Archives for March 2015

#111 Strange Stories

#110 Where Do We Go

# 110 Where Do We Go

Joe banged his beer bottle on the wooden bar at the Beehive Café to get everyone’s attention. A strange looking man, Joe had pointed ears like Spock in Star Trek. He appeared out of nowhere two days earlier and began right away to spout his philosophical views.

“Where do we go when much too soon this life, we know concludes? Do our spirits go across a concealed veil to gather again with friends, or with anyone at all?”

“Why don’t you shut up?” echoed from the end of the bar.

“Can I buy you a drink, my friend?” Joe was always willing to pay for an audience.

“Take your drink and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine,” the voice said.

“Listen, my friend, nano-pieces are floating in the ether, becoming moonbeams and shimmering starlight. They’re drifting among our dreams, and when you die and are sizzling in that flaming house of pain, they’ll be compensating you for not listening to me.”

“You won’t have to wait until you die to visit that house of pain if you don’t shut your trap,” the voice said.

Joe tried to see who spoke, but the voice came from the part of the bar where many men watched an ongoing game of pool. He continued, “Universal vortexes are flashing energy in singularity space. Emerging intellectual conception gives humankind centuries of collective perception that is brilliantly restructuring in a select few, Einstein and DaVinci to name but two.” Joe took a drink from his beer and waited for a response from the loudmouth at The End of the bar.

“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” the voice responded.

Silence filled the air at the Beehive as patrons listened for Joe’s reaction.

“I know that right here, right now, unseen in this dimension is something strange and concealed from you, but before the night’s over, you will see what it is.”

“I fought in two wars to protect our freedom of speech, but listening to you spout off, I’m wondering if I did the right thing,” came the reply from amidst the crowd.

“Someday my friend, you’ll be living on a faraway star in an existence where you’ll be able to see through the veil cloaking the other side. You’ll look back and find out if what you did in this life was right or wrong.”

“I don’t think I need to wait until I go to the other side to know somebody should have shut your mouth long ago.”

The voice grew stronger every time it spoke. Joe peered through the smoky haze to see who it was. He saw a heavily built, giant of a man sitting on a stool facing the bar. He looked like a trouble maker. “Well, my friend, you’re lamenting for simply existing is part of the suffering prophesied. Mankind will suffer until time’s end.” Joe was on a roll and before the voice had time to answer he said, “Imagine what it will be like on the other side where you’ll exist for a million years, and if you discover what you have done in this life is wrong, how will you endure, not millions, but billions of years? Stretch your mind, how will you feel after a trillion years has gone by?”

“I think if I don’t kick your ass before I die; I’ll regret it all those years.”

No one made a sound and everyone backed away from the muscular man who sat staring at Joe, daring him to respond. Joe felt he had to go knock him off his barstool. The fool wouldn’t listen to what he was trying to tell him.

Joe took a swig from his beer, dragged his hand over his mouth to wipe off the foam and strode with intent to harm the man who had been mocking him. The man calmly watched. Joe made a fist, stepped forward with his left foot and swung a roundhouse right to the guy’s jaw. The man flew off the barstool onto the floor. Next to his stool was a pair of crutches. Joe looked where the man’s legs should have been and saw one with a wooden peg for a foot and a stump.

“Hey, Joe just punched a cripple,” a player said.

Angry muttering went up around the bar because no one thought it right to hit a man with no legs. Joe prepared to do what he had been sent to do. The man squirmed on the floor to his bar stool and hand over hand, he pulled himself up and sat on it once again.

Joe said, “Do you remember I said, ‘something strange is concealed from you, but before the night is done, you will see what it is?”

“Yeah, I remember that B.S.”

Joe reached into a bag strapped to his waist. His hand came out covered with what appeared to be Vaseline. Joe rubbed it on the stumps of the man’s leg and amputated foot.

“What are you, some kind of fag?” the man yelled and tried to squirm away.

The men playing pool headed for Joe with anger written on their faces. Before they reached him, the man screeched, “Holy cow, look at that.” He pointed at his leg that was rapidly regenerating. All watched. Within minutes, both legs reached an equal length and then feet grew on The Ends.

Honey had had a mastectomy three months ago. She ripped her blouse open and yelled, “Rub some of that stuff here,” She pointed to the scar on her chest.

Joe dipped his hand into his pouch, got some Vaseline like substance on it and rubbed both hands on her chest. Almost instantly, she grew two breasts.

Honey ripped open her blouse to see her new breasts in the bar’s back mirror. She saw she now had three, and the one in the middle was bigger than the other two combined.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Joe said. “My job here is to help the lame and crippled.”

“Yeah, you helped me all right. You’ve turned me into a fucking freak,” she screamed, pulled out a gun and shot Joe in the head.

The End

For more stories, poems, & other stuff.

My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at



(No title)

Hello! I’m Joe DiBuduo and I’d like share with you how and why I wrote Cryonic Man: A Paranormal Affair, my sci-fi / paranormal romance novel.


During my research for Cryonic Man, I studied the procedures used in cryopreservation and I explain this process in the novel. I first read that the concept of cryonics was introduced by Robert Ettinger, the founder of the Cryonics Institute, in his landmark 1962 book, The Prospect of Immortality (latest edition is Ria University Press, 2005).


At this writing (2015) it is illegal to perform cryonic suspension on someone who is still alive. A person who undergoes this procedure must first be pronounced legally dead – that is, their heart must have stopped beating. I’m sure your first question is, “But if someone is dead, how can they ever be revived?”


According to scientists who perform cryonics, “legally dead” is not the same as “totally dead.” Total death, medical science says, is the point at which all brain function ceases. Legal death occurs when the heart stops beating, but some cellular brain function remains. Cryonics preserves what little cell function remains so that, theoretically, the person can be resuscitated in the future


How people are able to survive on the brink of death depends upon medical technology. A hundred years ago, cardiac arrest was irreversible. People were declared dead when their heart stopped beating. Today, death is believed to occur six minutes after the heart stops. After that time interval, it’s difficult to resuscitate the brain.


However, with new experimental treatments, more minutes of cardiac arrest can be survived without brain injury. Future technologies for molecular repair may extend the ability to resuscitate people beyond what is imaginable today. The definition of death may be revised from “a permanent cessation of all vital functions” to “a temporary pause in vital functions.”


