SNAFU

By Angharad

 

Part 20

We ate in silence. Dad was too upset to be bothered by my mother’s comments about their angelic daughter, so Mum kept mum! The atmosphere was far from the usual happy home. So I was quite pleased to go and play with the children at the Johns’ house.

I was about to leave when the phone rang. “Hello.”

“This is Thames valley Police.”

“Is it about dad’s car?”

“Could we speak to Dr Curtis?”

“I’ll just get him.” I walked with the cordless phone to the dining room. “Dad, it’s the police.”

Momentarily he was perplexed, then remembered about the car. Then his face lit up, maybe they’d found it already! “Hello, Tom Curtis here.”

We only heard his side of the conversation.

“Oh shit!” Mum and I exchanged glances.

“You sure it’s my car?” More glances.

“When can I get it back?”

“Crime scene! How can a car be a crime scene?”

“I’m not getting excited. Okay, you can keep the car, but can you tell me if there are any papers in the boot?”

“What do you mean, nothing can leave the scene and you can’t comment upon it? I have three years research work in that boot, and I don’t give a shit if my car has been used to heist the crown jewels, I need that research material and I expect to collect it tomorrow.”

“Yes well bugger you and your Chief Superintendent! We’ll see about that!”

He put the phone down. “My car has been used in a serious crime, they can’t tell me what sort or where. They can’t tell me if my research is still in the back of it. They won’t let me near it. And I pay taxes for that lousy bloody lot! Some bloody service they are.”

Mum was trying to calm him down. “Tom, they are only doing their job.”

“Don’t talk such rubbish woman. If they were doing their bloody job properly, the bastards who stole it would be inside doing porridge, not out pinching my bloody car. This bloody lot couldn’t catch a cold, let alone some criminal. All they can bloody well do is stop motorists for being two miles an hour over the limit or for parking on yellow bloody lines. They are a pile of piss!”

“Tom, there is no need for such language in front of Jamie. Please apologise.” My mum really laid into him, and his angry face suddenly became rather sheepish.

I admit was surprised at his outburst, because normally he was very calm and quiet. I felt embarrassed by it and also felt his pain, because I knew how much his research meant to him, it would take months to duplicate, if that were possible.

He looked at me with a curious expression on his face. “Your mother is quite right. I apologise for swearing in front of you ladies.” Before I could respond with an acceptance, and a mention that I was in the army which was not renown for the breadth of range of vocabulary of its members; he suddenly said to me, “Jamie have you still got that VHF radio?”

“Yes, up in my bedroom, why?”

“Can you still get police messages on it?”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon girl, let’s see.” With that he grabbed my arm and we ran up to the bedroom. In five minutes, we had found the emergency services waveband, and sure enough we picked up on a serious crime, an armed robbery. It was on a post office in the next town.

“You coming girl?” he suddenly threw at me.

“Where?” I asked, surely he wasn’t serious.

“That post office.”

“But Dad, they won’t let you near the car, and you’ve been drinking.”

“You can drive, come on, we’ll use your mother’s car.”

“I’m supposed to be baby sitting, and you’ve got a bridge game.”

“Bugger that, this is important. C’mon girl.”

I reluctantly accompanied him as chauffeuse. Mum agreed to call the Johns and tell them that we’d be running late.

I drove as quickly as I could, speed limits permitting. We arrived at the street in which the post office was situated. There was a barrier across the street, with a burly policeman stood there. He looked completely fed up.

Before I could stop him, Dad ran up and accosted him. As I followed, having locked the car, I could see my father pleading with him and the copper shaking his head. I knew it was futile to come, but I had to support my dad as he had me earlier.

“Look sir. I can’t allow you near the scene of the crime. Please don’t make me have to arrest you.”

Before my father could upset him further, I intervened. “Dad, the nice policemen is only doing his job.” And I put my finger on his lips as I pulled him away. But he did shut up.

“Hello officer.” I said in my sexiest voice.

“Miss.” He replied.

“I’m sorry if my father has annoyed you, I know what a difficult job you have sometimes.” I smiled at him, flirting with my eyes.

“S’all right Miss, no offence taken.” I glanced at my father who was practically apoplectic, though silently so.

“I expect my dad has told you that his car was stolen earlier this evening, and that’s it crashed into the post office.”

