The Fables of Para Sympan

The Laughing Empress Chapter 2

The Emperor Causes a Scene

Special thanks to all the people who made this free ebook possible:

Emily Deady, Amelia Leedom, Mary Pelchat, and Marta Suer!

Philothea and Zoe entered the temple by one of the side doors and crept through the dark corridors toward the courtyard. They encountered no one at first, then Zoe suddenly slammed her hand over Philothea’s mouth and pulled her into an alcove.

They both heard heavy footsteps approaching along with a subtle rattling that suggested chainmail. Philothea was grateful for Zoe’s action since she was doing her utmost to suppress a terrified squeal. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two warriors pass. It wasn’t until they were long out of sight that she let out her breath. It was even longer before Zoe released her.

“It occurs to me that we shouldn’t be here,” Zoe stated.

She was probably right. When they saw the hostile force approaching the temple, their first instinct was to return to see if the others were alright. Now that they were back, the obvious occurred to Philothea—even if the Keepers were in danger, it wasn’t like they could actually do anything about it.

“We should go to the village,” Philothea whispered. “See if we can get help.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Zoe agreed. She grabbed Philothea’s shoulder and started pulling her down the hall toward one of the towers.

“Wait, where are you going?” Philothea asked. “We should slip out the back!”

“We will,” Zoe answered. “After we take a peek at the courtyard.”

“What?” Philothea choked.

“Aren’t you a little curious about what’s going on?”

Philothea twisted her lips. “A little.”

“No one will see us up there,” Zoe promised. “And besides, it will be easier to get help if we can say exactly what these men are doing.”

Philothea was screaming on the inside and whimpering on the outside. Zoe was being completely idiotic, but…Well, Philothea couldn’t leave without knowing what was happening to the only family she’d ever known.

They slipped up the narrow, winding stairs into the tower and carefully peeked out the window. From that height, they got a decent view of the courtyard. All of the Keepers, along with the girls in their care, had been gathered in the very center.

“Are those…” Philothea whispered. “Emperor Zeno’s colors?”

Zoe narrowed her eyes.

In hindsight, Philothea had no idea why she asked. They both knew what the Emperor’s banner looked like, and it was definitely the one the army was flying. But what would Emperor Zeno want with a group of humble Keepers?

A nobleman in a silver helm and purple cloak was questioning Keeper Ruth.

“He’s cute,” Zoe observed.

Philothea looked at her in disbelief. Now was hardly the time to be admiring men. Also, she had no idea how Zoe could see his face well enough from their position to make such a judgment.

“I just always thought Emperor Zeno was an old man,” Zoe defended. “And look at him, he’s, like, way younger than my dad.”

“He’d be a lot cuter if he weren’t threatening our family!” Philothea hissed.

“Calm down, it’s only an aesthetic observation,” Zoe stated in a detached, almost scientific tone. “He’s clearly a scumbag.”

Philothea opened her mouth to reply, but Zoe pressed her finger to her lips and leaned toward the window to listen. The emperor’s voice floated upward so they could just barely make out what he was saying.

“She would be fifteen,” he stated.

Zoe and Philothea looked at each other. Philothea was the only fifteen-year-old living at the temple.

“I think the emperor is your secret dad,” Zoe commented.

Philothea hoped she was wrong. There was something about the man that made her deeply dislike him. It might have been the cruelty behind his eyes or the arrogance of his stature, but mostly it was the fact that he showed up uninvited with a company of hostile brutes to take a group of innocent holy women hostage.

“Whomever you’re seeking isn’t here,” Keeper Ruth was saying.

The emperor walked over to Philothea’s four other schoolmates, who stood beside the Keeper. He studied each of their faces carefully.

“You,” he said, pointing to one of the girls. Her name was Emily. She was a year younger than Philothea. She shrank backward when he called her.

“Now there’s no need to be afraid,” he said.

The circumstances gave Philothea the distinct impression that he was lying.

Her whole body tensed as she watched Emily approach the stranger. Even Zoe’s expression contained a tiny hint of concern, indicating to Philothea that she was in a panic.

The nobleman held something up. Philothea couldn’t make it out at first. It wasn’t until the man lifted Emily’s hand and placed it on her finger that Philothea realized it was a ring. He held her hand for a moment, carefully observing the ring. It was like he was waiting for it to do something.

Nothing happened. He removed it and dismissed Emily with a wave of his hand.

He then motioned for another girl to come forward and repeated the exercise.

“What’s he doing?” Philothea whispered.

Zoe’s eyes narrowed curiously, but she made no answer.

“Are these the only girls in your care?” the emperor asked, as he let the second girl go and motioned for a third to come forward.

Keeper Ruth was silent.

The nobleman turned to one of his comrades. “Do another search,” he ordered. “Leave no corner unchecked.”

“We should go,” Zoe decided.