Millions of people are captivated by the concept of living, dying, and awaking dozens or hundreds of years from now. Cryonics may be a simple form of time travel that doesn’t involve wormholes, speed of light travel, curved space-time, or breaking the scientific laws of Einstein’s theories. Cryonic suspension could be used in long interstellar space flights.


Cryonics slows down or stops molecular activity to halt aging, and more importantly, to avoid or extend to the future, the process of dying. For most of us, cryonics seems bizarre, but it is plausible. When we get used to the idea that medical science will advance to the point in which dying people can be healed and even aging can be reversed or slowed down, we can accept the idea that cryopreservation is obtainable in our lifetime. Even now, molecular healing via nanobots is under research and will become a viable process in the near future.

Essentially, advanced technology in the future will restore any cellular function destroyed by hypoxia, disease, the cryonic preservation process, or reperfusion injury – damage caused when the blood supply returns to tissue after a period of ischemia, or lack of oxygen, such as after a heart attack. The point of cryogenics is that nearly everyone who dies is only “mostly dead.”


Often, people confuse cryonics with cryogenics. Cryonics is a process and cryogenics is a field of study – the study of the production and the behavior of materials at very low temperatures (below −150 °C, −238 °F or 123 K). Cryonics borrows from cryogenics but it is not subjected to the same rigors and is intrinsically based on assumptions that seem quite plausible at the present time, but may or may not turn out to be true.


American baseball champ Ted Williams was cryopreserved in two parts – head and body – after his death in 2002. Stories about his body undergoing disrespectful treatment emerged soon after his cryonic procedure. Larry Johnson, a former chief operating officer of Alcor Life Extension in Arizona, came forward to report “horrific” and “unethical” practices by the company.


Cryopreservation includes a full-body preservation option or the “neuro option” of having only the head preserved, on the premise that the brain is the seat of memory and that the human body and its organs may be easily regenerated from DNA in the future.



The following questions filled my mind after reading Ted Williams’ story:


  1. If Ted were revived, who would own his DNA?


  1. Would those who had inherited his property have to return it?


  1. The skills of most anyone revived after a number of years would be outdated.


  1. Should a person who wants to be frozen for future resuscitation invest in some type of insurance program to assure they’d have an income when revived.


  1. If a young person were cryonically preserved, would he or she age?


  1. What if he or she was brought back to life after fifty years and he remained the same age at time of death and cryopreservation?


  1. Where does the cryopreserved person’s soul go for fifty years?


  1. Is there a spiritual world where people go after they die?


  1. Does the cryopreserved person go to heaven, hell, or someplace else?


  1. Could another spirit or soul possess a cryopreserved person’s body when that person is resuscitated after years in a cryonic state?


  1. What if a cryopreserved patient’s body is possessed by an evil spirit? Would the two souls combine and become one, or would a battle for the body ensue?


  1. How would a cryopreserved person feel about children or other loved ones who are physically older?


  1. How would a cryopreserved patient feel about their spouse or partner who may end up being twice or three times their age?


  1. If a cryopreserved patient is a champion sports figure like Ted Williams, would he or she want to resume their career?


  1. Will there be laws written to protect the rights of cryopreserved and resuscitated persons?



I wrote Cryonic Man: A Paranormal Affair to answer these questions. So if you’d like to see my answers, please purchase a copy!


Cryonic Man is available in print and Kindle at all international Amazons –


Amazon US


Amazon UK


Angus & Robertson


Barnes & Noble
















iTunes Bookstore (all international locations)




Paper Plus








# 109 One Sided Beauty I decided to continue posting a story a day. This is # 109

# 109


Pieter Cornelis Wonder, 1810


One-Sided Beauty


“Hey Einstein, are we going to fire this thing up today or not?” Dr. Field motioned at Dr. Lang who once again checked his calculations before giving the Okay to start the largest atom smasher the world has ever seen. Called Einstein because of his long unruly hair and the fact he was a brilliant mathematician.

“You know I’m concerned with the possibility of tearing the fabric of space. According to my calculations once this baby’s fired up we will be creating miniature black holes, and once we do that it’s possible one of them may be linked to another black hole and we’d be opening a tunnel through time and space. If that happens we won’t have any way to control it,” Dr Lang replied.

“You and your wormholes, we’ve got over three thousand physicist here to observe the culmination of their combined efforts, and you will make them wait for you to do more calculations? Let’s just start the damn thing,” He looked at Dr. Lang as he turned and saw the scarred side of his face and closed his eyes in revulsion. An experiment went errant and exploded burning the side of his face exposed to the blast. Though he had turned thirty five last month, the good side of his face was winkle free and he appeared to be in its early twenties. The bad side wrinkled and melted as it was by the heat made it impossible to tell if he was nine or ninety. He tried to date, but even though having a nice personality and being extremely intelligent women couldn’t get past his melted flesh.

“Wait! You know sometimes when a new collider is started we may need to abort the beam. If we have to do that, energy has to go somewhere, and I don’t know what’ll happen if that much energy is dumped somewhere it shouldn’t be? We’ll be dumping 10 Tera Watts of power.” Dr. Lang said as he returned the switches to their original positions that Dr. Field had switched them from.

“Don’t worry! You know the accelerator and collision halls here are deep enough underground, along with numerous safety precautions in place so there’s no danger.”

“So you say. Ten Tera Watts is half of the world’s total instantaneous power output. I can’t risk just dumping that anywhere.”

Dr. Field called Dr. Golden the director of the collider, “Dr, Lang is redoing his calculations and holding up the start of the entire experiment.”

Soon Dr. Lang spoke with the boss who told him, “You two are protected in the control room. The walls are impenetrable so you have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not wor . . .”

“Just start the experiment;” Dr. Golden yelled into the phone, “You know the world’s foremost physicists are on hand to see the startup, and whatever you’re calculating has been done a thousand times already. I don’t believe any last minute calculations on your part will change anything.”

“Okay, the boss says to go ahead regardless of the consequences,” Dr. Lang engaged the startup and Dr. Field joined him in switching all the instruments on.

A humming sound filled the control room built in the center of the tunnels because protons would travel almost at the speed of light and the closer to the action the faster communication between instruments and collision, thus a better chance of recording any reaction that may only last a millisecond. A whirring sound filled the room as beams of antiprotons would be accelerated simultaneously with a counter-rotating beam of protons to an energy of 7 teraelectronvolts (TeV) of energy. When they collide the instruments would record every action and reaction.

