The King of New York has a cunning and baffling enemy and her name is Love.

Set
in a magical, fairy tale New York that has been upset by tragedy and hardship, the
King has warred every enemy and won, but he cant beat Love. This book is a
masterful literary mystery written with exciting and adventurous surprising, twists
and turns down a labyrinth of true love that will have your heart pulsing and
dancing throughout the whole novel. You can never guess what will happen next as
the King and Queen go to war with each other to save New York City and
themselves. At times very magical and beautiful, every step suspenseful and heart
pulsing, often very romantic, edgy, and exciting You Cant Tame the Wild Heart: A
Fairy Tale About The King Of New York - is a modern adult feel-good fairy tale cut
with a feminist edge, deep insight, and comedy, that empowers, inspires, and
makes readers believe in true love again. You will fight with him, be heart-broken
with him, and fall madly in love with the King reading this. Read at your own risk
this book may have you embodied in the magical feeling of God and true love. The
book is often times poetic, creative, well-written, and armed with a romantic punch
that defies language and the typical literary novel. Lose yourself and indulge in it for
a moment its a short tale, but an exciting and sweet one that will make you feel
good all over.

For Angel the love of all time.

For my dad who I could never repay enough. Who gave me a big chance and loved
me until better.
For my mother the most special woman in the world.
For Aunt Kathy Whose love is immense.
For Kourtney, Pat Jr. and his wife Trish, Nikki and her husband Jason Sr., Carol,
Shannon, Aunt Janine, Aunt Bev and her daughter Lauren, Beppie and her mom and
dad Aunt Dottie and Uncle Billie, Uncle Ed and his daughter Sara, Annie, Aunt
Michelle and Uncle Chris, Keegan and her husband , and Aiden our Irish Christmas
friend the most beautiful people I ever met
For Jason Burr Jr., Janie Patricia, and Kylie The most beautiful children in the world may you be on the road to find it too.
For God who never stops loving even when the world does.
I thank you. I cant thank you enough.
If when you walk on your journey
You face a mountain that you fear climbing
Because it looks too tall and wide
Just remember there is freedom on the other side
If you look at silent piano
And do not know what you found

Touch it to discover the mystery of your own beautiful body

In the sound
If ever anything goes wrong
And your dreams are in the stars, your sun in on the other side of fire,
And youre on the ground
Just remember
Just one more step will turn the world around
If when you go there
You make a few mistakes
Dont worry
The sun always gives us another chance
But most of all
If life ever gets too hard
Dance

You Cant Tame The Wild Heart: A Fairy Tale About The King of New York
Nobody in their world knew what it was, but she did.
It was a song that was their song alone - a song that only he and she could
hear in the crowd - and it was with them now, carrying her to her death.
Her hair was deep and endless black. It was crazed and long, very long, and
curly. It stood out insanely around her head and was electric shocks, falling across
the room like uninhibited bolts of lightning that could kill with just a touch. She
shook and staggered as they moved her. Her body was as limp and weak as a dead
flower, and she dragged her legs and arms heavily as they pulled her to the center
of the crowded and hungry courtyard. Fists were punching and breaking the air with
force. Chants grew into frenzied rhythmic beats that pounded and echoed off the
wind and walls, getting louder and more emotional as she walked. The sound of
their voices were frightening and haunting. It made her body shake with force and
grow weak. She was scared, very scared, but she wouldnt show it. She would walk
as strongly as she could stand, with her shoulders back with pride, and her eyes
raised to the pure white stars that hung over the courtyard like the only hope they
had left.
The crowd was pressed together tightly like a chain: unthinking and angry.
Hatred spread like a fire through the room and deformed everything around them.

Even the only flower they had in their world wilted finally and it was as destitute as
them. It was the rose with death thorns that nobody was allowed to touch but him
because if they touched it, they would die. The rose was the only beautiful thing
they had left of their world. For some women, the rose was their only hope and they
stared in to it as if it was a dream of a more beautiful life for them, but now even
the rose appeared like a betrayal and not the dream they once had of it when they
were alone. Even the flower looked as dead and dark and weary as them now, too.
She was pulling away from the armed mens grip in defense, held up only by
a ghost of the chants and screams. The men holding her were unusually tall and
large, with mean faces and angry, black eyes that deepened into immeasurable
violent distance. Their bodies were so big and ugly they appeared like monsters that
could swallow the whole courtyard with just their eyes. The guards were fully
dressed in all black and armed with guns larger than the woman that sometimes
killed even before a bullet shot out. It killed terrifyingly slowly and hauntingly, in
terror and prospect, following them through their lives and warning them not to
move. She was hunched over weakly, angrily, and speaking in tongues almost in a
dance against gravity as they pushed her violently against her will to the throne
where King Troubleman sat with an evil smirk on his face. It gave the King such
pleasure to see her die, ugly, and hurting.
One last scream of justice, she thought, and then she screamed: You evil
ugly toad. Dont think when you kill me Ill die. Ill be back for you.
You really want to come back here my rebellious wife, the King said
between an evil smile; knowing that it was her fiery temper that turned him on all
these years. It was sad he had to kill the witch, he really enjoyed the sex. How she

fought him and pulled his hair in anger. How she almost bit off his ear once and
how she scratched him so hard his face he no longer looked the same with the scar.
After her immense touch that changed him forever, his enemies could no longer
recognize him. But it was a good thing that his enemies could no longer recognize
him because then he could attack concealed. She was in all her haste and rebellion
a good thing for the kingdom for a time, he thought, but not anymore. The King
laughed heartedly when she punched him and took her hit as a stroke of luck,
thinking that her touch really couldnt hurt anybody. But, her touch did hurt him in
another strange way. It touched more than the skin; or even the heart really. It was
a deeper cut that what was revealed but he would never tell that to anybody. He
barely revealed it to himself. Often he would sit alone, thinking about the sad look in
her eyes longer than sky, the flow of her hair like water on a rock, her bodys
strange ugliness and how it was still a kind of beauty here that was not allowed, as
if her bodys beauty was always defying truth of their country Evilbum. All of it
snuck into his soul and invaded him nightly. There wasnt a moment in the day that
he did not think of her: a piece of paper reminded him of her laughter, a painting
reminded him of her childlike wonderment, and rain reminded him of her sleep, but
he kept this secret to himself and never told anybody that he thought about her. He
thought about her often. It made him angry to have secrets to hold it all in but
he had to. It filled him with a rage he couldnt handle or hold. Not just her but all
of it. He would punch things, break things. He would shatter the unbreakable.
Ill be waiting for you with condoms and prison to throw you in when Im
done with you one last time, he said. And then he laughed loudly, and his laugh
broke the mirror on the castle wall which stood ten feet away. Everyone gasped. Ten
minutes before he screamed pointlessly. He was just walking and he stopped and let

out a loud wordless scream that had nowhere and everywhere to go. The scream
wilted the rose that was in the other room. To everyone that saw it, it meant hope
was lost forever.
That always happened. The King couldnt talk, walk, or sneeze without
rearranging, breaking, or moving something. It made everyone scared of him. Once
when he sneezed, a girls dress fell off her body as if his sneeze had the power to
command his fantasies. He clapped his hands in excitement and a young boy
started dancing as if he was stepping on hot fire under his feet. Another time, he
farted and they won a long war. They were fighting the Manchesters over control of
the Goodey River because of the wealth there. The Manchesters were half beasts,
fighting hard and steady, almost winning the battle, when the King farted and
cleared out half the country. The odor and the premonition that he may tortuously
fart again was so unbearable to them that the Manchesters surrendered right there
and Evilbum won control of the River. When his mother died of a heart attack once
for three days, he finally screamed angrily at the gods and her heart began to beat
again rapidly. It was almost surreal, the feeling that Troubleman was bigger than his
body, but it was also scary. It made people think he was sort of divine creature, but
it also made them scared of him because nobody knew who his next victim would
be.
It really wasnt fair at all. Troubleman was so evil and manipulative because
his father was never around ever since birth and because his mother was so sick
and weak for her whole life it was as if she was gone too, that he developed a
rebellious and arrogant Kingly aggressive personality to get revenge on the world.
His mother told the boy his father was Godly, the creator of their evil universe.
Nobody ever saw the creator without dying, not even his mom who had not seen

him either when he impregnated her. But Troubleman wouldnt listen to her and he
didnt believe her stories. She never could control the boys insatiable need for
more even as a child -more women, more money, more food, more drink, more
laughter, more land, more, more, more- more that never filled the emptiness always
there since his father left.
It really wasnt fair. Troubleman was so evil and spoiled, that he never lost a
battle. He never lost anything. He took over Evilbum, crowned himself King, and got
everything he ever wanted in life for his entire life, including the wife who didnt
want to marry him, the wife who was waiting for that, that thing that was unknown
in Evilbum, the wife he was going to kill now for sleeping with another man.
Troubleman acquired everything he ever thought he wanted. When he wanted bear
for dinner, the cooks made him bear. Even when they told him the bear was almost
extinct, they killed for him and bred more bears so that he could have more dinners.
When he wanted a mans wife, he just took her without arguments. Once he wanted
jewelry from the moon, and somehow his men managed to get to the moon and
bring him back enough rock for a big necklace. The only things Troubleman didnt
have was a dad and something he didnt know was missing.
One last escape, one last hope that made her believe that life was not as
tragic and unjust as it was, she thought as she screamed again, this time
unintelligibly into the scattered air. Couldnt they feel her pain? Didnt they feel
pain? She wanted them to see her pain; to know it. She wanted to know that it,
whatever it was, existed somewhere for her too, even if in their country she couldnt
find it.

The other man was there. His name was Hammer and he was one of
Troublemans comrades. Looking at the Queens strong mountainous shoulders and
lascivious uneven body, you would never know she had been a slave to Troubleman
her whole life or that one day she would die because even in this hell that distorted
her, she still remained beautiful to Hammer, Troublemans comrade that slept with
her. Her wild eyes were dark and discolored, like rainbows of oil on concrete they
took on many colors according to her moods and were more of an emotional song
than eyes. The colors controlled him and changed the beating of his heart. They told
him to move now, attack like a beast, dance even, dance a distracted dance, but he
didnt. He forced himself to be still, to not even reveal it in his face, but his eyes
were stuck to her like a shadow, moving erratically with her body as she moved as if
they were one attached wings and not two beings. Looking at it, you dont really
remember the clock belongs to the sun. Her eyes with his, they seemed to invite
him closer into her even from far away and although he was inspired, he wanted to,
he would die too; he didnt. He held the gun in his hand as unsteadily as her
nervous hair, wondering if at that moment she could feel his heart breaking for her,
crying out just for her when he never cried before, he wasnt sure if he knew how to
cry. But he already knew he was a coward. He thought he was born to be a coward
and a killer.

It wasnt like him. People died like this every day and they were all numb and
dumb to it. They never figured out that their death and destruction was next, even
when the time came and they were next. They were too used to the pain. In this
world, you dont. Well, what is it? He didnt know what it was, but he did know it was
a risk. A big risk. You dont. Well, you dont get attached, especially not to another

mans wife, but something came over him. It was like a song that was controlling his
body and emotions, an unheard of song here that was lifting him and making him
bigger and more powerful than he really was, even if nobody knew it and nobody
could hear it but him and her.
Just yesterday Hammer told her he wouldnt tell the king that it was him
whom she was having an affair with. There was too much at risk in that, he said.
Maybe he wanted to live miserably for just one more day, even if it was without her.
But, now. Now when faced with it, the realness of it, it was different. He killed many
men. He destroyed people, families, and lives and never felt a thing. He had sex a
thousand times with a thousand women. He barely liked the Queen; it was just the
sexual thrill of it, her round and fleshy body around her breasts, hips, and ass, filled
his fantasies so profoundly he was sure she was the only woman on earth who could
make him lose his mind with desire. Her body filled him with addictive need and an
uncontrollable hunger he could never quite feed. It was the temptation, the sexual
rebellion of it that kept him coming back. To have what the King had like a delicacy,
not many men could say they got that and he secretively hated the King because of
his domination and evil, lets say, powers. It was pure lust he told himself and
nothing more that couldnt ever be found in Evilbum. It wasnt her secretive laugh
she held in when she saw him. It wasnt her strange lying outlandish stories that
entertained him so much he dreamed about her lies at night and where they could
carry him. It wasnt the girlish smile she wore on her lips and in her eyes that
revealed her honesty even when she lied. It wasnt how she left parts out when she
told them on purpose so that she could tease him with mystery. It wasnt the
secretive sexual jokes they told each other in company. How when in company she
would press a piece of cake to her lower pelvis and ask him if he wanted to taste it,

or how she would lick an ice pop, smiling at him, her eyes saying 8pm tonight in the
courtyard while the King is with Emilia and her lips commanding his body now.
Once, right in front of the King she asked him to help with her stocking when she
didnt need help and he almost lost his mind from her smell. God the smell of her
was addictive and could make a man do crazy things, like start a war. He touched
her legs softly. She shuttered from the touch, remembering it, it, that, it, without
knowing it. How did he control himself? How did they know about love when nobody
knew about love here? Everyone was forbidden to know.
Once Hammer poked a mans eye out for looking at the Kings cousin. He cut
off a mans hand for grabbing on to his mother as he was falling. He stole their
money legally. He tortured a political prisoner by playing horrible music for days and
feeding him just liquids for the fun of it. It was like that here. They greeted each
other by saying Screw you, you bald headed wimp, along with a thousand other
insults and a thousand reasons why their friend was horrendously ugly and horrible.
Friends greeted him back by calling him, The Ugliest Creature In All Existence and
Horrendously Evil and he smiled proudly. He loved the insults and was thrilled to
hear them. Screw you, was a term of endearment. They slapped your face at
parties when they liked you and got blinding drunk and celebrated with all out
brawls at the bar. Women lost their teeth, men broke arms and noses, children lost
their toes to unsuspecting knives and screamed with pleasure, begging the
perpetrator to take their ears too. They laughed an evil laugh for days about it. They
tortured the kindness out of you when you were very young and didnt let boys cry.
Nobody knew what good laughter was; they only laughed when they oppressed
women and a man was fallen in agony. They only cried when they chopped an
onion. Even then the crying was hidden because it would mean that their bodies

were weak to something or Godly forbid, they were affected by something other
than war. Nobody ever cried, not even the young girls when men picked them out of
the crowd, grabbed them over their shoulders, brought them to bed, and forced
themselves on them. Everyone was too numb to cry. Everybody was always
prepared for battle and ready to die. Crying might be worse than death, because
for some of them, it could mean they felt something more than the cold.
He looked at the Queen one last time and hoped to never forget her in all his
life. He knew he wouldnt. She had a crooked and uneven mouth like most people in
Troubledmans hell. One of her nostrils was larger than the other, one of her
eyebrows were higher and shorter, and tiny red scars marked her face like stars to
other universes or a treasure map to her many tragedies. She would tell him at
night what the scars meant. The one on her cheek was when Troubleden got angry
that she wouldnt sleep in the same bed as him the day they were married. He
grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder like a cave man, telling her about a
wifes duty. He tied her to the bed because she was squirming and fighting, and he
kissed her right there on the forehead so roughly like a beast it left a scar. She also
had a red mark on her thigh from that night because thats where he slept, cursing,
tossing, and turning for not getting sex on his wedding night. The one on her
forehead was when her mother died, where she touched her one last time and
apologized. She was still mad at her mother for not fighting for her life, for trading
her over to Troubledman when she was only 16 years old. The one on her neck was
from her sister, but she said her sister was dead and that mark was too painful to
reveal. That would remain a secret.

He pointed to an empty white spot on her face, This one is mine, he said.
For today. And he kissed and bit there while she was naked in his arms 20 times
until it left a red mark.
Ill remember it forever, she said.
So will I, he said, tasting her again addictively because the taste was so
good he felt he could never get enough of it.
Im going to tell him, she said. I hate him. I cant stand him. I wont be his
wife anymore. He has abused me for the last time.
No, he said. Dont. Hell kill you. What about me?
I dont care, she said. He has three Queens, and ten girlfriends. He wont
miss me.
You dont care, he said hurt. Youll die. Ill miss you.
Ill die a glorious death, she said. As a free woman and not his slave. You
will miss me? she said: her heart softening, her lips smiling. It was a question more
than a question; it meant something more than what he was saying.
Youre crazy, he said. Well never have sex again.
We will, she said I believe it. I feel it in everything I am. I know. One day I
will decide my own fate. I dont know what is wrong with the world we live in, but I
know something is wrong.
Did you hear me? he said. Youll die.

His gun cant kill, she said, looking fervently into Hammers eyes. He looked
back just as deeply, trusting her for some reason. Then he bit her again on the thigh
for good luck as he laughed.
Her white face reminded him of the silence of a blank page, so unrevealing of
its pain in its nothingness, so vulnerable and open to interpretation, so silent with so
much potential for words that could never come close to capturing her and what
she really was because words and their meaning were not enough. And yet, he
could write a million stories right on her face. He could hide her in words so that
nobody could find her or touch her or hurt her again. There were so many women
whose bodies can turn a man on sexually, but only one woman in the world and all
of existence who could make a man a King. And that was her. She could make a
man a King.
What was he saying? That wasnt her. This was the Queen, the strange Queen
who found a flower that everyone abhorred because beauty was distasteful to them.
She brought it to Troubleman once to see it. Imagine finding a flower growing it in
war torn ash? What could it really be to him? The finding of the flower was really a
miracle. There was no colors like that bright red rose or even flowers in
Troubledmans world. The closest thing to a flower was the sun, and even the sun
barely came out to play because it seemed to be grey every day in their world, the
grey atmosphere reflecting their inner world. To the Queen the flower was a sign of
hope. That the other world, the world of beauty and that thing they did not possess
here, a world she only heard about in whispers with other women in secret, was
near. But to Troubledman her only hope was food.

Troubleman looked at the rose, crushed it to inspect it, and ate it, thorns and
all. The Queen screamed in revolt and started throwing things around the room in a
tantrum. She threw a vase right at his face and started destroying the bedroom
furniture. It set her off. She had enough. She couldnt take this world anymore.
Something was wrong with it. She didnt know what was wrong, but something was
wrong. Troubleman beat her violently just to calm her down, but even on the floor
and wounded she kept punching him and the air. He held her down with his whole
body and stared meanly into her face in order to scare her, but he noticed a change
in her eyes and he softened, exposing his heart in his face.
Who cares about the damned flower, he screamed. It tastes bad anyway.
You beast, she said. That was a sign. A sign of the other world.
We have fresh bloody meat. And boxing games. And shoot outs,
Troubleman said. Whats better than here? What could be more fun than shooting a
man to death and listening to him cry out?
You tyrant, she screamed, and he found pleasure in the scream and anger.
Troubleman didnt know it, because she hid it her whole life, but the Queen
was a vegetarian since she was a child because she couldnt bear to hear the pigs
screaming from slaughter every morning. The people here gathered to watch it
because they found pleasure in it. He had her locked in his arms so that she
couldnt move. They were so close she felt insanely stuck and claustrophobic, and
she panicked, but he wouldnt let her move even as she fought. She could feel the
hatred she had for him emotionally murdering her and then something miraculous
happened: she cried. The tears were like a great release, a firecracker or a bomb

that struck and amazed Troubleman who didnt know what they meant. He looked at
her face curiously because he didnt understand, the small tears streaming down
her face as if they were little bits of magic even he did not believe was happening.
Then he almost panicked because he thought she was dying or going blind.
What is wrong? he said, giving the words double meaning because the
tears meant something was wrong, but he didnt speak their language.
It was the color, she pouted. I heard in that world there are a million of
beautiful colors all over the place, even in the sky.
What is color? Troubleman said. He couldnt help staring at her tears falling
out of her angry eyes. If he could capture them and make them a diamond necklace
he would, but he couldnt. He reached out his hands with a timidity he never before
displayed and touched one. It disappeared in his hands and was gone. He was
startled at the touch because he didnt know what they could do so the feeling
surprised him. They couldnt be captured or held, they were worth too much. He
had never seen tears before. It was such a strange feeling he thought laughing out
loud with joy as happily as if he just stole a million dollars from a man and got away
with it. They could be valuable, he thought. He might make a lot of money off them
if he could bottle them and put them in glass.
Color gives things meaning, she said. And can only be seen and felt, not
described.
What does that mean my Queen, Troubleman said curiously. He loosened
his gripped because he felt emotionally defeated and she jumped out of his arms.

The flower was mine, she said. It was a sign from Godly. It bloomed right in
my garden by the herbs. It was a miracle.
Godly, Troubleman said with disgust. Miracle? He knew who Godly was,
but he never met him. He was the invisible father who abandoned him as a child. If
he saw him, he would kick his ass. How did the Queen know him? Nobody talked
about him very often, and nobody knew what he thought. But, Troubleman thought,
this flower could be valuable if it was from Godly. He knew Godly had powers.
If, Troubleman said. I get you this flower back, will you have sex with me
tonight.
Youre disgusting, the Queen said ready to storm out of the room, and
Troubleman loved it because he was so turned on by her anger.
My Queen, he said. She stopped emotionally at the door and turned around
to look at his confused face. You are rebellious, My Queen. I am not used to this.
She listened to him quietly without knowing what to say.
Im not happy, she said. I know you dont care.
He thought for a moment about happiness. What is happiness anyway? he
said.
She couldnt bear to speak to him anymore, and went to walk away again
sadly.
My Queen, he said. This other world, where is it?
You cant walk there, she said.

Is it far? he said. In the stars?