Philothea thought this was an excellent suggestion. The very moment they turned from the window, the door of the tower opened. Philothea let out a massive squeal of alarm.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the intruder was only Keeper Eva. Eva was the antithesis of Keeper Ruth in almost every way. She was young, gentle, rosy-cheeked, and usually wore a smile. Although she was not smiling when she saw them. At Philothea’s cry, she froze in horror.

“I think they heard that,” Zoe mentioned, glancing back out the window as Philothea and Keeper Eva recovered themselves.

“Oh no,” Keeper Eva breathed. “Oh, I’d hoped I wouldn’t find you here…”

The holy woman took Philothea’s hand and started pulling her down the tower stairs. “Oh, I’d hoped you hadn’t come back…he is looking for you, Philothea.”

“Why?” Philothea gasped as she stumbled along behind her.

“Zoe, be prepared to cover her mouth,” Keeper Eva commanded. “We can’t risk any outbursts.”

“Understood,” Zoe agreed.

“We’ve got to get you out of here,” Keeper Eva whispered.

“What does he want with me?” Philothea demanded.

“Is he her secret dad?” Zoe asked hopefully.

“I don’t know,” Keeper Eva answered. “Keeper Ruth sent me to find you. All she said was–”

Keeper Eva suddenly halted. Philothea and Zoe both slammed into her from behind. She stumbled forward but kept her footing. Philothea almost squealed, but luckily Zoe was prepared and clapped her hand over her mouth just as the collision occurred.

The three women pressed themselves against the wall, not daring to breathe. They heard booming metal footsteps coming down the corridor beyond the tower entrance that grew louder as their makers approached. After an eternal wait, the footsteps moved past the door and continued on their way.

Zoe released Philothea’s mouth at last, and the three companions breathed. They cautiously moved into the corridor and made their way toward the scullery. There was a door there through which they could make their escape.

When they had reached it, Keeper Eva pulled a folded piece of parchment from her apron pocket and gave it to Philothea.

“You and Zoe make for the forest,” Keeper Eva whispered.

“Aren’t you coming?” Philothea asked, a horror rising in her chest.

Keeper Eva shook her head. “They heard someone scream and so they have to find someone.”

“But–” Philothea started to object.

“They won’t hurt me,” Keeper Eva answered hopefully. “They are only interested in you.”

“Why?” Philothea asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

“I don’t know. Keeper Ruth said that you must find a man named Pouli. He can help you. Hopefully, he can explain things.”

“How?” Philothea begged.

Keeper Eva motioned to the parchment in Philothea’s hands. “It’s there. Read it once you are safely hidden in the forest.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow slightly, indicating to Philothea that she was probably confused and distraught.

“But–” Philothea squeaked.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve told you everything I know,” Keeper Eva answered. “Keeper Ruth knows more…once these men have gone, we will send someone after you. In the meantime, go and find Pouli.”

Philothea suddenly realized she was shaking. She nodded, swallowing a strange giggling whimper in the process. Her world had just come completely and totally undone, and she had no idea why.

The Laughing Empress Chapter 1

Philothea’s Problem

Special thanks to the people who made this free book possible:

Emily Deady Christopher Woods, Madeline Shepley, Grace Woods, Melissa Ring, Amelia Leedom, Max Woods, Gregory Woods.

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Click this link to listen to the audiobook!

Don’t breathe, Philothea repeated to herself over and over again. The room was utterly silent. She was sitting at a little table in the library with five other girls, all engaged in quiet study.

At the head of the group was a woman the girls secretly referred to as “the jailer” and openly referred to as “Keeper Ruth”. She was one of the holy women who cared for the temple where the girls lived, worshiped, and studied.

(Secretly, Philothea believed that Keeper Ruth was at least one hundred and thirteen years old, but was never able to confirm this theory.)

Once in a while, the old caretaker would send a stern glance around the library to ensure the girls were behaving themselves. Her flowing gray robes and the veil that hid her hair added to her intimidating aura.

You’re doing great, Philothea, she assured herself as pride bubbled in her chest. Surely her prayers had been answered!

The other girls in the library had normal, rational fears. They worried about things that could actually kill you–things like wolves, famines, or barbarian raiders. Philothea, on the other hand, feared one thing above all else—giggling.

She was a compulsive giggler. Anytime she was expected to keep silent, she would find herself using all available strength to suppress a geyser of hysteria. In fact, the more inappropriate the moment, the more likely she was to laugh.

And the tiniest chuckle on her part would set off every girl within earshot. Then Keeper Ruth would give her a firm reprimand for causing trouble and send her outside to either pick berries or collect firewood, depending on the season. Philothea suspected Keeper Ruth was trying to get rid of her so she could regain control of her other students. And every time, Philothea would spend the rest of the day reproaching herself and wishing that she could be composed and respectable.

On the eve of her fifteenth birthday, Philothea decided that enough was enough. Since she was apparently completely unable to resolve this problem herself, she was going to pray for a miracle.

She ventured into the sanctuary and knelt on the cold stone floor. The Keepers had always taught her that God had many names and each temple worshiped Him under a different one.