No sooner had the scientists activated it than a bright deep purple light enveloped the entire facility, so bright and forceful it could have been the energy emanating from a slow motion explosion. Alarms sounded, evacuation procedures began.

“What is it? What’s happening?” Dr. Field asked

Looking at the video screens the Doctors In the fortified control room could see that the light penetrated everything, machinery and humans alike. Nothing stopped the strange light from penetrating. This light cast no shadows. Everything glowed purple and the scientists in the control room could see through the men running in fear as though they were looking through a fluoroscope.

The light moved in a circle and spun slowly in the beginning. Within seconds the spinning accelerated, and the light formed what looked like a purple tornado with the large end enveloping the collider and the vortex narrowing down as though looking into a long tunnel and the perspective caused the tunnel to appear closed at the small end. The revolutions increased continuously. Truly a tornado in reverse, it sucked in small objects through the large spinning light and sent them flying toward the small end of the vortex.

Doctors Field and Lang saw all this from the video monitors spread throughout the facility. “They better hurry up and evacuate, the suction is getting stronger every second,” Dr. Lang said.

“Oh shit! There they go,” Dr. Field pointed to one monitor that showed three men trying to hold on to a metal railing. They were horizontal, and the vortex sucked at them like a giant vacuum. One by one they let go of the rail and went spinning down the vortex until they were in so deep they vanished.

Soon there were hundreds of men and some women being spiraled down the vortex.

“Shut it down,” Dr. Field shouted.

“I’ve got every switch in the off position and nothing happens,” Dr. Lang said.

“Kill all the power then.”

“Sure, the main power switch is over there,” Dr. Lang pointed to the window where the switch could be seen on the other side of room, outside of the protective barrier of the control room.

“What in the hell is it doing over there. Whoever designed this thing must be an idiot,” Dr Field kicked the wall in frustration. He knew better than to cross to where the main switch was.

“By the way Field, the idiot who designed this section was you.” He looked at him with a half smile on the good side of his face. The melted side never smiled.

After a few minutes when it seemed every loose object or person had been sucked into the purple lighted vortex it coalesced into a spinning circle twenty feet in diameter and bounced around until it penetrated the tunnel and emerged outside the accelerator. As the light coalesced it became brighter and covered a smaller area until it formed a circle twenty feet in diameter.

They watched on the monitors as a rabbit crossed in front of the light. “The force of the suction has diminished, did you see the rabbit didn’t get sucked into the light. Let’s go see what’s going on.” Dr. Field said.

“You go ahead. I’m staying right here until I notify security that three hundred of the best minds in the world have been kidnapped,” he picked the telephone of the wall.

“Kidnapped? Are you crazy? That was a fucking tornado or another natural anomaly. How can you even think they were kidnapped?”

“I calculated the odds of three thousand of the world’s best physicist disappearing in one day and the odds are a million to one.”

“All right Einstein, I know you’re good with numbers, but this was an exceptional day. They were all in one spot on the same day and it got hit by a tornado or something.”

“Mathematics never lie, this event couldn’t be an accident.”

“Okay you stay here, I’m going out to see who’s left.”

Dr. Field saw that every loose object sucked into the vortex. Not one item not nailed down remained. He went outside wondering what the shimmering circle of purple light could represent. A light with these peculiarities and certainly not one twenty feet in diameter was new to him. Cautiously approaching, he got within twenty feet before he felt a force pulling him towards the light. Grabbing onto a tree, he stopped his forward motion.

“Here tie this around your waist,” Dr. Lang who had followed him from the control romm, handed him a rope at least a half inch in diameter. “I’ve got it anchored to the steel railings,” he pointed to the other end of the rope tied to a handrail leading to the building’s entrance.

Dr. Field held onto the tree and used one hand to wrap the rope around his waist before he let go of the tree. He then tied a secure knot. “Thanks, I thought the purple monster would suck me in like it did everyone else.”

“The suction is dying down and we have to figure out why and figure where everyone ended up who got sucked in,” Dr. Lang said.

“Figure, you’ve got a hell of a lot of figuring to do. What the hell is this? Where it came from, what’s it doing here and how long is it going to stay?”

“You forgot to ask where it leads.”

“Okay, where?”

“I’m going to make a wild guess, according to my calculations, what happened was a worm hole opened between our time and the future. It’s being kept open by an inherent push in space-time that can keep the mouth of a wormhole open, but I’m more or less guessing.”

“How long do you think before the tunnel will close up and disappear? And what caused it to appear in the first place?” Dr. Field asked.

“If you would have let me finish my calculations I’d have an answer for you.”


Military vehicles with blazing lights poured into the compound and hundreds of soldiers ran into all the buildings. An officer yanked on the ropes holding the Doctors who stood staring at the circle of light. They turned at the feel of the tug and he waved for them to come to where he stood. The suction gained strength, and they had to go hand over hand on the anchored rope to get to him without being sucked into the light.

“I’m Commander Anderson — my orders are to evacuate everyone. He stepped back in alarm when he saw Dr. Lang’s face. “Do you need medical care? Your face is . . .” he saw the injury wasn’t new. “Where’s everybody else?”

Both scientists pointed to the light.  It slowly spun on the point that touched the ground revealing the light from the side was less than a foot thick, but looking into the light, it appeared to extend into infinity.

“You’ve got to be kidding. There were over three thousand scientists here today,” he scratched his head not knowing if he should believe what they said or not. At that instant two of his soldiers overcome by curiosity walked toward the light. Dr. Lang yelled, “Get back, wat . . .” They got sucked into the circle of light and they went spinning down the vortex until disappearing from sight.

“Does that answer any other questions you had?” Dr. Lang asked.

“Are they dead?” The Commander asked.

“We don’t know, but I’d sure like to find out,” Dr. Field said.

“Here,” Dr. Lang handed the Commander an end of the rope. “Throw this toward the light and the suction should grab hold of it and suck it into the light.”

He coiled the rope and flung it as hard as he could towards the light. The suction pulled the rope, so it stood straight. One end attached to the railing and one end in the center of the light.

“Pull,” Dr. Lang shouted, and the Commander yanked on the rope. It came out of the light. Cleanly cut at the point where it had touched the light.

