going to be okay.  I remembered now, remembered so much.  Michael had tried to help me before, but Darren hadn't let him.  Darren was so possessive and wanted me all for himself.  Michael wasn't trying to steal me away, he was just trying to help me be free, and now, I was finally ready to let him.  We're on the run now.  I wanted to call the police, but Michael thought that would be a very bad idea.  It would be better if I just left, disappeared for a while.  He would let me know when it was safe to come back, to see my friends and family again, without Darren looming over me.  For the first time in a long time, I finally feel like I'm going to be free.

---

If anyone ever finds this journal, I want you to know it isn't the full story.  There were passages, entire pages, months of entries ripped out and destroyed.  I know they were terrible, awful entries and I can't bring myself to draw them back to mind to re-write them now.  Suffice to say, they were the entries that led me so fully to the truth of what Darren really is.

I'm hiding from him now, in this dingy warehouse.  It's so dark I can barely even see what I'm writing so I hope someone can make sense of it.

Michael is dead.  At least I think he must be.  I saw Darren hunting after him with some sort of wooden knife in his hand, and I heard Michael scream, but when I worked up enough courage to go back and look where he had been, I saw nothing.  Now I'm just waiting for my turn to come.  For Darren to come and get me and end it all, at least I hope with all of my still beating heart that he'll be merciful enough to just end it all.

Wait, I think he's drawing near.  These might be the last words I ever write.  Tell my mother I love her, and if by some miracle Michael is still alive, tell him I know that he tried and that... that I loved him too.

---

I believe in miracles.  God how I believe in miracles.  I was so certain Darren was going to kill me.  I heard him approaching, even saw his boots, but then, then he just fell to his knees, I saw his knees and his hands and the knife he had rolling out of his grip.  "I'm so sorry," I heard him sob.  "I'm so sorry.  I failed you, Angela, I know I did."

Angela.  It was the name from the letters I found.  His great-grandfather's love.  No.  No that's wrong.  It was his love, I know now.  The only one he ever truly loved.

"Go!"  I heard him shout.  "Just go, leave!  Never come back!"

I didn't hesitate.  If he was going to kill me even now, he was going to do it no matter what I did, and this was my only chance to escape.  So I got up out of my hiding spot and ran, full speed, for the car.  I only glanced back once when I heard him stop sobbing to see him pick up the knife and flip it around to point it towards himself.

I don't know if he really did it, really ended himself.  I don't even know if he really ended Michael.  I'm not sure if he could.  I don't really want to know all the truth quite yet.  I don't want you to know either.  That's why I'm done.  I mean, I'm done with this journal.  I'm not writing anymore.  After I finish this entry, I'm throwing it out into this field.  Part of me wants someone to find it, and part of me doesn't, so the best thing to do seems to leave it up to chance or fate or whatever may be.

The last thing I want you to know is that you ever have doubts about the relationship you're in, any relationship you're in, listen to them.  They're not likely to be as, well, supernaturally masked as mine were, but listen to your heart, your true heart.  And if you're unable to bring up your concerns and fears and doubts with the one you love, maybe your love isn't real love and your "relationship" is nothing more than dust on the wind.

Lily

Lily is a selfish bitch.  That whore stole the man I love right out from under me and then broke his heart.  I want to comfort him, but he won't let me.  I'm sure she somehow managed to poison him against me.  I don't know what I ever did to make her hate me so much.  I didn't do anything; she's just a hateful, mean-spirited bitch who deserves to be unhappy her entire life.

Lily is a woman of mystery, shrouded in shadows and intrigue.  Okay, seriously, Lily is one secretive chick.  I consider myself her friend and she still rarely tells me why she does what she does.  Even when I ask, she still won't reveal her true motivations.  She doesn't lie, just says that she'd rather not say.  The nice thing is, if I ever had some secret of my own, I know I could trust Lily to keep it for me.

Lily is a loyal friend.  I'm not even really sure she'd consider me a friend, but I consider her one.  She always treated me with respect and stood up for me when no one else would.  She only betrayed my trust once, and that ended up saving my life.  I hear others call her names and talk about how much they hate her.  All I can think is that if she ever did do the things to them that they claim she did, she must have had good reason.  Even if her reason is that they're all brats and bitches, that would be enough for me.