The Father, The Cause, The Holder, and The Artist were all names for God. Philothea lived at the Temple of Creation, and so she always addressed Him as Creator.

As she knelt there, she could almost feel His presence enveloping her like a warm blanket.

Holy Creator, she prayed. Tomorrow I will be fifteen, which is practically a grown woman! And having made me a grown woman, I assume you want me to behave like one. What I am about to ask might seem impossible, but with you, all things are possible… She sighed. Please, please, please, please, help me not to laugh during study tomorrow. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Philothea left the sanctuary feeling confident that the Creator heard her prayer. She was a new woman. The kind who had complete control over herself.

Now, here she was working quietly in the library like a respectable adult, proving that the Creator had indeed worked a miracle. For a few moments, she lost herself in her reading.

Then she felt the dark-haired girl sitting beside her lean over. Philothea started to panic.

No, Zoe! No, no, no, no, no, no, she thought. Her stomach twisted.

Zoe’s breath warmed her ear as she prepared to whisper.

Philothea realized she was about to blow. She bit her lip and knotted her stomach. She was not going to lose control. Not now, when she was doing so well.

“Phil-o-thee-a,” Zoe breathed. “Don’t. Laugh.”

Philothea exploded.

It wasn’t just a little giggle. It was like a shriek and a squeal had a baby. All of Philothea’s classmates started laughing, except for Zoe, who continued working as if nothing had happened.

Philothea went scarlet and dropped her gaze to the table top. She could feel Keeper Ruth scowling at her.

“Zoe,” Keeper Ruth hissed.

Philothea glanced sideways at her tablemate. Zoe was silently reading, pretending neither to hear Keeper Ruth nor notice the ruckus that was engulfing the room.

“Zoe,” Keeper Ruth repeated.

Zoe looked up at Keeper Ruth innocently, pointed to herself, and raised her eyebrows. Keeper Ruth pointed to Philothea and then to Zoe and then thrust her thumb over her shoulder at the door.

Philothea sighed despondently. She had come so close. Though she was still laughing, she was deeply annoyed. Partly with the Creator who had apparently ignored her plea, partly with Zoe for provoking her, but mostly with herself.

How was anyone ever going to take her seriously when she couldn’t even finish one library hour without causing a scene?

Now, Philothea was giggling in earnest as she walked with Zoe up the hill toward the forest. They were both carrying massive buckets, which they had to fill with blackberries before they could return.

“She caught you!” Philothea grinned.

“Caught me doing what?” Zoe asked dryly.

“Provoking me!”

“I did no such thing,” Zoe remarked.

If Philothea’s problem was that she couldn’t control her emotions, Zoe had the opposite problem. Her expression was always blank. She never laughed, never cried, never even smiled. She spoke every word in the same, dry, even tone. Try as Philothea might, she was completely unable to break her.

At seventeen, Zoe was the eldest girl in the care of the Temple Keepers. She had come to live with them when she was an infant because her mother died in childbirth and her father had to spend most of his time laboring in the emperor’s fields. Occasionally, he was allowed a short leave to visit his daughter.

While Zoe didn’t know her father as well as she would have liked, Philothea was jealous that she knew him at all. She was left on the temple steps as a baby, and the only clue to her heritage was the silk blanket she was wrapped in when the Keepers found her.

From time to time, Philothea would examine the little blanket and wonder about her mother and father. The silk made her think they were wealthy, but if that was the case, why did they leave her at the temple?

Speculating about Philothea’s origin was a favorite pastime of her adoptive sisters. It was obvious to them that Philothea was the product of some kind of scandelous, forbidden love. The theories changed slightly depending on which girl was fabricating the details. All were entertaining, few convincing.

As they dragged their buckets toward the forest, Philothea sent her companion a glance. She couldn’t tell if Zoe’s deep brown eyes were exceptionally large or if they only looked that way because her face was so thin. She was fair-skinned except for the splash of chocolate freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her long, dark, wispy hair fluttered around her neck and shoulders as they proceeded forward.

Philothea was almost opposite in appearance. She had a gentle, round face, brown skin, and thick, wavy hair that bounced instead of fluttered. Her clear green eyes exaggerated her slightest emotion.

“I’m glad you got caught,” Philothea stated.

Zoe looked at her sideways.

“Me too,” she replied. “I was dying of boredom in there.”

“What?” Philothea exclaimed. “You planned this?”

“Planned what?” Zoe answered.

Philothea shook with rage and then started giggling and then started reprimanding herself for giggling. She couldn’t even be angry properly! How was she supposed to communicate how upset she was with Zoe when she was snickering like an idiot? If she wasn’t careful, she would start crying and laughing all at once and then she’d really feel stupid. Maybe she had been cursed by a witch as a baby so that all her emotions were backward. She laughed when she was upset. She laughed when she was afraid. It seemed like the only time she didn’t laugh was when something was actually funny.