No, she said.
Well, if I wanted to go, he said.
Youd have to look for it inside you, she said her last words and walked
away.
Troubleman still had the root from the rose. He didnt eat that part because it
tasted gross. All by himself, thinking the rose was as valuable gold, he planted it in
his private office curiously and within weeks it bloomed. Then another bloomed,
then another. It was a bush. He put it under glass to preserve it and showed the
court. Pointing to the thorns, he told them if anyone touched it they will surely die. It
was a gift from his third Queen, he said, as she looked at him softly and smiled. She
was touched he gave her back the flower and saw something else in him that she
didnt know existed in anyone.
The country believed him and never touched the rose for fear of dying, but
they stared at it in awe of what it was not. It wasnt war. It wasnt brawls. It wasnt
shoot-outs, or slaps in the face. It was something else they knew somewhere, but
could not recognize now. What was it? As they looked, they felt awkward. Something
was moving and changing within them awkwardly and confusedly. They could feel
the movements and felt uncomfortable with it fighting in their bodies, so they
pushed down the feeling that was coming as a sort of a light that scared them
because it revealed them, knowing they were wrong. Although disgusted by the
thought of beauty, they were somehow in awe of the flower and thought it magical

like Troubleman, so they thought of the Queen as special too and someone to be
scared of because it was her who the flower came to.
Hammer kissed her first, knowing she was married. He followed her to the
shower and took her right there, being led by impulse and inspiration. He was
overwhelmed by her as if she was controlling his movements and body. He didnt
know why. The image of her body possessed him and being with her was a need like
food is a need more than it was a desire. It was his fault. He was not a man. He was
a coward. He knew that now.
She was too beautiful to be anyones slave and too beautiful to die. It was
even odd to him that things that beautiful did die, even if nobody in the room could
see her beauty. From the appearance, she looked as ugly and distressed as they did
she was dirty, angry, and distorted- but to him she was so beautiful it was as if her
beauty was out of place here in Troublemans hell. It was as if her beauty was
ethereal to him, stolen from some other more peaceful world and deformed here so
much that its meaning was displaced: what was beautiful there was ugly here, and
what was ugly there was beautiful here.
Standing before the throne now, there was so much wild and angry hair, he
couldnt touch her pale and honest eyes even though he wanted to, and although
her lips were unrevealing and motionless, it was as if she was holding a secret joke
under skin because her skin was so bright it was as if her entire body was smiling.
The smile seemed to remind him of life, life that was rarely seen here, a life he
didnt think he possessed although he yearned for it one last time. He had the
feeling if she died, he would die there too. He would follow her wherever she went. If
the gun didnt turn and kill him too, finally revealing the truth of their affair, the

heartbreak would. He knew it, but in this world he didnt know what it was. More
than her hands touched him, moved him somehow, but he didnt know what it was
that touched him so deeply and profoundly. He didnt know what it was that moved
him to speak.
He looked around at the angry and dirty faces of the crowd. Some men and
women were so possessed with anger their faces were even more distorted than
usual and they were drooling. They were like hungry beasts stalking their prey; they
were hunters attacking the weak. They were ugly, ugly in their words and actions.
He could see that now, but he couldnt see that before. When the Queen touched
him, he saw things differently. He saw cruelty in war in the beauty of her smile. He
saw the manipulations of money in the wonder of her thighs. He saw the horror of
death in the eternity of her eyes. Before, he was one of them: he killed, he stole, he
brutally beat too, but now he couldnt. He knew enough there to hide that he
couldnt because he knew if he revealed it, hed be found. They would know the
forbidden there had been touched and that nothing would ever be the same again.
He looked around him, wondering if anyone noticed it in him, the sadness in his
eyes, the whole body breaking down in pain, the desperation he felt, but they didnt
seem too. Only love could have done it to him, but they all thought love was
forbidden here.
One man besides him laughed heartedly at the Queen and began to give her
mocking gestures with his hands and funny faces mimicking her weakness. He
slapped his back powerfully, asking him to join in his laughter too, and he did laugh
a fake laugh that was more like a confused cry.
Most of the crowd raised their fists and chanted, Kill the whore.

He knew at that moment she was braver than him. He knew the crowd could
not see her; that they could never see her. If he could do something to change that,
he would, but he couldnt. They were like this since the beginning of time and he
doubted anything would change now. It has always been hopeless, and it was still
hopeless and tragic. He was only one man, what could he do? How will he live
himself after this, he thought? They were weird thoughts. They were thoughts
through many evils that never once emerged, but now they were creeping in. How
could he ever breathe again without his heart, because he knew the only reason his
heart still beat was to see her smile. The only reason the sun rose was because of
her. The only reason the birds sang every morning was because of her. And now
they would sing no more. His heart would be a silent piano, where she was
supposed to be in laughing, but she wasnt and it didnt make sense: a world with a
forbidden sun, a world without her in it. A world without a heart.
She was wearing a tank top that showed her thick neck and arms, and a
tattered skirt, the only skirt she had ever owned. It was customary on Days of Death
in Evilbum for the dead to show their skin. This was so that the crowd could see her
death everywhere, but never see what actually killed her. She knew it wasnt the
gun that killed her, it was the man.
Even though Evilbum was so well, Evil, there was still always music, and the
song was playing for them now. It was the song of death, a million wild and erratic
drums that sounded hauntingly like chaos and all-out rage, and it was getting louder
and louder, growing closer to her. It sounded like fear itself and he watched her
weak already dead body being held by it violently like a dead child being held by a
rough river. She looked right at him and smiled without moving her lips much. He
knew her smile was a gift for him. They had begun to communicate without anyone

around them knowing that they were talking to each other through small gestures
and looks on their faces. He had begun to know her better than he knew himself,
and he knew what she was saying now. Her eyes were brave. She was saying
goodbye, she was not saying not save me. The thought angered him fiercely. Why
cant they live the life they want to live? Why cant life just be good? The feeling
took control of him. He was going to do something stupid, he thought, thinking he
could no longer control the movements of his body. He was going to start shooting
and murder Troubleman right there in front of everyone. But, he couldnt. He
couldnt now. It was hopeless. Could he?
The drum rolls got louder and more emotional, raising the crowds
heartbeats and controlling their anger. They pounded their fists and chanted in
unison with the beat. It was the sound of death near. When the sound stopped, the
Queens life would be over. It was a silence that could control a room. It was a
silence that could stop the sun from ever shining again. He tried to imagine it, but
couldnt bear it. The thought would break him apart; he wouldnt be able to handle
it. He knew he wouldnt as he turned and looked at Troubleman laughing. It turned
his stomach to see him smile. He wanted to punch him in the face right there,
pound and keep pounding. He touched the trigger of his gun. He was going to do
something crazy. He was going to murder Troubleman right there in front of
everyone. But, he, he, hesitated.
She told Troubleman yesterday. Troubleman came into the bedroom while she
was sleeping and jumped on top of her. He smelled like whiskey and other women.
She told him he was disgusting and to get off of her, but he kept pressuring her to
have sex with him.

No, she said, getting up. Im leaving you for another man. We have been
having sex for four months now behind your back you evil piece of shit.
What did you say, Troubleman said.
You heard me, she said. Im leaving you.
You will die, he said.
You killed me many times before that already. I dont care now. I sit here and
watch you call women, different women to your bed. I watch them obey you like
dogs, slaves. I am somehow bound you still though, even if you abuse me. You
demand my body without giving me anything but abuse in return. You take no
responsibility to me and have no guilt of it. You abuse and abuse me, and I have to
take it all the time. I dont know enough, but I know this is not right. To you Im
some kind of doll you possess. I wont be abused by you any longer. I dont care the
law or the responsibility. I dont care that you forbid me money. I am leaving you
forever. Even if I have to beg on the streets; I will still have my dignity.
You rebel child, he screamed. I knew you were Trouble. I almost liked it.
But now you have taken it too far. You will die tomorrow; be sure of it.
I may die, she said. But I know enough that my voice will not. My cries
echo on 7 hills.
Go, Troubleman said in anger to his guards. Go. Take her.
Troubleman calmly and silently grabbed her and gave her to the guards,
telling them that the Queen will be executed tomorrow. When they asked why, he
told them for infidelity. They all agreed and prepared for the execution the next day.

The city was told, and they anxiously gathered that morning, excited to see the
Queen scream and punished.
She wasnt scared in jail. She knew it would happen and had prepared for it.
In jail, she looked back at her life. It was mostly very sad, but there were moments
of joy when she was by herself, away from the people who didnt seem to enjoy the
same things that she did. She enjoyed dancing, and planting her herbs, and when it
came, taking photographs of the sunset. The sunsets there were fiery, a mixture of
smoky grey and bright orange, and although it was often haunting and ominous, the
sun offered her in many days of sadness a breath of some kind of peace. Her three
sisters were sad too. They married men they barely liked just to survive because
women were not allowed to have bank accounts or get the big jobs. The family her
mother said was lucky enough to be married at all because if her sisters didnt
marry, they would have to live on meager wages, living in the slums with no clean
water or adequate food, cleaning houses filled with blood and animal carcasses, old
smelly furniture, and sewage shit in the bathrooms just for money. Their mother said
the single ladies in the town died young because they would get sick off the dirt and
disgust of their meager jobs, but someties the Queen thought an early death would
have been easier. Sometimes life didnt seem worth living.
Troubleman saw her dancing in a bar one night by herself and immediately
fell in love. He went right up to her and told her, You will be my Queen.
I will not, she said.
Fine then, Troubleman said. I will speak to your father.

Her father, who barely knew who she was and never spoke to her, agreed for
a few hundred dollars and the promise that he would get more of that each month.
The Queen refused and cried for days, but her mother said the family needed the
money. No other man on earth had ever shown interest in her and this was the King
of Evilbum. He had power and money. She screamed, fought, and shouted, begging
her mother not to do that to her. Her mother said they had to; they were bound and
had no other choices left. It seemed to be a miracle from Godly that would help the
family, even though the family knew that wasnt the truth. But the Queen knew,
Godly never interfered in Evilbums affairs. He never saved them, and he never
made anything better for them.
No, the Queen said. Its not from Godly. Something else is from Godly. I
have dreams. I have aspirations. I wanted to travel to earth to see Costa Rica. I
heard they have the most exotic fruits there, and colors, wonderful colors weve
never seen. They have colors that can change you, that can change your body and
your life, making it all more beautiful. And they have a sea that stretches for miles
you can bathe in. I wanted to learn a million different languages. I was to be the first
woman to write poetry, and I want to become a dancer. I wanted to create this
vehicle that allows a person to fly to Earth in two hours. I had a million different
ideas and wrote them down. I drew pictures. I wanted to be dancer mom and now
youre going to steal all my dreams from me just so that I can be married to a man
everyone is afraid of. Youre stealing all my dreams. You are robbing me of all my
dreams. Is that all I am, a wife and a mother? Am I more? Am I more than a
woman?
Her mother was speechless. She once felt the same way and was also beaten
down by life in Evilbum. She didnt know what to say. All she could say was, Im

sorry daughter, but we have to do this. Your father and I cannot afford to keep you
anymore. We almost starved last winter because of the bad crops that year. Im
sorry, but you must marry Troubleman. Not just for yourself, but our family.
At the alter on her wedding day, she almost cried, but didnt. She held back
her tears so that people would not be able to see that she was different. If she cried,
her true self would be revealed and that person could never survive in this world.
When the King kissed her she had a knot in her stomach. She felt disgusted and
quivered at his touch. She would not even force herself to like him or get along with
him. She hated him. She hated this world for forcing her into situations she didnt
want to be in. She wanted something else, she always did, but she never knew what
it was.
She argued with him over the littlest things. Anything could make her angry.
If at dinner he asked for her to hand him the pepper, she threw it at him and told
him he had no manners. Then he would punish her by not allowing her any dessert
or to attend the dance parties. If he asked her if she liked his blue jacket he just
bought, she told him he enslaved her. That he was a brute. He told her he helped
her family, but she did not agree and told him she hated him again. He was not
listening. This war of the sexes made up the whole relationship, her deviance and
him punishing her, but she never stopped battling. She would rebel to the death.
Now finally it was over. She would die tomorrow. She said to herself that at least she
would die saying something and not silent like all the other women in Evilbum
anymore. She wasnt even thinking about Hammer who led her here. She was
thinking about herself now - what she endured, what she lived through, what she
battled. She sat in jail and cried again, slow and musical tears, but this time the
tears were tears of joy and not sorrow, not because she would die, but because in

death she was somehow somewhere free for once in her life. Life had no freedoms.
The tears ironically seemed to transform her face from ugly to beautiful. They were
erasing the pain and shame, brightening her grey skin to a soft rosy pink as if light
was illuminating her and shining out of her, unmasking the pain and revealing this
beauty never before seen in Evilbum. It was the same beauty of the flower, as if
they came from the same unknown place, and she wore it with pride more because
she felt it. It was coming from inside her, not outside her, even though she knew
nobody in Evilbum would see what she felt. She would die, yes, she knew she would
die, but she also knew Evilbum would die with her, too.
Word got out among the women of Evilbum what the Queen did. They
whispered that she was brave so that nobody could hear them but themselves
because they knew how Troubleman treated her and his other wives. They also
knew how their husbands treated them. Even though it was noble that he was King,
none of the women wanted the duty to be his wife because they knew no one was
more relentless or evil to women than Troubleman.
When the day came the women huddled together in solace in the courtyard,
remaining quiet while the men chanted for the Queens death and called her a
whore. The drums rolled as Troubleman smiled. Their hearts pounded with fear
and anxiety. Then when the drum roll stopped, something in them died with it. Their
hearts were broken beyond repair.
The King stood to talk to his Queen one last time, looked right into her eyes
and pierced them.
Is there anything you would like to say to me, he asked.

No, the Queen said. It is done. No more miserable life with you.
You witch, Troubleman muttered.
I am what you made me, she said.
Now Ill find more pleasure in killing you whore, he said.
And I find pleasure in not letting you abuse me anymore, she said. The
body may die, but the spirit doesnt.
You cunt, he said.
You bastard, she said with deviance.
Her body was massively voluptuous, but it hung like weeds from weakness in
the guards arms. Her head was raised proud and high. It made the women proud
too. They held their shoulders higher and stronger with her. They were scared for
her, but also inspired by her strength. It was what they had wanted to say to their
abusive husbands, but never could. Each woman grabbed the other womans hands,
now unafraid if the men saw their show of affection. It was a solemn hand holding
that brought about this haunting silence that seemed to carry the room. They knew
she cheated on him, but it somehow didnt seem wrong to them. She didnt want to
be with him to begin with; they knew she was his slave and not a wife. It was their
world that was wrong, and they wished they knew why it was so wrong.
Soon the entire courtyard was silent and everybody was listening for the love
they didnt know existed. One woman was over powered by the silence and couldnt
help herself. She burst out and screamed anonymously, Someone will get you one
day Troubleman. You evil toad. But when everyone turned nobody knew who it was.

She was among the women, and Troubleman who was startled by her outburst
turned to look, but couldnt find her.
Who said that, he said, demanding the other women turn her in, but
nobody would speak. Who, he said, Who. Guards get her.
The guards ran to the crowd, but the women wouldnt budge. They held each
other tightly. They secretly knew what their husbands did to them too. The guards
looked confused at Troubleman.
Forget it, he said. Forget the witch for now. Ill find her later. On with it.
Ready! Aim! .No wait, he said raising his fist.
Troubleman looked at his first wife and demanded she come to his side. As
the second Queen watched he made his first wife kiss him. The first wife obviously
didnt want to kiss Troubleman, but she did awkwardly and then stiffly ran away.
What, the guards said confusedly.
Ready! Aim your gun! Troubleman screamed.
The guards aimed their guns, but looked confused.
Now, one guard said. Just kill her now?
Aim! Troubleman shouted.
The guard was a young man who had lived in Evilbum his whole life. He had
become Troublemans right hand man after his mother died and his father grew
sick, but Troubleman bossed him around often and he was beginning to get quite
sick of it. He aimed his gun at the Queens head.

No, Troubleman said. Her heart. Where she got me.

So the guard aimed at her heart, confused. Troubleman screamed a loud
piercing scream that shocked everyone. It was a cry of pain that sounded like a
dying animal. Five windows in the castle broke, a statue of the goddess Eureka
crumbled, and the Queens heart almost stopped before the bullet. He then breathed
in and out softly and said, Kill her.
The guards were taken back by the scream and this feeling they got when
looking at the Queens face. It was unlike anything they had ever known before, like
tasting chocolate for the first time, it startled and pleasured them. Something had
changed her face, her body even. Something was shining off her, but they didnt
know what it was. As they raised their guns they trembled and the guns shook with
them. The shooter tasted salt in his mouth. The smell of a luxurious ocean. There
was beautiful grass with endless flowers everywhere. Then, there was silence in the
crowd. People were growing more frightened, not only for the Queen, but what this
silence meant for them. The silence would be the space where she was gone, and
now, could they handle that?
Hammer was standing there watching her die before him. The ache inside
him seemed unbearable and incurable. He was on the sidelines ready to go war with
the entire crowd. He told himself to fight, fight now, but he stopped and he didnt
for some reason. He waited for the right time. This was life in Evilbum; this is what
always happened here. He had to accept that, right?
Fire! Troubleman said closing his eyes.
Three seconds passed and there was no sound.

Fire, I said, Troubleman said keeping his eyes closed.

But nothing happened.
Troubleman opened his eyes. I said fire, he burst out in rage.
The Queen looked confused. The guards were just staring at her, lost in her
face. It was an awkward feeling, but they felt captivated as if they just saw a
shooting star that amazed them. He was standing on the sidelines wondering what
was happening, ready to shoot the guards now. What had happened?
Fire, Troubleman said, and the sound of his own voice overpowered him so
much it shook him so hard he almost fell to the ground.
Both of the guards looked at Troubleman, then looked at the Queen, then
looked at Troubleman again. They knew what the other was thinking because they
both felt the same thing and they knew they felt the same thing.
In unison they said, I cant shoot her.
What do you mean you cant, Troubleman said. Are there no more bullets?
No, the one guard said. I just cant shoot her. I cant kill her.
The women gasped in the crowd. The Queen stood stunned as they dropped
her. The guards looked at her knowingly, dropped their guns, and walked in rebellion
out of the courtyard. Troubleman could not believe what was happening.
Get them Patrick, Billy, Troubleman screamed to two of his men, but the
men looked at Troublemen angrily, dropped their guns, and walked out of the
courtyard too.

What, Troubleman screamed. What is going on here?

In unison, women gathered all the guns on the floor and walked out of the
courtyard. Then all the men followed.
What is happening here? Troubleman said. What is going on here?
Somebody tell me what is going on here. Somebody kill her. Ill kill her.
Troubleman was in a rage screaming for the crowd to stop when a man came
up to him and said, No, you wont.
The women gathered the guns so that Troubleman couldnt use any of them
and walked out of the courtyard with the crying Queen. Troubleman was left with
nothing but the sound of his furious voice screaming. The women, for the first time,
were crying together too, no longer from pain, but now from relief and joy.
Troubleman was in a rage, having a tantrum by himself , but when he looked
around him, everybody he ever knew was gone, but his mother. His mother was
standing there looking at him.
What happened? Troubleman screamed. What is going on here?
He was shocked.
What was that? he screamed at his mother. What just happened?
It is a power greater than you, Troublemans mother said.
What power? Troubleman said. You bitch. What power. What power is
greater than me?
Dont call me a bitch anymore, his mother said.

It is a power beyond your hatred, she said. Obviously

How do you know, Troubleman said.
From what happened, she said.
Troubleman thought for a moment. Yes, he almost saw it, too, this power. But,
what was it?
What is it? he demanded. Where does it come from?
I dont know, his mother said.
You know, his mother said.
I dont, she said and walked away sadly.
Troubleman fell to the ground weakly, put his hands in his head, and
breathed. Now, he was alone, very alone, and he could hear his solitude floating
away in the lost wind.

Chapter 2
Whatever power it was, Troubleman was going to find it and make it his.
Whatever it was, he wanted it. The castle was so empty even the birds stopped
singing in the morning and just a drop of water could shatter the room. The servants
were gone and the court left forever. Forever. There was so much silence in his room
the morning he woke, the sound felt so eerie he almost went crazy thinking about
the emptiness, like he was dropped in to outer space to just fall and fall in to
nothingness endlessly. He had to speak aloud, to think, to say it in order to fill the

void. To stop himself from going mad he had to speak, he said as he rose from his
bed naked and looked out the window.
There was nobody on the streets. The townspeople had packed up their
belongings and left. A single piece of paper floating down the cobbled streets looked
like the loneliest thing in existence and a silence followed it that Troubleman could
almost hear from his room that was as haunting as death. What went wrong, and
how? I mean, she betrayed him. How could his court turn against him after they
listened to him for all these years? She betrayed him. In all his life, Troubleman
never knew a power greater than himself. Now he knew it existed, but what was it?
It was invisible, so it could not be caught or even bought. It could not be seen or
touched. How sneaky that you could not see it, and yet it moved you and controlled
you, Troubleman thought to himself laughing at the manipulative nature he himself
would use. He almost had a hidden respect for the power because it looked in many
ways like him, cunning and manipulative, but it said different things, it moved in
another way. It moved through the court so quickly it captured everybody and
changed them. It changed them spontaneously and so drastically: an earthquake
you could not see coming, in one moment everything destroyed, you, never the
same person again. And yet, he wasnt hurt, he was suddenly thrilled to have an
enemy even in his sadness and weakness, this power that spoke against his
authority. He was enthused by its mystery, the battle, a worthy opponent, because
now he knew it would be war: a war he knew he would fight alone. A war he knew,
he felt with everything he was, he would win.
But, how to win how would he win his life back? What was this power? Who
possessed it? And how did the court have it, but he did not? Was it simply a matter
of telling them what they wanted to hear? To tell them he had empathy for his wife?

No, no it wasnt. Hed never do that. But, they sided with her. It was a sort of war
they fought, him and his wife, and he didnt want to admit it, but she won. But,
how? She couldnt have done it herself, could she have? The flower, Troubleman
thought. Godly gave it to her. Her wife said the flower was from Godly. Was it Godly
that moved through the people? Who was this Godly and how did he strike? Nobody
had ever seen him or met him. Nobody knew who he was and most people thought
he didnt really exist. He was simply a figment of their imagination. But, maybe he
wasnt, Troubleman thought. I mean his mother claimed that Godly was his father,
the father who left him and now the father that betrayed him, and went against
him? Was that it, the man who abandoned him abandoned him again, but why? Why
did he hate him so much? Was he to go to war with his Dad? Maybe he should.
Maybe he should show him how much he hurt him and this was his chance. He
needed more answers, more answers he couldnt answer himself. But, who? Who
could answer these questions, when nobody could? They tried, they argued, they
fought and tried and debated, but never could answer their pain. Then it came to
him, Lulsa the psychic. She sometimes predicted the future, but she was sometimes
way off. Maybe she would know what this power was and how it stopped him. She
could be wrong, and lead him in a very wrong direction, but she may be able to
help. Was she still in New York City, on planet Earth? He would have to travel there.
It was a chance, but she was his only hope. He would try it. He would try anything to
get his life back. And something was pulling, pushing him to New York City, but he
didnt know why. It was this unexplainable force guiding him to the city. If this was
war, he would fight, he said to himself as he put invisible armor on his heart in order
to conceal it and prepared to battle.
Chapter 3

When he stepped in to the open air he heard a million wild and frantic birds.
They were crazed and wild, dancing in the air and singing as if they would die if
they did not. The song was urgent, desperate even, and it seemed to stretch for
miles without end and shatter the air. The sky was many shades of grey, and stones
of dark clouds stilled the air around them because even in the chaos, they could not
be moved. The wind was dancing erratically, twirling spontaneously and chaotically.
Newly released from its prison, free and uninhibited, the wind pulsed fearfully like
an irregular heartbeat against his skin. When he felt it he moved into it, and he felt
exalted for a moment, like a king. It was almost as if he was being seduced in to a
song and uplifted in the air where he ran powerfully controlling the grass, the sky:
her unknown body, her smile from miles away. Her, who was she? Why was she now
calling for him?
His body tore against the wind. The birds circled above him as if to crown him
again, and he and the weather fought all the way to the pink house. He looked
around. Besides the birds there was no sound on earth. What was happening around
him that he didnt know about, when this seemed all that was, but it wasnt?
The house was so quiet he wondered if anyone lived there, but he already
knew she was inside, waiting for him with her cup of coffee and cigarettes, knowing
before they spoke he would be there. The birds lined before him and began to sing
sweetly, ushering him to the house. As he walked, they opened their wings and
bowed their heads before him. One brave female child bird flew to him, bowed her
head before the King, and kissed him on the lips. He slapped her away angrily. She
blushed, running mischievously to her mother and laughing.