Lily is alright, I guess.  She's kinda cute and if my girlfriend didn't hate her so much for reasons that I try to ignore, I might even try to be her friend.  I'm not going to lie, sometimes I wish I'd ended up with a girl like Lily instead of with the girl I've got.  It goes without saying that you won't tell my girl I said that.  There'll be trouble both for me and for you if you do.  But anyway, Lily, yeah.  No matter how much bad shit I hear about her, I just can't quite bring myself to hate her.

Lily is the scum of the earth.  She thinks she's all that.  Well newsflash:  she isn't!  She isn't as smart as she seems, I mean, why would she get on my girl's bad side if she were?  And why would she stand up for that little garbage troll girl?  She's a dumb bitch, that's why.  I mean, she can't seriously think that the power lies in her.  She knows we're what's what.  Why does she have to go messing with us?  People say we're mean, but we haven't done anything Lily hasn't done herself.  She really is scum.  There's no better way to say it.

Lily is an angel.  When she told me about that girl wanting to hurt herself, I saw in her eyes that she wasn't just stepping forward out of some sort of moral obligation.  She really cared.  When I was her age, I don't know if I could have done the same.  She has a strength of character that extends beyond her years.  I admire her and yet, I'm not sure I could say I envy her.  There are consequences for being the type of person she is, most notably that others don't see her for what she really is, and choose to hate her instead.

Lily is a heart-breaker, but not in a bad way.  I know we could have been happy together, but I don't blame her for leaving me like she did.  Like she said, we're just kids really, and as much as she might think she loves me now, it's not destined to last and it isn't worth all this pain.  If I could get up the nerve to talk her again, I'd tell her that being apart is the thing that's not worth all this pain, but I can't bring myself to betray her like that.  I know why she did what she did.  I don't hate her for it.  The person I really hate is Sarah for making Lily feel so guilty for being with me that she couldn't be with me at all.  Lily never told me who it was that secretly "loved" me, but I know it's Sarah.  And I know it isn't love.  What I feel for Lily is love.  What Lily felt for me, I'd like to think it was love.  Even what Lily feels for Sarah is much closer to love than anything Sarah could ever feel.  Sarah is nothing by a selfish whore.  She'll never see.  She'll never understand.  And until she does understand (which is never) she and I will never be together, and so I can never be with Lily either.  Thanks, Sarah.  You're the real heart-breaker whore of a monster woman.  Thanks a lot.

Eyes

She looked at me with those eyes, deep as the ocean, bright as the full moon,dazzling like diamonds.  There was a longing in those eyes that I couldn't fathom.  How I loved those eyes, but when I closed my own, I knew that I didn't love her.

"No," I said resolutely, not even the hint of the trembling I feared would betray me in my voice.  "I'm sorry, but still no."

"Can't you at least look at me when you say that?" she pleaded.

I knew I couldn't.  If I opened my eyes again, I would be lost.  I yearned for her eyes, to see them every day of my life, the beauty and the pain and the mystery of them.  But I couldn't.  I knew it would be the most foolish thing I ever did if I were to say yes to her.

To focus my mind, I thought of all I knew of her.  Her eyes might be like diamonds, but her heart was like a stone.  She was greedy and selfish and superficial.  She cared more for my money than for me by far.  I couldn't even begin to understand her full motives, and that terrified me.  She lied to me nearly every time she opened her mouth.

"But..."

"No," I said again, nearly kicking myself that time as I heard my voice quiver.  I was sure she would go in for the kill, but she didn't.  There was only silence.  Pouting I was sure.  I was tempted to open my eyes to see if she was even still there, but the risk was too great.  If she was pouting, those eyes would overcome me for sure.

It seemed like an eternity passed.  I felt my pulse quicken and sweat drip down my nose, but still my eyes remained resolutely shut.  And then finally, after two eternities, the bell finally rang.

I listened to the shuffle, pulse starting to slow to normal, and when the commotion had settled, I opened my eyes again and smiled.

A pretty and honest face looked back at me.  "Taking a nap?" she asked with a shy grin.

When I saw the genuine nervousness in her eyes and her smile, I relaxed entirely and knew everything was now going to be okay, for me at least.  "Hi," I said, choosing not to answer her question but instead reaching my hand across the table, "I'm Anthony."

"Sarah," she said, returning the gesture.

