This is a stand alone story involving the Black Djinn, although you do get to
see how he works.

TALES OF DJINNAR: The Pool of Truest Reflection
by Raven

John sat in the bar with his close friend, Aleem.  The setting was early
Friday evening, nearly seven o'clock, and the place was filled with young 
professional women celebrating the onset of another
weekend.

Aleem noted his perpetually brooding buddy, and reminded him in his faint
Arabic accent, "John?  This is called  Happy Hour' for a reason you know?"

Aleem was born, and raised, in Saudi Arabia.   He came to the United States
when he was just seventeen years of age, to attend University.  Afterward, he 
just stayed, with the assent of his family, finding a job with Taylor Industries as 
a computer programmer.  That was where he met John, who was an account 
executive.

John looked up, sad eyes reflecting the candle light from the table where they
were sitting. "I know.  I'm sorry.  I guess that I'm not the best of company this 
evening."

"You have been like this all week, my friend.  Can you not tell me what the
problem may be?"

There was a brief moment of hesitation from John.  Whatever the problem was,
it was causing him a great deal of pain.  He started slowly, "You remember I 
told you that my secretary and her husband invited me to dinner to meet a girl 
who worked with her husband."

"I do recall this.  I do.  I remember that I told you that it was a good idea.
It has been over three years since you broke up with Amy."

"I keep telling you that I just haven't met anyone that I thought was
interesting.  That is until I met Kristina at that dinner."

"You like her then?"

"Aleem, I swear that when I saw her it was like my heart beat for the first
time in over three years.  She was everything!  Did I like her? Yes . . . very 
much."

"Then why are you so sad?  You should be very happy, my friend.  Did you not
get her telephone number?"

"I did.  Before we said our goodbyes, I asked her if she would like to go out
and do something with me.  She seemed to be very enthusiastic about it, and she 
gave me her number. Like I said it felt like I was alive again for the first time in 
years."

Now Aleem's curiosity was piqued.  "Did you not call her?"

"I did, but I got her answering machine."

"Did she call you back?"

John responded sullenly, "Yes she did, and her voice sounded so sweet and
encouraging.  However, I wasn't there, so she left a message on my machine."

"What happened then, John?"

"I've tried calling her back twice since then, only to get her answering
machine.  She hasn't called me back . . . and, well, here I am."

Aleem had to try and say something to ease the pain of his friend.  "Perhaps
she was just very busy and has not had a chance to return you call.  She may still 
call you or you could try to call her again."

John had a doubtful look upon his face.  "Nobody can be so busy that they
can't pick up the phone, for just a minute, to at least acknowledge the call.  That 
is just common courtesy.  No.  I am afraid that she's avoiding my calls.  I just 
can't humiliate myself even further by trying to call her.  I can take a
hint."

"That does not make sense.  Why would this Kristina give you her number or
sound so encouraging if she did have an interest?  It does not make sense, my 
friend."

John looked down into his drink, not wanting to meet Aleem's eyes, lest they
start to leak a certain salty fluid.  "Why do you think it hurts so much?"

"Cannot you explain it to me?  Please, let me share your pain . . . "

John placed his hand upon Aleem's shoulder as a simple gesture of his
appreciation for his concern.  "I don't know that I can, but I will try.  I had 
almost forgotten how much it hurts to want something that you can't ever have.  
That is really why I haven't dated anyone since Amy. The truth is that I didn't
want to find anybody interesting.  After Amy I didn't think that I had the
strength to endure that kind of hurt again.  I guess that I don't.  Kristina has 
reminded me what it is like to want something so badly, but can't ever have."

"John, have what?"

"You know . . . happiness, someone to share a life with.  Sometimes it just
feels like it is my destiny to walk alone.  You know?  Maybe I had my shot at 
happiness with Amy and blew it. Maybe I'm meant to be alone, without love, 
for the rest of my life," John related.