She managed to compose herself as they reached the top of the hill, but dared not say anything else to Zoe, lest she lose control again. Turning, she looked out over the valley, hoping the view would distract her long enough to calm herself down.

Over the years, Philothea had spent many a long moment looking out from that hilltop. From there, she could see the winding walls that surrounded the temple grounds, the river in the valley below, and the peaks of the village rooftops.

This time, when she turned to look, she gave a little cry of alarm. Zoe’s eyes widened slightly, which was the most emotion she had ever expressed. She was seeing it too–the company approaching the temple.

Every so often, a noble would visit the Keepers, bringing with them a party of servants and armed guards. Philothea and Zoe studied the group, hoping that their eyes were deceiving them. This was no visiting Lord or Lady. This was a band of warriors armed for battle.

Philothea laughed.

Thanks for reading! Come back next week for Chapter 2!

New Book, Author Shop, and More!

Hello folks!

I have some announcements for December!

Announcement #1: Free BookFunnel Promo

First of all, I am participating in my first BookFunnel promotion in a long time.

75 authors are participating in this free Sci-Fi/Fantasy promotion, so if you are looking for your next read, check it out here:

BookFunnel

I am personally excited to browse this promo for my next free book!

Note: This promotion only allows books with PG-13 content and below. I have not personally vetted the books for content or quality.

Announcement #2: My new book, The Laughing Empress, starts December 15th!

My next novel, The Laughing Empress, will premiere right here on my blog starting December 15th!

Summary

Before the emperor showed up to arrest her, Philothea’s biggest problem was her tendency to laugh at inappropriate moments. Well, that and the fact that she had no idea who her parents were and how she ended up in the care of the Temple Keepers in the first place.

Now, not only does she still have an embarrassing giggling problem, but she’s also running for her life. What the tyrannical emperor wants with a fifteen-year-old orphan, she has no idea. Hopefully, she can find out before he catches up.

Philothea is a fun-filled adventure about a young girl’s journey to find her family while escaping the clutches of a tyrant. It’s a tale of friendship, heroism, and the true meaning of strength.

This book is appropriate for all ages, so it’s a great choice for a family read!

Chapter 1 will be posted on December 15th, and new chapters will go live each week! If you would like to sponsor a chapter, click here:

Sponsor a Chapter!

Which brings me to my last announcement!

Announcement #3: Katy’s Fables Shop is Now Open!

As I mentioned in a previous post, I am now offering all my ebooks for free! In order to do this, I am giving readers the opportunity to help support my work through sponsorships, product purchases, and more!

Check out my shop here:

Katy’s Fables Shop

If you can’t support financially, consider sharing my content with someone you think would enjoy it. Every like, comment, and free subscription helps!

I have also very much enjoyed receiving emails from you all over the years. You’ve told me about the times you’ve shared my work with your kids and grandkids, about the kinds of books you enjoy reading, you’ve made book recommendations to me, and so much more. Connecting with other readers is so exciting and motivates me to keep doing what I’m doing. To everyone who has sent me a note, thank you!

Don’t forget to check back on December 15th for chapter 1 of The Laughing Empress!

I’m making my ebooks free. No, I’m not crazy.

I’m modernizing my business model.

My readers keep their Kindles full to bursting. Their appetite for great books is much bigger than their wallets. So they scrounge around the internet for free ebooks, wait for giveaways, and sign up for ARCs.

These wonderful readers would happily support every single author if they could. Unfortunately, money is a finite resource. Many of the most avid readers are retired, disabled, or stay-at-home parents.

I know because they tell me.

Over the years, I’ve received dozens of emails from readers sharing their stories. I am blown away by their kindness and encouragement. My soul warms up every time they tell me one of my books brought them joy. Every single one of my “followers” is a real human being, not a number.

My goal has never been to sell millions of books or make millions of dollars. My goal has always been to share my stories with whoever else might enjoy them, whether that be a million people or ten. I write as a way to connect with other humans—so we can all think and laugh and wonder together.

Until now, I’ve only been selling my books because, well, I’ve got bills to pay. Who doesn’t?

Then, just recently, I had an idea.

Part of what I’ve learned from my recent experience with traditional publishing (see the full story here), is that publishers of all sizes are struggling; they can’t afford to take risks. Then I thought—maybe they are struggling because they have the wrong business model?

Think about it. Publishers spend years creating a product that they can only sell once per customer. Maybe twice if that customer buys the book for a gift for a friend. That leaves readers with limited income stuck listening to the sales pitches of thousands of desperate authors begging for their business. Those readers would happily read every book if they could, but they just can’t afford to.

That’s why I’m switching to The YouTuber Business Model.

While some YouTubers have paid content, most of their videos are free. I personally spend a stupid amount of time binge-watching Mr. Beast, Mark Rober, and Ryan Trahan. They make content they love and share it with viewers who love it. Their viewers don’t have to spend anything. I don’t have to pick between watching a Mr. Beast or Mark Rober video because I don’t have to pay for them. And you shouldn’t have to pick which of your favorite authors you want to read.