“We didn’t quite get that far Miss.” He was keeping a very straight face, despite my practically rubbing his leg.

“We are aware that the car is part of a crime scene, but my Dad is an eminent scholar whose entire research was in the boot of that car. It’s many years work, and he needs some of it for lecture material tomorrow.”

“Sorry Miss, nothing can leave the scene,” he replied shifting his stance to relieve the obvious discomfort he was having in his underpants.

“Yes officer, I appreciate that, but I wonder if you could do me an enormous favour, for which I’d be eternally grateful,” I smarmed at him.

His eyes lit up, and my father nearly choked to death. “What’s that Miss?” said his mouth, while the rest of his body was shouting at me, “Yeah, love to do you a favour, get rid of the old man, and come back when I’m off duty.”

“Would it be possible for you to look in the boot of the car and see if the papers are still there. If they are then I shall be so relieved. Gosh is it hot or is it me?” I said taking off my jacket. My father nearly had a stroke.

“Let me get this right,” said our noble custodian of the law, “You want me to interfere with the scene of a crime?”

“No officer, I simply want you to open the boot of the car and see if the documents that were in it are still there.”

“Then they’ll have my dabs on it.”

“You mean fingerprints?”

“Yeah.”

“But if my Dad opened the boot, no one except you and me would know, because his prints will be all over it anyway.”

“Yeah, they would wouldn’t they.”

“So it wouldn’t really matter, would it.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes it would or yes it wouldn’t?”

“Yes it would. It’s a crime scene. I’d get done myself for that.”

“What if you were distracted and didn’t see him do it?”

“How could that happen?”

“I don’t know, but it’s awfully hot here, I think I’m going to…….” With that I swooned very gracefully to the floor.  My father started towards me, but then caught on.

The copper bent over me, saying,” You alright Miss?”

“I can’t breathe.” I whispered, “need to loosen my tight clothing.”

As he duly obliged, asking if I needed an ambulance, I whispered back a no, he was doing fine. A couple of minutes later, we heard the boot of the car close quietly and footsteps running back towards us.

“Is she okay?” asked my father.

“She’s very okay!” winked the copper, removing his hand from my breast, and helping me up into a sitting position.

“You weren’t thinking of interfering with a crime scene were you sir?” he addressed my father.

“Who me officer? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I thought not, sir.”

I managed to get up and he said to me. ”You feeling better now Miss?”

“Oh so much better, thank you for your generous assistance officer. The warm hands of the… I mean the long arm of the law, never felt better.” I glanced at his trousers which were tenting under his jacket.

“Just in case you have any further information, or need further assistance, let me know at this number,” and he gave me his card.

As we drove back home, I saw my father was shaking his head. “That was shameless Jamie. He could have done us both for obstructing an officer or whatever.”

“Was it all there?”

“I think so.”

“So it was worth it then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like you offering favours to strange men on my behalf.”

“I was just flirting dad, it was nothing serious.”

“He had his hand on your breast! I’d call that serious. He could be charged with sexual assault.”

“And you with interfering with a scene of crime!”

“Touché!”

We stayed silent for the rest of the drive, then as we got back onto the drive, he kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you darling, but please don’t ever do it again.”

“Don’t worry Dad, next time you lose your research, you can find it yourself or get a gay copper to guard it!”

He gave me a curious look before his jaw dropped, “That young lady was uncalled for!”

I dashed in changed out of the clothes I’d been lying in the road in, and dashed over to the Johns house. I entered to much noise and hurrahs.

What can I say? Bill and Linnie were delighted to see me, I suppose Dr and Mrs Johns were too, primarily so they could get on with their addiction to bridge.

“I hear the police have found the car,” said the good doctor.

“Yes, unfortunately Dad had left his research in the boot, but the police have confirmed it’s there, so he’ll have to wait until they release it.”

“Release it? Why can’t he just get it now?”

“It was used in an armed robbery.”

“You are joking?”

“’Fraid  not. It was crashed into a post office as part of a raid.”

“What a ram raid?”

“I don’t know, but it was stuck into the front of the post office when we saw it.”

“Is it badly damaged?”

“I don’t know, I couldn’t see the front of it. We weren’t allowed to cross the tape denoting a police investigation.”

“So it could be a write-off?”