“God! Does that mean we can’t pull anyone out of there?” The Commander asked

“We can find out soon enough,” Dr. Lang said, “They’re some lab animals in cages that didn’t get sucked into the light. Let’s harness one and put it into the light and pull it back out and see if it survives. Commander, we’ll need one of your heavy vehicles with a winch on it to send the animal slowly into the light.”

The commander and three of his soldiers brought a Humvee with a winch attached to its front bumper. The Doctors rounded up two caged rats and three caged rabbits. Dr. Lang used surgical tape to affix one rat in a stretched position so he could put it in head first. He taped the other rat too, but in a reversed position so he could put it in rear-end first.

“Okay, here goes,” he tied the rope around his waist and attached the cable from the winch to the cage. “Give me enough slack on that cable to get close to the light. I only want part of the rat to go through.” Once the head went through the edge of light it disappeared. The body remained alive without its head. They could tell because the tail and hind legs moved like it was trying to back out of the light.

“Pull it out,” Dr Lang said.

A soldier started the winch and as it pulled the rat from the light blood spurted from where the head used to be.

“Apparently the animal remains alive while half in the light and half out.”

“I think this little guy is the second rat to ever go through a wormhole. Don’t worry little rat, you’re going to be famous as rat number two when this is all written in the history books.” Dr. Lang picked up the cage with the squealing, terrified bound rat, and attached the winch’s cable to the cage so the rat’s rear end would enter the light before its head. “We can observe if it’s painful inside the light by watching its reaction. Also we’ll get to see if it’ll live indefinitely, half in and half out of the light.”

The rat lived for an hour and appeared to be only frightened and not in pain before they tried to extract it. Once they extracted the cage it was cut neatly at the point where it had penetrated the purple light and the rear end of the rat got severed at the mark where it had penetrated.

“What’re we going to do?” Dr. Field asked

“I don’t know about you, but I’m tempted to step through that circle just to see what’s on the other side,”

“You know once any object goes into the light it’s not coming out again.”

“You’re right, I’m being impetuous, but we’ve got to find out if this is in fact a wormhole. If it is possibly those who have been drawn through it could be alive in another time and another place.”

“How’re we going to find out?”

“That’s the question I’ve been asking myself over and over.”

The entire world heard the news in shocked silence. Three thousand scientists disappearing on the same day in the same hour, practically at the same minute couldn’t be comprehended. All suspected a heinous plot by one or more nations to capture this accumulated brainpower for their own nefarious ends. Irrational thought was the reaction to this stupendous event. Most couldn’t conceive the implications of a wormhole appearing unexpectedly and extracting so much of humanities intelligence in one fell swoop.

An overexcited emergency meeting held at the U.N. ended up with nations accusing one another of being responsible. Only Dr. Lang had known what and why it happened, and he and Dr. Field were the only staff remaining from the management of the collider. They were put in charge of the investigation under Swiss military command because the facility was located in Switzerland. Members of all nations’ military that contributed to building the collider were present in smaller numbers.

Dr. Lang gathered as many theoretical philosophers and scientists as he could get to come to the area to meet and discuss different possibilities. The purplish glow from the light saturated the entire area in a ghostly glow. Any who met up with Dr. Lang in the dark usually let out a yelp at the sight of his disfigured face bathed in the purple light.

The eighty scientists met in a large conference hall where all had microphones to speak into when they had a viewpoint to express. They all had one and pandemonium reigned until Dr. Lang took control by yelling into his mike, “All this shouting will activate the light’s appetite for brains,” he laughed when silence filled the hall.

“My theory is that a wormhole has been opened between our time and another,” Dr. Lang said.

“How do you explain the suction if that’s the case?”

“A simple enough explanation, temperature and pressure differences are what caused the suction. The suction progressively gets weaker which leads me to believe those factors are equalizing.”

“Why were the rats sliced to pieces when they were pulled from the light?”

“This is all new to me, but I figure there’s tremendous one way pressure right now. But once that is equalized we may be able to enter and exit the wormhole without being harmed.”

The meeting went on and on for hours with so many scientific explanations Dr. Lang’s head spun.

The next morning there was no suction at all and Dr. Lang could walk up to the light and slide a rabbit’s cage with a rabbit in it into the light and extract the rabbit in one piece.

While he speculated what this development meant he heard a yell. “Some things or somebody is coming,” he looked into the light and saw in the distance what looked like many figures.

“Step back Doctor,” the Commander said, “I think we’re about to be invaded.” He alerted his troops and tanks and artillery pieces aimed at the center of the light.

“Wait, don’t shoot. This might be our guys returning.” He heard what sounded like a low wail. It got louder and as the figures got closer. Scientist and two soldiers popped out of the light and were apparently as healthily as they were when they went in. All of them kept running once they exited the light.

Once the returnees stopped running they were questioned by the military.

“It was deliberate kidnapping. They were looking for a specific scientists and they weren’t sure which one it was they wanted from where they were so they took all of us,” one of the returned scientists complained.

“Did they extract any information from you or any of the other personnel they took through the wormhole?”

“Yes they did.”

“See, I knew it. Arm those nukes. We’ll teach these characters not to mess with our planet,” the commanding officer said.

“Don’t do that, you misunderstood me. When I said they extracted information it wasn’t what you think,” the scientist explained and all the other returnees who heard what was going on tried to join in to tell the commanding officer what really happened.

“Calm down,” the commanding officer put his arms in the air to signal silence and once they all quieted down he said to the scientists he spoke to, “Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, once we got sucked through the wormhole to the future Earth there were thousands and thousands of teenage girls waiting for us. They passed us one by one through the crowd.”

“Passed you to where or who?” The commander asked.

“Passed us to the ground once they saw we weren’t who they were looking for.”

“Well, who in the hell were they looking for?”

“You won’t believe it unless I tell who was looking and why.”

“Okay, so tell me, and hurry up.”

“This feat wasn’t perpetrated by scientists at all, but by teenage geeks from 2,999. Evidently building wormholes is a common occurrence in their time and all that is needed is a power source. All they had to do was look in their history videos to see the exact time the Atom smasher would start up. They simply hijacked the Tevs needed once it started and opened a wormhole to our time.”

“Damn troublemaking kids,” muttered the commanding officer.

“Wait until you hear why they did it,”

“Do I want to hear why?”

“I think you better listen, they’re going to come here.”

“Call the U.N. Tell them there’s an invasion force coming. You men, arm your weapons. All you civilians, out of here now. This is considered a war zone from this time on. ”The commander barked orders at everyone until he heard.

