1. Excerpt from Karmic Relief, by Gary Gillett
The first time I heard of heaven and hell I was about 5 years old. I
remember thinking that all the fire and brimstone and golden gates didn’t
really resonate with me and figured I just wasn’t old enough to know the
difference. But I DID remember the time when I was about 4 years old and
cringing under the covers in fear next to Kathy, trying hard not to wet the
bed. After all, it wasn't even my bed!
I was being shown another life of me on the battlefield, with my men calling
on me to rejoin them to battle, them bloodied and injured on their horses,
and I somehow knew that I was the one in charge of the battalion, probably
because of the look they gave me coupled with the neediness of their
positions on their horses. The curtains came to life in the girls' bedroom, and
filled the room. Was I asleep? NO! I was wide-awake! I REALLY wanted to
wake my sister, but I remember thinking that if I did she'd be in mortal
danger, not really a part of this split-life I was leading, and quite innocent in
the big picture. Even if she did steal the last Ding-Dong from the refrigerator
yesterday. Which she did. Didn't even deny it. Man.
No. Not going to wake her. She's done much worse, and didn't really need to
die from such a small infraction. If I really did have this kind of following, I
could have her put in a dungeon or something later. She could keep Donna
company. I'd laugh if I wasn't so damned terrified of the outcome of this
encounter with those guys glaring at me for not jumping on my horse and
leading them to slaughter (either us or someone else. Neither sat really well
with me.) with reckless abandon.
Well, this had to be HELL. Or at least hell. Something really bad. Or
something. I still can't believe I'm AWAKE for this! I can hear the birds
chirping outside, totally oblivious to the unbelievable goings on just a few
feet away from them. Mom in the kitchen, taking something out of the oven.
That's where we kept the skillet, for some reason. Maybe she was going to
make eggs or something equally nice for breakfast today! For the rest of the
family, anyway! I beckoned to the birds in the great outdoors with my mind:
"Tell mom! Tell her now to come into the girls' room and tell the bearded
guys on the horses to go away! They'll listen to her! They have to! She's
MOM. But to no avail. The joyful chirping continued, filling our little
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2. Hacienda Heights with song. That's just fine! They (everyone I know) will
come into the room and find me not there, long-gone on a one-way journey
with some bearded guys on horses. Then they'll see. I didn't make it up. It
really happened.
Almost as if on cue, I heard my mom reach for the doorknob, then stop! No.
NO! Don't go around! Come throughhere! You have to break the stalemate,
the Mexican stand-off currently in progress. And she's going to my room!
Wait! She'll see I'm not there, and come in here looking for me! I've got you
now, guys! I am soon to be liberated! And she'll make French Toast and I'll
live to fight another day and... no, mom! In here. In HERE! She's going
around the house again! She must KNOW I'm in here by now! Dare I yell?
No, I'm just going under the covers and hope they go away. Ultimately,
they'll understand my feelings in this matter. I'm NOT a coward. I'm FOUR
YEARS OLD. Pretty simple math, really. God, I really hope they're gone by
now.
I'd really like to get on with my life, if that's okay with everyone.
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