“I don’t know.”

“We will be later home than we anticipated since we are later starting. Is that still okay with you?”

“Of course.”

“Ray,” shouted Bill.

“None of that young man.” Said his mother, “It doesn’t matter what time we go over to Jamie’s house, you are to be in bed by ten. Got that?”

“Yes Mum.”

“Don’t you give Jamie any trouble, because you’ll be in trouble tomorrow if you do, and worse.” At this both children looked apprehensive. “She won’t come and sit for us again.”

“We promise Mum, we love Jamie.” They all then kissed and the parents left to join my parents in their card school. I have never played bridge, I have whist and I didn’t like it very much. So I doubt I’d like bridge. I much prefer to exercise my brain with other futilities, such as crosswords.

“Jamie, come and see my bedroom.” Linnie grabbed my arm and virtually dragged me up to her room.

“No come and see mine,” argued Bill. “Linnie’s is full of girls stuff.” Then suddenly noticing I was a girl, added a puzzled, “Oh!”

“Don’t worry Bill, I shall see yours before  I put you to bed. And Linnie, this can’t be more than a quick look.”

She smiled her assent. Her bedroom was typical young teen, lots of posters of dogs and cats, a popular boy band, and soft toys. Her wardrobe was quite large, and it suggested to me, indulgent parents.

Five minutes later, I was ushered into Bill’s room. It was surprisingly tidy compared with the popular mythology of boy’s bedrooms. There were lots of cars and an enormous Lego set. The walls were decorated with pictures of aircraft and cars. It seemed as stereotyped as his sister’s room. Compared with my own, which had been much more gender neutral as a child and teenager. Mine was full of books, there seemed rather few in each of the kid’s rooms. That surprised me. However, each had a computer, which they explained was networked to their parent’s one in the study.

It was surprising that, although I had babysat these children many times, including putting them to bed, I had never looked at their bedrooms in any systematic way. They had both changed in the year or more since I had last looked after them. That in itself was unsurprising, children grow at a phenomenal rate in both a physical and mental way. They are also now much more demanding than even I had been, and expect to have their demands met. Their parents were quite affluent, Dr Johns being a consultant, who would earn much more than my parents.

As the children competed for my attention and I encouraged them to find something we could all do for an hour or so, I tried not to be too judgemental things are changing so quickly, but I wasn’t sure if I envied or pitied them their lot. By the time they were my age, things would have changed again. Would this mean we would be even more materialist? Or would there be some gentle change which enabled people to become more content with less but be in some harmony with the planet and themselves on a deeper level? I had no idea.

“Tell us about Iraq, Jamie.” Said Linnie, leading me to the big sofa in the lounge.

“Was there lots of shooting?” asked Bill, “Lots of bullets flying about the place.” He pretended he had a gun and began making a shooting noise.

“Sit down you silly boy.” Linnie asserted her superior age and rank over her noisy sibling.

He of course was now re-enacting imaginary scenes from the Gulf war, but finally came to sit down when no one took any notice of him. Linnie had gone to get us all a drink, while Bill continued dancing about dodging bullets and killing many.

I hadn’t quite expected this level of interest about my travels, which was an underestimation on my part. They knew I was going, why shouldn’t they ask me about it? My dilemma became one more of how truthful should I be in my answers, and what would that mean to me in terms of flashbacks and other negative feelings, and which in turn could have an effect upon the two children.

I hoped that if I described something as horrible, they wouldn’t pursue it. I just knew I couldn’t tell them that they wouldn’t understand, because while I knew that, they wouldn’t or couldn’t. Besides it’s so patronising, and I don’t like being patronised, so I had to practice what I preached.

Bill had begun to settle down with my deliberate ignoring  of his battle scene, so when Linnie came back with the drinks, he was beginning to calm down. They both looked up at me with anticipation.

“Iraq,” I began, “is a big place.”

“What!” said Bill, “bigger than Oxford.”

“Stupid boy!” exclaimed his sister, “it’s bigger than this country. Isn’t it Jamie?”

“Tis not!” retorted  an indignant boy, who sat down sulkily with his arms folded and his face contorted in a scowl.

“Tell him Jamie,” urged his sister, scenting victory.