So how do YouTubers make money? Mr. Beast ain’t doing too shabby, after all. They don’t sell the videos themselves; they sell bonus content, merch, ads, viewer experiences, access to live chats, and more.

What I’ve learned from studying YouTube is that if you put great content out there, people will support it. Sometimes with a simple like or share, and sometimes by joining a Patreon. Every fan contributes according to their means.

So what is my plan for transitioning to the YouTuber Model? I’m starting with just a few simple steps:

Offer all of my indie ebooks for free! Seriously. Download whichever ones you want right now:
- Download Love, Treachery, and Other Terrors
- Download Rosaline’s Curse
- Download Doctors, Assassins, and Other Tyrants
- Download Mark’s Noble Quest
- Download The Canadian Nights
Keep my hard copies available for purchase on all online retail stores!
Publish my next novel, one chapter at a time, right here on my blog.
Once the entire novel has been published on my blog, I’ll make the e-reader and hard copies available.

There will be much more to come!

The very first chapter of my next book, The Laughing Empress, will go live December 15th! Stay tuned for more information about this fantastical comedy!

And if you love this new business model, there are several ways you can help:

Spread the word! Share my content with anyone you think would enjoy it.
If you love one of my books, write a review at your favorite online bookstore.
Request my books, and all your favorite indie books, at your local library.
If you have the means, you can get a paid subscription to my Substack for exclusive content—this includes stories about the real-life events that inspired my fiction. I have a lot more options coming, so follow me to stay in the loop!

You, my readers, are amazing! Let’s get those Kindles filled!

I might give up writing…

This summer, I began talks with a major Catholic publisher who was interested in acquiring my book Love, Treachery, and Other Terrors.

The acquisitions team at that publisher loved the book. It passed through one editorial meeting after another with flying colors. The last step for them was to get approval from the business and marketing team.

That’s where the book got rejected.

Why?

It was too risky from a business standpoint.

A book that the entire editorial team agreed was excellent was too risky from a business standpoint.

I wasn’t in the meeting where this decision was made, so I don’t know all the details that went into their calculations. I don’t know how exactly they decided this.

That said, it was a major emotional blow that has awakened two contradictory desires in my heart.

I want to throw every copy of Love, Treachery in a closet and never write again.
I want to up my marketing game, sell a million copies, and prove the entire traditional publishing industry wrong.

I know my work has an audience because you, my readers, have told me so. I’ve gotten messages from people all over the world who loved my writing and want to see more. People are craving original stories, stories that traditional publishers don’t think are profitable and don’t want to take a chance on.

Let’s prove them wrong.

If you read and loved my work (or the work of any indie author), share it with a friend. Request your favorite indie books at your local library and/or leave a review on your favorite website. Nominate your favorite indie book for a book club read. All of these are free ways you can help market the books you love.

Let’s show traditional publishing that there is an audience for unique, original stories; in refusing to take risks, they are missing out.

To all of my supportive readers,

Thank you!

The Blog Post That Won’t Get to the Point

I stare out at the rolling waves—dark blue and grey, framed by puffs of white foam. The incident fills my mind, my heart, my soul. I remember the bloodstains, the screaming, the horror in Aunt Jane’s eyes…

Something nudges my hand—a tiny green crab. I watch as it scuttles away toward the surf. Then, something white swoops down upon it and carries it up, up, into the air toward the whisps of clouds—a seagull with arching wings like boomerangs and a golden beak like a dagger. It reminds me of how fragile life is, how things can change in a blink, a breath, a sigh… One moment you are happy, the next moment you are a seagull’s lunch. This is life and death and death and life spinning in a great circle like a pinnwheel.

Once again, that dark day fills my mind… the day my life changed forever…

The memory of aspestos scent fills my nose along with the image of that awful dark yellow shag carpet. Why had I come to Aunt Jane’s trailer that day? Why hadn’t I canceled? I didn’t even like Aunt Jane. If anyone deserved such a horrible fate, it was her. And yet…

I shudder as my memories trail on and on like an ellipses… the red rug over the shag carpet… Why did Aunt Jane put a rug over carpet? The man with the alligator face… What an awful man… What did Aunt Jane see in him? Could she see the blackness in his heart?

Memories of screams filled my ears… the blood staining the yellow carpet like ketchup on mustard… It made me hungry for justice. How could I ever be the same after that? How could anyone?

The sun beats down on me as I sit on the sand reflecting on how things have changed in my life since that day. My skin reddens and cracks and peels. I should have applied sunscreen this morning. Then again, there is so much I should have done. There are so many things we all SHOULD do… So why don’t we?

Children laugh somewhere in the distance, I see them running, playing, kicking up droplets of surf. Do they know pain? Regret? I didn’t either before the incident.

Sand sparkles on my bare toes. My red flip-flops lay beside me-twisted and broken like my soul. I want to replace them, but everything is so expensive these days with inflation… It’s best to make do.