“Calm down commander, the only ones coming are teenage girls.”

“Teenage girls,” he repeated dumbfounded by this news.

“That’s right after inspecting each and every one of us without finding who they were looking for they decided to come and get him.”

“But they can’t come to the past from the future. Physics states that if something didn’t exist in our time it can’t be sent here from the future.”

“Whatever physics says, they found a way to overcome whatever laws caused someone to theorize that.”

“Okay, enough of the scientific talk. Tell me who’s coming here and why?”

“Have you ever watched videos of Elvis or the Beatles?”

“What’s that got to do with our current situation?”

“If you watched the videos you must have noticed how crazy the girls were, screaming, fainting, and tearing their clothes off . . . .”

“Get to the god damn point will you.”

“That’s who is coming here, crazy teenage girls. But brace yourself for when you first see them.”

“Okay, I’ll bite, what’s so unusual about them?” the commander asked.

The scientist didn’t get a chance to answer as a horde of teenage girls exited from the light faster than anyone could count. They surrounded Dr. Lang screaming and swooning.

“Look,” Dr. Field said, “every last one of them has a disfigured face exactly like Dr. Lang’s.”

The commander looked and couldn’t believe his eyes. Half beautiful women fell at Dr. Lang’s feet. The commander took him by the arm and escorted him to a secure area where the shouting girls couldn’t get to him.

The girls surrounded the building and wouldn’t leave. Dr. Field interviewed a few girls to understand what was happening.

“You won’t believe this Einstein, but you’re the reason for the wormhole and for these girls being here.”

“How can that be?”

“You’ve got the face that launched a wormhole,” he laughed at his own joke. “Genetic experiments ran wild from our century well into the 22nd Century and somehow the human female genome got screwed up and every female born after the 23rd Century is born with half her face disfigured, much as yours is. Over the years the deformity became a beauty symbol. The more wrinkled, melted, deformed, or ugly their face is by our standards, the more beautiful by theirs.

“Their problem is all the males don’t have any deformities and are considered ugly. Genomic experiments were outlawed after the plague deformed all females so they don’t have any way to create males to match. Some guys take blow torches to their faces to try to become beautiful, but that makes a poor copy of the women’s beauty.

“A satellite T.V. signal with news about the accelerator got picked up by future Earth. The geeks figured out how to do that too. Once they saw your beautiful face: their words, not mine, they clamored to open a portal between their time and ours so they could come and convince you to return with them to father their children in the hopes the children would be as beautiful as you. Their geek friends used the energy from the collider to open the wormhole for them.”

“I never calculated something like this happening,” Dr Lang said.


For more stories, poems, & other stuff.

My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at




# 108 The Orphan Train

An email I received today!

Trending petition

joe – There’s a new petition taking off on, and we think you might be interested in signing it.

Petitioning Craig Holden

Disbar lawyer who wants to legalize the murder of LGBT people

Petition by Carol Dahmen
West Sacramento, California
People in the LGBT community are our family members, neighbors, and co-workers. They are people like Apple CEO Tim Cook who have changed the way we live. Imagine a law that would make it legal to kill them all. The “Sodomite Suppression Act” is a real voter initiative in California that would “put to death by bullets to the head” anyone who has had sexual relations with a person of the same gender. The initiative wasn’t submitted by a fringe group, but by a California lawyer named Matthew G. McLaughlin.

Calling for the legalized murder of the LGBT community makes Mr. McLaughlin unfit to practice law. We are demanding the California Bar Association to immediately disbar Matthew G. McLaughlin to prevent him from practicing law in California.

Lawyers are a critical part of our judicial system. They help ensure our legal system is just and fair. A lawyer such as Mr. McLaughlin who actively pursues creating laws that permit genocide has no business practicing law in California or any other state. The California Bar Association must act swiftly to send a clear message that Matthew G. McLaughlin’s actions do not meet the standards of ethics and behavior set by their organization.

To ensure Mr. McLaughlin is disbarred, The California Bar Association needs to hear from us. The California Bar is an association that has an internal self discipline process and is usually slow to act. With our voices and outrage, we can get The California Bar to make the right decision now.

We will not stand by while someone who is suppose to represent our justice system calls for the mass murder of our loved ones. Please sign and share the petition today.
You can read the voter initiative here:

# 107

civil war prisoner

Jackson Broshears, 65th Indiana Infantry was photographed in May 1864, nearly 8 weeks after his release from prison.

Library of Congress

Captured by Confederates

Gilbert Gaul


#107 The Prisoner

On the second of March, 1864, General Kilpatrick hand-picked me as one of the four thousand men bound for a raid on Richmond, the capital of the Confederate States of America.

One reason the general picked me was my size. At six feet three inches tall, I towered over most other soldiers, Union or Confederate. It certainly wasn’t for my fighting ability, as it was common knowledge throughout the ranks that I didn’t believe in killing, and would only do so to save myself. I had made this abundantly clear at the battle of Salem Church.

As much as I hated the idea of killing a fellow human, I must admit my instinct for self-preservation is stronger than any conscious belief I hold. I had at least a half dozen Rebs lined up in my rifle sights at various times, but never pulled the trigger. That was my conscious choice. But when their division ripped out of the thick woods uttering that horrifying rebel yell, one Reb headed for me with his bayonet aimed at my midsection, I had no choice. I knocked his rifle aside and drove my bayonet into his gut, trying not to pay any mind to the dreadful tearing sound of steel penetrating flesh and the scream the man emitted. That combination of sounds is the most horrendous I’ll ever hear. It wasn’t until after I’d done the deed that I saw the face of a 14-year-old on the end of my rifle. My knees wobbled, realizing I had just killed a boy.

Suddenly there were three more rebels running toward me. I yanked the bayonet free, shuddering at the sucking sound the blade made when exiting living flesh. I don’t remember how I did it, but I killed all three Rebs, one after another. Stretched out on the earth around me were four dead confederates.  My responsibility in the matter weighed heavily, but like I said, sometimes instinct dominates choice and killing three men and a boy depressed me. When I witnessed the rags hanging from their bony bodies and imagined the hardship they must have endured; I said a little prayer for them and hoped they found some peace beyond the pearly gates. One promise I made to my wife and son was that I would return to them, and I intended to keep it.