He didnt knock as he opened the door. She knew him well and wouldnt
mind. When he opened the door she was standing there ready for him, familiar, yet
different: a cup of coffee in one hand, a half lit cigarette in the other, silver gray hair
- long, uneven, and knotted. She had no teeth and soft wrinkles that could have
been the pages of an unwritten book, bright red lipstick, painted pink on her cheeks,
a beauty that couldnt be seen by many but was seen by him at that moment, and a
sparkle on her skin more precious than diamonds. If he told her she was shining she
would tell him he was full of baloney. She wouldnt believe she was still beautiful. He
knew her. He knew her chants, her love affair with the moon, her yearning for home,
her memory, a long nightgown that was bright with every shape and color of the
rainbow on it, a big yellow bow in her hair, and ash of the crucifix still on her
forehead.
You knew I was here, he said.
The birds, she said.
I guess Im famous here, he said.
Nobody knows you but them and me, she said.
Then you know why Im here, he said.
I heard, she said.
The kingdom is gone, he said.
She smiled, pulled out her hand. Sit, she said.
They sat at a table with wild flowers on it. There were paintings, shrines, and
manuscripts that covered every corner of her wall. The room was dark, lit by a

single candle that created shadows on the wall that seem to laugh at him. Haunting,
degrading even, he thought. It was a long time since he had seen her, a thousand,
maybe a thousand and a thousand years. She was always old looking even a
thousand years ago. Her skin looked like it was made of the lines of trees, like codes
no one could read, but something deep in them, there, was so old. Yet she still
danced like a firecracker, and played the piano like she was making love to it, and
went for long walks to different countries, and talked to the animals, and prayed to
the moon, who she said, kept her secrets. Nobody knew she was that old, and she
might be older, but he knew her, he knew her well, and she knew him. They have
always known each other.
How you been, Troubleman said.
Dont give me that crap, she said.
What, Troubleman said.
Youre lucky Im a forgiving woman, she said.
Did my wife talk to you, he said.
We talked, she said.
Where is she? he said.
I dont know, the old psychic said. She died.
Shes dead, he said. After all that.
You can say she died, the psychic said.
Now or in a few years, he said.

She has forgotten who she is, the physic said. So, shes dead and another
woman has been born.
Now why does life work that way, Troubleman said. Tell me where she is.
I cant, the psychic said. I dont know. Like I said, she died.
When I find her, no forget her. Tell the bitch to rot in hell. You know what
happened in my kingdom. This power the townsmen speak of, I came to find out
what it is, and how to obtain it.
Do you really want your kingdom back? Or yourself back. Everyone that
comes to earth forgets what they want.
Forgets what? the king said.
Forgets everything, the old psychic said. Where they are from, who they
are. Everyone forgets, except me and you.
Dont play mind games with me you old bitch.
Like I said, the psychic said. Youre lucky Im a forgiving woman. After
these thousands of years. How could we have answers, if we have forgotten my
King?
Forgotten what? the King said. Who are you?
I am her, the physic said.
Who? he said.
She smiled.

Then Troubleman feeling crazed took the woman by the throat and pinned
her to the wall while she was still in her chair.
Tell me what you know, he said.
I know nothing, she said coolie. The power you speak of cant be defined
or obtained. I dont know what it is and I cannot get it for you. You need to get it
yourself.
Then she slapped his hand off her throat, and kicked him in the stomach so
hard he tumbled over. Then she grabbed his hands at the back of his neck and
pinned him to the floor so hard her strength shocked even her. He had gone crazy.
He lost his mind some time ago and everyone knew he did. They knew why. They
knew to be cautious, but she didnt care. She was not taking this from him anymore.
Listen you spoiled monster, she said. You need to see the Queen of the
Dance. She has what you need. Shes in the city. Just ask around, youll find her.
And dont ever lay your hands on me again.
She let go of Troubleman gently, and he rolled over in pain and defeat. What
the hell was happening here, an old lady was kicking his ass? What was the world
coming to? Troubleman was holding in his anger.
In the city, he questioned. Queen of the dance.
Yes, she said. And dont come back.
Why are you mad at me? Troubleman said sadly. Im sorry.
Go, she said, turning away not able to look at him anymore.

Troubleman caught an annoying fly in the air, and while she was not looking,
he put it in her coffee. Then he went to the doors.
Wait, the old lady screamed. Look, and she grabbed something and held
it softly in her hands.
What? Troubleman said.
Look, she said. She opened her hands and held a few baby strawberries.
Look.
Food, Troubleman said, and he took one and devoured and then spit it out.
Disgusting.
Disgusting, the old lady said. Do you know what this is?
No, Troubleman said. Well, she said looking out the window. Neither do
they, she said as she pointed to the world outside.
Why, Troubleman said.
They are yours, she said. You made these.
I did, Troubleman said.
You did, she said and he was gone, sleeping deeply in a bed on the 36 th
floor of an old high rise building on 42 nd street.
The prostitutes downstairs were fighting over money with a customer on the
street downstairs. The cab drivers were beeping loudly. Cars were screeching.
People were laughing and talking. All their screams startled and shook his body. His
body answered them angrily and fearfully, but his eyes never opened for a week. A

cat sat by his side quietly and stoically, watching over him, knowing what he could
never know.
Chapter 4
He woke up and past a mirror and was stunned and frightened by what he
saw. A stranger was in his body. His skin was a deep dark brown color and his hair
was black. His skin used to be bright blue, with yellow eyes, but now his eyes were
black as the night and his skin was the color of earth. He tried to wash himself,
thinking it was dirt, but it didnt come off. He washed again, nothing. How strange. It
was stained. He looked again, what had he become? It looked strange, strangely
dark and mysterious. Even his eyes were hidden, as if made to be secrets somehow;
and yet so strikingly beautiful they could capture someone and not let go. Big,
defined arms, like his own, ripe chest, strong, massive shoulders, but dark skinned.
Black and mysterious. Where was he? Looking at his own body strangely and
inquisitively, this strange world around him, he didnt know anymore. He looked
around. There were pictures, modern art on the wall of lovers that looked fragile yet
strong, the man, the bullet that couldnt kill him scarring his right cheek. The war
couldnt kill him, but lost love did. It killed him so tragically beautifully. Her sleeping
body in his arms lost; the tears he couldnt shed dripping off a flower next to him as
he stared at her longingly. There was death in his own eyes, so human, so sad, so
tragically beautiful. Who was the painter? What did the dream mean? The rose, the
rose in his kingdom, he remembered it: her, his unfaithful wife, the magical power
he couldnt have. He got angry, enraged really. It was too much anger to contain in
his big body. The mirror cracked spontaneously even though he made no movement
or sound. He looked at the mirror; it felt his thoughts. He was lost now. He was in
pieces. Gone forever.

There was thunder outside on a hot summer day. A curtain rapidly snapped
open, a car alarm went off after a flash of lightning hit it, a dog barked frantically,
the sun came in like an old lost friend and hugged his face, and the cat smiled. He
slapped him away angrily. The cat jumped fearfully and hid. He hated to see anyone
smile. Their smiles disgusted and angered him so deeply he thought he could
destroy them every time they laughed. He would slap the smile off them until they
felt his pain. He noticed; he had not seen the sun in years. It amazed him for a
moment. Touched him. It looked like a rare jewel shimmering against the window.
More beautiful than a pretty woman. He pounded his fist on the table and it broke it
in half. He threw a statue of a goddess across the room. It shattered, then moments
later, pieced itself together again in the air. He shouted -loud, piercing- so powerful
he tumbled over and fell to the ground. A daisy bloomed right on the floors wood
from the stumble. Rows of wheat appeared out of nowhere in hungry war torn Africa
he never heard of. An inspired man gave a bum a hundred dollars on the street
below him. He grabbed the daisy and tore it to pieces and threw it out the window.
It landed whole in a middle aged womans hair, startling her. She grabbed it and
laughed. She was smiling all day, like it was a small miracle from heaven. The flower
made her happy, just happy. He looked on the floor. There was food for him already
made: eggs, bacon, and toast. He devoured it, eating it like a beast with his hands
and mouth, letting the eggs drip on his face. Damn that flower and the man who
made it. He heard young girls laughing and a baby cry downstairs in the distance
-cars, screams, police sirens, chaotic walking, uninterrupted chatter that you
couldnt understand- where was he? It was making him crazy. Really crazy. Whose
body was he in? Whose world? He looked up. He was in a world with a sun, he
thought. The light meant some things could not be hidden now.

They lived in darkness for years in his kingdom, but who cared about that
now. The darkness was fine. They were used to it. The townspeople didnt seem to
mind. The darkness hid the storm when it came. It hid death when it came. It hid
their bodies when they got weak and sick. It made it easier to suffer and die, just
give up. If they enjoyed life, dying would be hard. It would be hard to let go of the
ocean, to say goodbye to the summer breeze, to leave laughter or dancing, but
since they were dark and depressed all the time dying came like a sort of friend that
helped them through their troubles. He remembered the feeling of feeling weak and
giving up once, and then he woke again surprised that the earth moved under him
and the ocean still swayed. Surprised at his own strength. Secretly, he too liked the
ocean like she did, but he would never tell her. He kept many things from her. It was
when the drought came and there was no more food. He saw a young child die
across the street. He knew; it was death that made it all dark. Who was he dying for
anyway, he thought? Was it for them? Was it for me? Who was this world for?
Enough nonsense. Enough questions. Philosophy, questions that have no right to be
answered, could make a mans head spin and burst. He looked around the room, he
wanted to burst. He wanted to tear off his clothes maybe, throw the radio across the
room and smash it to pieces because the song was interrupting and invading his
internal rhythm of anger and revenge. Dont sing anymore, dont play he begged.
The music is shattering me. Its discordant. Its invading me; filling me with
frustration. I belong to the thunder, but why? Why now? What would he do now? He
didnt know, so he decided to take a walk. A long walk to nowhere he had ever
been.
He was on the 4th floor and jumped out the window because he couldnt
figure out how to work the elevator. He landed on his feet and hands and sprang like

a wild cat on the concrete. The people on the street stared at him oddly and
insulted by his rudeness and kept walking. They made annoyed faces at him. He
growled at them and they scattered, thinking him crazy. He walked to the corner like
a zombie with tunnel vision, not looking at anybody or noticing them, even though
there were thousands of people walking on the street and traffic everywhere. He
bumped in to at least three people violently, walking like a bomb that would destroy
anything in its path, and they all looked at him insulted, making nasty comments
and giving him the Fuck you finger. He didnt care or notice them. When he got to
the corner he started walking left across the street, not waiting for the traffic light
as cars swerved and cursed him out. Then in the middle of his journey he turned
around and went the other way.
Why was here, he thought, as he violently pushed against a skinny man at a
raging pace. The man was startled. He tumbled and fell in to a woman walking just
behind him. She tripped over him and fell to the ground. Her brown messy hair
hung in her face and her blue eyes were frightened. She looked up at Troubleman
who kept walking away. The skinny man who touched her jumped back instinctively,
seeing who she was, and wiped his hands like she had a disease. He huffed, rolled
his eyes, and scurried away, not even helping her get up. The people around her
looked at her with charging disgusted eyes. They all knew who she was. Everyone
knew who The Queen was in New York City. One dark haired man, small and
muscular, hollered at her and started pushing her down as she tried to lift her weak
body from the dirty, stained, piss smelling concrete.
Can I get fuck tonight, Queen? Or are you playing hard to get again? he
said.

Leave me alone, she said, scared.

Oh, come on, the man said. Just one lick, he said holding his penis. I
know you know how to please a man.
Get away from me, she said.
No, the man said with evil eyes.
Im not working tonight, she said, trying to fix her dress because it was
revealing parts of her underwear.
Why would you touch an ugly thing like her, the mans friend said. Just
look at her. Shes disgusting.
Cant see her if you fuck with your eyes closed, the guy laughed, and as
she tried to rise to get away, pushed her down again.
She tried to get up again, but the man pushed her down again, teasing her
and jostling her. His friend besides him started throwing French fries at her face and
laughing. She looked scared and weak, very scared. He reached down and grabbed
her breasts and shook them and she didnt fight the touch even though it disgusted
her.
Come on Queenie, the man said. You know you want it.
Get off me, she hissed softly. Youre hurting me.
No whore, he said. This is my block and I touch what I want. Fucking
whore. Fucking ugly whore from hell. Youd be lucky to suck my cock.

She was shy and plain looking, with a quiet and modest personality, yet she
was wearing tight, revealing, sexual clothes that showed her breasts and legs. The
man started jumping around mimicking hellish orgasms and his friend was laughing
at him. She finally got up and tried to walk away while he was distracted by his own
stupidity, but her heart was pounding and it was weakening her body so much she
could barely carry it. She was scared, very scared, but she was always scared in this
world. She walked around permanently afraid. Everything scared her now: the rain,
a strange man on the street that wanted to talk, even the birds scared her. There
was no peace here. She was used to the abuse, used to being slapped and called
names, used to being harassed and chastised on the street now, but every day she
still hoped that one day it would just miraculously stop, even though it never did.
She lifted her scared body up, flattened her dressed embarrassed by the exposure,
and forced herself to walk forward even though she felt weak.
Hey whore, the man screamed behind her. Whore, do I get a lap dance
tonight or what?
Maybe, she said, faking a flirty forced smile in her job voice even as she
knew and understood their eyes: empty, charging, degrading, on her vulnerable
body. They were monsters. All of them were monsters.
Well, he said angrily and arrogantly, hating her passionately. Its a maybe
from the Queen. Then he turned and laughed at his friend. Its a maybe. But
when he turned and looked around again, she was gone.
Chapter 5

As she walked in to her small modest apartment she cursed herself for not
putting on her makeup before she went out. She couldnt help it. She was in a rush
to go to the bookstore. Her favorite author, Rosy Amor, had a book that came out
today and she couldnt wait to read it. She had errands to run that morning -new
ties for her show, pick up vodka for the wild cat that came to visit her everyday,
exercise, chants, and yoga, and buy sexy underwear . She didnt have time to do it
all and get the book. It typically took an hour and half to put the makeup all over
her body. She did it every day while she went out to hide herself from the crowds,
knowing someone would say something and that she would be harassed. One day it
was a golden shade, another day, a rusty orange brown, another a deep black on
her skin. She spent the hour putting the make up all over her body but she learned
in this world with a sun that the sun revealed everything. She rushed out of the
house thinking her long hair would hide her if she kept it messy in her face, but then
that man knocked her over and the guys on the street saw her. Everyone knew who
the Queen was. God this world was evil, she thought, but she never knew why. Ever
since she started dancing men and women harassed and bullied her, even though
many enjoyed the show and came from all over the world to see her. Men would
demand sex or call her a whore, but she was still unsure what she did to them.
She was 23 years old. She was in New York City with no friends, no family,
and no memory of anybody ever in her life. Her only friend was the cat who began
coming to her window everyday about three months ago, so she really didnt know
much about this world. She remembered seeing a lightning storm for the first time
and being thrilled by it, then just an apple that excited her even though she didnt
know what to do with it, then an airplane overhead that knocked her over yet left
her inspired. Now she became used to it all: gun shots on the street, mean people

that taunted you, and the thieves around her who stole her tips at work. She
thought everybody woke up one day in an unknown evil world at 23 years old and
had to guess how to survive in it. So when she saw a child on the street it left her
sad. Sad because they were so small, and this world was so tough. Sad because she
thought maybe she was a child once, somewhere, but she didnt know where.
She quickly got ready for work and put a scarf over her face to conceal
herself. What a strange world it was. As she walked down the street a womans skirt
flew up over head to reveal her underwear and a man flew quickly from across the
street in the air and landed under her, face up to her privates. An old mans hand
started swinging uncontrollably and then slapped a womans ass. The woman
screamed and slapped his face. Then her hand started to moved up and down
uncontrollably and slapped his ass. Then he screamed. They looked in to each
others eyes, laughed, and slapped each others breasts hard. A young student was
walking and a woman fell from the sky and in to his arms, then they kissed without
any control over their own bodies. One man danced right in to a young womans
lap. He grabbed her breast, she grabbed his ass. He pulled her hair; she screamed
and bit his shoulder. He screamed; then they started fondling each other, rubbing
up and down each others bodies. People were tripping and flying into kisses,
embraces, and fornication right on the street. Everyone was shocked, yet
surprisingly pleased. What was happening?
She walked cautiously wondering, a man flew in to her and she threw him off
her and scurried by timidly. Then she looked to the left. The strange man who
pushed her over, the Black man, was pacing back and forth under a tree talking to
himself. She stared, appalled. He punched the invisible air, again and again, then
punched his own face. Then he punched the air again, and every time he punched a

store window cracked, ten birds fell from the sky and died on the ground, or an
unsuspecting woman was disrobed, humiliated, crying, and naked on the street.
He was, she thought, a monster: tremendous and out of his mind. She
couldnt take her eyes off of him. His body was controlling her, overpowering her. He
felt her stare and turned around to see her. She saw his still face: strikingly beautiful
and captivating. It was like a lightning storm: dangerous, fatal, and yet startling
magnificent, but she didnt know why. She didnt know why he was so beautiful. He
seemed out of place here, like he didnt belong, and yet nobody around her noticed
him. When they did notice him, he wasnt beautiful to them, he was a madman. He
was equivalent to a bum on the street. Ugly even, with a face that scared them and
a touch that could kill. They jumped out of the way, walked on to the other side of
the street when he passed, used napkins to touch him, and kept conversations
short. He saw her stare and became angry. Her face was covered. The only thing he
could see was her eyes. They were filled with a deep fright. She was telling him
something in the distance neither of them could understand. Her heart began to
pound more and more rapidly. Fear was creeping up all over her body and telling her
to get out of there quickly. A car swerved on to the sidewalk and almost hit her. She
jumped out of the way startled. He smiled and turned away from her, continuing to
punch the air as parts of the sky and pieces of buildings dropped around them. She
was appalled, angry, and rushed to her job thinking a thousand thoughts a minute.
She stopped when she saw a rainbow crowning the doors of the club. She walked
under it confused. She walked to her dressing room without telling anyone what she
saw and told herself to forget it. It was nothing. She sighed, wondering if she just
saw what she just saw. The cat was there with her dress ready in his mouth. She

smiled, knowing now she forgot it. The cat pulled up her hair while she put it on, but
she couldnt get Troubleman out of her mind.
The newspapers and TV news came right away. The police came with their
guns, but many of them were being lifted in to uninhibited fondling and kisses with
unsuspecting girls. When they saw Troubleman acting enraged, they thought he was
afflicted too and paid him no mind. Troubleman was boxing a balloon in a tortuous
battle. He would punch the evil balloon and the balloon would slam back and hit in
the face hard. The encounter was happening over and over again because
Troubleman didnt know what the balloon was. He punched it until Troubleman
realized the balloon could not be defeated. He had not ever seen a balloon before in
his life and he could not figure out what it was, this enemy. This red ball of
imprisoned air that attacked him out of nowhere. It was beginning to really piss him
off and he battled harder and more angrily, his face enraged and turning red even
through his dark skin, his skin sweating, but every time he punched the balloon the
balloon punched back. He was confused, startled. It was so weak, weightless, and
yet it had so much strength and endurance. What was it? What was it made of, he
wondered?
Nobody knew what was going on, and they were in a frenzy; running back
and forth frantically until they were lifted in to a kiss. The only people who were not
afflicted were those who stood a few feet from the park and watched until they were
seduced too. Boys and men alike heard about it in the newspapers and started
running for Central Park from their Uptown and Downtown apartments. Lonely for
most of their lives, they were hoping to steal a kiss from a pretty girl or at least get
to touch her. Women were crying and frantic in front of their TVs, holding each
other up, feeling violated and outraged. What was happening to New York City?

It was chaos. Blue was turning orange and rain was becoming light. A woman
went in to a coffee shop nearby and asked for a coffee, light, with three sugars and
the man turned and came back with a piece of paper.
What is this? the woman asked in her typical annoyed, rushed, and
frustrated New York City accent.
Its what you ordered. He said.
I ordered a coffee, she said.
Oh, OK, the man said. He turned around and came back with another piece
of paper and handed it to her. She looked down annoyed.
What the hell is going on here, she yelled at the counter guy. Is there no
good service around here? Do you even speak English? Godly its so annoying these
immigrants come here and think they can work. Can someone else help me please?
Get your manager. I want to talk to your manager.
Its what you ordered mam, the man said getting annoyed.
I dont have time for this, the woman yelled. She looked down at the paper.
It was a surreal picture of a rose, with a thousand colors and swirls so beautiful
there was no way they could be found anywhere on earth. Then the other paper. It
was blank. She looked, got more pissed, ripped it up, and tossed it on the counter.
What is this crap? she demanded. What am I supposed to do with this?
Your coffee, the man at the counter said getting agitated. You write your
story on it.