This was getting very deep now.  "The only thing that is preventing you from
being happy is you John.  There is an internal conflict within you that unless it is 
resolved will keep you from finding anybody.  Everybody was meant to have 
someone to love.  That is the way of the world."

"That's so optimistic.  How would you suggest that I resolve this internal
conflict?"

Aleem thought for a second.  "Where I come from, you would be told to seek
enlightenment in the Secret Garden of Self Discovery."

"And exactly where would one find this Secret Garden?"

"That is difficult to answer.  The legends say that it is very far, yet lies
only a heartbeat away.  The Secret Garden is something within each of us."

John was extremely confused now.  "Aleem none of these riddles makes any
sense.  Do you understand any of this?"

"Some of it I do.  It is said that the journey of self discovery is very
treacherous, and is something that most people never take.  To take the journey 
is to discover things about yourself that may be unpleasant.  Thus, it is very far 
away.  It is also said that it lies within each of us because it is believed that it is a 
state of consciousness that is common to everyone, and joins everyone.  It is the 
one heartbeat that separates faith and sorrow."

"Thanks.  That helps a lot."

"I have been told by those who keep the legends, in the center of the Secret
Garden lays the Pool of Truest Reflection.  To look upon its still waters is to see 
the real and true nature of your soul.  Those who gaze upon the pool are left with 
a choice.  They can take the knowledge that they have gained from the reflection 
to go on with their life, or they can bathe in the water of the pool.  It is said those
who bathe in the waters will be transformed into whatever their true self is."

"Like I said . . . thanks."

"There is another way to find the way into the Secret Garden," said Aleem, 
almost as an aside, after taking a sip from his glass.

"What would that be, oh enlightened one?"

"You can ask the bartender for a Black Djinn!"

"What the hell is a Black Djinn?  

"This is a story we Arabs are told as children.  It is much like your Boogey
Man.  The story goes that the Black Djinn, like all of the Djinn, has a physical 
token on Earth which serves as the link between their land of Djinnar and Earth.  
In the case of the Black Djinn it is an ornate bottle filled with black liquid.  The 
bottle can be summoned by any on Earth simply by asking a vender of spirits, or 
alcohol, for a Black Djinn.  It is said that the bottle will appear, as if it has
always been there, for the vender to decant one draught for the buyer. Nothing 
will seem out of the ordinary to the vender."

"Djinn? Do you mean like a genie and a lamp?"

"Yes John.  It is much like that."

"Well that doesn't seem very practical.  It would seem that everyone could ask
for a Black Djinn, and have . . . wishes, I presume."

"But one wish.  He who drinks of the Black Djinn, said to be most foul tasting, 
is granted just one wish.  Know that the wish is not without a price.  Like your 
Satan, the Black Djinn is a trickster.  The wish, if not carefully worded, will be 
turned around into the worst nightmare of the wisher.  That is why none
call his name.  It is most treacherous, for all who have done so, have met
with their doom."

John asked Aleem, "Have you ever tried to order a Black Djinn?"

"Oh no.  Never.  It would be like you invoking the name of the Devil.  Where I
am from, this is just not done!"

"Let's try it Aleem," exclaimed John.  "Let's order a Black Djinn, and see if
it works."

Aleem laughed.  "No John.  I have just told you this child's story to amuse
you.  It is a joke, intended only to distract you from your sadness for a minute or 
two.  It was not meant as an answer to your problems."

John as indignant.  "What?  Are you afraid?"

"Do not be . . . how do you say, ridiculous.  It is but a story that I will
indulge no further."

The distraction intended by Aleem had worked too well.  John retorted, "Okay.
Be that way, but I'm going to order a Black Djinn."

John motioned for the waitress to come over.  A pretty, young waitress nodded
at the gesture, leisurely walking over to the table where John and Aleem were 
seated.

"May I help you sir?  Is there something that I can get for you?"

John replied, "Yes.  I'd like to order a Black Djinn, and another beer for my
friend here."

The waitress was perplexed.  "Black Djinn?  I've never heard of that.  I don't
think we carry that."

Said John, "Could you just check with the bartender anyway?"

