My name is Davis Lambeth. I have a cousin who was in the Marines during the Vietnam War, and who subsequently died from exposure to Agent Super Orange, one of the Rainbow herbicides used during that era. I also have a cousin who worked for a military contractor and helped design these same biological and chemical warfare agents. I cannot fathom how a person with a PHD in Organic Chemistry would choose to use that incredible knowledge to develop such a warfare agent. Go figure.  

The Dark Lady's Death

 At approximately 8 in the morning, on Friday, May 19, 1536, Queen Anne Boleyn, the second wife of King Henry Tudor VIII, was executed on the tower green of The Tower of London. Her brother, George, along with several other nobles loyal to Anne, had been executed two days earlier. She witnessed their executions from the room where she was held prisoner. 

Anne was 29 years old, and it was her birthday. Her crime had been that the king had tired of her, and that she had not produced a male heir. Political alliances fueled the flame of her demise, as the king had been more than willing to believe the worst of her when it was told to him. The irony of it for Henry is that he murdered his unborn male heir along with Anne, as he had not believed her when she told him that she was carrying his son. 

Anne was called many names by those who hated her: The Night Crow, The Great Whore, The King's Whore among them. Her physical appearance was denigrated, and it was said that she must have bewitched the king, as it was the only way that Henry would have married her. 

"And I require of you, if you meddle in my cause, judge the best."----  Anne Boleyn 

The Night The Church Burned

Every June 17, I can't help being thinking about the horrible night that my home church burned. Not just mine; there were 19 others that burned as well. At least that many. My church was Mt. Zion Methodist. It was summertime, the hot season. I remember it well. In some ways, it's like yesterday. Time stands still, about some things. Especially here in Mississippi. That night, Mississippi was ablaze. Folks not from here stoked an already roaring fire True, they got burned by it, but a lot of us here did too. It was just them getting burned that seemed to make it important. 
My name is Rose, and I am one of the remaining churchgoers who were attacked that fiery night, by narrow-minded men filled with hate and fear. But they wanted US to be afraid.
They were men of power, at least here. The sheriff, the bank president, a minister or two; those who owned and ran the town. We all knew who they were, even as they hid behind white masks. 
It wasn't any different than any other church gathering,, for most of us. We were here to celebrate, and to sing, and to give thanks and worship. 
We had heard that a special guest of some kind or other hadn't shown up. But there wasn't really time to give much thought to that, because in what seemed like a flash, windows were being broken by flaming torches thrown thru them. We heard gunshots, men yelling. We scattered, trying to get out of the old church building before it was engulfed in flames. The smell of burning flesh, people screaming as they were set on fire. The men who attacked us, they actually grabbed church members, doused them in gasoline and struck a match to them. Some of them actually laughed about doing it. They hurled racial slurs at us while they did it. I myself am glad that I will never understand the kind of person who could do that. 
I was blessed, myself, that I only had a burned arm and leg, a few cuts and bruises, at least as far as physical wounds go. But I lost family and friends in the fire. There isn't a price tag you can put on the cost of that. 
Over that night, the whole church burned to the ground. It smouldered for days. 
It was only later that we learned that there were other churches that were done like we were, too. 
Freedom Summer, that's what they call that summer of 1964, now. That, and some project or other. 
I forget the name....but I'll never forget the summer, long as I live.

The Day The Booms Happened

 I will never forget it as long as I live. It's actually been fifty years now. I just can't believe it. Neither can my older sister, Hattie. Woodbine is having a remembrance ceremony this year, and those of us who are eyewitnesses are going to give our personal accounts of what we saw and felt that horrible day. By the way, my name is Melissa. On the day it happened, a Wednesday in 1971, I was a 16 year old, working as kitchen help in a local diner. We were starting to get busy, as the lunch crowd was coming in. It seemed like just another day, until the first boom happened. It was at 10:53 am. The sound was loud and startling enough that it silenced the entire cafe in a second. I could feel the vibration from the force of the first boom. At first, no one got up from the tables, or said anything. Then the second boom happened. It was horrible, because then we all knew that whatever was happening wasn't over yet. People, the men, mostly, started getting up to leave the diner to see what was going on. I was still in the kitchen, trying to concentrate on my job. By the time the third boom happened, most of us, customers and help alike, were headed towards the cafe door. At this point, I hadn't heard a single person say anything about what might be causing the booms. We all knew that whatever it was, it wasn't fireworks. It also wasn't anything good. 