My comrades weren’t fond of the fact that I never fired a shot at the Rebs, but when I killed the four during the battle at Salem Church, it made up for my previous lack of enthusiasm. No one said squat about me neglecting my duty to kill as many enemy troops as I could. But no matter what anyone did or didn’t say, I still saw my duty differently. While I have my sympathies with Mr. Lincoln and don’t set any store by slavery, I believed us soldiers were pawns in a game played by rich men. The common soldier had little to gain from this war, or to correct myself, the Union soldiers had little to gain. As far as the Rebels go, they were defending their homeland and their way of life, however wrong, from the invaders. That the invaders represented the United States that the Confederates once belonged to, was beside the point, and I couldn’t blame them for this. I’d do the same if someone invaded my home and told me what to do.

As the battle progressed, we surged forward by degrees and assaulted the Confederates who retreated to the woods. Several times we pressed forward, but got repulsed each time. The rebels counterattacked in a grim push forward and gained ground in the morning. They viciously defended their homeland, and by nightfall, we withdrew across two pontoon bridges at Scott’s Dam under a harassing artillery fire. There were over five thousand casualties during this skirmish.

I asked myself, “Why?”

It took a long time to replace the casualties and ten months of quiet had passed since the battle. My nightmares of bayoneting the boy were getting less frequent. Now Chosen to go into battle again,  I thought about deserting, but I just couldn’t dishonor my father’s name by doing that. I also thought of my son, and if he ever found out I had deserted, what would he think of me.

On February 28th, Kilpatrick led us towards Richmond along the Virginia Central Railroad, tearing up the tracks as we marched. We reached the outskirts of the city on March 1st only to be repulsed.

Kilpatrick singled me out to carry a dispatch to the other force that was to attack Richmond from the rear. I headed into the woods to circle around the city and hoped to find the Union force in command of the backside of Richmond. When I got there, the Union army had already retreated. There was nothing for me to do now but try to return to Kilpatrick’s forces.

Walking through the woods I heard voices. I stealthily approached to see who it was. To my surprise, it was an old man with a woman who appeared to be his daughter, with two young boys around five and six years old. She was crying and telling her father they needed to find food soon, or her boys would die. They had a roaring fire going, and I envied them for that. She took the boys shirts off to dry them by the fire. They were so skinny; I could count every rib on them.

Carrying a good supply of provisions with me, I wanted to share them with these poor starving folks. If I showed my face they’d raise an alarm, and I’d be captured. Capture was like a death sentence, because they put you in a prison, and forgot to feed you. I guess they couldn’t be blamed for that. Their own soldiers were starving, so how can you take food from them to feed POW’s?

The boys were crying, “Mommy I’m hungry,”

I thought of my own son going hungry, and if it were someone else in my position I’d want him to give whatever help he could.

That made up my mind, I shouted to them, “Hello.” The old man picked up his rifle and wanted to know, “Who’s there?” I told him I had food to share, but he needed to put his rifle down. He looked at the two starving boys and decided. He laid his rifle on the ground. I approached; handed the woman my backpack with hardtack and biscuits in it. This was a feast for all of them. They ate like starving animals, which I guess they were.

I sat by the fire while they ate. Soon the woman came to thank me for being so generous. I told her about my son and how if the situation reversed I’d hope that a reb would feed my son. Being a mother she understood this. She offered to have me spend the night by their fire. I accepted and was soon sleeping. Voices awoke me. She argued with her father. Tired out, I soon slept again.

In the morning as I drank from  a cup of hot water, the old man burst into the clearing with two rebel soldiers. He had gone to fetch them last night.  That was what the argument was all about.  Caught flatfooted, I couldn’t resist. They searched me looking for weapons and found the dispatches.

The woman tried her best to get them to release me, but once they read the dispatches release was out of the question. Papers I carried ordered the burning of Richmond, the assassination of President Davis and his cabinet. The Southerners claimed that the North was starting a war of extermination. From Lincoln on down everybody denied having any knowledge of these papers. When I said, I didn’t know what was in them, no one believed me.

Sent to a prisoner of war camp. Once there, I couldn’t believe what went on. There were thousands upon thousands of men living in a compound surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers with sharpshooters in each tower. Upon entering the camp, a crowd of desperate starving men attacked me. Lucky for me, I still had my strength and fought them off.  These men who attacked me were union soldiers same as me.

There were gangs who would rob and beat their fellow prisoners, taking any food they might have, and anything else of value. Why they’d even yank a gold tooth out of a living prisoner if they saw one. Desperate men do desperate things I knew, but this savagery was unbelievable. the gangs had a price on the water flowing through the camp.

They surrounded the water and wouldn’t let anybody approach without paying a bribe.

There was a line drawn around the perimeter of the camp. It was five feet inside the barbed wire; anyone who crossed this line would be shot dead by the sharpshooters in the towers. Many of the prisoners, when they could take no more abuse, would purposely step over that line. The shooters always obliged them.

The weeks and months went by; I was too weak to defend myself from the gangs by now. They had taken all my belongings, even the picture of my wife and son. I thought the time for me to cross that line was near.

Unknown to me, the woman and children I had given my food to in the woods that day were relatives of General Lee, and he had given her the authority to have me exchanged to the North. She came to the prison camp the next day looking for me. If only I had known.

The next morning I stood next to the line as I had been doing every day for a week now, trying to get the courage just to step across it. I watched as men would cross, and get instantly shot in the head. It was quick.  I believed a quick, painless death preferable to slow demeaning starvation. Standing there trying to decide, I heard a woman shout, “There he is, bring him here.” As I turned to see her, I stumbled and fell across the line. The last thing I saw was the face of the woman from the woods. (End


For more stories, poems, & other stuff.

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# 106 The Narciccist

#104 Undine

#104 Burning Wolf



Burning Wolf

A short story


Joe dibuduo.

The soldiers told the Laki to camp at Sand Creek and promised they’d be safe from attack there. The sun rose on the horizon as Little Wolf helped his mother pile wood on the outdoor campfire, where she would cook their breakfast. In the distance, a wolf howled a danger approaching yowl, and he tried to tell his mother what the wolf said but she was busy and didn’t listen to what her son of only six summers had to say. Little Wolf ran and woke Whirlwind his father. “The wolves warn of danger,” he shouted at his father. Whirlwind immediately arose from his sleeping pad, dressed, grabbed his rifle and ran from the tipi entrance only to see he was too late to warn of the coming danger.