I am making do with so many emotions now. The electric company charged me a late-fee, the whipped cream on my latte melted before I could drink it, I couldn’t find my charger this morning. Will I ever know happiness? How can I when my skin hurts to touch?

Perhaps I should leave this sandy paradise and get away from the sun’s brutal rays… but I came here to reflect on the incident that changed me. Which incident was it now?

Something about ketchup and mustard… My stomach rumbles as images of hotdogs fill my mind. I will leave the grasping rays of this scorching sun and satisfy my hunger.

Later today, I will be hungry again, and after that hungry again still. Is there any point in anything? Is there any point in reflecting thus? Is there any point in this blog?

I sigh… I do not know…

The Real Osa

Did you know that the Osa, my fan-favorite canine heroine, was partially inspired by a real dog I befriended in Mexico?

This blurry photo I got on a CVS disposable camera doesn’t do justice to her happy, spunky soul. This was taken in 2006 before smartphones, or… before I had a smartphone.

I wrote a Substack post all about how I met Osa and how she touched my soul.

This is a sample of the bonus content I am trying out. If you get a subscription to my Substack for five dollars a month, you can access the stories behind the stories. I am hoping that by offering this paid bonus content, I will be able to keep my main short stories free for everyone.

Read Osa’s Story Here

I really appreciate all of my readers. Thank you for following me, for commenting, and for all your messages. I have loved connecting with you all over the years. If you enjoy this content and have suggestions for other bonus content, please let me know. I would love to hear from you.

Osa and the Masked Heretic

Osa whimpered as she sniffed the carnage on the grass beside the Bin Supreme. The Bin Supreme was the tallest of all the sacred bins in the house of the gods, Rodriguez. Every week, God Juan would collect the offerings from the smaller bins throughout his dwelling place and take them outside to the Bin Supreme. Then, God Juan would drag the Bin Supreme to the small strip of grass that divided his realm from the street. There, once a week, the Green Devourer would pass, consuming all the offerings.

Tango the parrot had once explained to Osa that if the gods neglected to give weekly offerings to the Green Devourer, it would become angry and consume the gods themselves along with all their household.

It was for this reason, Goddess Kimberly was always reminding God Juan to bring out the offering. Yet, despite all her warnings, God Juan once forgot. While Green Devourer showed them mercy for their slip, Goddess Kimberly was furious with God Juan and reprimanded him most sternly for almost bringing ruin upon them all.

Now, observing the contents of the Bin Supreme strewn around the grass, Osa’s stomach flopped. Who had done this awful thing? What if the Green Devourer became angry?

She decided to take her concern to the high priest Tango. When the parrot heard about the desecrated offering, his face became grave.

“This is the work of the masked heretics,” Tango explained.

“Heretics?” Osa whimpered.

“They come at night, desecrate the sacred bins, and spew heresy about the gods.”

“About the gods?” Osa whimpered, her ears perking up.

“Indeed,” Tango said. “The masked heretics claim that the Gods Juan and Kimberly are distant gods creating food, but not desiring a personal relationship with them.”

Osa was shocked.

“But the gods rub my ears, and say I am a good dog,” Osa proclaimed. “How can the masked heretics claim they are distant gods?”

“No one knows for sure,” Tango said. “The evil one probably fills their heads with lies. Those who are capable of desecrating the Bin Supreme are capable of believing anything.”

Osa whimpered. By “the evil one” Tango might have meant the rug demon, the grass-eating demon, or the most evil demon of them all–Veterinarian. Osa did not ask for clarification because speaking of the demons frightened her.

Despite her fears, however, she decided it was best to keep watch over the Bin Supreme that evening to make sure the masked heretics didn’t return to wreak more havoc.

As Juan and Kimberly stared into the sacred light box that evening, Osa waited by the translucent portal to Backyard until one of them noticed her and allowed her to pass through. Her nose swept back and forth across the grass as she struggled to pick up any heretical scent.

Despite all the lovely aromas that billowed from the Bin Supreme, she managed to detect a musk that could only belong to a heretic. Yes, they were nearby and perhaps would return soon to steal the offering.

Just as the last of the sunlight disappeared, the scent became stronger, and Osa looked up to see one walking along the top of the fence. The masked heretic was sort of like a cat, but larger with a striped tail and a longer nose.

Osa considered barking at the heretic to scare him off, but then she began to wonder if she could correct its heretical thinking and make it a true follower of Gods Juan and Kimberly.

“Masked one!” she called out. “Why do you desecrate the Bin Supreme?”

The creature froze.

“I’m NOT stealing anything!” it exclaimed.

“You are!” Osa objected. “You are trying to steal the offering!”

“Nope!” the masked heretic objected. It tried to turn, but this was difficult to do with such a round body perched in such a precarious way on the fence top.

“Wait!” Osa called. “I mean you no harm! In fact, I wish to save you from the wrath of the Green Devourer! Why do you consume his offering?”