She smiled, "Sure.  No problem at all."  She merrily made her way to the
service bar area."

"This is dumb," complained Aleem.  "I would have not told you this story if I
were to think that you would take it seriously."

Nevertheless, minutes later, the waitress returned with a bottle of beer, and
a small glass of black liquid, looking vaguely like black sambucca.  The waitress 
wore an expression of supreme surprise upon her face.

She explained, as she sat the drinks down on the table, "It's the strangest thing.  
We have the stuff you asked for.  The bottle was very pretty, and looked like it 
had jewels all over it.  The bartender said that he didn't know why he didn't 
notice it before.  There was Arabic writing all over the bottle.  Weird."

John and Aleem sat there astonished.  Neither of them, in truth, really expected 
the Black Djinn to be there.  Neither of them knew what to do now."

The waitress continued to speak, as they both sat there slack jawed.  "That stuff 
smells really bad too.  I hope it tastes better than it smells.  Do you want me to 
put this on your tab?"

The only thing that John could do was nod yes.

"Okay.  You guys can just yell for me if you need anything else.  My name's
Michelle."

Michelle went back to whatever she was doing before John had interrupted her.
That left John and Aleem to stare blankly back at one another.  It was Aleem 
who finally said, "This I do not believe.  The stories of my youth are true!"

John pushed the glass of black liquid over to Aleem. "Here.  You drink it."

Aleem pushed it back to John.  "I cannot.  It can only be drunk by the one who 
orders it.  It would have no effect upon me.  I would not drink it anyway.  It is 
dangerous."

John lifted the drink into his hands, eyeing it carefully.  He sniffed it, and
indeed, it smelled foul.  He looked over to Aleem, questioning further, "So.  If I 
drink it, a genie will appear?"

"Not a genie, but a Djinnee," responded Aleem, correcting John's 
pronunciation.  "Not even that, but a Djinn.  They are not permitted to walk the 
Earth.  He will simply hear your wish from Djinnar, and grant it in his nasty 
fashion.  The Black Djinn will neither appear to you, nor speak to you.  He just 
does your wish, to your eternal regret.  Be careful, my friend."

Despite Aleem's admonition, John held his breath, glanced at the glass, and then 
down the liquid all at once.  He drank it as if he were doing a shot.

The black liquid burned like fire all of the way down his throat. It tasted like a 
mixture of bile and motor oil.  Literally, it was vitriol.  "Yuck . . . " cried John, 
sticking his tongue out.

That made Aleem laugh, despite the situation.  "I told you that it was said to be 
bad tasting."

"That's why I drank it so fast."

"Do you feel any different?  Is there anything unusual?"

"Other than an urge to throw up . . . no.  What do I know?"

Aleem rolled his eyes back in his head, then looked at John. "I guess that you 
should make a wish now.  Remember what I said.  The wish should be exact, 
and careful, so that the Black Djinn cannot hurt you."

"I know.  Exactly what you said.  I wish to have access to the Secret Garden,"
wished John.

Aleem looked horrified.  "No John.  That was not a good wish.  It is written
that the Secret Garden is to be the end of true understanding, not the beginning 
of it.  There is no telling what trouble you can get into in the Secret Garden."

"Hey.  You said that it was just a legend.  There's probably no need to
worry."

"But . . . the Black Djinn.  You saw.  If that was true, so could be the Secret 
Garden . . ."

"Relax Aleem.  For all we know, the bartender gave me black sambucca with 
some bitters in it just so he could sell a drink.  There's probably nothing to it."

Aleem challenged John's conclusion, "The bottle?  How could he know the 
bottle was said to be ornate?"

"Coincidence.  I bet he's back there having a good laugh that I even drank this 
concoction."

"I don't know," Aleem warned.

The black liquid imbibed by John did have one effect, other than upsetting his
stomach.  John began to feel a little woozy, as if he had drunk a whole six-pack 
of beer.  There was an insistent pressure in his bladder.  He arose to make his 
way to the bathroom, and stumbled slightly.