Soldiers yelled and fired their weapons as they converged on the camp. Whirlwind aimed and shot the lead soldier from his saddle. Little Wolf saw the women already outside falling as bullets slammed into them.  Instantly Indians poured from their lodge’s still wiping sleep from their eyes. Some not even dressed and most without weapons. Little Wolf watched as the soldiers rode into camp, jumped from their horses and used their rifle butts to smash in any heads they saw, including women’s and children’s. His friend Chayton ran as a mounted soldier chased him, drew his sword and swung it in a wide arc before hitting Chayton’s head. The blade sank deep into his skull as he screamed and fell to the ground with the sword sticking from his head. Little Wolf stood frozen as the soldier dismounted, grabbed the sword’s hilt, put his foot on Chayton’s head and yanked it free. He returned the bloody blade to his scabbard and drew his knife.

Little Wolf couldn’t look away even though he wanted to. The soldier grabbed Chayton by the hair and yanked on it until he lifted his head from the ground. Chayton still lived and screamed from pain as the soldier jammed his knife into his cranium and started cutting his scalp from his skull. Little Wolf put his hands over his eyes to stop himself from watching, but couldn’t shut out the screams of agony.

Indians ran every which way in confusion as the crazed soldiers charged and killed anything that moved. Whirlwind fired his rifle continuously while shouting to the other braves to form a defense, so they could rescue Black Kettle before the soldiers got him. He shouted in English, the soldier’s language, “Can’t you see both an American and white flag of peace flying over our chief’s tipi?” If any soldiers heard him, they ignored what he said.

His little boy’s spirit turned black as he witnessed soldiers chasing down women and raping them. The soldiers sadistically not only cut the hair from their heads, but cut out patches of pubic hair from their victims for trophies. Many of the women were alive, and the screams streamed through Little Wolf’s entire being as the soldiers cut and mutilated. Whites must be the evilest people of all, he thought. Little Wolf vowed he’d avenge this brutality visited upon his people by these whites. He wasn’t afraid, but anger and hatred filled him. He wanted to kill every soldier he saw. He picked up a tomahawk as hatred blazed through him and attempted to run toward a soldier who was raping his aunt, Dyani.

Whirlwind grabbed Little Wolf by the arm to stop him from leaving his side. He saw where Little Wolf was headed, and he raised his rifle and shot the rapist in the head. Little Wolf wanted to go help Dyani, but Whirlwind picked him up and started to run toward the water with some braves who had formed a band of warriors to try to save the tribes leaders. Some of the tribe escaped across the stream, including Black Kettle, Little Wolf, his father, and mother, and only a few dozen more. Little Wolf shook from anger, and he shook from revulsion too. He knew his heart would never be empty of hatred for whites.


Over the years, Little Wolf learned what happened that day. The elders often told stories around the campfire, and whenever Sand Creek came up Little Wolf listened intently. Seven hundred mostly drunk volunteers known as the “Hundred Dazers” of the Colorado Militia attacked his practically defenseless village on November 29th, 1864. They knew his people came in peace, but they killed them anyway. The elders told how the white people of Colorado celebrated the massacre and honored Colonel Chivington, who led the volunteers, with a dinner in honor of his victory. During the festivities, the Colonel regaled the other guests with his war stories and displayed over one hundred Indian scalps, including the pubic hair of many women. When asked why children had been killed, he answered, “Nits make lice.” This statement echoed over and over in Little Wolf’s head. These savages killed his friends and had the audacity to compare them to bugs. He vowed one day to exact vengeance on Chivington if possible, but any white man he got his hands on would pay. He often prayed the spirits would send him many to slaughter.


Ten summers passed since the massacre. At sixteen summers, it was highly unusual for a Laki boy not to have received his spirit animal to guide his way. He waited for his vision to come, but instead had the same dream over and over. Every night for the past ten summers, he dreamed of his village being surrounded by soldiers hiding in the woods, loading their rifles, and                                                                                                                                                                                            laughing at how many Indians they would kill. In his dream, Little Wolf tried to warn his people, but he couldn’t move or speak. Recently a new scene had been added to his dream, and he awoke ready to kill every time he dreamed of three soldiers dragging Aruna toward the woods, tearing her clothes from her as they did. He attempted to rescue her but was knocked to the ground and the dream always ended with a last look at Aruna looking at him as though he betrayed her, and then the sight of a rifle butt rushing toward his face in an attempt to smash his brains from his head. He always awoke sweating and breathing heavily after these dreams and would pray to the Great Spirit. “Please send my vision and give me the power to be sure my dream never comes true.”

He had two priorities for when he was finally acknowledged as a brave. First, he promised Aruna he’d make her his wife, a vow made years ago when they were much younger. They had been inseparable for years, but now her father wanted to build his herd of horses and to do this he put her up for sale. The price was high, and Little Wolf had to become a brave before he could gather enough horses to buy her.

His second goal was to retaliate for the murders of his playmates and friends he had witnessed as a young boy. Thoughts of that day never left his mind and the need for vengeance burned like a fire in his stomach. Remembering how ruthless the white killers had been, he swore to treat any and all whites as pitiless every chance he got.


Braves younger than him had already had their vision, married and wore an eagle feather or two. He couldn’t understand why his vision hadn’t come yet. “Why have I waited so long to receive my vision?” he asked his father.

“We can’t make the dreams come. The spirit animal that will be your guide decides when the time is right. Have you fasted for four days my son? If so you can go to your sacred place and wait for your vision to come.”

“I’ve not eaten for the required time, and I’ve waited many times already without success. As the shaman has already named me Little Wolf, can’t I just take the wolf to be my guiding spirit?”

“My son, we don’t get to choose. There’s something I must tell you, and I do it with a heavy heart. One night long ago, I told my woman, Pari, who was my only wife at the time, ‘listen to the wolves talking, the moon is full, and the animals speak on this bright night. ’Pari listened with reverence because I had proven many times the strength of my magic and understanding of animals.”

”What do they talk about?” she asked.

“They tell of change, death, and destruction.”

“Whose death and what destruction do they talk of?”

“It’s not clear, but we’ll know when the spirits want us to.” Whirlwind reached into his pack and sprinkled some sweet grass on the fire to appease the spirits if they were listening.

The next morning, Pari went to get water from the river with other women from the village. She knew the wolves had talked all night, and when she saw a baby boy sitting astride the big wolf, she knew the wolf was sent by the spirits with the boy as a gift. She had prayed for this very thing for many seasons.