I kind of froze for a moment, right there in the street in front of the cafe. It was because it had dawned on me the direction that the explosions had come from. Hattie! I told myself that it couldn't possibly be that! But all the same, I put on my worn straw hat , with the calico ties, and started off down the road with the others that had left the cafe. 
My sister Hattie was 19, then, and a single mother. She had a toddler daughter, now. She had gotten a job some months back at a chemical plant here in Woodbine. She worked in a plant that made magnesium flares. She said she was told that it was to help the war effort in Vietnam. I remember that she'd been tickled pink over getting that job. It was better hours and better pay than any job around here, at least for people like us. She didn't really say too much else about it, at the time. The jobs at that plant were considered plum jobs; everyone said so, then. Looking back to that time now,  those of us who are still here in Woodbine see how wrong we were.
Before we could get very far towards the plant itself, we were stopped by law enforcement. There was a huge fire, they said, and they were trying to put it out, as well as help any survivors. The first count of dead was 24, which was quickly upped to 35. That was actual dead; there was not even an estimate given at all about how many people were injured. 
At this point, all I could do was hope that my sister Hattie was alive. 
I stayed right there in the road where they made us stop and wait for hours. I wasn't about to leave until I heard something about Hattie. 
We could see smoke and haze everywhere, saw planes flying around, heard distress sirens. In all that time, we heard nothing about any survivors. 
No death toll was given past 35, but we all knew that it was higher than that now. 
Time passed slowly, standing there and waiting, that day. I worried about Hattie, and my other relatives and friends that worked at that plant. I worried about Hattie's little girl, Ellen, who would be an orphan if anything happened to her mother. 
I tried to think the best, but it was real hard, right then.
Finally, at about 4 o'clock that afternoon, we were told about the explosion at the plant that Hattie worked in. It had destroyed the building. All survivors were at a local hospital, with limited resources, at best. 
My sister was one of those, a survivor, I eventually learned. She was severely burned, and her painful injuries took a long time to heal from, but she did. My family felt fortunate to still have her with us. Others weren't so lucky. 
Hattie wants to attend the 50 year remembrance ceremony, but she wants me to tell our story. She never really will talk to people about it. Can't really say that I blame her. So I will tell my account of the day that the booms happened, for both of us.

 (FYI: I had written this for a flash fiction contest, but even after I paid the entry fee, they didn't accept it as an entry, so I wanted to post it on my blog. I hope any readers enjoy. )

Sapphire the Snow Vixen

Sapphire was made out of Scottish Highlands snow, just before Hogmanay. She had wisps of Heather and Thistle tucked into her snowy head, along with two cerulean stones for her eyes; a piece of ebony coal for her nose. She was Winter Solstice and Yule and Hogmanay and The New Year all in one, come to life. She was the stuff of Scottish myth and legend; very few , mostly those with The Sight, actually knew that she existed. Morgana was one of those.

Morgana had been ostracized from the Scottish village that she had grown up in, branded as a witch. The villagers didn't like her different ways, and the fact that she seemed to know things that they thought she shouldn't. 

Morgana was still adjusting and adding comfort to the mountain cabin in which she had solace and invisibility from the aforementioned village. One morning, while she was foraging out by the frozen lake, in the cold winter morning air, she came across small footprints in the snow. The imprints made glistened with blue light, and Morgana's eyes lit up, for she knew who had made them. 

She returned to her cabin, where the fire she had built earlier was now burning warmly, and fixed a plate with lavender shortbread and heather honey, and poured a cup of juniper and mint wine. She returned to the pond, and placed the plate and cup near the shimmering blue footprints as an offering. Then she pulled her cloak around her against the cold wind, and returned to her warm cabin. 

Later that day, just  before the sun was going to begin setting, Morgana went out again, this time for some snow, as she wanted to cool some wine, fruit, and cheese for herself for dinner later. To her delight, she found the empty cup and plate where she had left them, with fresh blue footprints. She smiled to herself, filled the cup with freshly fallen snow, and returned to her cabin. 

For the next couple of mornings, she repeated the shortbread, honey, and wine offering that she left by the frozen lake, and returned each afternoon to find the empty cup and plate, along with fresh blue footprints along the lake. 