"Are you okay?" posited Aleem, with the edge of concern in his words.

"Yeah.  Sure.  That stuff was a little stronger than I thought.  It has a real kick to 
it."  John detangled from his chair, and announced, "I'm going to the can to 
break the seal.  I'll be right back . . ."

John made his way to the men's room of the bar.  It was a place with which he
was intimately familiar because this bar was one of his "hangouts."  Whenever 
he was here at the bar, he would ultimately seek release from too much drink, at 
least once during the night.  John knew every stall, mirror, and tile in the 
bathroom.

He was very surprised to see a door which he had never noticed before.  John
watched curiously as he relieved himself in the urinal, wondering where it had 
come from, and where it lead.

"Hmm.  I wonder when they put that in here?"  John asked aloud.  The strange
thing was that it wasn't a new door either.  It was also wood, where the other 
doors were metal.

He finished washing his hands, then cautiously drew closer to the door.  John
scanned the rest of the bathroom, just to make sure that he was the only one 
present.  He didn't want anyone to see him if he was doing something he wasn't 
supposed to do.

John turned the door nob just slightly, in order to test whether the door was, or 
was not locked.  The turn of the nob met with no resistance, telling him that the 
door was unlocked.  John turned the door nob the rest of the way, and pushed 
the door open.

He was shocked to see that it seemed to be a door leading to the outside. 
However, the egress must have led to a side of the building that he never saw 
before.  There were trees, hedges, and flower beds immaculately tended.  John 
assumed, incorrectly, that the door simply led to a park, or something, that
was alongside the building which housed the tavern.

John stepped through the doorway into the flora.  No sooner did he close the
door behind him, than saw the image of the door melting into the wall.  There 
was nothing left but the wall.

The first thing that John did was to rub both of his eyes.  Unfortunately, the
door was nowhere to be found.  He felt all along the stone wall where he last 
saw the door for some evidence of his route of passage. There just wasn't any.

Now that he noticed it, John seemed to be within an enclosure of some sort,
with high stone walls on all sides of him.  Thick accumulations of ivy covered 
all of the walls.  He walked along the wall on the perimeter of the place until he 
made four right-hand turns, winding up where he started.  There was not a 
doorway in any of the walls.

John thought that it must be some sort of patio on the inside of the building, kind 
of like the patios that you see in big office buildings nowadays to accommodate 
smokers.  The odd thing was . . . this patio seemed to have larger dimensions 
than the building itself!!

That's when it suddenly dawned on John that he was in the Secret Garden.  The 
door that he found in the men's room was the access to the Garden for which he 
wished.  The only problem was, not that he was here, how would he find his 
way out?

Somehow, someway, John instinctively knew that in order to find his way out,
he would have to follow the garden to its ultimate conclusion.  How long had he 
been here anyway? John glanced at his watch, his brand new watch, only to 
notice the hands were frozen.  Unless his watch was broken, time itself was 
suspended.  That meant the Secret Garden existed in the space between time 
itself!

John explored carefully the outer portions of the garden.  Not only where there 
gardens of flora, there were also Japanese stone gardens.  The entire effect was 
extremely tranquil. It was the kind of serenity which invited one to look inside 
toward deep contemplation.

It was literally and figuratively the first time that John had stopped to "smell the 
roses" in years.  It felt good . . . relaxing even.  Why hadn't he done this 
sooner, he mused?  It seemed at times that his life more closely resembled a 
runaway train than anything else.  He had absolutely no control.

In the interior of the Secret Garden, there were high thick hedges.  Despite the 
fact they were made of plants. They looked as if they were as impenetrable as the 
stone walls on the perimeter.  There was no opening to be found.

It naturally occurred to John that this must be where the Pool of the Truest 
Reflection could be found.  That had to be his final destination.  No sooner had 
he arrived at this conclusion, than the hedges separated, as if they were pulled 
apart by invisible hands, to allow him to enter.