Is this a joke? Can someone with some kind brains get me my coffee?
The manager came over and asked her what the problem was?
I come in here every day and order a coffee, she said. But this man
doesnt know what a coffee is.
The manager left, and returned with a piece of paper. She looked down. It
read, Someone is madly in love with you.
She laughed. Is this a joke? she asked. Can I just get a coffee please? Im
in a rush. I dont have time for this. Im married. Can I please get a fucking coffee?
She got so angry she cursed. She never cursed.
The manager turned around. The people behind her sighed great sighs and
complained. They were looking at their watches and rolling their eyes.
I cant go without my morning coffee, she said. The manger came back with
a flower.
Here, he said, throwing it at her violently, Is this what you want?
No, she screamed crazily. What is going on here?
The manager was obviously angry and frustrated. He grabbed her by the shirt
from the across
the counter and screamed in her face like a madman, his face sweating and red
with rage, his veins protruding, his hands and lips shaking with anger: When I see
you, I hear Romantic Spanish guitars you bitch. I dream of oceans and moonlight in
your eyes. I think I can fly forever. If you dont understand what Im saying, then

maybe I should speak louder so you can hear it. This is what you ordered bitch.
Love.
Enraged and insulted at his aggression, the woman pushed the manager off
of her and stormed out the doors, screaming that she would never come back to
this coffee shop again. As she opened the doors, a man came flying at her. She
ducked. He landed on a woman behind her face first in her breasts.
Oh my God, the woman said. The world is officially ending. She started
running past the chaos, dodging people flying in the air and fornicating with each
other like sexual bombs set off everywhere. She ran so fast, furiously, and blindly
she smashed right in to Troubleman. She knocked him down violently. A piece of
paper that was stuck to her butt, dropped, flew in mid-air, and eventually fell on his
face. Troubleman was unconscious for 5 minutes. He woke and didnt know what
happened. He could not see. All he saw was white. He felt confused and felt his
face. It was a piece of paper covering his eyes. He took it off his face and looked at
it. It read: Im madly in love with you.
It would take him time to figure out what that meant, he said to himself. Love,
he never heard of that word before. He thought he knew all the words in the English
language, but he didnt know that one. Looking at it, it looked meaningless, like
scribbles from childs bad painting. It was empty, there was nothing in it, no feelings
or emotions attached, no memories, no picture, and yet he knew madly. He knew
what mad meant. I am madly, he said to himself. And then In (blank) with you.
Then he heard fireworks blast off like bombs everywhere, to the right and to the left
of him in the sky exposing a thousand fiery colors in the air. He took them for

weapons and not a celebration, ducked behind the tree. He knew his enemy, the
one with unseen powers that stole his kingdom, was near.
Troubleman figured this enemy was mad at him. Very mad. So mad they
wanted to kill him, battle him, go to war. That was why he was here. That was why
this world was so strange. Built for a battle. With, Love. He had a cunning enemy
this, this, this love. The worst kind of enemy, he thought. Manipulative, deceiving,
chaotic. It got you unaware. It punched left and right from blind places. Was that it?
Did love sign his name on the paper? But, what a coward love was, he thought.
Invisible. Never showed his face. Expresses his feelings like a woman on paper. To
weakly say he is mad at him. Who the hell cares that love is mad.
You want to see mad. Mad. Im pissed, said Troubleman.
He stopped. The power, the invisible power, he thought. The power that stole
his kingdom from him. Was it this love? Was that it? Did love steal his kingdom? But,
what was it? Who was he? And what did love want from him? He had to think
quickly before love attacked again, but how, when it attacked without warning?
When it had a much stronger weapon than a gun. When a gun could kill you once,
but love could destroy more places than it should. He was sure, love was mad at
him and his enemy. In order to defeat the enemy, he thought, you had to know him.
This was going to be hard, because he knew nothing about this Love, and he also
knew he would never know anything about it. He was here to find out. But, not only
find out, he attested, defeat Love forever. He felt unsure about himself for the first
time in his life. He didnt know the solution or tactic, he didnt have a plan, didnt
have an answer. This love, he said, was powerful. Very powerful. It moved manically,
capriciously. It might, it might, he thought, defeat him. He could not stand the

thought of losing again; it angered him so much he could punch the woman on top
of him who just fell from the sky and landed on his stomach, and he did.
He threw the miniature woman off of him like a madman and she fell to the
ground dazed and confused. She regained herself quickly and stood cursing him
rapidly in a language he didnt speak. Her voice was making him more crazy and
confused. He wanted to scream, Just shut up. Shut up, but he couldnt. He
couldnt even think. The woman was frantic because she lost her child in the chaos.
She was 5 foot 3 inches and attempting to knock Troubleman down with vulgar
intimidation, but he was a stone mountain that couldnt be moved.
Who you think youre punching buddy, the woman said clearly and angrily
in Troublemans face. Youre taking a big chance fucking with me.
Ill crush you like an aunt you midget, Troubleman said.
And Ill bite off your balls, she said.
Do you know who you are speaking to, Troubleman said. Ill send a twister
on your house and destroy you, but you wont die. Youll be transferred to world
where your only food is stale Holy Bread and a repeating and never ending Death
metal music that tortures you forever. And that wont be it. I will also make you
androgynous and insecure so you can live in torment, question yourself all the time,
and never fully know how to like YOU. Ill also make you a sex addict wanting,
needing, a mans dick with only women in your world until you go mad. Dont screw
me over little lady. You dont know who youre screwing.
The woman huffed. Her cheek swelled like balloons and she was turning an
odd reddish color all over her face. Troubleman really pissed her off and she had the

solution to get her revenge. I know what your problem is, she said now calmly and
sweetly. I can read it all over your face. If I was the type of woman who could
handle a man like you I would do it myself, but someone like you needs a little
more.
More, Troubleman said. Lady dont play games with me. Im losing my
patience with you.
I can tell. Its written all over your face. You need to get laid.
Laid, Troubleman said confused. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I
need to lie down in the past tense. What I need to rewind time and sleep? Thats
going to help me regain my kingdom? That is going to help me defeat this power
that is stalking me and hunting me down. This evil power, this very very very evil
and cunning power called Love that has utterly destroyed me. What are you really
saying to me? What are you really saying to me lady? I need lie down? Lie down and
die.
No, she said rolling her eyes, confused herself, not sure if Troubleman was
outwitting her when she was trying to outwit him. Listen to me. You need to have
sex. That is where all this pent up anger is coming from. You have to release it. You
need a womans body to help you.
Sex? Troubleman said. With you? He looked at the woman. She was at
least 40 years old, but she looked almost 70. Her body was unusually heavy,
uneven and unappealing built like full garbage bags. Her face was shaped like a
squeezed orange that wasnt sure of itself; her hips and butt were tremendous and
too large and dented for her body, making it appear like it was burdensome to walk

down the street. He looked, then he looked again. My god. She wasnt even human
in that form. She smiled and he saw three sharp white fangs, noticed some facial
hair, and a hair tail attached to her ass. Still Troubleman thought, well, maybe. She
did have a vagina, he thought. He could close his eyes. Did she have a vagina? He
looked again, now he wasnt sure. There was too much unsure body there. Maybe it
was hidden.
Not me, the woman screamed. The Queen. You need to see the Queen.
Then she smiled an evil knowing smile. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Everyone around town knew the Queen. She was getting her revenge.
Troubleman stopped at the sound of her name. The Queen.
The Queen, he said. Yes, Ive been meaning to see her.
You have, the woman said surprised.
Yes, Troubleman said. Where is she?
Just follow the song, the woman said.
And that is when he heard it. A song that was their song alone and it was with
him now, carrying him to her.
The song seduced him. He could not say no to it. He was pulled by it blindly
and it was carrying him down the street, even though it said and did nothing. It
could have been a violin, but it wasnt. It could have been anything, but it wasnt. It
had this power, this power to persuade his body, his thoughts, and his movements.
Or he was too weak with anguish and it was carrying him, carrying him to her? As
he passed them, people stopped what they were doing in motion and became still.

The chaos around them slowly stifled and fell to silence. Even the clock refused to
speak. Something in them knew something was happening, but they werent sure
what was happening. Something in them knew the world just changed secretly, but
they werent sure why. They looked around, but nothing was there, not even the
song anymore. There was an overwhelming, haunting silence around them that held
them, and changed them forever.
Troubleman walked to the corner entranced, not sure of where he was. He
turned. Everything was cloudy, unsure. Blue was orange. A square was a heart. A
heart could not fit in to anything, not even a body. A heart was a building, the hands
that built it, the family it fed. It spread, spread out forever. Past the ocean. Past the
stars. Past understanding. Flowers were not silent. A drum was really no sound. The
thought of nothingness. The birdsong was real silence; something under it that
defined and held it that he could never touch. He reached for it, the silence. He
yearned for it. Know me, it said. Know me. But he couldnt.
I walked ten thousand years to know you, she said.
Who was she? He looked around. The street was a color and a dream: a
thousand colors that yearned to belong to something, but couldnt. So the colors
scattered, confused. Red on fruits, but should it be there? Blue married to the sky.
How things changed rapidly and forgot. People moved the wrong way. They said the
wrong things. They wanted what he couldnt give. It didnt happen. It never
happened. It was a song that begged him to understand, but he couldnt. A song
was a prison. It could only be one thing, but it could be everything. A second was
forever and forever was a memory, not a future. The future written in the past. The
tear that didnt mean to be what you thought. The smile that meant to say

something else. Sadness. I dont want you to share it with me. Hope in the
hurricane. A hurricane was somebodys lost tragedy: their anger, their tears, their
loss. Their forgotten voice. A pissed off earth. A punch. An injustice. They couldnt
see it, but he could see it now. He could see it all. She was gone. It was dark. A
cloud was an eye. The trees had eyes and answered him as he past. As he entered
them, they were no longer trees but pages. No longer pages, but something to
keep. A story. I was here. I heard you. People were pages of a book. Not them. Not
what he ever thought. It was all a dream. Evilbum. The rose. His second wife. Gone
but not gone. A dream. He couldnt get rid of them, even though he tried. He
couldnt kill, even though he tried. She was in their eyes when they looked at the
ocean. She was in their embrace. She was in them when they smiled at their child.
He saw it, but they didnt. She was here, here to see him. She was in them now.
Everything reminded him of her even though he tried to deny it. The memory and
chaos came back to him. They were alone. He walked through ten thousands books
to see her: adventures, wars, horrors, romances, sicknesses, eternity, and death.
And there she was and all he could feel was anger. The birth of fire.
When they saw him pass, people bowed their heads in honor, sadly, and
lowered their eyes. The birds followed in unison, but humbly did not sing. They were
acting as some kind of protection for him, but they knew he didnt need that now.
Nobody would harm him. She was there. The men standing there were acting as
protection too, so that he would get to her. They werent sure where he was going,
but they knew it was important. The women yearned to touch him, hold him, but
didnt. They all felt bad for him, knowing he lost his mind. They didnt cry, but their
bodies did. Their bodies couldnt help it. It meant that hope was lost for all of them.
It meant more than hope, but they couldnt bear to speak of it. It was too fragile to

touch, and they understood themselves now, they knew they were not careful. They
blamed themselves, but it wasnt their fault. It confused them. It was never their
fault.
Troubleman stopped at the door. His eyes were blank and he could barely feel
the bouncer stop him.
You sure you want to go in there? the bouncer said.
What do you mean? Troubleman asked interrupted.
People that go in there dont come out alive, the bouncer said.
Then why would they go in? Troubleman asked.
The thrill I guess, the bouncer said. I gotta warn the men before they go
in. Its policy.
Why? Troubleman asked.
I dont know, the bouncer said. Some men are fine, but for others, shes
like a drug to them. She takes them to ecstasy somehow. Then they crash and need
more and more. Seen some men go nuts.
Really, Troubleman said. And some are immune?
Yes, but do you really want to take the chance? the bouncer said. Its
policy to warn the men before they enter these doors. Weve seen quite a few
tragedies here.
She takes them to ecstasy. Is she a prostitute? Troubleman said.

The bouncer laughed. No, he said. Shes a dancer. A dancer from another
world.
What world? Troubleman said.
Nobody knows, the bouncer laughed.
You think I cant handle a woman? Troubleman said. Is that what youre
telling me?
The bouncer rolled his eyes. They all say the same thing, he said. Its your
life.
Troubleman pushed through the bouncers hands and opened the doors, not
understanding what he just opened.
When he walked in the scent of exotic flowers hit him. He imagined colors. It
gave him for the first time a relaxing and soft feeling he was not comfortable with,
but as he looked around there were no flowers. It was the opposite. There were men
of all kinds, fat and tall, rich and poor, clean and dirty, sitting quietly at small tables.
The room was dim and dark and their features and faces were barely visible. Each
man you could tell was here alone. Troubleman could sense this by the sluggish and
lonely way they sat at the tables and how they spoke to the man beside him. Each
man had a drink of liquor in front of him. There was a small dark stage in front and
the tables were circles around the stage. The stage was silent and empty, and so it
seemed were the men. They were talking, but no sound was coming out of their lips.
Troubleman wondered how they understood each other. In fact, the whole room was
completely silent. You couldnt hear when a man coughed or hiccupped. There was
no rustle to clothing or clicking of glasses. There was no drum for laughter, no violin

for melancholy, no rain for the sound of sleep. There was nothing. No sound on
earth that revealed them. Not even anger spoke. Not even the gun. Nothing.
Troubleman looked around for a seat. There were none available. There was a
lonely silent man in every seat in the room. It seemed so ironic. To really be nothing.
Over here, a voice said, the only sound in the world.
Who said that? Troubleman asked.
Me, the voice said, and Troubleman followed the voice to below him.
It was a man in a hat and old brown business suit sitting at a table with one
other empty chair. He miraculously appeared because when Troubleman looked in
that direction before, the man and the seat didnt exist.
Who are you? Troubleman asked.
Im the writer, the man said.
And you know me, Troubleman said.
Of course I know you, the writer said. I created you.
You created me? Troubleman said. Why?
Because, the writer said. You wanted to be found.
Really, Troubleman said.
Yes, really, the writer said.
And what did you find in me? Troubleman asked.

An emptiness that could not be filled, the writer said. Come, sit. Have a
drink.
The waiter brought over a beer and Troubleman drank without preference.
The two sat silently not looking at each other for over twenty minutes. The room
was so silent Troubleman didnt even think and if the writer was thinking,
Troubleman didnt suspect it.
The Queen, the writer said. Do you know her?
Um, yes Troubleman, said. We have met before.
In Costa Rica, the writer said.
If you are the writer you should know, said Troubleman.
Well, the writer said. I dont know anymore.
We have met many times, Troubleman said. Once she was a Queen and I
was a slave. Once she was Blue and I was the sky. Once we fought in a war together
and they burned her in front of the whole town. Once she was an astronomer and I
was a star. Once she was a scientist and I was her wrong hypothesis. Once she was
a magic trick. Once she was a dancer and I was a song. Now, she is still a dancer
and I am no longer a song. I didnt know she was a dancer.
She has always been a dancer, the writer said. That I remember.
How could you not remember the Queen, Troubleman said.
We wrote her out of the book, the writer said. But, truth was, even
Troubleman didnt remember her. He didnt know what she looked like; he couldnt

tell you her secrets. He didnt even know what language she spoke. Now, he even
forgot his wife. All he knew was that this woman was a dancer and she made men
so crazy they had to be warned before they entered the club. Then he didnt think
about it anymore. He forgot everything. He forgot how to eat, what beer does to the
mind. He forgot his house, the writer, to look before he crossed the road. He forgot
his anger. He thought guns shot flower seeds and impregnated people and he
thought writers were made to fool people not teach them. He forgot the threat, his
enemy Love. The silence of forgetting embodied him and was everywhere. It took
on a color, a color of nothingness and looked and felt like forever. Then it was a
piano, a thousand pianos crying out in the room. The sound shocked his body and
he looked up, wondering where the threat was.
And there she was on the stage. Everything was dark. The only light in the
room was on her. At first she was still for minutes as if she was giving the men a
chance to admire her beauty, but they werent. They were impatient and a few
started throwing bottles and papers at her. A paper hit her and she lowered her
eyes shyly and self-consciously.
Why, Troubleman said to the writer, are they throwing things at her? But,
the writer didnt hear him. He was looking away.
How long was she standing there before Troubleman noticed her? Maybe
forever. Maybe she was standing there the whole time, nothing else ever happened
in existence, and he never noticed her. Maybe nothing happened before this
moment. This was the beginning, the opening of the sun. This was the first word
uttered that reached out. This was the making of a flower. The flower. He was
changed. And then it happened; through the stillness she moved her both arms

elegantly above her head, then like ribbons in the wind, snaked them outwardly and
continued to wave them up and down. Then she moved her leg in a twirl. It was a
graceful movement, the making of a tornado. Her hips took on the movement of the
sea and rocked up and down sexually while the music played. He could see now
how her body took the shape of guitar; inspired its making, he thought. Her body
took the shape of a fruit. Her dance took the shape of a fountain; there were
firecrackers in her hair. And she danced, summoning storm, on her toes, hips riding
in and out; summoning sex, summoning rain. She danced summoning heat and fire,
a jealous rage that destroyed the room. She danced summoning lightning, and her
whole body broke and cracked like that everywhere. She danced smooth up and
down in circles and cages - raging and twirling and tornadoes. It was enlightening
and enraging sexual.
They werent things around her, the King thought. An instrument, a fruit,
flowing water- they werent themselves. They were her. She was hidden in all of it.
He was telling them the whole time. This was her. This is why it was made. Her
childhood body the inspiration for a violin. Her hair like wheat. He took the black of
her eyelashes and colored coffee with it. He knew. She wasnt just dancing; she was
telling him who he was. He also knew; she had no idea what she was doing.
Bringing light.
She had powers she didnt know she had and so they were reckless.
Everywhere: misunderstood, chaotic. The music was as wild and chaotic as her, and
she broke with it. Her body was sensual and she was answering it with every
movement, flying from one corner of the stage to the other, summoning everything
on earth to rise. It wasnt just a dance. It was as if her arms were pulling him into
her. Her body was waking hurricanes; her body was waking his body to universes he

never knew existed. He could feel in his own body his heart move, being sculpted,
changing shape. His skin was darkening to a deeper Black. His legs grew and
stretched. His hair grew unapologetically. His hands; he looked and they were
stronger. There was a poem written there. It was simply beautiful. The most
beautiful thing he had ever seen, but he didnt know why as she danced and danced
across the stage, changing him. There was a sexual urge, and a meaning to his own
body he never knew existed. It pulled on him to craziness until he was dying to
release it, but he couldnt. He knew he couldnt. He had to at least ask her why her
eyes were blue when he thought they were brown. Why wasnt her hair red? He told
himself he wasnt affected.
He looked around the room. The men looked bored and impatient. Some were
sleeping. Others were yawning. Some were cursing in silence. They came here for
this, they complained. They threw more bottles at her. One hit her on her side and
she fell. It made Troubleman angry. He saw the guy who did it, got up and punched
him. The guy fell backwards, too afraid of the surprise punch to punch back. Then
Troubleman sat back in his seat. When he looked up, the girl was gone.
I want, Troubleman said in a daze to the writer. To see the Queen.
OK, the writer said, smiling. But, you cant touch her. If you touch her,
youll go blind.
Blind, Troubleman asked confused.
Yes, the writer said. Blind.
What kind of evil man are you, Troubleman said.

The writer laughed, paid for the drinks, and left. Everyone was gone. It was
just Troubleman in the room. He wouldnt touch her, he said. He simply had to ask
her a question. Why were her eyes blue and not brown like he thought they were?
Why was her hair straight and brown? The arc of her face, the curve of her tiny lips
he could still see from afar. The structure of her cheeks. God what could a fine line
do to a man? If put out of place, it could change the whole picture. It could change
meaning. Just one mistake could change all of fate. He had to ask her who she was,
and why he thought he already knew her, but he was scared. If he touched her,
even accidentally, she would be gone forever. Everything would be gone forever the paintings, the sea, light. He would go blind. God, how evil the writer was,
Troubleman thought angrily. Then he realized, maybe this writer was his enemy.
Maybe this writer was Love. He turned to find the writer who befriended him, to
beat him until he changed the terms of the story, to force him in to submission, but
he couldnt now because he was gone forever, too. Was that a sort of blindness as
well, to be somewhere, yet gone forever? How could the writer be so evil? How
could he make a dance for everyone, but not for him? How could he be so cunning?
Enough with this crazy talk, Troubleman thought, the girl was gorgeous, but not
worth the price of his eyes. Would he give his dick away and never fuck again for
the sins of the world when the tragedy of man is that he cant ever escape sin. It
was ridiculous, so ridiculous he started laughing hysterically out loud. He was in the
empty club. The laughter answered him and echoed. The walls were laughing too,
the seats were laughing so hard they almost peed their pants. The bottles were
hysterical. The whole world was laughing and then he heard it - she was laughing.
He turned. Yes, it was her. The dancer.
What are you doing here, he said.

I work here, she said from a distance. I noticed you on the lawn in Central
Park. You were having a fight with yourself.
I have an enemy, he said. That is trying to destroy me.
Oh, really, she said. Who is your enemy?
Love, he said.
Are you sure, she said.
Yes, he said.
Love is your enemy, she said.
Yes, he said. Then he was quiet. You are a whore, he said. It was a
challenge. You are weak. Youre so ugly the sun rises in this world just to reveal
you. We did not have a sun in my world. To hide you.
She didnt understand. It was the way they were in Evilbum. Their insults
were an act of love and the only thing they knew. They were sent to challenge and
train men for the heartache of the world. He wasnt sure if that is what he was
doing. Challenging her. He wasnt sure if he was angry with her, angry that she was
a risk and a threat to him.
I see, she said very hurt. Who you are?
You cant possibly see me, he said. Because I am not here.
Where the hell are you then, she said angrily. I dont know you.
He fed off her anger and grew more angry. Im in your tits, he said.
Slapping the shit out the world that fucked me over.

Your language, she said. We just met. Your words are grotesque.
Why were you laughing at me, he said angrily.
I heard you laughing, she said. As I was about to leave. Your laughter is
contagious. It was nothing funny. Just your laughter made me laugh. I came to see
who you are, but now I regret it.
Ill make you regret a lot more than just that, he said.
Really, she said. Is that a threat?
There is a threat, he said. If you enjoy me. Leave. Just leave now.
Dont worry, she said. I dont enjoy you.
Do you enjoy this, he said, dancing crazily around the room to make her
giggle one last time, but she didnt find it funny. She looked at him sadly, like he
was madman. He then began to push chairs and hump tables crazily, as she
watched from a distance in disgust. Then he got so crazy he fell over a table on to
his back. He laid his hands out like crucifix in defeat and for a moment realized how
crazy he was being.
Oh, my god, she said. Are you OK, and she ran over to help him.
No, he shouted, jumping up quickly. He took the table and pushed her away
with it knocking her down. Dont touch me, he said. You cant touch me. Just
dont touch me.

You animal, she said. Why did you hit me like that? I guess your beautiful
laughter is a devils trick. You invite people in with your smile and then tear them
apart. You must then agree with them. You must then know who I am.
I know who you are. You are the Queen, he said. But I have forgotten your
face. You were once, he said. My wife.
No, I wasnt, she said. Im a virgin. Im 18 years old. I never had a
husband.
You never had sex? he said. Never felt a mans touch?
No, she said. And in this evil world I dont want to, she said.
They throw things at you, he said. They call you a whore.
I know, she said.
Why, he said.
I dont know, she said.
Maybe. he said. Its the sexual way you dance.
It is not erotic. Its spiritual, she said. Should I be ashamed?
She grabbed a towel from the bar and went towards him. Here, she said
nervously. Youre bleeding.
No, he said, pushing the table on her again and knocking her down before
she touched him.

From the ground, she stood up, threw the towel at him and said, Youre just
like everyone else. Youre no better than anyone here. Youre not special like I
thought when I heard your laughter. And then she left angrily and he watched her
leave. His eyes were Black, endless, and sad. He knew her. They knew each other
from somewhere, but he didnt know where.
Chapter 5
She walked quickly, concealed by a scarf that draped her face. She told him
she was 18 years old. Why? I mean, she felt 18 -young, vulnerable, and still navebut was she? Just last week, she thought she was 23 years old, but she wasnt sure.
She wasnt sure of anything anymore. She could have been 70 years old, or 1,020
years old, she didnt know. Her face didnt reveal it. Her body didnt. She looked
about twenty years old - with youthful rosy white skin, mature fruitful breasts, bright
blue eyes, and straight brown hair that fell to her back- but how she looked was
never revealed to anyone. They saw ashen skin that changed and was often
deformed, uneven breasts, asymmetrical cheek bones, bad teeth, and a lanky and
thin body hidden under a changing form. Only she knew her own face. Her body was
not thin; it was round and fruitful around her breasts and hips, still full and bright
from youth. Really, she could be 6 months old for all she knew, but she looked like a
young woman. She had forgotten a past life; nothing came before the day she woke
up in her apartment wondering what the light switch was supposed to do. She lived
in the dark for three months until she finally saw somebody touch it and a light went
on. You dont see it as magically as she did because it is something you are used to,
but she giggled. It shocked her. She couldnt believe it. Just a light switch was like
magic. How could that just happen miraculously, a light moving on and off, she
remembered thinking turning it on and off while she laughed in joy.