Morgana looked in her book of shadows for the information that she sought, mostly as confirmation that her visitor was who she already innately knew she was. She sipped some spiced  pomegranate wine that she had heated with one of the pokers that she stoked fires with to warm the cabin. Her throat was parched and raw, and she had a dry cough, and a slight fever, and the wine soothed her. Hopefully it would ease the cough so that she could sleep during the night. 

Morgana's fever raged during the night, and she slept fitfully, her slender body covered in perspiration. She saw fire in her dreams, heard it crackling as it burned, and felt its warmth. Comforting warmth; it did not burn, or even touch her. 

She saw Sapphire in her fevered dreams, but not a Sapphire made of snow, coal and heather. This Sapphire had sloe-black hair, deep sapphire blue eyes, and alabaster skin. She was clad in a gown of deep blue velvet a shade darker than her eyes, with a satin-lined cloak pulled around her, made from the same material as the gown. Sapphire earrings studded each earlobe, and blue flames flew from them as the candlelight hit them. She was quite stunning to behold, and Morgana was in awe of her.

She came over and laid a cool, delicate hand on Morgana's hot forehead. She left it there for a short time, slowly drawing the fever from Morgana's body. 

"Thank you", Morgana murmured softly to Sapphire, as she slowly drifted away in a now peaceful slumber. 

Morgana slept for several hours; it was late into the next morning when she awakened. When she arose from her bed, intending to prepare some warm tea, she found the blue satin and velvet cloak in a chair near the fireplace, along with a bouquet of dried heather.

She felt blessed and honored, for indeed she was. 

 

Passing the Torch

Morgana dressed carefully, for Merlin had summoned her, for what he had implied would be a momentous occasion. She chose the finest gown that she owned; nothing less would do now. When at last she was dressed and surveyed her appearance by candlelight in the mirror, she made quite a noticable figure. Midnight tresses and sloe eyes to match, alabaster skin, her body clad in plush, shimmering black velvet. The gown itself had a square neckline, and was studded with tiny diamond and pearls. She wore a pearl and diamond pendant, with matching miniature earrings. Her feet were encased in black velvet slippers with black satin heels, and there was a pearl solitaire ring on her right hand. She dabbed a bit of her exquisite rose attar on each wrist, and at the base of her throat. She smiled at her reflection. 
She reached for her black velvet cloak, and drew its thick folds around her, blew out the candle, and left to meet Merlin at the edge of the dark forest, near his cave, as he'd requested. Her black cat, Ceri, followed at her side.
She walked slowly, and it took her a short while, even though the distance really wasn't that far. 
There was a break in the clouds, and there in the moonlight, she saw Merlin waiting for her. Even though all she could see was his shadow, she knew it was him. 
She and Ceri finally reached him, and she looked up at him, and touched her cheek against his lightly. 
"Croeso, Morgana.", Merlin said softly. He touched her dark hair, and breathed in her rose perfume. 
Morgana smiled up into Merlin's eyes, and it was the last thing that she knew.
The next morning, Arthur's soldiers found a burned out torch and Morgana's black clock, with her signature pearl ring. No trace of the Lady Morgana and her familiar, Ceri, could be found. For that matter, neither could Merlin.

Midnight Session: Installment Three

 “Oh, I’m paying attention all right, Samantha.” Jason said ,squeezing her breasts. "“With a body like this I can see how you were able to get close enough to a person to become so successful in your former profession.”

"Former profession?? How's that, Jason?", Samantha queried, even as she squirmed while he massaged her breasts. "There's nothing former about it.", she assured him. "I don't know where you could have gotten that idea."

"So....did you still want your men to search me? I thought you might want to do it for yourself."

“Oh, come on now,Samantha. There's really no need for such pretense between us.”, Jason said. “Everybody in my 99 knows that you were one of the top hit people in Alex's 77. Word on the street is that it was true until Alex decided you were more valuable elsewhere....like in his bed.”  Jason paused, then added, “However, we can discuss that later.”

"Alright, Jason.....if you'd like.", Samantha agreed.

He reached for the zipper at the back of her  plush green dress and began to slowly pull it down. “All that talk about you wanting me to search you has got me wanting to take you up on the offer.”