"So Sarah," I said, leaning back and trying to casually wipe the remaining sweat from my cheeks and nose, "what's your story?"

As Sarah blushed and began to talk, I looked straight ahead and did my best to listen.  Her eyes were pretty, but not the captivating cesspools of the wicked woman who now sat a few feet away talking to the man to my left.  May God have mercy on that man's soul.

Silly Daddy

I have the most silly daddy, but he's such a nice daddy.  He's always so nice to me.

This morning, my daddy said to me, "If you do all your chores today and listen to all I say and tell you to do, I will give you a big cookie at the end of the day!"

I was very excited and asked to see the cookie now.  He smiled and said, "Trust me, sweetie.  Just do everything right, and I'll give you the cookie."

Of course I trust my daddy, so I set out to do everything he asked me to do.  He asked me to put my clothes away, and I did!  He asked me to wash the dishes, and I started to, but washing dishes is hard, so towards the end, I just rinsed them off and left them in the sink.  I'm sure mommy will finish them later.

Then Daddy asked me to work on my homework for one hour.  I started and I tried, but my desk is right by the window and it was so shiny and happy outside.  Surely Daddy didn't really need me to work for the full hour.  It was so nice outside!  He's always telling me to go play outside instead of playing video games.  I was sure he would want me to go play outside instead of doing homework if he had only noticed how nice it was outside.  So I sneaked out into the backward after half an hour and played with my soccer ball.

When I came back inside, Daddy was sitting there reading a paper.  I felt a little guilty, but he looked at me and smiled and I smiled back and ran on up to my room.  I tidied up a bit more even though Daddy didn't ask me to!

Then Daddy asked me to help my little sister with the tower she was building.  My little sister is kind-of  a brat.  She's so little and frustrating and can't do much right.  But I was still feeling back about not quite doing what Daddy had asked before, so I went and tried to help.  But she is so annoying.  She'd ask me to help and then she'd get upset when I did.  Eventually, I go angry and knocked her stupid tower down and of course she cried and Daddy came to see what was wrong and I said the tower fell.  He looked at me a little bit like he wasn't so sure and I almost blurted out that I did it, but then he just said, "Well help her build it up again.  And be nice to her about it."

I was much nicer the second time.  And my sister didn't seem like quite such a brat.  But she is a real brat.

Then my Daddy asked me to help Mommy bring in the groceries for dinner.  I did that really good!  Mommy is nice and pretty.  After we unloaded the groceries, Mommy asked if I wanted to help make dinner and I said, "Okay!"  I love helping Mommy make dinner!

After I had finished helping, I went back out and watched some TV.  My daddy smiled at me.  He's such a nice daddy.  I had almost forgotten about what he promised me at the beginning of the day.  But then Mommy called us for dinner and I remembered!

"Eat all your peas," Daddy said.  I might have let a couple of them fall onto the floor when no one was looking, but I ate all the rest.

"Can you please pass the butter," Daddy said.  That was easy to do.  I did that and was very happy.

After dinner, Daddy pulled me aside.  "So," he said.  "How was your day?  Did you do everything I asked you to."

I beamed and nodded, thinking about the yummy cookie I was about to get.

Daddy had been holding the cookie behind his back, and now he held it out in front of him.  I got a big smile and I reached for it.

But Daddy pulled the cookie away.  "Hold on," he said.  "Are you sure you did EVERYTHING I asked you to do?"

"Yes Daddy, of course!" I said.

"Everything?  Just like I asked."

I frowned and my tummy felt all heavy and sad.  I had kind-of done what Daddy asked, but not quite.  Surely he knew that I had tried really hard.  That should be good enough!

"I tried really hard, Daddy!" I said.  "I tried really hard."

"But were you perfect?" he asked.

I looked down and shook my head no.  I felt the tears coming.  It was so sad and so mean.  That cookie could have been mine if I had just done everything Daddy said just like he said it.  But I didn't.  It was too hard.

I felt something under my chin and realized it was Daddy's hand and I looked up at Daddy.  "Sweetie," he said.  "You know this cookie is from me, right?"

"Yes," I muttered.

"It's my cookie," Daddy said.  "I could do whatever I'd like with it."

"Yes, Daddy," I muttered again.

Daddy looked right into my eyes.  "You know that you can't have this cookie unless I choose to give it to you, right?"

"Yes," I said, not quite so muttering.  I knew Daddy was right.  He's always right.