“I’m not sure how big it is.” As I said this Linnie rushed off to get an atlas, ending my attempt to bring about a draw between the warring factions. I had been spared all this competition, being an only child. I don’t know whether I pitied or envied them.

Linnie proved her point, much to Bill’s disgust. I thereafter struggled to bring him back on board our girl world, without descending into much violence. Then I recalled the sandstorm.

“Just after we got there, there arose a horrific sandstorm. Do you know what that means?” I asked my wide eyed audience. They both shook their heads. I had their undivided attention, but needed to remember that in a short time, the younger sibling would be going to bed, I neither wanted to frighten nor over excite him, and from memory thought it would probably be a relatively difficult task.

I described the blasting sand, which got into everything. They laughed when I mentioned underwear, as I expected. They were suitably horrified when I described how it could bury a car in minutes, surprised that it could blow through cracks in the walls and around the windows. Further surprised when they learned it wasn’t like the sand found at beaches in this country, and disgusted when I likened it more to the sort of dust they would find under the carpets, grey and dirty.

I explained that it made you physically dirty, hence the stuff in the bible about washing everyone’s feet. They were puzzled about mosquito nets, so I had to explain about mozzies and malaria. That took some time, because they kept injecting, quite sensible questions, such as, “if mosquitoes need water to breed, how can they breed in the desert?”

I then had to explain about water and deserts, or rather deserts and water and how more people drown in the desert than die from thirst. This shocked them. I admit when I first heard it on a television programme, it surprised me. Apparently, inexperienced desert explorers often pitch their camp in dried up water courses. While rainfall may be scarce, it does happen. Once it does, it is torrential and the water courses flood very quickly. So  sudden storm up some mountain can cause a flood miles away within a matter of hours. If anyone is sleeping in a tent in the way of the water, they have no chance.

The combination of sand and water as potential disaster media, was sufficient to stop Bill asking awkward questions about combat and terrorism. I knew that sooner or later, they could get to find out about my part in an action, especially if it gets in the local press. I wasn’t proud of having taken lives and I certainly didn’t want to try and explain it to children. There is enough madness and violence in everyday life, to not need the extraordinary form from an extraordinary place like Iraq.

If Bill had learned that I actually took life, he would be fascinated with it, then horrified if I spoke the truth, about seeing blood and bodyparts flying about the place. Like seeing someone’s head explode with a bullet striking it. I quickly took this horrendous scene and switched it for something more gentle.

I managed to get Bill to bed without any problem, although I had to sit through a short lecture on why he preferred this car to another. The preferred one then got placed on the bedside table.

When I returned to the lounge Linnie was making faces. “Anything wrong?” I enquired.

“Oh Jamie, I started periods a year ago, why do they still hurt?” Just the sort of question I needed.

“Is it hurting now?” I asked. She nodded her response. “Do you take anything for it?”

“Paracetamol. What do you take?” She asked of me, obviously forgetting my previous persona.

I tried to prevent a recollection of it, and so answered neutrally as I did back at the camp and hospital. “I’m lucky, I don’t get any pain.” Only because I don’t get periods! “Have you tried a hot water bottle, I know that works for some people.”

“Yes, we do that quite regularly.”

“What about starflower oil? That’s supposed to be help.”

“I haven’t tried that, I’ll ask Mum to get me some tomorrow.”

“Come and have a cuddle, that helps too.” This was what she really wanted, so we curled up together on the sofa.

“Jamie, do you have a boyfriend?” Here we go I thought.

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“John.”

“Is he the man I saw you with the other day?”

“Probably.”

“He’s quite handsome.”

“I think he’s beautiful.”

“Can men be beautiful?”

“Oh yes, they certainly can. Remember, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So something I might consider beautiful, you might see as rather plain and vice versa.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.” She paused, and I was waiting for the sixty four dollar question. I wasn’t to be disappointed. “Have you done it yet?”

“Done what?” I asked knowing full well what she was on about.

“It,” she said, “it, you know. It.”

“No I don’t know.” I feigned ignorance verging on stupidity.

“Have you made love?” I could feel her blushing rather than see her face.

“That’s rather a personal question.” I retorted, partly not wanting to reveal that I hadn’t at the same time not wishing to appear to disparage her.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. Besides,” I added,” how I feel about it may be very different to how you experience it.”