The masked heretic paused and turned back toward her.

“The Green Devourer?”

“Yes! The giant beast that moves on round legs and eats from this Bin Supreme!”

“Ah! You mean the Green Spirit of Plenty!”

“Green Spirit of Plenty?” Osa questioned, cocking her head.

“Indeed!” the masked heretic nodded. “That creature carries the food from this bin to the Eternal Mountains of Abundance and leaves it there for us to consume, but so generous is he that even as he takes the food, he spills some on the ground for those who cannot make the journey. The Green Spirit of Plenty is good to us.”

Osa began to tremble. What lies had Veterinarian whispered into this creature’s ear that led him to believe the Green Devourer was a benevolent spirit?

Perhaps this masked heretic was vulnerable to such lies because he lived outside the loving realm of Juan and Kimberly. Perhaps if he came into the embrace of their home and received their loving head scratches and belly rubs, he would cease to believe such nonsense.

“I know of better gods,” Osa said. “Loving gods who will give you food and tell you you’re a good boy. Come into their realm.” Osa looked over her shoulder at the house.

The masked heretic flattened his ears as he looked at the house.

“You speak of the Pizza Makers,” the racoon hissed.

“Pizza Makers?” Osa asked.

“The two legged gods who create the most tasty things for the bins,” the heretic said. “I adore the Pizza Makers, but dare not approach them. They are distant gods who grow angry at my approach.”

“No!” Osa objected. “They are not distant gods! They are loving personal gods! Come near to them and receive their rubs.”

“You may dare to approach the Pizza Makers, but I do not!” the masked heretic explained. “I accept their gifts from the bin with gratitude.”

The masked heretic took a few awkward steps toward the Bin Supreme. Osa remembered the scene from that morning–the offering strewn across the yard. She imagined the Green Devourer consuming Juan and Kimberly…

“No!” Osa barked. “Do not touch the Bin Supreme! Lest the Green Devourer consume us all!”

“You speak nonsense,” the masked heretic objected and jumped right on top of the holy bin.

It was now or never. Although she wanted to save the masked heretic’s soul, the fate of the universe depended on her protecting the Bin Supreme. She jumped toward the masked heretic growling and barking until he jumped from the lid with a dexterity remarkable for his girth.

Osa heard the sliding of the translucent portal and the Goddess Kimberly calling her. She turned and trotted inside, gratefully receiving Kimberly’s head pats. Perhaps, someday soon, she would encounter the masked heretic again. Perhaps then, she could finally convince him to change his thinking. But for now, she had protected the Bin Supreme and saved the universe.

She was such a good girl.

Short Story: You’re A Sucker

Here is the latest political scandal from the fish people of the planet Bosun. If you’d like to read about the previous scandals first, here you go:

A Fish Dichotomy

The Bosunians Need Kelp

Megalomess

All of the politicians on the planet Bosun are carp. By which I mean that they are reverse merpeople with the upper half resembling a carp and the lower half probably resembling human legs and feet. It’s hard to tell for sure because they keep their pants on, which is more than can be said for our politicians here on Earth.

Now, the Bosunian politicians are divided into two factions known as the Bildge and the Clew. Each of these two factions claims to be kind-hearted, morally upright, and darn good people all around. Each of these factions also likes to claim that the opposing party is made up entirely of slimy bottom feeders.

What’s truly tragic about this situation is that if these factions just took the time to listen deeply to one another, they would discover that they both really want the same things–power and money.

But alas, deep listening was not their priority. They preferred to yell loudly over each other, or, as in today’s story, get podcasters to do it for them.

Bosunian citizen Drogue was a swordfish from the waist up and, as such, loved to fight. However, he found old-fashioned nose-to-nose combat a bit dangerous for his tastes. He discovered that by becoming a political commentator, he could engage in all the fights he wanted, without breaking scales. It was the best career a swordfish could dream of.

He happened to get his hands on an extra juicy story he couldn’t wait to break to his audience. It was the biggest scandal in the history of Bosunian politics. Councilman Cleat, Bildge party representative, had been caught on tape sucking algae with a pleco.

Drogue was a fair, objective political commentator. He was speaking about this story because his listeners had the right to know. It had nothing to do with him being a registered Clew. It was his duty to follow Bildge party members around with a camera and wait for them to do something disgraceful. After all, if a member of the Great Council of Piscus was caught in the company of bottom feeders, would anyone take their government seriously anymore? It would probably be the beginning of the end of democracy as the Bosunians knew it, AND it would generate a million clicks.

So Drogue, the great citizen journalist, leaned into his microphone (being careful to keep his nose out of the way), and eagerly made the story known.

Drogue’s broadcast came to the speakers of a piranha by the name of Leech. Leech listened to this podcast religiously, eager for something to rip apart. He was also an influencer, differing only from Drogue in political affiliation. The story of Councilman Cleat gave him just the material he was looking for.