John tentatively poked his head through the opening.  He looked to the left.
He looked to the right.  There was a narrow corridor of a hedge on either side.  
This was a topiary labyrinth!

The last thing that John needed was to have to solve a maze.  He had a hard
enough time figuring out his own problems.  John stood bolt upright in stunned 
silence.  This labyrinth was exactly like his mind.  A puzzle . . . a riddle 
wrapped within an enigma.  John knew that in order to complete the path of self
discovery, he would have to solve the puzzle of the labyrinth.

He laughed out loud, even as he wondered if the Secret Garden somehow
configured itself to metaphorically resemble the inner workings of its occupant.  
There was somehow meaning to everything.  John gasped, as he realized that the  
soothing flower beds, on the outside of the garden,were designed to calm him, 
to bring him to a receptive, introspective state of mind.

The outer flora had cleansed him of all of the day-to-day trivial minutiae that 
always seem to get in the way of really important stuff.  It was all gone.  The 
placid surroundings lifted him away from all of that.  Now it was only John and 
his psyche.  The topiary labyrinth was a symbolic way to traverse all of the traps 
and defenses of his personality, so that he could get to his true self inside.

John began to explore the mysterious false passageways, blind alleys, and dead
ends.  Each step that he took reminded him of his life.  It reminded him how, 
early on, his mother had abandoned him, leaving him with his grandmother.  A 
year later, when she returned, with his father, she attempted to reclaim him.  
Unfortunately, the psychological battle that ensued, quite literally tore the child 
that he was apart.

He remembered most of all the nightmares.  Even now, John recalled the images
of horrible, vile insects and snakes crawling all over him.  He was so paralyzed 
with fear, that he could do nothing.  Years later, John was told how everybody 
used to have to stay up with him as he lay screaming in stark terror the whole 
night through, shaking horribly.  The doctors said I was a psychologically 
traumatic tumor which formed underneath one of his eyes.  The only thing that 
John recalled was being strapped down in a hospital bed, and being shown the 
huge bloody mass from his face.

As he walked the topiary labyrinth, John recalled this was just the first, in
a long line of episodes of abandonment from his youth.  He never did meet his 
biological father.  He and his mother divorced before John even formed a 
memory of him.  His replacement of course chose to express himself not 
through any sense of affection, but through physical abuse.  So it was that John 
spent his childhood afraid of losing even those people who mistreated him, ever 
craving for the human touch of someone who loved him.

The memories, vivid now, came faster and faster.  With each new memory, it
seemed that a new passageway in the topiary was discovered, leading ever 
inward.  When he was eleven years of age, John was supposed to fly to Florida 
to be with his real father for the first time.  He had gotten married, and had two 
daughters, John's half sisters.  He remembered it as if it were just yesterday.  
He came home from Sunday school, ready to board the plane.  However, John's 
mother sat him solemnly upon the couch to tell him that his father passed away 
that morning from a heart attack while jogging.  He was gone.

There was no father and son reunion.  For that matter, there was not even a 
funeral.  John's mother would not even let him go to the viewing to pay his last 
respects to the man who gave him life.  He was the last hope . . . the hope for 
just one who would love him just because he was alive.  The overwhelming 
thing about John's school years was the sense of always being on the outside of 
life looking in.

That only served to set the stage for the greatest blow.  Since his father was on 
active duty in the military service when he died, the government agreed to pay 
John's way through college.  The checks came to John, but since he had no 
knowledge of how the world operated, went into a joint account with him and 
his mother.  As for his mother, she  had long since divorced the abusive 
stepfather that saw John through his boyhood.  The end of that marriage was 
extremely violent. John of course, now larger than the stepfather, stood between 
the two, protecting his mother, urging his stepfather toward his doom, "C'mon 
motherfucker!"