“I suppose so.” She almost sighed at me. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”

“Have you, indeed?”

“His name’s Tim. He’s not as nice looking as yours is, but he’ll do for now.”  I smiled at this last statement, relationships are obviously disposable to this young woman, or did she recognise the ephemeral quality of adolescent romances. Maybe I could learn from her, being very inexperienced in romance generally.

Over the next few days, Dad got his precious research back and I spent much of the time scanning things onto discs for him, it set new heights in tedium, but at least he could create back up copies easily and he could carry it about more conveniently. He was suitably grateful and bought me a new bicycle.

I could have done with a car, but he had to buy a new family one, the old one was a write-off. He got another Rover 75, a two year old one the same as his old one, but this one was an estate version, which was how he brought home the bicycle.

In actual fact I wanted a new one, and would probably have wished to choose my own given the opportunity, but it was a nice one. It was a Specialized Dolce, a ladies racer, with twenty four gears and carbon fibre front forks and seat post. Apparently, one of the girls in his department was selling it. He thought she was about my size, so he bought it. It looked brand new, and when I checked the computer on it, it had done less than a hundred miles. The tyres were even clean, and it was much lighter than my old cheapo mountain bike.

The gear ratio was 52:11, which meant it was hard work in the top gear, but downhill, it fair flew along and I had forty miles an hour out of it at one point, though I had some difficulty staying on it with the bumps in the road. Amazingly, the small racing saddle was remarkably comfortable, with its built in gel inserts. By the end of the first week, I had doubled its mileage, and was beginning to enjoy cycling again.

Without wishing to harp on about this bike, it really is a good one, if you don’t believe me have a look on the Specialized web site, it’s certainly one of the better things to come out of America, and designed for women riders not just adapted from men’s bikes. Anyway, I like it and hope to do many miles on it. I even bought a helmet and cycle shorts to celebrate.

So life was pretty good. John had phoned or texted me most days, I was getting almost fit on the bike, and spending some quality time with my parents when they weren’t working. Less with dad because of his blessed book. My wardrobe expanded with the enthusiastic help of my mother, which included a cycling shirt and jacket to match my shorts. I was happy in a tee shirt, she wanted me to wear matching outfits! I didn’t know why, because I wasn’t a member of a club or anything like that and usually went out on my own or with the Johns’ children.

One Sunday, I had set off for a round trip of about twenty miles, which would take me much of the afternoon, as it was quite warm and I wasn’t going to rush anywhere.

An hour out from home, I stopped for an ice cream at a van parked near the river, and sat down on a nearby picnic table. I had got used to locking the bike to any convenient post or fence, and did so this particular Sunday.

I was absent-mindedly eating my ice cream watching a pair of swans on the river, when a half familiar voice assailed my ears. “Hello Jamie.”

It took me a moment before I could come back to the present and focus on the voice. “Remember me?” I did, it was the strange girl who gave me the Egyptian canopic jar.

“Harry isn’t it?” I replied, not really wanting to talk to her after my experience with the jar, but then was that her stuff or mine? I didn’t know, so I thought I’d better give her the benefit of the doubt.

“What are you doing here?” I enquired of her, recollecting that we’d met at Sharon’s party, in Barbury.

“Oh I get around.”

“Obviously.” Why was my solar plexus flipping about? There was something not right about this woman, but what was it? I began to call my protector in my mind, visualising a lioness sitting alongside me.

“So, what are you doing here?” I asked again.

“I’ve come to see you.”

“What for?” I felt a distinct discomfort about her.

“I have something for you.” She was smiling with her mouth but her eyes were as cold as ice.

“I don’t think I want it.” I responded, feeling that I was ready to leave but my legs felt rooted to the spot,

“You won’t want it, but you can’t avoid it. I have a score to settle.” She smiled a very threatening smile. I tried harder to concentrate on a lioness, sitting beside me.

“That won’t protect you!” she laughed, and although her voice was light and female, it seemed to echo like demonic laughter, surrounding and threatening me. “She won’t save you this time, because I have made sure you are surrounded by a ring of sand from your tomb.

“What are you talking about?” I spoke with difficulty, my whole body seemed to be paralysed, and even my mouth was having difficulty working, as my strength seemed to be sapped from me.