He rubbed his fins together greedily and ventured to his filing cabinet searching for the collection of stories he had been saving for just this occasion.

Leech always live streamed his podcast an hour after Drogue’s, so he could counter all of his points. Snapping his spiky teeth together, he leaned into his microphone and began.

“Huge scandal today, guys,” he started. “Councilman Cleat was caught sucking algae with a pleco! Horrible, I know right? Except that, I’m old enough to remember when Clew Councilman Skoot was caught sucking algae with the exact same pleco back in May. The media ignored that one, didn’t they?”

His red eyes moved down the paper in his hands.

“And let’s not forget how much Councilman Turnbuckle LOVED bottom feeders. His entire staff was made up of catfish!”

He went on listing scandal after scandal involving Clew Councilfish associating with bottomfeeders.

“These Clew have no respect for our council, our government, or our planet generally,” Leech concluded. “They are the true slimy bottom feeders!”

Drogue’s podcast the following day responded directly to Leech. It was almost as if they were sitting across the table screaming at each other, instead of delivering a daily news podcast.

“If the Bildge had any respect for the Council,” Drogue objected. “Then Councilman Wake wouldn’t have put those classified documents in his glove box. That was a threat to planetary security!”

Drogue then dedicated the next hour to reviewing his carefully documented list of illegal activity carried out by various members of the Bildge party.

One hour later, Leech was ready with the following:

“In the glove box? Really? Is that as bad as the time Clew Councilman Yawl used classified documents to make the paper mache centerpiece for the Convention of Interplanetary Aristocrats?”

And so it continued with each side listing the sins of the other. Never did one of these commentators suggest that maybe it was time to remove carp from their leadership altogether. They just went back and forth over and over, arguing about which side was worse.

Meanwhile, a beautiful pleco by the name of Coral Eelgrass was getting ready for her book launch. She was about to make bank on a tell-all autobiography titled Everyone Sucks.

Short Story: Megalomess

For today’s story, we are going back to the fish planet Bosun. If you are unfamiliar with Bosun, check out my previous fish stories here:

A Fish Dichotomy

The Bosunians Need Kelp

Dr. Mizzen Sternway was a fish scientist and I don’t mean she was an ichthyologist. I mean that she was a reverse merperson with a trout torso and human legs and feet. Of course, everyone on the planet Bosun was similarly fishy, so she didn’t turn many heads. (Incidentally, most fish do not have necks, so turning heads on Bosun would be quite a feat, even for a scientist.)

What was quite a feat was that Dr. Sternway had just achieved a scientific breakthrough–she had created a creature quite similar to the long extinct megalodon shark. And she did it with nothing but DNA, scissors, tape and her wits.

Her team called the sharklet Bruce and spent many months monitoring him as he grew from the comfort of their top secret laboratory. At long last, Dr. Sternway decided it was time to make the public aware of this amazing breakthrough, so she made the questionable decision of inviting the press over for a look at him.

The reporters who answered her call were some combination of large-mouth bass and piranhas. They crammed themselves into her lab and watched in awe as her creation swam around his tank.

“You brought the megalodon back from extinction?” asked a piranha from The Daily Bite.

“No, you can’t resurrect an extinct creature,” Dr. Sternway explained. “What we did was try and create a creature with similar characteristics by altering the DNA of a great white.”

All the reporters nodded as best they could without necks and began furiously scribbling notes.

They continued asking questions, took photographs and by the end of the day, Dr. Sternway thought the whole thing had gone about as well as any press conference could. She gave Bruce some extra shrimp before going to bed and stroked him on the nose.

The next morning, Dr. Sternway made the horrible mistake of starting her day by opening up her ChirpChat social media app. The first thing she saw was a linked article to The Daily Bite with the headline:

Scientists Resurrect the Megalodon!

Bruce was pictured in all his glory beneath this headline. Dr. Sternway sighed and scrolled down only to see another picture of Bruce from Gossip Gulp titled Is Extinction Irrelevant?

She grumbled at this and continued grumping as she witnessed one article after another all making similar claims.

She decided it was time to make a call to a friend of hers who wrote for Ichthy Print magazine, hoping at least one person would clear up the misunderstanding.

Ichthy Print didn’t let her down. Before the day was done, a new article was circulating on ChirpChat titled: No, Bruce is NOT a Megalodon: But He Can Help Us Learn About Them.

The article went into detail about Dr. Sternway’s methods and what she hoped to learn from Bruce. Sternway went to bed that night, feeling hopeful that the misunderstanding had been resolved.

The following morning, she opened up ChirpChat, only to be greeted by a picture of herself beneath the headline: Fraud Scientist Lies About Deextinction.
She frowned and scrolled further:

Scientists Lied about Bruce: What Else Are They Lying About?

A strange calm overcame her as she turned off her phone. That afternoon, she fed Bruce some extra shrimp. After reading articles about her supposed lies all morning, she realized that he had taught her more about sharks than she ever imagined possible.