Sometimes, she pretended to have a mother, and a father who drank vodka
on Fridays and golfed on Sundays, but that was made up. Maybe it was all made up.
Maybe even the cherries on the trees in Central Park were not there either, but
yearning for something beautiful in this mess, desiring beauty like it was some kind
of hope she possessed, he painted them here now for her to sit under. And she was
sitting in the midst of his painted dream. The cherries, those beautiful pink flowers:
they were evidence that something was good and beautiful in this world even in the
darkness and chaos she faced every day. Sometimes staring at them, they pulled
her out of that painful world if only for a moment. She touched a soft branch. She
felt it. It was there, real, but was she? She touched her arm and felt it pulse.
She stopped there, under the tree in Central Park by the lake out of
confusion. Because she was so confused in thought, she no longer knew what she
was doing. She was so flabbergasted, so lost in thought, she went down the wrong
street, made 7 wrong turns, and wound up under the tree completely lost even
though her apartment was three blocks away. It was night still when she stopped,
and she was so lost in thought she didnt know she stopped. She thought she was
still walking, but she wasnt. Her thoughts were moving, but she wasnt. The 3am
stars didnt exist because she didnt look at them, but they still hung in the sky
watching her closely, keeping all of her secrets. The hour seemed meaningless. The
world moved and changed around her and she did not move with it. Nothing on
earth is like that. Nothing stays 20 years old forever. She was still herself, although
hidden under make up that hid her now. Maybe that was why she used the makeup as a shield, to hide her, defend her. She knew this world all too well. She
remembered years that were not there as if she was there, wars she fought alone
that did exist in history books, one time love with a Spanish man who never spoke

her language and how their bodies spoke anyway. The Spanish man who played the
guitar discordantly and sang into her bedroom window every night so off key the
cats cried out for him to stop; she remembered him now. It was still him
Troubleman even then calling for her, even if it was in the wrong way. She knew it.
Still, it made her laugh and she loved it even more than if the song was pleasant
sounding because it made her laugh. She didnt know why.
They once told her she couldnt dance, and she thought, Could you tell the
sun not to shine because it reveals the war? It was the truth and they couldnt
face it. There was a court case. The prosecutor was trying to make her hips illegal
because although she was unaware of it, it made men wild. They couldnt
concentrate at work and businesses complained that after seeing her men seemed
lost and could no longer function at work. Some wound up in jail because their
desire was murderous and they were unable to control it any longer so much that
they started brawls at bars and tortured innocent young children with Brussels
sprouts. Others killed themselves with cigarettes, but still lived. They became bums
on the street and talked to themselves, arguing with their desire and punching their
own faces in a strange war they fought with themselves, while people stared as
they passed. Others wound up in mental institutions. The institution was the same
as prison only they were allowed to go out and smoke a few more times than in
prison. Why did it happen? She didnt know. She wasnt sure. The prosecutor didnt
know either, but he knew he had to do something. Ban her hips forever from New
York City. Kill her dance. So he wanted to make a law outlawing her hips. She would
have to cover her breast and hips while walking down the street, and it would be
illegal for her to perform anymore. He argued that when she walked down the
street, her hips caused car accidents and disrupted traffic. Men could no longer

keep their hands on the wheel and would crash in to the car ahead of them or hit
the old lady walking across the street. It was so odd to her. She wasnt used to it.
That her body was bigger than it appeared to be. The Supreme Court, being as
liberal as it is, deemed the law unconstitutional, because women in America had
human rights too. If a womans ass is exposed and distracting passer-byes then
pedestrians would have to take personal responsibility and close their eyes but
then they looked at her and saw it too. The danger: the power in her beauty. They
told her she must cover herself up while walking down the street. They claimed her
dance was a sort of freedom of speech, only the language was in her body not on
her lips. But, she didnt fully win the case. The court did order that men be warned
before entering the bar like she was a cigarette. They had to be told of the harmful
effects she could have on them. Most men didnt believe it, and they went inside
anyway filled with desire and the yearning curiosity to see her for themselves. That
is when everyone started hating her. After the court case was made public her body
and face was no longer legal and so the prosecutor thought he got some kind of
justice for those, those, those dangerous and fatal hips she was born with.
She didnt know why she was thinking about that now, the fact that her body,
the body she was made with that she could not change, was unknowingly a danger.
She told him she was 18 years old. She wasnt sure if she was lying and didnt mean
to lie, but that is how she felt, like an 18 years old. She stopped under the tree in
Central Park, the lake sitting silently beside her, but she didnt know how she got
there. Maybe he was a painter and he painted her there. What led her? She needed
sleep, but she never wanted to sleep again. There was so much to think about and
she yearned to live, not sleep. She was thinking about Troubleman as he was

thinking about her. She sat there for what felt 5 minutes, but it was hours. The sun
was beginning to sneak into the sky unnoticed.
With Troubleman, she was taking all the wrong guesses. He is probably from
England, she thought, but he was from Evilbum. He probably hates music, but he
loved it. He probably thought her ugly, but he could not stop guessing about her
beauty even though she was hidden and had imperfections. Why was there this
urge to tell someone? To reveal it. Like a bomb, to display her anger towards him.
Who would she tell and why? And what would she say? She didnt know her own
feelings; the words came out all wrong by accident. The thoughts were so confused
she couldnt make decisions; it was not words. It was a cry, a long drawn-out
longing. An emotion that wanted to be heard, released. Does she go home now, eat
breakfast? Should she take a run around the lake? She wanted to get naked and
run, because after seeing him, even her dress felt like a prison. Words were made to
reveal things, but to her, from him, they were designed to conceal. What did she
really think of Troubleman? And what did he feel about her, after knowing her for
just one hour? She wasnt just angry at what he said to her, she felt rage and anger
towards him, and yet she could not stop thinking about him longingly. She couldnt
help it. What is it, what does it mean to be consumed by another person
instantaneously so that you no longer know anything else? She wasnt sure.
Wasnt it weird. She thought about him so much his emotions possessed hers
and she no longer remembered who she was because all she could feel was him.
She felt his anger, his rage, and his strange pull and attraction to her, knowing it
belonged to him and not her. She did feel anger towards him, rage even for what he
said to her, but she didnt hate him for what he said. He said what everyone else
said to her and she had begun to become numb to it as if the words no longer held

the same power they did when she first heard a man call her a Whore. It wasnt
that words really had much meaning, but it showed how she would be treated by
men: abusively. It symbolized how people planned on treating her. Like a second
class citizen, a girl from the bottom, someone worthless and of no value. Because of
sex she didnt have, sex she invoked by her own body unknowingly, she was a
worthless whore to them. Of course she really couldnt tell you what the word
whore meant because she didnt know. She looked it up in the dictionary once and
still couldnt understand why the hatred and bullying that came with it. Whore: a
woman who has sex with multiple men. Didnt men have sex too? It didnt seem to
have the same affect on them. It didnt bother her to be the outcast. It didnt bother
her to be unloved. It didnt bother her to be the whore. Who would ever tell a
whores story? It didnt bother her much anymore when men abused her. She was
used to it now. But, it bothered her when Troubleman said it. And she didnt know
why.
She was here, in New York City, drinking coffee under a cherry tree alone in
Central park, and she had no beginning. She had no mother and no father, nobody
to teach her or warn her about this world and its evils. She had no start - no sunrise,
no once upon time. She fell into a story right in the middle of it. There must have
been reasons for the world, the way they were, who she was, but she didnt know it.
She was unarmed. The evil and bullying came at her like a surprise. They were used
to it, but she wasnt. She knew here, she didnt know anything.
Being a whore, a lady once said while she listened unnoticed on the subway,
is something everybody knows and its despicable, but she didnt. She didnt know
what classified a whore. What is a whore anyway? How could they really define it? Is
it one kiss on the subway a stranger noticed, ten touches on the thigh by three

men, 1,000 orgies? Was it only for a woman? Did it mean that her body was
valuable and she did not know it, almost like a secret jewel, and the more it was
touched the value of it was lessened. Were people right about this? The word, it
bothered her. This world she learned - made their own rules and changed meaning
daily. Was she someones possession and what did she mean by this? She knew
what sex was, vividly, but never recalled having it. In another life, she had it with
him long ago and knew how to move her hips, how to kiss, what to touch. On a
beach, in a white room, with an open window and glass roof that revealed the sun
and sea everywhere. She went there sometimes in her mind, but did not dare speak
of it. Why really, did a sexual touch, a kiss outside of a relationship, bother people?
What, if you think about it, is really the problem with it? Was it all really about love
even though they didnt know they wanted it? Was the human, more than what he
or she thinks he is? I mean someone could go and have an orgasm in the same way
that they are to eat a piece of cake, pleasurably, but not with man and woman.
Even though so desired, for the human sex was forbidden. And what was it about
the sexual experience that was more than their bodies and its pleasures? Was it
something sacred? Almost, unreachable, although with a soft, mysterious glance, an
unsteady touch of the fingers, a movement of the hips in dance, their bodies
reached for each other, yearning to be released.
There was a movement in the lake, a duck that splashed. She looked. There
were people around. There is always people around in New York, but she thought
she was alone because all she felt was the silence for hours. She didnt see
Troubleman watching her even though he was right in front of her standing by the
lake and staring at her undistractedly. As he watched her dream, he was captured
by all of her.

What had come over him? Maybe because here in New York, he had nothing
else but this impulse to be near her. The feeling was strong, powerful, and
controlling it even angered him to feel it sometimes. He thought he felt it before,
not here, but in some past world. Maybe it meant something to find out. Maybe it
meant nothing, but he followed her anyway because he was pulled by it by force.
He wasnt sure if he wanted to say sorry, but why. What did he do? He didnt do
anything to her. He wasnt sure why he came, but he did even with the dangers. She
seemed drunk as she left the club, sometimes bumping into people and tripping on
the street over invisible cracks. Nobody paid any attention to her, and they didnt
look at him. She walked around the same block three times before she took a
different turn. She stopped to get coffee and he went inside. Why was he so
captivated by her? What was it about her? He didnt know. Was it true what they
said; was it something in the way she danced? Did she have some kind of magical
power? To dance is to forget that your body was also made to cry sometimes or die.
And yet it seemed her body was a sort of crying out, an answer to pain or a
confused laughter, pain mixed with comedy, violently hungry and yet so elegant
and fluid, so beautifully elegant, commanding the flowers to rise up and the spirits
to walk and the wave to never give up trying to kiss the shore. God, what could a
beautiful woman do to a man? Feed him with lies and poetry, he said to himself.
Make him think like a fool, like hed hold up the moon just for her to pass and start
wars if she said she wanted Antarctica. In a moment. It all happened in a moment.
He didnt know she would never ask for the Antarctica, but he would give it. And
then there was a moment of clarity. This did not sound like him; he never thought
these things before. Why would he ever give a shit about flowers or the wind in her
eyelashes? He didnt even know who he was anymore and the feeling was

frightening, like he was losing himself and he couldnt hold on. She was just a
woman in a crowd of a million women like her, right - but she was the one. In his
infatuation, he figured her different, and she was, but she also wasnt. She wanted
what they wanted too, even if it seemed she was out of place and different among
them.
She moved and the tree move synchronically with her. As if the tree was her
shadow, it bent over onto the grass and covered her body to protect her, knowing
she was exposed out here in the park, but wanted to be alone. The minutes that
past were strange. She wondered if there were other universes in the stars, but she
wasnt sure. She wondered if one experience could change the whole course of the
world -an energy released that caught everybody unnoticed like a fire- and she was
sure it was true. What if, she thought, one mans tragedy grabbed hold of everyone
inciting anger when there was none, causing an earthquake somewhere and a war
somewhere else? An old man would just feel it one day and argue with the young
girl at the grocery store over a penny, the young girl would feel it too and tell him to
Fuck Off. The people in the line would argue and complain thinking that they
didnt have the time when really there was so much time, and it was something
else; they had too much time without him. Then a tormented madman on TV who
after thirty years without his wife killed a man over a dirty look on his face. Then the
thought that some women were ugly - when they just couldnt be. The birds were
annoying and heat on a summer day was a nuisance. Then choosing a job you hate
purposefully just to have something to complain about. Choosing the wrong spouse
just to have someone to argue with. Choosing the wrong family just to have
someone to blame. A woman who only talks to people who she could argue with,
changing arguments and politics every time someone agreed with her. A sudden

dying one day, not of cancer or an epidemic, but of melancholy and a broken heart.
A sudden war somewhere, an angry rain storm that screamed it out but nobody
could understand even though they spoke the same language too, a drunk that just
does not want to be here, on earth, and why? They felt it too, they all felt it
somehow. It was everywhere. Something was gone in them and it was frustrating,
tortuous. Something was missing and without it, they couldnt be happy. It was
pissing them off. They charged the streets knocking down garbage pails, punching
random victims, and breaking the windows to stores because they wanted the world
to know it was gone, but nobody knew what they were saying, not even them. The
worst men were the most sensitive; they felt it deeper and more profound than the
others who claimed life was beautiful. They walked feeling loss everywhere, the
emptiness where he should be: the loss, the torture of emptiness, and for some
reason she felt Troubleman had something to do with it. The feeling. The feeling that
we lost, we lost it all. We, the whole world, lost everything one day. But, why? She
didnt know.
She sat and rubbed the grass unthinkingly like it was hair and Troubleman felt
her hands sway on his legs. Then the touch moved up his arms and he shivered. He
could feel her, her movements, even from the distance. His whole body softened
from the touch and he sighed. No, he thought, relaxing into it. But then, yes. He
could, and he would. First, he painted it in his mind, thinking deeply for a moment,
even laughing at his own humor. Then
An old man was walking past in a hat that covered his eyes and old brown
suit that seemed to be from 1920. He had grey hair and gray eyes and his face
looked like crumbled paper. He walked up to her, smiled, reached into his back and
pulled out a flower. It was huge pink flower whose perfume was still present. When

she smelled it, she felt completely in love for a moment. It was the smell of soft
skin, a distinct smell of only one man, not really a flower, and it soothed her and
enlightened her. Suddenly, she was smiling wide and dreaming googly-eyed. When
she felt it, Troubleman felt it too, and softened in his skin. It was like a perfect
chemical reaction and he smiled wide too, feeling the smile tickle his whole body.
For you, my lady, the man said, laughing as if he enjoyed her immensely.
From the King.
The who? she said, but the old man just laughed a soft and beautiful laugh
and walked away.
She held the flower, knowing it was from Troubleman. She looked around. She
didnt know they called him The King. The flower, it was magical. It started to
incite more dreams in her, beautiful dreams of beaches and long fields of flowers
that she danced in alone, the whole world hers. Then out of nowhere a man with a
guitar sat beside her and began to sing to her. He sang a sweet song for 20 minutes
that would sooth a war and she just sat, lost and tranquilized, in love with the
music. She looked around for Troubleman, but she couldnt find him. The man rose,
took her hand and kissed it, and said, From the King.
The touch tickled her, and she laughed out loud - then laughed harder.
She was startled, and yet touched. She felt so beautiful inside like she was so
happy she could fly or walk on water. She had never been this happy in her life, she
recalled, even though her life was so short here. All she could remember of New
York was hate and sadness, but now she felt honest joy, and it was from
Troubleman. How? After he pushed her and called her vulgar names.

A middle aged woman wearing a blouse and a skirt walked up to her and
handed her a mirror. From the King, she said smiling as big and bright as the sun.
She looked into it and saw the scarf around her face, wondering why she gave her a
mirror. She inspected it, what did it mean? She turned it around. It was her face
now, but uncovered. It was definitely her, but it didnt look like her. She looked
younger, riper, more beautiful. The girl in the mirror smiled, her eyes were bright
and not sad like hers normally were. She had pinkness and new life to her skin. She
was bobbing her head as if laughing and dancing to a silent music. She was
laughing. It was ridiculous, why did he send her the mirror.
She turned it. There was a child there, then a mothers face. Stars around
them. Universes in them. Was it her mother or her future? She did not know. It could
have been both. Then she turned it again and saw the lake that was there, the long
romantic grass of Central Park, and the reflection of a rainbow. It was huge rainbow
right over Central Park. Something made her turn, and there it was. A huge rainbow
bowed over the entire city.
From the King, the mirror said laughing. And she laughed; a sort of girlish
giggle. She looked around for Troubleman, but she could not find him. And yet, he
was standing two feet from her at the lake. She began to feel so much joy she was
restless. She got up from where she sat and looked around when another girl came
up to her, only it was a girl from her job, Gloria.
Love, the woman said. Is that you? You look too happy to be you. Are you
OK.
No, she said restless. She was too restless to talk to anyone. No, its not
me.

Its me, the woman said. Gloria from the club. You dont have to hide from
me. You know that. I dont judge you.
I cant talk, Gloria, she said confused and stumbling her words. She waved
as she walked away.
OK, Love, Gloria said confused, waving as she passed. See you later
tonight.
He was close enough to hear the whole conversation, and she did not even
know he was there even though she walked right past him. Love, he thought. Her
name is Love. He couldnt believe it. She was Love. The Love. You cant even
imagine his rage, but nothing happened. A building didnt fall to pieces and a
window didnt crack. The crowd around them in the early morning hours walked
confidently as if nobody noticed the world just changed forever. This woman was
Love. Love, his enemy Love. She had been trying to destroy him for years now and
now they finally meet, together on the same street. And yet, she came with no
weapons, no bombs, no swords. She was, he saw, completely alone. Nobody spoke
with her and she had no friends. There was no family around her and even the
people in the club kept conversations short for fear that her powers would corrupt
them too.
Love, he thought to himself, Love. Love. Love. My old enemy Love. No
wonder the whole world hates you. You are a cunning and a brave warrior to think
you can trick a King, but you will not defeat me. I will defeat you.
He was pissed - enraged. This was the power that stole his kingdom. This,
this, this Love girl. And just to put lemon on an open wound and piss him off more
the guitarist from his fantasy started singing loudly: Love is Love in any language.

Love is very lovely Love Love everywhere. She is not just love, she is double, triple
love - a thousand times Love. Oh, Love Love Love Love. He sang the same words
over and over again repeatedly and Troubleman stood shocked and stunned,
listening. The word Love enraged him and broke his soul. He grabbed the guitar
man by the throat and demanded he tell him where she lived after she walked away.
I cant sir, the guitar man said. Youre not thinking properly, Sir.
Give it or burn in hell forever, Troubleman demanded, and the guitar man
knew he was serious.
She lives on Love Street near 8th. The 4th floor because she loves the view.
What, Troubleman said disgusted by the word love. To hear it was beginning
to torment and torture him. The word Love was making him violent and he was
about to kill the man with his bare hands, but he didnt. He let him go and he fell to
the ground and scrambled away.
Troubleman continued to follow Love through Central Park soaking in every
movement and word she said to herself, but this time was different than the hour
before. This time he had a shield on and was prepared for battle. He was ready for
her cunning attacks. Her long, beautiful smiles as big and shiny as the sun,
permeated the clouds and caused lightning. The playful, whimsical swing in her
arms destroyed buildings. How she smoothed her beautiful hair. How she gave a
bum ten dollars, a coffee, and a pack of cigarettes. How she stopped to feed the
birds and sing to them because they sang to her. The sound started a war in Asia. It
killed thousands that were still alive in Troublemans mind. And then she took a
picture of a sculpture in the middle the city that, oh my fucking Godly. It said Love.

She was everywhere, running this town from the bottom up. This was the meaning
behind the blindness, he thought. This was why his kingdom was gone. This is why
his wife cheated on him. Maybe she was his evil wife in disguise. God, she was
manipulative. She moved in mysterious ways, yes, but he would find her out. He
would reveal her. But, No, he thought. Why wait? He knew her address. He
would pay a visit to her later, but he swore he wouldnt touch her. He wouldnt have
to.
Chapter 6
He was only in New York for a few days, but he already knew where the gun
seller was. He past the store on his way to Loves God the sound of her name made
him cringe all over his body- club. He noticed it for just in case, knowing in New York
he had an enemy always near. He went into the store immediately and demanded a
small pistol - nothing too severe he thought - something quick and easy.
Are you sure you want that gun? the shopkeeper said. You know they
changed the law around here 5 years ago.
Of course I want it. Why would I tell you I want it if I didnt, Troubleman
said.
Well, the shopkeeper said. Thats a small gun, but it produces a bigger
impact than youd expect.
What do you mean?
Well, it does more than kill body. It destroys the heart until there is no more
hope left.

Great! Thats why I want it, Troubleman said. He would really, really get
revenge on Love now. Not only Love, but the world that created her.
OK, then, the shopkeeper said. It is your heart to destroy, not mine.
But, Troubleman didnt hear him. He was too preoccupied and captive to his
revengeful thoughts to hear him. He grabbed the gun and began to walk out with it.
Hey, you going to pay me for that, the shopkeeper said.
Pay, Troubleman said. Im the King. I dont pay, and he left the shop.
Oh, youll pay the price, the shopkeeper screamed.
Troubleman walked through the city as if he was a human bomb pushing
people and cars over as he past. Love was walking on the other side of the
street feeling euphoric, feeling as if she was walking on air, so in love with
the wind and the weather. She stopped to help people. She skipped, and she
smiled at everyone as she past. He saw her coming down the street towards
her door and stopped, letting her get into her building. She opened the door
and Troubleman was sitting in the dark on the couch. She turned the lights
on, and started to brew coffee. She danced with the cat and whistled a
whimsical lullaby he recognized from a long time ago.
If you only saw what I saw today, she told the cat. If you only felt
what I felt; youd want to be human. It was so beautiful.
The cat meowed and meowed an ironic Sure.
Love. Love. Love, Troubleman said, drowning in the sound of her
name.

She turned and saw him sitting. Hi, she said surprised. How did you
get in?
She was smiling like a young girl; her skin was bright and joyous,
shining even through the makeup. Thank you so much for the wonderful
afternoon. Nobody has ever done anything so nice and beautiful for me
before. Most people, even Godly and the Angels, are evil and do nothing but
hurt me and bully me all the time, but you. You made my afternoon so
wonderful and I cant even put words to how good it felt. Nobody ever EVER
loved me before.
Loved? I know what youre doing, Troubleman said. So you can stop
with the games right now.
What do you mean?
Love. Youre love. Youre the love that destroyed my kingdom. Youve
been trying to destroy me for weeks now, but you cant.
I dont know what youre talking about. My name is Love, but I think
youre misunderstanding.
Im not, Troubleman said. I understand you seduce people with your
charms and your gorgeous face and your beautiful smile. You lead them in
with your dancing and your love of nature, and then you attack and destroy
them. I know. I know the whole story now Love. You fooled me for all of 5
minutes, but youll never fool another man ever again.
What are you saying? Love said.

Goodbye, Love, Troubleman said. Forever.