"Did you earn this cookie?" he asked.

"No," I admitted.

"Could I still give it to you if I wanted to?" he asked.

My face lit up.  "Yes!" I said.  "Oh yes, of course, Daddy!  You can still give me the cookie!  Please, Daddy!  I know I wasn't perfect, but I tried, and I will try harder tomorrow!"

He smiled at me.  "So you admit you didn't do it all perfectly?" he asked.  "And you're sorry and will try harder?"

"Yes of course!"  I was so excited.  I might get my cookie after all!

But he still didn't give it to me.  Not yet.

"And you understand that I'm the only one who can give you this cookie?" he said.  "And if you trust that I will give it to you, then I will give it to you?"

I was getting a little nervous.  I wasn't sure if Daddy was actually going to give me the cookie or not.  "You are saying you will give me the cookie?" I asked.

"Yes," Daddy said.  "You just have to trust me."

I was a little unsure.  I wasn't sure if he meant I was getting the cookie now or if I would get it later, but he seemed to be saying I would get it.  So I nodded.  "Yes, Daddy," I said.  "I trust you."

He smiled.  "Here you go, Sweetie," he said.  And he held out the cookie to me.

This time when I reached for it, he didn't pull it away!  I was so happy!  I didn't have to be perfect!  I just had to try really hard, and to trust Daddy.

I took a bite of the cookie, so happy, but then something bothered me.  "Daddy?" I asked after I had swallowed that first piece.  "What if I can never be perfect?" I asked.

He smiled and squeezed my shoulder.  "You don't have to be perfect," he said.  "You just have to trust your Daddy and say you're sorry when you do something wrong.  I know what's in your heart, Sweetie."

I smiled and marched happily away with my cookie.  My Daddy didn't seem to demand too much of me, but he was such a nice daddy.  I wanted to try to do what was right and make him happy anyway.

Let the Story End

People are always asking for what happens next.  It's not enough for them that I save the world and found the love of my life.  Maybe I just want to live a quiet, normal life now, with a nice home with my husband, maybe a couple of kids.  Sure, I was created to be a fighter, but I just want to be done fighting.  I just want to be left alone.

But that's not enough for people.  The first story was so interesting and intense and moving that they want more.  There was never intended to be a sequel.  My story was intended to have an open-ended but implied happy ending.  It was supposed to end in beauty and victory and hope.  And that was supposed to be the end.

But because so many couldn't accept it, because so many claimed to have loved me and wanted to hear more, my author felt forced to write a sequel.  I'm not sure his heart was in it.  He had done so well with the first story, how could he do better with the second?  He couldn't possibly write the happy, boring ending he originally wanted for me.  He had to do something amazing, drastic, moving, heart-breaking.

That's why he killed the love of my life and left me alone and angry and seeking revenge.  The entire sequel revolves around my descent into darkness and near insanity following the loss of the thing that mattered most to me.  Readers were forced to question their love for the character who was so brave and noble in the first book and wonder if I was really all they thought me to be.

Of course, at the end, there is still a glimmer of hope.  There has to be or else the fans would riot even more. It was just enough glimmer for them to think that it was all worth it.  They ended up enjoying the book in the end.  They applauded it as "not quite living up to the hype, but certainly living up to the original."

And at what cost?  They had demanded this second book, they had created the hype, they had forced my author to do something drastic in an attempt to fulfill it all.  But what about me?  What about my life, the life they ruined?  They forced my author to warp me into something I was not originally intended to be.  Sure, the second book is still about me, but it's more of a shadow or dark cloud of who I was in the first book.  I couldn't be the same as I was before.  Of course I had to be different.  Otherwise, the reviews would have pegged it as simply "a rehash of what had already been written" and my author certainly didn't want that.  They didn't want more of the same, they wanted MORE.  They demanded to see another side of me, and so that was what they got.

And in seeing that other side, they destroyed me.  I'm wreck of what I once was.  My happy life is gone, and I'm left worse off than at the beginning of the first book.  Hope, yeah, whatever.  Hope is nothing compared to actually having the life I had always dreamed of as a little girl.  I had my dream, my heaven, for a few short time suspended years before the sequel came out.  And then it was over.  Forever.