She ended with another physically abusive suitor.  The kicker this time was
that he was in trouble with the law.  The two of them raided the bank account, 
posting bail.  No trial was to be had.  The skipped bail of course to the safety of 
another state.  By that time, John was unwittingly two months in tuition arrears 
at college.  They kicked him out, of course, until he could pay them back.  John 
worked for two years flipping burgers, eking out a living, having no life, and 
saving every penny to pay the tuition back.  The day that he learned of his 
mother's betrayal, he rammed a butter knife through the surface of the kitchen 
table.  Abandoned again.

Since those times, John had always had trouble forming relationships.  He ran 
so hard from his pain, yet held it so close.  Craving the touch of another, yet 
treating each touch as a physical threat.  Wanting to be held, yet pushing people 
away before they could leave him again.  It was a never ending cycle . . . a
self fulfilling prophecy!

John realized with a start that none of this was his fault.  He had been
irretrievably broken from the start.  That was what he was.  A broken toy that 
had long ago been discarded.

All of this time, he thought that it was he.  He thought that he was bad, 
somehow unworthy of love or the touch of another.  However, he was just . . . 
broken . . . from the start.

Parents don't know what damage they do to their children with things that seem
so unimportant at the time.  They think everything heals with time.  Some things 
don't heal. Everything matters!

When he looked up, John could see that he was at the edge of what appeared to
be a large pond.  He was through the labyrinth!  The less he thought about 
finding the way through the flora, and more on his past, the easier it had been.  
It seemed like the way through the maze had just unfolded before him, not unlike 
a flower blooming.  He shivered.

The pool had the appearance of a normal pond that one would find in any 
wooded glen.  There were reeds and aquatic shrubbery growing along its 
shores.  However, the contents of the pool were quite curious.  The minute 
ripples along the surface, marked it as a liquid of some type. It was not clear like 
water, but silvery.

From where he stood, John could see the high hedges of the topiary labyrinth 
perfectly reflected in the liquid.  They were neither indistinct nor disoriented in 
their reflection as would normally be in a pond or lake.  It was more like a 
mirror, the reflections perfect in every detail.

This was the Pool of Truest Reflection!

John was torn by two opposing forces.  He felt a need to explore the curious 
liquid further, but was not yet ready to gaze upon the image of his true self.  He 
got down on his hands and knees, inching ever closer to the edge of the pond.  
John's right hand fell upon a stray tree branch.  This is perfect, he thought.

John neared as close as he could dare to the edge without seeing his reflection.  
He eased the end of the branch into the silvery liquid.  When he was positive that 
he had a sample of the liquid on the end of the stick, he carefully pulled it back.  
Unfortunately, when John felt the end of the stick, it was perfectly dry.

How unusual, he pondered.  There is something about this that he remembered 
from high school chemistry.  It was much like the element mercury, although he 
had absolutely no doubt that it was something much, much more.  It possessed 
all of the qualities of liquid, yet all things which entered it remained dry.  Its 
metallic nature allowed it to be a perfect reflector.

The time had come to come face to face with the truest reflection of himself. 
Since exiting the topiary labyrinth, John was afraid of what he would see.  
Worse still, he was terrified of the choice he would have to make.  If he was 
truly broken, from the start, even knowledge of his self would not help him.  
Knowledge that something is broken does not repair it.  No.   John was afraid 
that he would have to enter the pool to become whatever his truest reflection was 
in order to affect a repair.

John knew, in his heart of hearts what his eyes would find.  It could only be a 
child, a very young child at that.  It would have to be a child so young so as to 
not have been broken, and adorable so anyone, everyone would love him.  
Everyone would come to him to hug him, adore him, and love him.

*************

The Black Djinn had other ideas.  He had seen, heard, and experienced 
everything that John had.  The Black Djinn chose his earthly token well, for as 
long as the black liquid stayed within the system of the drinker, he would share a 
rapport with them.  Trickery was wonderful for turning a wisher's wish around 
upon them, but it was so much more effective if you could also tamper with their 
perceptions.  It also enhanced the chance would wish for something stupid.