He pulled out the gun. No, she shouted. Dont. You dont
understand. Oh, I thought you were different, but youre just like everyone
else. Two beautiful white Angels flew to the window unnoticed. They were
prepared for what would happen next; they were watching and waiting.
Troubleman looked at Loves face one last time and fired the gun without a
second thought, but the gun didnt shoot Love, it flew backwards and hit
Troubleman in the arm. He felt the skin break and bleed. Love stood appalled
and stunned. She couldnt speak.
What the hell, Troubleman screamed. What kind of evil, cruel world is
this? He shot again, angrily, enraged this time that he was not the writer of
destiny, and again the gun shot flew backwards and hit him in the cheek.
Oh, my God. Help, Love shouted. Someone help him. Hes bleeding.
Hes bleeding, she screamed out the window. Oh, my god youre going to
die now. Oh fuck, what the hell is going on here? Let me help you.
No, Troubleman shouted. Dont touch me. If I touch you, Ill go blind.
Then I should touch you, she said. So you cant see the gun to shoot you
again. Cant you see how its working? She ran to touch him and Troubleman shot
the gun again and again forcibly. The power of the blow pushed her backwards and
she fell against the wall across the room. Troubleman was hit in the thigh and the
shoulder. There was blood covering his whole body.
Youre crazy, Love shouted. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you
crazy? Cant you see what the gun is doing to you? She tried to get up, but there

was a forceful power keeping her down and locked to the wall. She couldnt lift her
body or run to help him. You lunatic, she screamed. You crazy person. Help!
Someone help us. Help us please. Someone help us!
The two Angels entered the room. They had rainbow colored wings on their
backs, white robes, and dark black faces. They reached for Troubleman and lifted
him.
Help him, Love screamed. Hes going to die.
Hes not going to die, one of the Angels said. He cant die. He just hurt
himself a little bit; hell heal quickly. Youll see him again.
No, Love said. Tell that crazy man to stay away from me forever.
The Angels laughed in unison. Taking Troubleman in their arms, they flew
away.
Jopsy is that you, Troubleman said confusedly in the air. I havent seen you
in a thousand years. And Mikey.
Its been three days, Jopsy said laughing.
What the hell happened, Troubleman said. Whats wrong with this world?
They changed the gun laws in New York 5 years ago, Jopsy said. You dont
remember. They are not guns that shoot people anymore when you kill Love, they
are Karma guns. Whenever you shoot someone, you dont shoot them, you get shot
in return. Whatever you give, you get.

Who would ever change a law to that? Troubleman said, but the Angels
laughed. What are guns used for then?
You changed the law, they said. Guns are now traps made to catch
criminals. Nobody knows the law, but us.
Me, Troubleman said. I changed the law. What a stupid ass I am.
Very stupid, Jopsy said. You almost just murdered the love of your life. That
woman in there is Love. Dont you remember her? You created the word Love
because it was inspired by her name. Love is her name. You met her and she gave
you this beautiful euphoric feeling you never felt before. You never believed. It was
so beautiful to you, the feeling, the way she gave it to you; you gave it to us and
your kingdom. When people felt it or acted on it, you name that emotion Love
after her to remember. That beautiful woman that possessed your soul. You made
her your wife two thousand years ago, but one day you lost her. She went missing.
They said she died. Nobody knew why. You cried out. You were so depressed and
said nothing to anybody for ten years. Dont you know the flowers used to laugh?
Every summer when the wind tickled the flowers hair, they would laugh, but in your
anger you stole sound from them. You made them silent. You took their laughter.
Rain was not gray, it was sparking silver and blue, so magical when it touched you a
dream would come true. It was for birth of a dream, and the people used to dance in
it in celebration of the happiness to come, but when Love died you made thunder
and lightning. You made cyclones. You were wordless for ten years and depressed.
Then you turned evil and heartless and began to destroy the world that took her.
Well, there is hope I guess, because after years of hell, somehow by everyones

amazement, Love has returned for you, but you cant remember her. And she cant
remember you.
And my wife, Troubleman said. Who stole my kingdom?
She didnt steal your kingdom, The angel said. She stole your heart. You
made the story up in your mind because it was too difficult to tell but it turned on
you. Love was gone and you had to explain it. She was a maiden in the court you
went mad about. We tried to tell you she wasnt your wife, but when you looked at
her you went crazy and started seeing Love again. It was the first time we
witnessed it. It was the first time you spoke about her again. We tried to tell you,
but you didnt believe us. We told you her hair was not brown, it was yellow, but you
refused the truth. It was insane. You said her eyes were blue, but they were gray.
You told everyone she danced, but she barely listened to music. The girl was a
bookish girl. She read a lot of novels and didnt speak to many people. You swore
and screamed it was her, and took her from her family. She was scared Sir.
They both laughed in the air as they carried Troubleman. They knew
happiness was near.
For a moment, Troubleman did remember his Love and the feeling she unexpectantly gave him that he gave to others in order to share her with everyone. So
that although she was gone; she would never be forgotten. He named the feeling
after her and gave it to the people in his Kingdom so that they might know it too,
because the feeling gave him such pleasure. But nobody really ever felt it in years
and years because Troubleman forbade it. In hiding, only those who dared to
remember attempted to summon it, but they did so in secret because it was
forbidden to them now. If the lovers were caught, they would surely be in trouble

and imprisoned. So they touched the skin in secret. They kissed secretly and
cautiously in the dark. They rubbed the hair cautiously and scared so that nobody
would see them and reveal them because the touch would enrage Troubleman, the
memory of her would traumatize him, and he would surely destroy millions in his
anger. Yes, now he remembered, but things were different now. It was no longer her,
he thought. There is no way he remembered her. No way. Because if he did; he
would suddenly wake up from his darkness. They would all wake up, but he didnt.
He closed his eyes and past out as if he just fell asleep on a cloud and for some
reason, he had a vision of her hair. It wasnt beautiful, lovely; it was strange to the
touch. Curious and very scared, it reached for him. Cautiously touching him. It
wasnt her. It wasnt the real Love anymore.
Chapter 7
Troubleman lay in bed for a week not thinking about anything. He only had
one thought, and it was of the Queen. None of his memories were true or real, and
none of them were euphoric or beautiful like the Angels said. In fact, most of his
thoughts were violent and angry, possibly illegal in this town. She didnt look like
the girl he imagined, and Love, that girl, he did not remember at all from the past.
The years seemed so far away and so lost that they didnt exist at all. Many times,
images of his wife came to his mind. He especially thought of how soft her skin was,
unbelievable soft, and how warm her hair always was because she always cleaned it
even in their infested world. Was it Love? He had many wives, he knew, but as he
always did, he always thought of her - the young girl who was rebellious and would
not speak to him other than to yell at him. He began to fantasize about his wife, but
the fantasies made him angry when he allowed himself to enjoy them. Where was
he? Where was she? And what was going on?

He then thought of Love, the girl that was dancing. She had a familiar face,
and there was something he recognized as she danced in her body. She didnt smile
and it dulled her face. He noticed that. She never smiled. But she couldnt have
been his wife, could she? He was so angry at the girl, but he knew if taken captive it
was something he would have done as well. Really, they were so alike.
He lay in bed for a full week and didnt sleep or eat. Sometimes he listened to
the birds or the cars outside the window. Sometimes the birds would bring in bread
for him, or cheese. He refused it, and they would fly away quietly. The whole city
was silent. Knowing something drastic had happened, nobody spoke. People talked
in whispers in the stores and walked somberly and softly through the streets
respecting each others sadness and tragedy for the first time. You could barely hear
a conversation. The stock market was closed, the mayor called in sick, and many
didnt go to work. It was as if the New York City streets were a quiet church haunted
by the past, the troubles they remembered haunting them and the pain surfacing in
every face. It would be, they thought, unfair to smile. If they did smile, it was an act
of compassion and encouragement. But still hope was too far away for them to be
noticed. They were beaten down and abused by their own emotions, too tired and
sad now to speak. So they walked in silence as if everything on earth at once died,
but they were still here to remember it. The King was in his bed they knew, but they
wouldnt dare talk to him or hope in him anymore. They knew for them and for him,
everything was hopeless. They could see it in his eyes, the heaviness of his walk.
They felt it, the thick sadness caressing them in the wind, silently comforting them
with their own hearts for just a moment. It was hard to speak. It was hard to
understand anything that was happening around them. Things broke around them
randomly and they got used to it. Windows shattered, car wheels turned left when

the driver meant right and crashed, obscenities showed up in graffiti all over the
walls. Art was hatred, a sort of grotesque enjoyment in their own tragedies, and
artists only painted with red and black ink anymore. The flowers refused to rise in
Central Park and nothing could persuade them from changing their minds. Nothing
tasted good anymore not even bakery cakes or coffee. This was the world
Troubleman knew, the world he carried to them in an instant. It was the world of a
broken hearted King.
When Troubleman closed his eyes, a bird forgot how to fly and in panic
scrabbled on the ground. Then a vision of two wars that immediately vanished
because the vision of only her face invaded it. He thought of Love again and again
in impulse. He could not control the thoughts and as the image moved in his mind,
his heart grew softer, more acquainted with her. It was as if, although apart, they
lived through this great obstacle together, and they were closer because of it. Did
that make sense? Did it make sense that everyone was experiencing and feeling the
pain of distance and separation, and their sorrows bound them to each other
somehow. Just a vision of her, Love, first abstract and undefined, became
overwhelming and possessive. Did she think of him, too? And if she didnt, he hated
her. Then in the distance as the vision of her face became clearer to him even
though it was the wrong face, wrong hair, wrong nose, wrong smile - music began to
play and he didnt understand it.
The song was upbeat and pleasing to the people walking the streets. It pulled
at them and seduced them to look for it, uplifting them in a sort of wild celebration,
but to Troubleman it was disruptive and discordant. It invaded his mind, his space,
and his body. What was it and where was it coming from? It began to torment him,
torture and shatter his body. It was so loud and disruptive. He got so angry he

stepped out of the bed and screamed at it to stop, but people as they walked
skipped and danced joyfully directly towards it. Lets tell the truth; it was cruel. It
wasnt a song. It was a spirit that took hold of them and was seducing them to it,
meanly controlling their every movement. It pulled Troubleman too, angrily to it,
and he stomped and ran to it in rage, fighting its powerful grip.
Troubleman found himself in a crowd of dancing people with the saddest most
worn faces he has ever seen. You could see by looking at them they had lived
through many lives. They had walked through wars and hunger. They have walked
through tyranny and the craziest, violent weather. They bled in the Nile river, and
still had scars on their bodies from disease. They worked sometimes as slaves,
sometimes as madmen. They went years without a single ray of sunlight, color, or
dream. They were killed many times in many ways, and survived. They were
punched, stabbed, shot, abused, tormented by their own hunger and emotions,
their own anger, and need for Love. They were teased constantly by a better life,
praying often to die to a God who either didnt give a shit about their cries or didnt
hear them because he was no longer there. They were struggling to live a life
without her, without Love, and yet they were still here, here now, dancing together,
pushing the blue air in earnest against their own pasts and pain, sometimes
screaming out in pain and ecstasy that through it all, at least they could say: they
were still here. Still here; and they were dancing.
They were dancing. The dance was more spirit than movement. It possessed
them and possessed the air and people around them, and they surrendered to its
joy and were taken by it if just for a moment. They moved in it and around it as if
their bodies were more waves in the sea than bodies. As if their bodies were ribbons
in the wind, they moved their arms elegantly. They moved their seductive hips that

summoned sex, their sensual thighs that commanded eyes to take hold of them and
thunder to strike. In soft curls and waves, up and down like the seas trance, they
swayed spiritually and sensually from one corner of the grass to the other, taken by
the surprise of what they possessed and held inside them all this time unnoticed,
taken by surprise of their own beauty - there all the time, hidden by the ugliness of
anger, hatred, and sadness. Everybody was too lost in their own song to be angry at
anybody else anymore. They were too happy to care and too lost in their own joy to
give a fuck. If there was a thief somewhere that threatened them or another death
near, it could not take them now. Not like this in this moment. It was just dance, just
pure dance, and Troubleman found himself lost in it while he fought violently against
it. Lost in something he didnt understand and maybe he didnt want to. He got
pushed from side to side with them, tossed from one corner of the park to the other
lawlessly. Even the stars were lawless and began to fall in his hair. The street had no
rules anymore and began to shake hungrily, the flowers were not bound and what
was blue, became yellow, but only momentarily. For minutes of yellow it chose
green, then purple, wearing its body freely to its own taste, it could not be
condemned or criticized because it was too free to be that anymore. Their bodies,
the beautiful people, took shapes and forms that were against the laws nature,
moving around erratically, chaotically, without sense or logic, and perfectly free.
From the look in their faces, he knew, he was the only one who couldnt bear to
smile. He was the only one who didnt know what lips were really made to do. It was
too much for him to bare their happiness anymore, and he was seriously affected by
it. He screamed out in jealousy to destroy their joy. Nothing pissed him off more
than their smiles, their laughing bodies, and their beautiful peace. They would know

his unhappiness. They would share in his heartbreak and know his pain, and he
would make sure of it.
Here though, Troublemans thoughts had no power over them. Nothing
broke or divided when he got angry. Nothing shattered or moved out of place.
Nothing read the dark crevices of his mind and revolted. He was pulled by force.
Tossed from side to side, arm to arm, body to body, he bounced off them, then
bounced again, and twirled, carried by the joys and heartaches in their bodies that
matched his own. He was tossed effortlessly, and he himself gave up, surrendering
to the sway and movement of careless effort and music. Then a girl took his arm,
twirled him and twirled again. He moved in circles until he was pushed by a heavy
force, by something else, something in the song that had hands. It picked him up
and carried him, then tossed him violently across the grass. Then it lifted him to the
air. Then it pushed him to the ground.
He looked up; it was her. She was there. The music was coming from her, but
nobody knew it because her skin was so silent. There was not a sound to match her
eyes. There was no voice in her hands, but there was. It was everything. She was
like a maestro controlling the joys of the people, but the crowd had no idea.
Troubleman watched as one man felt tickled and laughed when she swayed her hair.
How a woman felt liberated and jumped when her arms raised. How a sad old man
opened his arms out near her unaware. Troubleman knew the song was coming from
her even though the crowd did not know where the song was coming from.
She was walking over to Troubleman, trying to apologize to him for the other
night, but every time she stepped towards him, he flew back, or high in the air, or
was tossed from side to side of the Central Park grass. It was as if, even the wind

didnt want them to share a glance, or a touch. They were bound to each other by
an invisible force, but ironically the force was working against them and pushing
them away from each other in revolt. Even though he answered it and so did she,
the force adamantly kept them separated and in distance, yet exactly within 6 feet
of each other.
She stepped forward; Troubleman flew backwards.
Stop, he yelled. I told you if you touch me I will go blind.
I swear I wont touch you, she said. I wanted to see how you were doing
after the other night.
Do you two know each other, an old man looking at them said.
No, Troubleman said. I dont know the girl.
But the old man looked in Troublemans eyes as he looked at the creature and
saw a different story. The King knew her intimately, the wise old man knew. They
touched once, beautifully and passionately in secret he guessed. Mostly likely, the
King loved her. The old man was shocked. The King never loved any girl in the city,
and this, the whore, although fought hard to keep secret, could not be hidden. The
old man knew that look very well; it was the deep soft eyes of a man captured. Oh
my God, what could it mean for the city, he thought? The King had fallen in love,
even if he was unaware of it. He thought this day would never come, but it did.
Are you sure, the old man said. You dont know her.
Why, the King snapped angrily. Do you care?
Because she is the whore girl that dances, the man said. Highness, dont

you know that.

I know nothing, the King snapped. I dont know the girl.
Love looked at the King with shame in her eyes. She was used to the way
people spoke to her in the town. The King looked in her eyes for a moment and saw
her sadness. He felt it as if it was his own and for one moment had compassion for
the girl. This never happened to him before. It was as if he never had a heart and
only did when she revealed it to him. He suddenly and mischievously, even as if to
keep it secret still smiled at her softly in comradely. Then he quickly looked down,
but the smile did not fade from his face. The crowd around them seeing what
happened roared in anger. This would not be so they commanded. They were scared
of the Kings eyes, and his smile. It was dangerous. He said nothing to them, but he
didnt have to. His smiled revealed it all.
Dont you dare go for that girl, one woman screamed. You cant make a
hoe a wife King.
In earnest, more screams followed, and the people began to riot.
No, the King yelled. I dont know the girl.
Thats the town whore, they screamed. The girl who dances. Everyone
knows what she has done to us. They chanted and pushed, screaming in revolt.
The King screamed angrily back at them that he did not know her.
You do, they said. You kissed her once. Its written in your eyes. You know
her.
I dont, the King said.

You lie, they screamed. You cant lie about that to us. How could you? Its
written all over you. You, you, you you love her. We are in enough pain already,
now you give us shame.
Fuck you, the King screamed. Fuck you all you dirty bastards. And he
waved his right arm and the people in the front fell to the ground.
But they were not going to lie down and die. They had enough. You befriend
that whore and shame us all, they screamed. We will war. Dont you know what
she did to this town?
The girl was standing in defeat before all of them. She was shamed and
silent. After a raging argument between the King and his people, they jumped up to
attack her. The King by instinct grew enraged, even though he wanted to hide that
he knew her. She stood still, scared, unsure. Then the King jumped like a wild beast.
He jumped in front of her and attacked the whole crowd with one swipe of his
hands. With one swipe, hundreds fell and stayed fallen. They couldnt get up.
I told you, he said. Dont go near the girl.
They were silent. Angry. Held down by his force. He moved his arm again, and
again they were pushed down so as to make it clear, he was serious in his edict.
Why? one screamed. Why her?
The King knew he could not touch her. He was not allowed. He knew he did
not have an answer. He looked at her angrily and sadly. A force picked up her body
sadly and carried her away. She had no wings. She was flying through the fresh New
York City streets by spirit. The King followed behind her quietly and sadly and was
smoothly in unison with her as if he was a shadow. He led her by spirit to his

apartment, and sat her on his bed. He then entered the apartment behind her, and
sat right across from her.
He looked at her, studying her face, lips, and hair intently, getting lost in its
fleeting beauty for a moment. Did his kiss sculpt that sad smile once? Could it have
been different? Did his hands once touch her elegant nose and tremble? And her
skin; was it deeper now with wisdom or heartache? What had he done? He did not
know and he did not remember. He was not sure he wanted to know.
So, he said. It is you they tell me who caused all these troubles.
She looked at him softly and ignorantly. I dont know what youre talking
about, she said.
You dont, he said. Look at my face. It is not the same, but do you
remember me?
I wont tell if I knew, she said.
And why not? the King said.
Because we are different now, she said. And if we knew each other once,
somewhere, we dont know each other anymore.
You know, the King said. I secretly like poetry, dont you?
I know this, she said. Maybe only because I read it somewhere that you
do.
And by the river, that time. You were there werent you?

No, King, she said. I wasnt. That was someone else who is not me
anymore.
And where, he said. Did you go? One thousand years - gone.
I didnt go anywhere, she said. If you remember correctly, it was you who
left.
Really, the King said. I looked for you everywhere.
And I was in your bed, she said. But you still couldnt find me King.
What kind of game are you playing, he said.
It was you, she said. Who wanted to play.
So you know me, the King commanded.
I dont, she said. You changed. You wanted war and not our bodies making
love by the river. You wanted blood. You wanted riches and other peoples land. You
didnt want me.
And so you left, he said.
I didnt leave, she said. You forgot me and didnt know I was here the
whole time.
You forgot yourself, he said.
Yes, she said. I hid. I hid in plain sight.
You did, he said. You did a lot. You hurt us because you were gone.
It is not my fault, she said. I needed to be alone to deal with it.

No, the King screamed and pushed the power in his hands towards her, and
she collapsed.
To the Kings surprise, she stood up, and threw her own hands in the air. The
King flew backwards to the wall.
You bitch, he said, standing, lifting her angrily, and she fell backwards on
the bed unable to rise.
They were by edict and force, they both knew, forbidden to touch each other.
But the law was made to protect them both.
I wasnt always a bitch, she said. I was nave and innocent. A hopeful girl
who thought she could save the world. I had dreams; big dreams. But you stole
them all.
Love? the King said questioningly. You thought you could save the world?
If I could change you, she said. Maybe I could have. But I couldnt change
you.
You are wrong, he said. I looked everywhere for you. You left. You were
gone forever. I
couldnt find you anywhere. That is what changed the world.
You dont know yourself, she said. You dont even know who you are
because you didnt
know me.
I knew too much about you Love, the King said. I could smell your hair honey, salty and sweet - even when you were ten thousand miles away. Or ten

thousand years. I could still touch your gold skin, soft, and it made me sad and
crazy. It made me angry. A man could lose his mind in your presence you know and
do things against his better judgment. He doesnt mean to be that way. It is - I mean
- you are so beautiful, and it has taken me.
You dont know who you are King, she said. You doubt youre even a King.
How can I be anything without you Love, he said. With you I am an
aphrodisiac. I am sick with disease.
She laughed softly Disease? Are you sure thats what you mean King, she
said.
Are you making fun of me, he said warmly.
I am enjoying you, she said. His smile was beautiful and she melted into it,
suddenly lost.
It is to be sick by love, he said.
It means whatever you think it does, she said laughing. Even if nobody
understands it, I know what you mean King.
What does it mean? the King said. Aphrodisiac.
It means you have gotten ill because you are forbidden to touch me.
That is what I thought, too, the King said, even though the King knew the
whole time to be an aphrodisiac is to be sexually possessed by perfume; her skin
could do it. He could taste her everywhere. It that stayed - but he would never
reveal his real intelligence.

What is this conversation? she said. We dont know each other.

I wish we did, he said.
She began to laugh, first softly and then in fits.
What, the King said. Whats so funny?
You are so paranoid I will touch you, she said. Without thinking you have
covered your body in armor. Even your fingers are covered. You are so afraid of me.
Dont worry I wont touch you.
I cant touch you, the King said. They told me Id go blind if I did.
I wont touch you, she said. I swear.
The King then turned and looked at himself in the mirror. His whole body,
every ounce of skin, even his fingers, toes, and nose was covered in strong silver
armor so as to protect him from her, but now as she smiled he feared even more
that the armor would not be enough to protect him anymore. She began to fear that
she understood and knew what he was thinking by the way he looked at her. She
began to fear as well that her make up that wronged her skin, her wig, her long
dress that hid her legs from him, where no longer protected as well. She laughed
because they were hiding from each other but they both knew they couldnt. His
smile, although shy, demanded to be seen. It suddenly became such a silly act to
hide that way even with it, they couldnt. She couldnt stop laughing at him and
also at herself. What was so scary about a smile?
Go to sleep, the King said. Youre tired.
Im not tired, she said. Im anxious.