Fans are satisfied now, for some reason.  They must like my pain, because they don't seem to be begging for another book quite as much as they were before.  And so, it seems likely I will be stuck in this state forever, without my love, without my life, even without my friends being fully back on my side, but with this blasted glimmer of hope.

I have to hand it to him, he did leave it open for a third book, much more so than he did with the first, when he wasn't expected to be forced to write a sequel.  There would be a final story, maybe something that more closely mirrors the first.  Maybe he was expecting, hoping himself, that people would want a third book, that he could do a sandwich type thing, the two good slices of bread with the bad bologna in the middle.

But its all about the fans.  The "real" people.  What they want is what they get.  That's what happens when you become a little successful.  If you're not successful, you might as well do what you want.  If you're already super successful, you might as well do what you want.  If you're in the middle, like my author, you have to do what the fans demand.  The fans demanded my demise and he gave it to them.  Goody for them.  I hate them all.

You might just think that's my dark side coming out.  And I say, of course it is.  I wouldn't even have this dark side if it wasn't for all of you.  So thank you.  Thank you for loving me so much that you demanded more, more to a story that was already concluded, nicely wrapped up with a bow on top.  Thank you for wanting to see another side of me, the dark side that was never meant to exist.  Thanks for all of that.  I really appreciate it.  Of course, you don't really care.  You loved me so much, but I'm still just a character to you.  Someone who isn't real.  Someone who doesn't actually matter, just put here for your entertainment.  And wanting more entertainment, of course, you couldn't just let the story end.  Why couldn't you have just let the story end?

Life

Life is strange.  I'm just a collection of cells.  Why should a collection of cells have any sense of life or being?  Why is it important for me to be aware that I'm alive and that I one day must die?  Why not just live on instinct, with an innate sense of what I must do or not do to survive?  Why have all these emotions?  Why feel such intense pleasure and pain, sorrow and longing, hope and fear?  What good do all these feelings accomplish?  Fear may keep me alive, but it may also cripple me.  Pain is a warning, but also a torment.  And why would I ever deserve pleasure of any kind?  What is it's purpose?  Is it just a reward for good behavior?  Then why do I sometimes feel it even when I'm not on my best behavior, and then afterwards feel guilty?  What good does that accomplish?

I'm just a collection of cells, that somehow lives and breaths and walks about and talks and writes things such as this.  Why should I ever be anything more than just a creature, like any other creature, surviving on instinct and intuition, and one day dying alone to little account.  But somehow, I'm more.  What makes me more?  What makes man more?  I have something more.  What should I do with it?  What can I do?

I have this knowledge, this conscience, these feelings.  What am I supposed to do with them now?  Is there something greater than me?  Call it God or science or nature or humanity or whatever you want, there's something more at work here.  Why else should I feel the things I do, things that don't seem to be directly linked to my survival.  Why is there more to me than simply surviving?  Why is there more to any of us?  What are we doing with it?  What will I do with it, with this strange and truly unfathomable life I've been given?  What will you do?

Three

Three little pigs, all afraid of the big bad wolf, each trying to do what they can to be safe.

Ask the first pig why he built his house of straw, and he will tell you that's what he could afford.  He had substantial funds once, just like his brothers, but his closest friend was sick and needed help and he gave away all he could, leaving him with very little in terms of seed money, just enough seed money to grow the straw needed to build his home which the big bad wolf then destroyed.  Ask the first pig how his anger flared at the wolf and he will tell you he is not angry, just sad.  The wolf was hungry and the first little pig was nothing more than food to him.  He wishes the wolf had just found someone else to eat.  Then maybe that wolf wouldn't have ended up as a stew himself.

Ask the second pig why he built his house of sticks and he will tell you that was in keeping with his desired level of income.  The second pig had actually made a great fortune, greater than either of his brothers, but he found it was destroying him.  He ignored both his friends and family and had more possessions than he knew what to do with.  Realizing the downward spiral he had thrown his life into, he gave away as much as he felt was reasonable, to the poor and needy and such, leaving himself with enough to build a modest home of sticks.  He thought it would be sufficiently safe and secure, until the wolf came a-knockin'.  For the first time in a long time, the second pig wished he had left a little more than himself, but as he and the first little pig fled together to the third and final brother's house, he looked around at the other homes surrounding him, the homes had helped his poor and downtrodden neighbors build, and he knew in his heart he had done the right thing.

