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Once Upon a Today

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E. L. Miller

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“Desperately, I needed a reversal of fortunes. Then suddenly, I knew what I needed to do. So, I stopped at the Northside cemetery. Mom was buried there. I gave Deya another pass and left her outside the gates of the cemetery. I wasn’t certain but I didn’t want to mix my perceived notion of Deya’s Voodoo with Mom’s Ghosts, Dead Dawg, and Haints. Too many demons in the same location didn’t appear to be a smart thing. Once inside,I said what I needed to say, laid a rose, and headed back to retrieve my sweetheart. But I knew Deya. She had a fear of ghouls and hitchhikers hanging out in the graveyard. So wisely, I scanned her person for a Greek cross, miniature doll, or chicken foot in her possession. Fortunately, she passed my inspections. So, I left the graveyard, took the wheel, and got the hell out of that area in a haze.”

“Perhpas if I call out to Rat he might hear," said the Mole to himself, but without much hope. Rat! Ratty! O Rat, please hear me!" he called out as loudly as he could, holding up his lantern as he did so, waving it about/ But the wind rushed and roared around him even more, and snatched his weak words away the moment they were they were uttered, and scattered them wildly and uselessly as if they were flakes of snow, Even worse, the light of the lantern began to gutter, and then, quiet suddenly, an extra strong gust of wind blew it out. Well then," said the daunted but resolute Mole, putting the spent lantern on the ground, "there's nothing else for it! Frozen rivers are dangerous thinngs, no doubt, but I must try to cross, despite the dangers." --The Willows in the Winter”

“Mumtaz has six moles. Two are black: behind her ear and on her hip, in the trough of the wave that crests at her pelvis. Three are the color of rust: knuckle, corner of jaw, behind knee. And one is red, fiery, at the base of her spine, where a tail might grow. I touch them and know them because I watch her like a man in a field stares up at the stars, and I love her constellation because it contains her story and our story, and I wonder which mole is the beginning and which is the end.”

“Unlike Man and Ngo, I was never much of an organizer or agitator, which was one reason, Man would say later, that the committees above decided I would be a mole. He used the English word, which we had learned not so long ago in our English course, taught by a professor whose greatest joy was diagramming sentences. A mole? I said. The animal that digs underground? The other kind of mole. There's another kind? Of course. To think of a mole as that which digs underground misunderstands the meaning of the mole as a spy. A spy's task is not to hide himself where no one can see him, since he will not be able to see anything himself. A spy's task is to hide where everyone can see him and where he can see everything. Now ask yourself: What can everyone see about you but you yourself cannot? Enough with the riddles, I said. I give up. There—he pointed at the middle of my face-in plain sight. I went to the mirror to see for myself, Man peering over my shoulder. There it indeed was, such a part of myselfI had long ago ceased to notice it. Keep in mind that you will be not just any mole, Man said, but the mole that is the beauty spot on the nose of power itself.”

“Some people show kindness and humanity when they are losing or when their plans have failed. Their loss or defeat brings out their humanity. But when they are winning, they become rude, cruel, aggressive, abusive, toxic and heartless. Showing no compassion, no care, no empathy, and no love.”