I will sleep on the couch, the King said. And swear I wont touch you. And
he put on soft transient music that seduced her to sleep immediately.
Chapter 8
When she woke, the King was at the window crying. She stepped softly to
him, My King, she said, in love with every ounce of him, reaching out her
forbidden hand, but he was untouchable.
He turned and looked at her with change and rage in his eyes. Whats wrong
with me? he said. My eyes are falling apart and so is my heart.
Youre crying, she said.
I dont forgive you anymore, he said. I loved you. Just the word Love
brought back a thousand hidden memories of them that he shouldnt see. It
possessed him with rage and anger. All those lost years - hurt, betrayed, forbidden.
Yes it was true. Love was his enemy. Love is what stole his kingdom. It is what
stole heart.
It didnt seem like you did, she said. You never knew how to love me.
I tried to tell you in my way, he said. But I couldnt. I didnt know how.
Im not your second wife King, she said.
I know, he said. You are my only.
We were just lovers, she said. In the grass. They were sick of the hurt and
pain. They were tired.
Who? You left, he said. It was your fault.

No, she said. Something happened to you and you left.

What happened? the King demanded, his black skin now appearing like a
shining jewel.
Death, she said. Death came for everybody, but not for you. Desire. Power.
Then war.
Why? he said.
It bothered you the most, she said. You wouldnt dare speak about it.
Then how are you here? he said. If you died.
How do the butterflies fly, she said. People guess, but they dont really
know. You are supposed to know, but you seem to have forgotten everything. I I
didnt die. Obviously. You just thought I did. You said I changed. My face was
different my laughter was sadder. Slowly, before you, I began to disappear. But I
was right beside you. Forgetting everything about you too.
I dont forget what you did to me, he said. You broke my heart. I will never
forget that.
I didnt, King, she said.
Yes, he said. I know. I will get my revenge on you.
Then try, she said angrily. You cant hurt me anymore than you already
have.
Believe me, he said. I can and will. You destroyed me. You destroyed
everybody.

No, she said. I didnt. You made your own choices.

And why are you here, he said. Again. I knew you right away. I forgot many
years. The anger of seeing you again. Love is my enemy. Love has destroyed it all.
I feel the same, she said. You dont care about what you have done to me I
guess.
I dont, he screamed.
Well, she said. I dont care about you either.
Why are you here, he demanded.
I dont know, she said.
Where did you come from? he screamed. How did you come to remember
me again?
I dont know, she said. I woke in this apartment not knowing anything.
Watch your back, he said. I am angry at you. Enraged. Love is my greatest
enemy.
And I am mad at you, she said, grabbing her scarf and walking out the door.
Love is your greatest enemy, and she threw an old love letter on the bed,
crumbled and torn to pieces that they once shared. He knew already what it said
and confessed, every word, tear, and breath it bared, and how she tore his feelings
to pieces with it. He felt it possess him, the words he could no longer bear to read,
and summoned a wind that scattered it all over the room, dropping and staying in
uneven places even she could not recall anymore.

The King stared out the window and watched her move. In spirit, he moved
through the streets with her, fluidly circling around her body and dark hair like
smoke. The smell of her intoxicated him and set him wild and violent like it always
did. It had memory, a thousand sweet memories hidden and clustered in one
instant, and a soft touch on him that maddened him. Although secretly getting lost
in it an enjoying it, it also brought him tumults of rage that pulsed through the
streets with them and set the trees, the concrete streets and buildings, and the cars
in trance dancing madly. The pain of her was pleasurable to him, and exciting. The
rage was so liberating after all these years finally released, finally confessed - that
he roared hungrily, gloriously around her scared body savoring every minute of her
pain and her frailty.
He didnt touch her, because he was forbidden and he remembered, but he
was still close enough to feel every piece of her. He saw freckles on her body even
she didnt know she had. He knew dreams even she couldnt remember. He knew
wants she didnt know about herself. He didnt want to show her them because he
wanted to be evil to her. He could smell her skin it was warm, soft, and luxurious a distinct perfume that stuck on him like heat. It was the only smell in the world that
could invent roses and did - and suddenly he knew her childhood, her mother and
father, her sister and her brother. He knew that she secretly loved poetry and
paintings, and oceans. She loved the ocean because of how immense it was, and
soothing. He knew everything. He knew every flaw, madness, and scar and he
secretly loved it all. And yet, it still angered him. The more he knew, the more he
wanted what he couldnt have, and it set him in rage, thinking if he could destroy it,
destroy love forever, it would kill his desire and his pain forever. If it couldnt touch

him it could never hurt him. And he would set out to destroy his desire; he was
sure. And destroy her. Because she, he knew, only she was Love.
He set her in panic as she walked down the street, and she looked around
wondering what it was as she held her body and shook. The streets were pulsing
and shaking in a frenzied rhythm, and people were stumbling, off balance, and
tripping as they walked scared in the darkening air. A gust of black wind blew so
hard she fell to her knees. Her hair was messy in her face and knotted, covering her
eyes. She was looking down, confused, feeling degraded. The crowd around her
stared disgustingly as they held themselves; they knew who she was. She got up,
and the wind pushed her down again, violently. Then she tried again, but failed. She
looked around scared and saddened, timid. Her hair was frenzied and crazy, and her
eyes, the only thing distinguishable in her makeup, lowered in shame and were
melancholy.
You think youre so beautiful, he said.
She looked up, scared. Who is that? she said, looking around, but there was
nobody.
Youll see.
No, I dont, she said, and blindly punched the open clear air. Panicked by
the touch, he flew back and fell into a car that swerved. In anger and haste he
pushed the air with force, and she fell on her back. He pulled her unwilled and
confused to him, then pushed her back, eventually shaking her in the air screaming,
I wont touch you. I wont touch you. He took full possession of her body. She then
became like his in synch shadow, and she moved when he moved, and he moved

madly, erratically. He moved her arms high in the air wildly and set her feet crossed
and dancing foolishly. People stared at her uninhibited body moving against its own
will wildly down the street, like she was a lunatic, arms open out and wide in panic,
and feet in a sort of mad jig. She was scared because she wasnt in control of
herself or her body anymore, and she didnt know what her body would do next.
He was laughing uncontrollably nervously, madly an evil, insecure laugh.
Suddenly as she past them, the crowd was pointing and laughing as well. The lips,
the eyes, the chin and bodies of the crowd were distorted, scary, and comic to her.
It was like a surreal weird nightmare she was passing through. She was shaking,
sometimes falling to her knees, disheveled and hung over. They threw things at her
as she passed them bread, old newspapers in balls, pieces of old furniture and
cursed. They cursed her loudly and proudly; their screams bouncing madly off the
open air. The King laughed an evil laugh and they laughed with him. She had been
here before. But where? His laugh was the loudest and the most distinguishable
and it rose above the rest. Through the chaotic noises, his voice was the only one
she could really hear, and she followed it to him and almost touched him. When he
realized she was that close, in fear, he jumped back. The crowd was frightened. The
King did not cower to anybody, but her. Why? They thought. They stopped for a
moment, taken and confused. She wondered what she did herself. They wondered
the same, but it was the forbid touch that scared him. And it was her. Not even
being blind scared him as much as her real touch did. If blind he could no longer see
the ugly wars, the hatred, or the tears that surrounded their daily lives, then being
blind was good but her touch, just her touch could touch more places than it
should. The King was afraid of Love more death, more than hunger, and it haunted
him nightly.

The crowd looked at him and demanded an answer, now. But he grabbed her
through demonic force, and pulled her to the lake where they could not find them.
He demanded she look into the water, but in shame, she refused.
Look, he said. Youre ugly.
She looked at her own face hidden behind more than just mask and
makeup. And then she cried, the tears washing the makeup creams, leaving ugly
streaks of who she really was underneath it.
Look, he demanded. Your teeth, your eyes, your face. You dont belong
here. You dont belong with me.
But she said nothing. She stared sadly at her own ugly face. She was, to
them, distorted, and she tried to hide it behind beauty. Her nose was not in the
middle of her face, it was kind of off to the side on a pyramidal angle. Her eyes were
not one color, but many, like dark oil rainbows only uglier and darker. Her hair
matched it sometimes in certain light so that he could never tell who she really was.
Her bottom lip as full as pink fruit was much larger than a thin top lip and the
dissymmetry pissed him off. He was right. She was ugly. Her arms were unusually
long and thin, animal like, and she manipulated them to enhance her exotic
dancing. Her hips, for their standards in New York, were too robust, large and wide
like she was another part of the moon. Her laughter was too loud. She was certainly
in personality, just as dark as night. She didnt find the snow in New York or the cold
air saddening or frustrating like the people did she found it exciting and
romantic, a reason to cuddle in her blanket and walk aimlessly kissing and making
love to the cold and morbid air. Sadness itself had a sort of romance to her, and she
was so used to it she embraced its warmth and familiarity to her body. Her

shoulders formed like sad teardrops. Even her legs and arms seemed sad because
they were apart; and the feet were sad because they always seemed to be in the
wrong place so they hid. The body was wrongly made mistaken. Her skin was an
off-color just not the right one. Godly made a mistake with her teeth and hair. She
knew he was right, but she didnt want to admit it. She should hate people who
loved dancing, because it wasnt good but she didnt. She didnt hate anybody.
She didnt have a side, or opinion, and they thought her stupid for it, but she wasnt.
She really didnt know what she thought about abortion or political parties because
she thought they all had good arguments. He was right. She was ugly stupid not
smart enough or good enough for him. He was the King. She needed to know more;
she needed to be more to be Love. Right.
That was it. She was Love but not Love yet. Was that it? Was that ever
correct?
Am I not me, she screamed at him. Am I not Love and you got it wrong?
He pushed her face to the lake and it mirrored an image of her youth, years
ago. Her face was round and ripe fresh. It was something she forgot. Show them
who you really are: you playful, laughing, spoiled, sex-hungry, comedian. Rebel.
Show them for sure you will not be you.
How do you know me, she screamed.
My God, he screamed. I knew the moment I saw you. How could I forget?
How could I forget Love? And I hate you. I hate you.
I hate you, too, she said, pushing her way towards him.

What are you doing? he commanded. I told you stay back. I warned you.
And he pushed her, but she was unmoving, embodied in lust. He looked, and was
taken. What are you doing, he said angrily. Stop doing that with your body and
your face. Stop being beautiful. I hate you.
What, she said, running her hands through her hair, and licking her lips.
What am I doing? and she let out an orgasmic scream.
Stop, he commanded. But she punched the air and ran towards him. She
was a threat. He moved backwards and tripped. Pushed her with force and she flew
in the air, backwards with a ballerinas grace.
I commanded you to stop dancing, he screamed.
No, she said, and began to dance more powerfully and seductively while
held by his power. He began to feel that his own powers were being used against
him so that when her heart sank, so did his. When she was angry, so was he. When
she was sad, so was he suddenly. Whatever he gave to her, he also gave to himself,
and stupidly, he would take it like a man. He didnt care. Not being able to touch her
or even kill her, because he knew if she really died he would too - he threw his
hands and shattered an abandoned store standing near them. It was empty from
the depression, and nobody was inside, because the King was victimizing too many
people in his haste and anger, and everyone knew it and hid.
She looked at what he did and called him a monster. He laughed an evil
laugh, relishing in it. Then she ran to him and he retreated backwards, all the while
staring her down in her eyes in order to intimidate her because he secretly loved
her fear and frailty but she was not scared anymore. She kept running to him, and

faster and faster through the air, he whipped backwards. He was too quick to catch
but if she could make him blind in that moment, she would do it, and touch him
finally. She would make him blind - blind to all of this madness and cruelty she
would because she hated him that much. Hated him with a passion.
I will touch you, she screamed. Touch you all over. Touch you in places
you never knew existed.
I know you would and already have, he screamed back at her. But I wont
let you touch me there again.
He pushed through the air with force and carried her weak body across the
park. People fell powerfully to the ground as they past, breaking the ground into sad
parts and the sole lonely dream of love that held it.
What are you doing to me? she screamed. Let go of me. Let me go.
No, he yelled, pulling her. And yet, something in his own heart was feeling
sad and bad for her.
I thought you were different, she screamed. But youre just like everyone
else but worse.
I am the worst of the worst, he yelled. Believe that. You shouldnt have
come too close. I told you. Bravery is stupidity dont believe the hype.
They were flying in the air with a wild animals speed. Their voices were
released and then getting trapped in the air around them, and as they spoke, it
echoed and echoed until what they said madly carried them in the wind with
intense insanity. And none of it could be taken away or lost even if they wished it

gone. Within every moment was a little piece of forever and he felt it grace him.
That a minute was eternity and tomorrow was absolutely nothing. It was an
enlightenment that he had that set him remembering her. Who she was; who they
were.
But he pushed still even now with greater passion and tried to take off her
makeup and clothes madly with force. Angry at her, he grabbed and grabbed
without touch - but he couldnt. He was forbidden to see blind already. How can a
man see the sun and the trees, and not be blind, but not see another man, standing
right in front of him? It happens all the time that we are most in love and
infatuated with our enemies. We are most in love with that that is gone forever
fantasizing that if we touched it once it could save us all. Knowing that we should
have it the whole time, but dont. And in our anger and haste we set out to get
revenge on that thing that broke our hearts, knowing the whole time that nothing
could be broken in the first place if nothing was ever there.
He really didnt care if it was not good or just. And he pushed her with force
and violence through the air wanting her to feel his pain. Wanting her to know it.
Wanting her to know every ounce and crevice it possessed in his mind, body, and
soul without her. Look at what she could do look at her possibilities - by not being
there. Look at what she had the capability of even without a touch. More without
touch. Look at what she did to him. It was her fault. She was to blame for all of this.
And he pushed and pushed wanting her to feel it all. Everything he felt all these
years. All the pain and heartbreak. And when she cried out he savored it. He
savored every moment of it. I loved you he screamed without sound, and the
whole universe, without ears, heard it and fell. I loved you. You didnt love me.

I did, she yelled. I tried in my way. What did you want? Nobody heard it,
but her. Nobody heard her plea and cry. She could tell him but the truth may hurt
too much. The truth was that he may not love her because nobody loved her. And
he had love from people the whole time she didnt. She never got love from
anybody, ever. It was more of a risk for her to reveal it and the risk was scary and
could break her apart. She wouldnt even confess to herself what she wanted the
whole time, what she waited for him because even the admission was impossible
to bare and too painful. It may hurt so much she would die forever from the heart
break so she did not dare confess it. And waiting for the words he grew angrier
and angrier at her and her cowardice. But, she was a coward, who wouldnt dare ask
for a better life, thinking she did not deserve one. After all this she carried guilt
herself and often thought about him, forbidding herself to be happy. Because she
thought if he was unhappy it would be unfair for her to be happy. It was a weird
and twisted psychology that commanded them both and pulled them now to
resentment and war.
He brought her to her apartment and threw her on the bed. He looked at her
face enraged by her beauty even when concealed, knowing what was underneath
it all. He grew angry at her frailty and weakness and yelled powerfully.
Why did you let me do this to you? I was a monster. You weak woman. Why
did you let me?
No woman is weak who takes the throws of a monster. You are blind already.
I dont need to touch you.
And you would, he said. You hate me and if you could you would destroy
me.

Are you scared Love would, she said.

I know if given the chance, she would. She has already.
She has, I guess, the Queen said.
Are you happy about that? the King growled. I know you are.
No, the Queen said. Destroying you, it destroyed me, too.
Dont lie to me, the King screamed. And he threw her on the bed. Dont lie
to me. You love to see me hurting and in pain dont you.
No, she screamed back. I dont.
Dont lie to me you witch, he screamed. And he threw a mirror on the wall
to the floor.
That lies to you, she screamed. Its not you. Its not you.
Who am I then, he said. Who?
The Queen ripped off her dress. She smeared her face and the messy makeup
left traces of even more ugliness. Her body was ivory and gorgeous; there was a
sort of luminosity underneath it that shone in the dark room. Her dark hair around
her pale face reminded him of every kind of sadness there was possible in the
world, and yet it was beautiful. It was still beautiful to watch.
What are you doing, he said.
Is this her?
Who? he said.

I am her? Am I Love? Am I the girl you know King. Are you him? Are you the
man?
The King looked and looked again. He was sure: it was her. Love.
Yes, he said, shaking. His whole body shaking with anger.
What does it do to you, she said.
It fills me with madness to guess, he said. It pisses me off. And then he
raged her; giving him portions of the madness he felt for her. He wanted her to feel
it, and she did, falling to the ground in agony. Tears streamed down her face. It was
just a feeling, a feeling he had and possessed when near her. Now, she knew it, too.
But, she always knew it somehow.
Let me touch you, she said.
Scared, the King said, I cant.
It will fix it, she said, thinking just the touch would cure both of their
diseases for each other.
Is that another of your tricks, the King demanded. To take another life,
another kingdom, another eternity.
No, she screamed. I wont hurt you.
But, he said. I know that you will, and already have.
I wont, she said.
You will, he said, throwing a chair. Dont play games with me. I will go
blind.

You are blind already, she said. You cant see the beauty it has the joy
the wonder. The softness, the caresses, the kisses.
I have caused too much damage, the King said. I am now forbidden.
Forbidding you forbid the world, she said.
I dont forbid myself, he said.
Yes - you do, she said. You do. You cant see it anymore. Its too hard for
you.
She was naked and ashamed before him but she didnt care. He saw more
than her body, he saw everything. Every flaw, scream, madness, and mistake. Every
fault, beauty, kindness, and flower on her. He saw it all it looked at the particles of
everything and he loved every minute of her, every hour, every year, every flaw,
every beauty. He honestly wanted all of it. His body was beginning to demand it
and feeling possessed by her, he grew angrier.
What are you doing to my body, he demanded. Its changing.
Nothing, she said.
Do you have some kind of witch power? You are. Its transforming me Im
losing myself. Im losing. Im breaking going mad. What are you doing you witch?
He threw the blankets on the bed over her.
She jumped, knowing he was not able to touch her. Nothing, she said. Im
not doing anything.

Why did you jump? You almost touched me. To get back at me because you
can.
I dont want to, she said.
You dont, he said.
No, she said.
Touch me, he screamed. I deserve it. Take off your clothes all of it and
touch me. After all Ive done I deserve it. Kiss me. Kiss me now. Hard.
Harder then you ever kissed anyone. Bite me. Break the skin. Touch me now.
He ran to her, but she ran away and threw a table in front of him. He chased
her around the room and she took things and threw them in front of him to
stop him.
Stop, she said. You dont know what youre doing.
Im desperate, he said. Desperate.
They looked at each other, hungrily, shyly. Forbidden.
No, she said. I wont.
He lowered his eyes, then looked up, then scared, lowered his eyes again.
She looked down, then up. Then down. They were quiet, very still and quiet.
They both were unsure as to what to do or say. Everything around them was
still so still that at the moment nothing, not even death could not change
anything. Death couldnt take them. The world was too still for that kind of
movement. Nothing could happen. They needed those moments, the King
thought, not finding an answer. There was no solution.

Rest, he said defeated.

I dont want to, she said.
I dont want to either, he said. What do you want to do?
She went over to the coffee machine and put on coffee. It was 1 am.
Many days, she said. I just want to live while Im here. I dont want to
sleep.
Just live? he said. What do you do?
I sit in bed. Sometimes I look out the window. And I just feel what its like
being alive. You feel it more when the world is quiet. It feels like its yours for
a moment.
What? he said.
Your life, she said. Not theirs.
She got the coffee, and made the Kings with cream and one sugar. He liked
it lighter and sweeter than her. She liked it dark and strong. She knew and
remembered without asking. She placed the coffee in front of him without
touching him and snuggled under the blankets. He sat slowly in a chair and
watched her move. She was a shy girl with a bright personality. He
remembered it all and knew her very well. Sometimes better than she knew
herself. He thought she all of it was beautiful. Captivating. He looked
across the room, studying the contours of her face and body. Her face,
although different, became more interesting, more beautiful as he stared.
He stood up and she watched him softly.

Can I, he said. Stare at you?

Are you going to hurt me, she said. You may not like what you see on me.
No, he said. I already know I will. I see more than you do.
You do, she said.
Yes, he said.
What do you see? she said.
Well, he looked. The silence of oceans. Not the sound. Not the sound. A
song I hear. A piano number. Some violins. And there are always words in
them, a story, but I cant find them. I can only hear its desperation to be
understood, but reaching out, always cant find the words. That is you, this
kind of silence that has no story.
Really, she said.
A silence, he said. Its all over you.
Thats the most beautiful thing I have ever heard anyone say, she said.
Im beautiful, he said smiling.
I know already, she said. Its why I hated you.
You hated me, he said.
No, she said. I couldnt bear to.
Really, he said.
No, she said. I hated you, but didnt allow myself to feel that. It was too
unbearable to feel.

The King was quiet. He moved his face closer to her face, nose to nose, just
an inch away from her skin so that he could feel the energy of her softness
caress his body, but not her skin.
Dont touch, he said.
She was still and careful. I wont, she said held by the silence still in the air.
The silence he understood.
Chapter 8
The King did not sleep. He was so lost in dream when he woke from his
fantasy she was gone. He didnt see her leave and was upset she didnt stay long
enough for them to get coffee. He walked through the living room hoping to find
her, but she was nowhere. Then he went to the table. There were breakfast muffins
on the table and a note that said, I made you breakfast. I had to go. I have work
today. Enjoy this beautiful weather King.
At the end of the note was a big smiley face and a heart. The King looked at
it. A smiley face, he laughed to himself. And a heart of friendship. He was not used
to this. And he smiled to himself, honestly. It was the first time an ounce of
happiness in him was really honest. He looked out the window; the birds were
pretending they were not looking at him but they were nervously staring in
anticipation.
What do you want, he yelled. And then he laughed out loud, heartedly. And
they laughed, too.
The King would not wait for her; he would look for her. He couldnt help
himself. He wanted to see her again. He went to her job, but they told him her shift

was over. He somehow, in some way, found the only man in town who knew where
she might be, at the park theatre, and went to the window with flowers he couldnt
give her because he couldnt touch her. So he demanded the birds to follow him and
they did in great joy and pleasure. But when he looked for her, she wasnt there
either. The birds looked on the streets as the people past; they were too silent and
ignorant to know what was happening to their world overnight. Even the King did
not know what was happening to him.
Where, he said to the birds meekly, Did she go?
Where does Love always go, they said. She goes to the supermarket to
buy grocery items so that she can bake you chocolate chip cookies, they laughed.
Me, he said.
Yes, they said. Its you King.
Are you sure, they said. Are you psychic? Is it me?
They laughed. You dont need to be a psychic to know the girl, they said.
And they followed the King to the corner grocery store and walked through
every isle, but she was not there. They walked down the block, to another grocery,
but she wasnt there either. The King began to have doubts that the birds knew
what they were talking about and he screamed at them that they had led him in the
wrong direction. The birds took his hand and guided him to a little mom and pop
store that the Queen loved because they sold exotic, dark coffee that she could not
get anywhere else. He walked in, down one isle then the next. The workers looked in
shock. It was the King in their store. They stared. Why? Why was the king in the

poorest part of town? And then they saw it, as he saw her. She was standing in the
milk isle checking the dates on the milk.
Queen of the Dance, the King said. Where have you been?
She was surprised to see him and not at all mad or annoyed that he had
followed her.
I had work, she said with a big smile. And then I planned to bring you
dinner because I felt
like you needed something nice.
He looked at her. I cant stop thinking about you, he burst out. Even before
I ever knew you or looked at your eyes I knew you.
She laughed, thinking the King was funny or some kind of comedian.
I had dreams about you, he said. Before I ever saw you.
She laughed again, and her laughter was so pleasant the King felt welcomed
by it. He demanded the birds to take her basket, and they walked the aisles of the
grocery store safely a few feet away from each other. Even in the costume that
covered the Queens natural beauty, the King was captivated by her elegance and
grace. She walked on her tip toes like a dancer and swung her arms elegantly and
playfully as she moved. She appeared amused by the King, and she smiled and
laughed to herself often even when he didnt speak. It was so funny the fear that
separated them. He made sure he was absolutely safe from touching her by
distance, but also he put sunglasses in his eyes that distorted the natural view so as
to also be safe from himself. Nothing on earth, he thought, could undress her, not
even his imagination. As they walked he threw large boxes and packages between

them so as to secure the distance all the while telling her about the books he loved
and his childhood, but more than anything he was beginning to fear himself. He was
loving her. Every minute he loved her and what she lived in - and the love was
overwhelming him, even with so many precautions. The Queen listened silently and
intently; she was graceful and polite especially with his idiosyncrasies. He told her
his favorite food was chocolate. He could eat just chocolate for days, and nothing
else. Sometimes he did, not caring about his health or stomach sicknesses. He
didnt know why he told her that, but he did. The Queen agreed she loved chocolate
too, but not as much as he did, she said. He then said he liked to go for long bike
rides. Did she? She told him she did. Do you enjoy art? Yes, she answered. And
theatre. Yes. He asked her if she thought him good looking and pleasant to her eyes,
and she told him she did. The birds rolled their eyes because neither King nor
Queen knew what the other looked like because they were so covered and
protected by their clothes and armor. A young man walked by and timidly glanced
at the Queen. The King asked him angrily what he was looking at, as if the Queen
was all of sudden his possession. He noticed this in him, and he scared himself. The
young man said nothing, since the Queens face was covered and her breast were
lost in a hurricane of clothes.
Then scatter, the King told him. And dont bother us.
The young man left angrily, cursing the Queen and King and giving him the
finger as he walked away. The King saw him, went up to him and literally kicked him
in the ass. The young man punched, missing the Kings face, and ran away, very
scared. The King ran back to the Queen, who was startled by his behavior.