Ask the third pig why he built his house of brick and he will tell you it was the best house his money could afford.  His brothers were fools for giving their money away to others, he will say.  Still, he loves them, and would never turn them down as they fled to him begging to be let into his wonderful home.  They were exhausted and out of breath, so he let them relax in the guest sitting room and had his butler bring them some tea.  And then the wolf came a-knockin'.  Foolish wolf.  Silly wolf.  Even if he managed to get in the front door, the alarms would sound and security would be here in a matter of seconds to drag him away.  But that didn't seem good enough to the third little pig.  Not sporting enough.  So he turned off his alarm system and let the wolf think he had a chance.

The first two pigs seemed afraid and even a little sad.  "Maybe we can just give him some bread and fruit," the first little pig suggested.  "He's just hungry.  I know he thinks he wants to eat us, but maybe we can show him there's a better way."

"Yes," the second little pig agreed.  "I have to admit, I'm not so sure it will work, but it's at least worth a try.  He's just hungry.  And maybe he doesn't even have a home of his own.  I've never seen him before.  He must have come a long way just to find something to eat.  It certainly shouldn't be us, but isn't there something we can give him?"

"No," the third little pig disagreed.  "I have earned all I have, just as the two of you did before you gave it all away, and I'm keeping it for myself, for us.  I'm not giving it away to some angry, cruel wolf who wants to eat my brothers and me.  This wolf will get what he deserves, which is nothing and worse."

The first little pig's eyes grew wide.  "What are you thinking of doing, brother?"

The third little pig lets a sly grin creep across his face.  "Tonight, boys," he says, "the wolf shall not feast on us, we shall feast on him."

And so, reluctantly, the first two pigs go along with the plan of their older brother.  They sadly help him taunt and tease the wolf until the wolf decides to climb down the chimney where the third little pig has a bot of boiling water and his finest chef waiting.  The third little pig's mouth begins to water as he watches his chef work.  Meanwhile, the first two little pigs huddle in a corner in the second guest bedroom with their hooves over their ears, trying to drown out the wolf's screams of agony.

When the third little pig calls his two brothers for dinner, they are reluctant to come.  They cannot think about how delicious wolf must be, as their brother is thinking, they can only think about the screams and the pain the wolf must have felt being boiled alive.  So as their third brother digs in, they push their food aside.  And sit in silence.  The third little pig looks up at them.  "What's wrong, brothers?" he asks.  "We had a great victory today.  Eat, eat!  If you are lamenting the lose of your homes, don't worry, you are welcome to stay with me as long as you wish!  I may even consider giving you loans to build new homes."  He sneers.  "As long as you choose not to just give it away."

At that the two little pigs glance at each other.  The second nods to the first.  "Good-bye, brother," the first says.  They stand, each pouring his wolf stew back into the pot.  The second takes the entire pot off from the table as they turn and walk away.  The first helps him as it is very large.

"Where are you going?" the third little pig cries out.  "Why are you taking my wolf?"

The first little pig turns back to him, a deep sadness in his voice, "This isn't your wolf," he said.  "He came to me first and I wish I had done the right thing."

"What?" the third pig shouts, "Let him eat you?"

The second pig sighs and shakes his head.  "Not let him be eaten," he replies.  "But what's done is done, and there seems only one right thing to do now."

And the two little pigs lug the giant pot out of the brick house, to the second pig's neighborhood where they distribute it to the poorest, most hungry families without telling them a thing about what's in it.  They considered dumping it out, but decided it would go to better use feeding those who were truly in need.  Perhaps two wrongs don't make a right, but at least the second wrong was more right than the first, they decided.  And done with more love.

After they are done, late that night, they return the pot to their brother's house, leaving it on his doorstep, not even bothering to knock or to ring the bell, and begin their journey far, far away.  They do not know any army of angry wolf relatives is off plotting revenge against them and their brother, knowing only where the third little pig lives.  They aren't trying to run and hide from the wolf mob.  They are trying to get away from their brother and his superiority complex.  They don't wish him harm, in fact they wish him well, as they vanish into the night.  Will their brother be eaten in a few days by a dozen angry wolves coming to seek their own revenge?  They do not know.  The possibility does not even occur to them.  They just want to get out, to be free once again, and to forget the horrible, blood-curdling screams of the "big bad" wolf, who was just trying to survive.