“You know perfectly well what I am talking about, denouncing me to Hotep. I have waited many centuries to revenge myself. Today looks like the day. Nice bicycle, pity you won’t be riding it anymore.” Once more the, demonic laughter rang through me, and I felt increasingly cold, my powerless body feeling as if it was in a freezer.

“I don’t know whether to just leave you here to die slowly, which you will. Or, if I will just scatter this sand over you and you will die almost immediately, returning to your tomb. Which is where you should be, you goody-goody bitch. Too bloody perfect for this world aren’t you? Well apart from killing the odd terrorist and your friends in a past life.”

The cold was getting to me, and despite the warmth of the sunshine, I was shivering. She took the ice cream from me and dropped it in the litter bin. “What’s the matter Jamie? Lost your appetite?” she laughed again. I felt myself drifting, almost as if I was slipping into a sleep. But this would be a permanent variety if I succumbed. I desperately tried to stay awake.

“Give into it, Jamie. You can’t beat it you know. Just lie back and think of Egypt, and your treachery!”

I felt colder and colder, but also angry. I had performed no act of treachery, that was her speciality. My head was becoming muzzy, and I strove to stay awake. I had to focus on Sekhmet, only she could save me now.

My concentration was wavering as I tried to see her in my mind’s eye. I tried to imagine her superimposed on my body. It felt a fraction warmer. Then it slipped. Harry was saying something, but I wasn’t listening. I was trying to stay alive, and that meant just focusing on one thing, my goddess.

As I struggled with her magic, invoking my own, I saw my goddess standing over me, her solar disk shining brightly, reflecting the disk of Re, the sun god. I imagined the sun shining onto the disk and it focussed onto Harry, where it was beginning to burn her.

She was now shouting something at me, and moving away from me. I felt my strength growing a little, and redoubled my efforts, the light was shining on her now so brightly I could hardly see her in the glare. I saw her about to throw something at me, and increased the intensity of the light like a laser, and her clothes caught fire. She screamed, and ran towards the river, as she did so, she broke the circle she had created around me.

The lioness bounded after her, stopping at the river bank. She had thrown herself into the water. No one had seen her, no one had seen the interaction between us, no one had seen the flames or my lioness. Harry, clearly was not human, some sort of spirit creature or ghost, of the priestess Ishte. Whatever she or it was, I had to find some way of protecting myself against her. If the opportunity arose, then I would not hesitate to destroy it. Twice now it had attempted to kill me. Goodbye Miss Nice Guy, this was war and the gloves were now off.

My anger helped my energy to return, although it took me a good half an hour to feel strong enough to leave the seat and return to my bike. I was going to have to recall Sekhmet and ask her how to protect myself, or how to neutralise the threat.

It was interesting that I had a physical body but she didn’t seem to have one. Which in some ways made me more vulnerable insofar as it was able to be damaged or even killed. She was obviously an energy form of some sort, which is what spirits are. So she could come and go, whereas I was here all the time. However, we incarnate beings have one distinct advantage over discarnate entities, that is the amount of energy or power we can generate. In a simple trial of strength, I could beat her hands down, hence her two stealth attacks.

I needed to know how to detect her before she got close or how to protect myself if she did. Then I needed to know how to pursue her and destroy her, because if I didn’t, she would do it to me. It was Iraq, all over again. Kill or be killed, except she died about three thousand years ago, and she won’t stay bloody dead as long as I am alive.

I began to realise, that she was amongst the undead, banished there because of her crimes. Somehow she had latched onto me, and I began to have visions of how she had pursued me in previous lives, causing me grief but not angering me enough to finish her off. Each time my conscience or sense of mercy had prevented me. Compassion is what makes us human, but even a compassionate human can get a bit pissed off with a pesky spirit. “This time it’s personal,” I seem to recall from a film, but not which one. Not that it matters, because it would have little relevance to my little duel.

I rode home aware of a lioness with me all the way. It increased my sense of security and to some extent my confidence. However, it didn’t help on hills, or should I say pedalling up the blessed things, which with a high ratio gear set, is hard work.

That night I retired to bed early, and sitting on the bed before the portrait of my mistress, I burned some frankincense and also some myrrh. I nearly set off the smoke detector, but the smell in my room was wonderful. It also helped me to tune in my meditation to my goddess.

 

since 01/06/05