Will you keep our friendship a secret? the King said then turned to the
Queen. Because our meeting could cause a riot, he said. The townspeople for
some reason dont like you, but I love you.
I wont tell a soul, she said, smiling strangely. Why did you hit that boy?
He was disrespectful, the King said. And I taught him a lesson. Then you
dont mind leaving the store separately, the King said. And I will meet you at your
apartment secretly.
Sure, she said shyly.
OK, he said excited. Then I will leave now, but dont take a detour OK.
Come to me as quick
as you can.
She laughed at him softly, enjoying his eagerness, and agreed to meet him at
her apartment.
The King left and welcomed himself to her couch and waited. He stared at her
art on the walls: modern, surreal, colorful, and weird styles. Different color afghan
rugs covered the floor, with crazy patterns and bright colorful shapes. The walls
were painted deep red. The furniture was white and also light wood. He looked at
her books; some were modern, some were very old and antique looking, from all
centuries. There were many books of poetry. The books made the room feel warm
and comfortable. Then there were saying on the wall. One said Live like its your
last day. Love like you cant live without it. And dance as if nobody is looking at
you. Another said, Without love we are nothing. Another said, Love will win.
And another said, Live. Life. Love. God, the King thought, how she really was

everywhere even if people did not know it was her. He saw a paper on the table and
looked at it. It was in her handwriting, a small short story she wrote herself. She is a
writer, he thought. A dancer. Many things. He was a writer too, and once, in the
past, he also used to dance in the courtyard. Maybe, the King thought, with her he
would dance again.
He wanted to do something special for her to show his affections, so he
began crafting something with paper. He was just finishing up when he heard her
enter the room with the birds. He threw it on the table with a smile and looked at
her. Her smile was really the only thing he could see on her face. Then she removed
her scarf.
My Godly, the King exclaimed. Dont do that.
Why, the Queen said. Nobody can see me here. I am safe.
I am not safe from those eyes and that hair, the King said.
So she went to put her scarf back on, but he exclaimed, No, no, dont. Ill
make myself strong enough. I can handle it, I think. I swear. Ill be good.
OK, the King said. Lift the veil now.
And her face was revealed to him for the first time. It was like giving sex to a
prisoner just freed. She was gorgeous, and that was not in any way a lie. The most
gorgeous creature he ever saw. Her skin was the color of ivory - deep, crystal, and
bright, luminous white. Every inch of her shined. Her eyes were bright blue against
her deep skin; she was so exotic. Her hair was dark and deep black and curly. SHer
white skin was lined with dark and mysterious eye shapes, hair, and lashes. She was
stunning and looked like a goddess of the night. No wonder she had to hide it; if it

was found it would be stolen and sold most likely. The thieves would take every inch
of her and he knew they would. Men would want what she had, the King was sure
of their greed. He stared intently at her as she elegantly crossed the room and put
away the groceries. A normal everyday act without her scarf, now appeared like an
erotic dance to him, and he thought hed lose his mind watching her. He knew in
hell Godly didnt give men fire, he gave them a beautiful woman he is not allowed to
touch. God was she beautiful, too beautiful for his understanding. Her beauty was
summoning and controlling everything around her, including him. The objects were
in awe of it and just stared at her as the King did lost and controlled by it.
In panic, he claimed he too was a dancer to her.
Really, the Queen said.
Yes, he said, snapping his finger to summon the song that was theirs. The
song immediately played and she recognized it even in thousands of years without
it as if it was still their own. She smiled; the King jumped and did a jig. He swung his
arms and legs up and down, all over the place. Instead of being captured, the
Queen looked amused and laughed. He swung again and again, liking her
amusement. Then, she danced. She danced an erotic belly dance with snake arms
and legs that commanded the air as she moved. He looked in jealousy and danced
harder - then she looked in jealousy and danced more passionately. They began at
once to compete for space and time, growing angry at each other and savoring
the competition.
Dont you find me beautiful Queen, the King said finally.
I do, she said. Do you find me captivating?

No, the King lied.

No, she said. And why not?
Because, I dont know, he said, dancing harder.
She stopped, hurt by the Kings confession, but the King was a smart man
and saw her beauty was too powerful even for him. He knew he must find a way to
regain his own control, even if it meant lying to her and himself. If he lost control,
hed lose it all: his eyes, another kingdom, even his mind.
I got you something, the King said, pointing to the table. She looked and
asked what it was, but the King said she has to open it. She did. It was a piece of
paper and when she opened it two paper arms burst out.
What is it? she asked.
It is a hug I sent because Im forbidden to hold you, he said.
The Queen melted and hugged the paper arms, cuddling. The Kings heart
appeared, even if rare, and he melted as well. He screamed out violently.
Whats wrong, the Queen said unaware of her own powers and beauty.
Follow me, he said. Quick and dont dare touch me. Just follow me.
She did. He was running. She struggled to keep up with his earnest. They ran
down the stairs, and through the streets. The King was more animal than man, and
the Queen stepped beside him like a flying Cheetah. They stopped at a coffee shop.
He told her to stand by the window and look into the coffee shop; he said dont
move your head. He then entered the shop on the other side. There was smoke on

the glass from the chill in his breath. He wrote backwards on it, Kiss me, please
and then put his lips on the glass. She was confused, but did as he said. She put her
lips on glass to touch where his would be, and they kissed through it, amazingly still
feeling the warmth of the others lips through the glass and also the warmth of their
own hearts touching even if it was forbidden to them. The people stopped and
looked at them. This was not to be. That was the King, and surely they already knew
the girl. The King felt their eyes, but for once, didnt care. She felt their eyes too and
stopped kissing, knowing they were condemning her. He punched on the glass as
she moved away and screamed through it so loudly that she could hear him, Dont
stop kissing me Queen. And she obeyed because she didnt want to stop either. He
was so beautiful to her suddenly. She listened to him unashamedly and kissed
deeply through the glass as the crowd roared around them.
Chapter 9
It was a shock to everyone: her face and its captivating beauty. It was not
that the tone of her white skin was so soft or bright, or that her blue eyes were not
deep enough, they were. It was not that her cheeks were symmetrical and just
perfect, because nothing about her face was perfect and fitting of typical beauty;
the nose was uneven, the lips a little crooked and too thick, the cheeks too round,
the eyes too square for them, but it was something underneath all those
imperfections that could not be ignored by their eyes. She was more beautiful than
any woman they had ever seen, even with the flaws and mistakes. They were
immediately taken, just by her look. They were feeling wrong in their opinions of
her, but they revolted against their eyes immediately. They raised their fists against
her and called her a Whore. She was responsible for manipulating the men in the
town, how many men were inflicted, how many dreams were lost because of her.

They began to scapegoat her, and blame her for all it, even their own mistakes. She
stood weakly before them, feeling vulnerable and unprotected, misunderstanding
their hatred. She knew what they said was not true, it simply couldnt be true. None
of it was within her power. She didnt know their plans, or opinions, but she knew
she was somehow being victimized by it. She had in the town become victim their
pain and suffering. She was for them, the scapegoat. They could blame her for all
their sufferings. She was in complete shock of this, because in reality she was an
innocent girl. What they said and claimed was untrue. The crowd in their rage and
anger drew closer and more angry, a riot was about to form, but the King stopped it.
With a sweep of his hand, they all fell.
He yelled, It was me.
The woman, he said. Is my wife. In my jealousy, I kept men away from her,
thats all. The evils are yours and they belong to you, not us. Its simply there
because you dont know how to love her or people like her. You dont know how to
love anyone for that matter.
What had the King said? Who had he become, he was King of evils. Many
evils of many kinds, but he knew something different now when he met her. He read
it in her face, written in her eyes, and the words were spoken, and a mystery was
revealed. The King knew who she was and he had prevented another man from
nearing her even before they met. Even the King was convinced of this. Even if he
claimed to forget her, he didnt. He never did. He branded her his possession. He
knew his own book and story, but made as if he didnt. Who was he this King the
crowd thought in anger? What was he trying to tell them? And all their pains.
What are you saying to us? the crowd roared.

I am saying, the King said. That your ideas are wrong. That is why you are
unhappy and so is your neighbor. That is the only reason. Its you, not her. Not me.
Not anyone. The Queen has nothing to do with your unhappiness.
She is dangerous, one yelled.
The King looked at the Queen. There was a danger to her, a risk. A threat to
her beauty he knew. There was blindness. But, who would he be if he never took the
chance? Even if it hurt, more than anything could hurt in the world. Who would he
be, if he didnt? Did Godly make Love to torment him, punish him with its loss;
punish him with her revelation? What did it mean? This cruelty and evil of Love. He
couldnt be happy with her and he couldnt be happy without her. Was it the world
who was unfair to them? Did their environment rob them? Or were they not worthy?
Was it something they did? It was a good question that couldnt be answered, but
needed to be. The answer was urgent to the King and he grew suddenly angry in his
restrictions. He needed more than anything to be free, freed of his pain, anger,
inflictions; freed of his restrictions. But he couldnt be; the law was made to restrict
him. There were consequence to true joy and freedom; there was severe
consequences in this world to devour pleasure. Real consequences that are chaotic
and erratic: unpredictable. They were all unknowing victims of it and its cruelty.
Suddenly there was a loud pound in the sky. It sounded like a bomb or an act
of war. Everyone heard it and everyone stopped to look. The music played
everywhere loudly, uplifting, angrily, impassioned and fervent, powerful, ancient.
The King looked around. Where? Where did it all come from? Nothing around him
broke, nothing shattered; no fire was set. Instead a large magical rainbow brighter
than any he has ever seen appeared miles across the New York City skyline, almost

touching the dream he thought he could never reach. The crowd looked around.
Seeing another attack; they scattered peace, they punched their arms at love, they
cursed at beauty, but suddenly, the King did not. He was lost in the magical feeling
he felt and the only one in all of the city that witnessed the rainbow even though it
was spread across the sky. They saw a fire. He saw Love.
He grabbed an old man in earnest happiness. Do you see that, he asked.
What? the old man replied.
Right there in the sky, the King demanded. What do you see?
There is nothing there, but smoke, the old man said. Nothing. I see nothing
not even a cloud.
It is miles across the sky, the King said. Miles and miles it runs.
Everywhere. You cant see the colors?
No, the old man said, knowing that the King was already crazy. Everybody
knew the King was crazy.
If a flower could speak, the King said. She would say: its OK. It is all OK.
But, she doesnt because she wants you to find it.
Stop grabbing me like that and laughing to yourself. Its weird, the old man
said. I dont know what youre talking about.
The King felt awkwardly like a 15 year old boy again; he thought he could
take on the world and conquer everything - even his blindness. He smiled, laughed;
and couldnt stop smiling. He was unstoppable; nothing could stop him. Not death.
Not blindness. There was no threat in a minute, no need to preserve for an hour, no

responsibility to the coming months. The crowd was still panicked - some in their old
prejudices went to attack the Queen, saying the bomb was set off because she was
a threat to them. They went to grab her and punish her.
There was no bomb; you fools! It is a story. Fiction.
What? they screamed.
Look there, the King yelled. Look. Its not a bomb; its rainbow. Look
around, there is no blood. Nothing broken. Cant you see whats happening to you?

But the King knew they couldnt; they couldnt see. And they knew
something was broken. But they couldnt tell you what. And more than anything,
they feared being wrong. Wrong about the whole thing.
Its her! They screamed. She is doing this. They jumped at her to attack
her.
Without thinking, the King jumped in the violent crowd and grabbed the
Queen as the crowd grabbed her. He cradled her in his arms. He held her on his
chest and then carried her. He walked miles to his apartment as the crowd followed
them and then he began to run. Run and run. In her apartment, he set her down on
the bed and looked fervently at her with fire and passion in his eyes. She was
scared, very scared in her eyes; stunned really. What the heck was happening
around her? What was the King becoming? She, like the city, didnt know, and never
knew. Neither did the King, and he was the one who was supposed to have all the
answers. They didnt know none of them knew - and that is what was made it so
scary. They never knew.

I love you, the King said. I finally understand what that means. I know why
its you.
Why do you love me, The Queen said.
I just do, the King said. I dont have any reasons. Its nothing youve done
and everything youve done. I loved you before I knew you I have always loved
you. Madly. Deeply.
I dont believe you, the Queen said.
You dont have to, the King said. But its the truth. Even my sadness is love
for you. Even my evil is love.
Now what, she said, looking around the silent room that seemed to still wait
for them to enter it and then shyly at him. His eyes searched her, touched her
without hands. Just from his glare she felt chills run through her body, cold then hot.
He felt it too, and touched his arm. He was real. He remembered. He kissed her hard
on the lips then looked at her with his nose touching her nose. Then he kissed her
again so hard it felt like a bite. She was captured, caught in the fever. She looked
at him in shock he was so beautiful it was frightening and his beauty got more
enhanced in just minutes.
My God. Its been an hour, she said, still surprised by the wonderful kiss.
We walked an hour here maybe 5 days. Through a million things and more. You
carried me. You carried me the whole way. Can you see me? My face. My hair. My
hands.

I see you, the King said. I see more. I see more of you. And its gorgeous.
Absolutely stunning, my Darling. I want to give you cute puppy dogs just to see you
smile. Please believe me.
If you can still see after an hour, she said. Then the writer was wrong; you
wont go blind touching me.
The King in revelation jumped on the Queen and kissed her lips again. She
kissed back passionately. He undressed her clothes urgently, ripping apart her
blouse and pants hungrily and tearing them to shreds on the floor. She stood there
still in submission, and let him devour her. He ripped her blouse in two and threw it
across the room, and then angrily kissed her breasts. To her, the touch was a painful
tickle, then urgency. He pressed his face against her breasts, kissing and tickling
them with her tongue while she rubbed fervently, then began to press and pull on
his hair. She pushed on his head with her hands, squeezing and scratching in
earnest and pain, and pressed backward dominantly against her breast. No, she
whispered, but he commanded yes. She knew what this was going to do it was
going to capture her again forever and she was safer from far away even if not
touching was just as painful as having him. His licked her nipples in circles and she
squirmed angrily and aggressively in her arms still hurt and numb from some past
wrong, but as he licked she softened and couldnt bare it, and couldnt bare not to
give into it.
No, dont, she whispered in hush and heat. You know what this does to
us.
I dont give a fuck, he commanded and bit the other nipple with just his
lips. He ripped her shirt off and threw it and then pressed his fingers against her

clitoris. It wasnt soft it was angry uncontrolled. His fingers were too rough for her
and pained her.
Youre hurting me, and he stopped and looked at her with innocence in his
eyes.
No, she said. Dont stop. And he took her naked body and threw her on
the bed, throwing his tongue in dance in her mouth. They kissed passionately and
she grabbed his face, pushing him closer to her, but it wasnt close enough. Their
bodies were more at war then making love, and they were pressing and pulling
against each others skin. The skin seemed to cry out - cry. Their bodies were at war
with each other, at war with their desires, still frightened and urgent, at war with
which way to be. When he pulled her to the left, she fought right. And when she
kissed his hands, he pulled them away and pushed on her ass. And when she kissed
his chest, he pushed her to his thighs, and pulled her around him with his hands. As
he pulled her, she kissed his chest and he moaned. Then she sucked on his
shoulders, and he roared. They were at war and yet weak and desperate with
desire. He pulled her back and licked her throat hungrily trying to feed this hunger
he couldnt feed. He licked again, and she pulled back, and he chased her. She
crawled to the pillow on top of the bed, and he stopped, stared silently taking her in,
then chased her again. From her toes he breathed heavily on her skin to her knee.
He breathed heavily, to her vagina. He breathed, to her belly. He roared and
breathed, to her breast to her neck. He stopped on her neck and kissed. Then he
went to her ear, kissed it, and whispered, Your beautiful.
I dont believe you mean that, she said.
Oh, he said. I do.

It was painful to give in to him, but she did, and he slipped his penis in her
vagina. He moved slowly at first with the fluidity of oceans, rocking inside her easily
and caressing her whole body, and then he began to push heavily, storming inside
her body with rage. She cried out; he moaned and roared. Then whimpered and
screamed at the same moment for minutes and as he listened to her voice, he
fell deeper and deeper in love with her. More in love then he ever thought was
possible. She cried out screamed - then it stopped. He fell on her and they were
silent.
He looked at her naked body: luminous, intoxicating. Every ounce of her was
a new landscape, an undiscovered color, some sort of painting that was desperate
to be heard. Every ounce was another revelation, and it was all gorgeous: too
gorgeous to reveal. But, he did. He felt it all - everything as he made love to her and
she made love to him, exploring forbidden places, touching more than their bodies
could possibly hold. He saw more than he thought was there or even possible and
he yearned again, kissing parts and traces of her everywhere. The movement of him
did not stop, it moved with their naked bodies in heat even as the love making
stopped; and there were unsteady rhythms on the street that left people nervous,
parts of building falling out of place as they kissed again, the sky suddenly
becoming the wrong color blue as he entered and left her, a street cracking in half
with his passions on her thighs. Her dreams were in his hands. It was frightening frighteningly crazy, chaotic, and beautiful, wanting to be released. Everything was
changing around them, in them. He knew it. He knew then he would risk anything,
safety and correctness, for just one hour with her that played again and again. He
would give it all away to make love for just one hour in all of eternity, and he did.
And he didnt stop. And he wouldnt stop. He kept pushing and pressing, kissing and

holding knowing right now, right now nothing could happen to them. Nothing
could hurt them, destroy them, or kill them.

Chapter 10
They were still alive when they woke up and shocked about it. They looked at
each other with such gratitude for the seeing. They lay in bed, hearing the peace
outside. The peace was foreign, something they were not used to. They heard
laughter and whispers, and instead of gray even saw pink in the air, a sort of
magenta that set the whole sky on fire. They barely spoke. They took each others
hands and walked outside quietly and knowingly. It was like walking into another
world. I swear every person on the street was smiling with great joy: great joy. Every
one of them was beautiful and suddenly healthy looking. They held hands with each
other, laughed, skipped and walked among buildings of the greatest architecture
the world had ever seen. It was majestic. The streets were shining gold and silver,
and pearls lined ornate lights. Everything was so clean and new it sparkled; cars ran
by sunlight like flowers and were the brightest colors you could ever see. Every
building was a different color of the rainbow, a brighter shade that shined, so the
whole city looked like a painting. Happy businessmen gave out free coffee and
bakery goods on the corners, while musicians played joyfully besides them. People
hugged and danced with strangers on the street. They laughed out loud heartedly
and powerfully. They absolutely forgot every inch of their painful pasts because
the past could not harm them or touch them now.
The writer bravely came up to the King and Queen to apologize.
The King suddenly got angry, only at him who was cruel to him.

You lied, the King said. I did not go blind.

These people around you have been happy for 1,000 years. You didnt see it
then, but you see it now. Either you see it or you dont.
The King punched him in the stomach and he fell laughing. The King and
Queen walked through the beautiful streets together, but couldnt handle their
passions anymore. The King looked at the Queen passionately and kissed her freely.
He felt so free and liberated that she was his now and he could. She was his now,
and he could hold her and kiss her at any time he wanted to. Lets go to the
bedchamber, he said. Again and again and again, he said laughing.
She agreed with great desire.
He picked her up and they went to the bedchamber. They were in the room
alone together for three months. They never left, never stopped kissing each other,
or exploring each others minds and bodies. With each kiss the world around them
got happier, brighter - more magical. New revelations of love were revealed
everywhere and in everything. Beauty was everywhere and in everything. The
Queen, my god, the King thought. How did I create something so magnificently
gorgeous as her? He couldnt believe himself or what he could do. What clay did I
use that defies my own body, what paint defies my own hand, what language did I
write that surprises even me of me when she speaks it? Her voice was softer with
every day; her smile was too beautiful to corrupt with my hands. He was in ways
still scared of himself and what he could do. He couldnt believe it was him and this
was happening he would have never believed it would all be so beautiful or good if
you told him 10 years ago. He had seen before thing some should never see and
he didnt see them now. And yet, he looked upon the most familiar with majesty and

wonderment. Just a strawberry on her lips seemed miraculous; a light touching her
hair was the rarest jewel. And he did not stop touching her revealing her. With
every touch she was teaching him more about himself and her; finding worlds and
universes that should have been there, but never were. He began to understand; he
was Godly. This was his world he designed, his wife he made, and the Queen
showed that to him. She showed him many things - that he was beautiful too
until every day the world was so new around them, they couldnt die anymore. And
every tear was washed away.

WRITTEN BY:
Kristie Edna Donohue and her Angel C.J.
Copyright 2013-2014

In conversation with her after they meet I have an enemy here who wants to
defeat me. He is very powerful and invisible. Oh yeah she says laughing, who is
that? love, he said love , she said, laughing