The Black Djinn could not disturb the reflection of the pool, but he could distort 
it.  He was familiar with the Secret Garden, and the Pool, having dealt with it 
before . . . albeit not in this particular way.  The Black Djinn knew just how far 
he could go.  The power of the Pool was to transmogrify any bather to its waters 
into the  whatever image the bather saw.  The trick was to control what the 
bather saw.

Of course, there were many more things other than children that others would 
want to approach, love, adore, and touch.  There were other forms in which the 
man's broken spirit could be healed.  That he could not change.

*************

John crawled forward on his hands and knees to the edge of the pool.  He 
wanted to peek at the pool from this perspective, rather than standing to see his 
full reflection.  It was almost as if he anticipated that sneaking up on the 
reflection could somehow make it easier to handle.   

He paused for a second, closed his eyes, and leaned forward.  John opened his 
eyes fully expecting to see the child.  However, the sight which met his eyes 
was not that of a young child, but something that made him gasp in disbelief.

There before his eyes was the image of a young girl, no more than seventeen or 
eighteen years of age.  Not only was she young but outrageously beautiful.  Her 
face was absolute perfection, with sky blue eyes, upturned nose, and bee stung, 
kissable lips.  The other compelling feature of her face was the vacuous stare of 
an air-headed bimbo.

John looked closer.  The reflection moved as he moved, although it did so with 
more flowing, graceful gestures.  His own were awkward, and herky-jerky.  He 
looked down.  In the reflection, long very light blonde hair tumbled around both 
of her shoulders up toward him.  The hair brushed against two massive breasts.

He pulled away from the image, his heart beating rapidly.  How could this be, 
he thought wildly?  How can this be my truest self?  John rubbed his eyes, and 
reassured himself that he had to be imagining this.  He eased out again, but there 
she was again.

John stood up to see the reflection in a standing position.  As he stood, so to did 
the image of the voluptuous young girl in the pool.  Now that she was standing, 
John could see that she was wearing a short black skirt that did nothing to hide 
shapely lush legs.  The girl was also wearing a white silk blouse that did nothing 
to hide the big round breasts.  The front of her stuck out like a shelf.

John tried turning this way and that.  This only succeeded in allowing John to 
see her lithe, otherwise slender body from every angle.  Straight blonde hair, the 
type you would see on a California beach bunny hung down to her slender 
waist.

The girl was much, much shorter than he himself was!

John sat back down on the grass away from the reflection.  What was he to do 
now?  His mind raced, but raced back to how bad he felt when Kristina didn't 
call him back.  John's heart grew heavy with sorrow, for he knew that he just 
couldn't go back to that life.  There was only one thing he could do to ease his 
pain, although it wasn't the one that he wanted, or even expected.

He leaned forward again on his hands and knees to see the image of his truest 
self . . . a bimbo.  It was true that she would be loved, and adored, and pursued.  
She would heal him. With one hand John reached forward to touch the 
reflection.  The girl's gigantic bosom dangled heavily as she reached up the same 
way.  Her hand was small and petite with long manicured nails.   

As John touched the reflection, one finger dipped down below the surface of the 
silvery liquid.  He felt a tingle, prompting him to quickly pull it back.  There 
before his disbelieving eyes was the fingertip of a woman, with a perfect French 
manicured fingernail.

That was when John knew that everything that Aleem had told him was true. 
With one single breath, John dove under the surface of the water.  The tingling 
enclosed around him, permeating him . . . and changing him.

*************

Outside the Secret Garden, on the table once occupied by John and Aleem, the 
drink belonging to John, along with his jacket on the back of the chair, his 
sunglasses, and his scattered change disappeared from existence.  All memories 
of John, or for that matter any evidence that he ever lived, also faded from 
existence.

Aleem saw her exit the ladies room.  He suddenly remembered that her name 
was Jill Kelly.  She had just started this week as a file clerk, and was just out of 
high school.  From what everybody else said, she was absolutely clueless.  
However, that didn't matter.  Her face and body made up for it in spades.  She 
did look dynamite in her tight black skirt and white silk blouse.  And her boobs . 
. . .!

* * *