“The other three wolves surrounded her while the gray wolf that carried the baby boy slowly approached. The boy looked to be about three summers old. He slid from the wolf’s back and stood at her feet, standing on a blanket of red and yellow leaves. Pari fell to her knees and thanked the Great Spirit for this gift. She had tried many times to give me a son and failed. She knew the wolves wouldn’t have delivered the boy unless the spirits had commanded them to do so. The village women had witnessed what transpired, and as they trekked through the woods to the village with Pari and our son, Pari sang a joyous song thanking the spirits for their benevolence.”

“Wait, what you’re saying means you’re not my father.”

“I was appointed by the spirits to be a father to you. That’s why we named you Little Wolf,   because the wolves brought you to us.”

“Thank you, Whirlwind. You’ve treated me as your own, and the spirits will reward you.  I’ll never forget. But, why have I waited so long to receive my vision? I can’t allow another brave to marry Aruna. I know deep inside me that the spirits created her for me and no one else.”

“Come to the medicine lodge,” Whirlwind said. “I’ll help you prepare for your quest.” He opened his medicine bag and took out a container that held a mixture of plants passed down from ancient times. Whirlwind smashed the many different leaves and berries between flat stones and mixed them with water in a clay jug. Then he handed it to Little Wolf. “Drink this. Your dream may come if you do.”

Little Wolf hoped his father’s magic would bring his vision. He went to the hilltop behind the camp to find a sacred place to wait for his vision. When he looked to the far horizon, hills rose from the ground and swelled into mountains, and the sky met the ground. Around where he stood tall grass, shrubs, and a few trees grew. Little Wolf chose a spot near the water with tree branches over his head, and he sat on a rock to wait for his vision to come. The dream powder quelled his hunger, and he sat for three days and three nights. Animals came to watch the Indian boy. An eagle flew by. He knew that was a good sign. In quiet reflection on the fourth day, Little Wolf looked deep within, but no vision came.

He couldn’t understand why the Great Spirit has denied his vision so many times? Weak from lack of food, he returned to the village. Little Wolf told his father his vision hadn’t come. He thought maybe the spirits were angry at him, why they had withheld his vision for so long. Or could it be that he was would never have a vision? Maybe he should make one up? Who would know if he did? By lying about his vision he could choose his guiding spirit, and he thought how great it would be to have an eagle as his guiding spirit. But his conscience told him he couldn’t live a lie.

“This is very unusual.” Whirlwind took out his medicine bag and unrolled it on the earth. “There must be an important vision waiting for you.” He took a rolled-up leaf from the bag on the ground.

He carefully unrolled the leaf, and Little Wolf saw a yellowish white powder. “Can I eat something, I’m so hungry?” he said.

“No, my son. I’ll mix this medicinal powder from the Pawnees. It comes from the far south. Once you drink of it, your hunger will disappear, and your vision will more than likely come.” He mixed the powder with plain water in an earthen jug. He watched as Little Wolf drank the mixture. “Return to your sacred spot for one more day.”


Sitting in his spot close to the river, Little Wolf’s thoughts wandered as he waited for his vision to arrive. He pictured the elders sitting around fires telling stories of old. How the white man came with rifles and other guns to drive the Laki away from their farms many summers ago. Now they lived in tipis instead of huts and hunted instead of farmed. They told how an Indian’s thoughts of war were so different than whites.  Indians fought to prove their courage, not to gain territory. Burning Wolf thought how Awkio, Laki, or Sixtou war parties rarely fought to the death or destroyed each other’s villages’. One of their war customs was getting close to their enemy and touching him. This showed bravery but took no lives and made more sense than the white man’s method of destroying everything.

When he dozed off, Little Wolf had the same dream he’d had for the last ten summers. He thought if he told his father about this dream, he might know if it was related to his delayed vision.


“Tell me, my son. What did the soldiers look like and what weapons did they use in your dream?” Whirlwind asked.

“They were dressed in blue and wore high boots. Each one had a rifle, a pistol, and some carried long knives too. They had white skin, just like the soldiers who killed us at Sand Springs. There were more soldiers than braves in our entire tribe. What does this dream mean? Are they coming to massacre us again?”

Whirlwind sat silent for a long time. He then took some substance from his medicine bundle and threw it on the fire, causing a white puff of smoke to rise. He got up and danced, shaking his magic beads, chanting the ancient prayers, and throwing powders from his medicine bag on the fire every time he completed a circle around it. He danced and sang, asking the spirits to tell him what Little Wolf’s dream meant. Hours went by, and he fell exhausted on the ground. “The spirits don’t answer. You need to dream more to finish your vision.” Whirlwind mixed more powder. Little Wolf drank it all.

He returned to his sacred spot hoping his vision would finally come. He sat on the ground under the tree and inhaled the moist air, laden with the aroma of spring growth. The moon came out and animals talked with wolves howling. The wolf talk bought back memories of when he lived with them. Once Whirlwind told him about the wolves, bits and pieces of their language had returned to him. Now he understood it better than his father did. He let out a yowl that matched any wolf howl.

Soon three gray wolves stared at him from the woods. He howled again, and they trotted to where he sat and they lay on the ground beside him. He became warm from the fur of his friends against his body, and he drifted off into another world.


While awaiting his vision to come Little Wolf watched as a fire burned and in a shower of sparks erupted as a spirit rose from the flames. Dressed in a robe of flames with skin the color of the sun the spirit appeared to be an Indian. Blue and red flames flickered about this spirit and Yellow flames emanated from his head. The spirit floated from the fire, and the flames surrounding him increased in intensity as the colors shimmered and changed. An aroma from the spirit caused Little Wolf’s nose to burn.

“Are you Maiyun?” Little Wolf asked. He prayed this was his vision and not just another dream.

“I’m known by many names.” The spirit floated around Little Wolf, flickering flames surrounded him wherever he went. “But you will call me ‘The Wolf.’ You are to be granted the power to protect your people from the coming horde, but only if you remain true to your word.”

Little Wolf knew that an Indian’s word meant everything. All distrusted one who didn’t keep his word.

“You’re going to be granted a great power that few before you ever had. Watch, and you’ll see what you will be capable of once you learn to control the gift I will bestow on you.” The Wolf demonstrated his power by holding out his right hand. A stream of bright red and blue flame shot out and hit a tree fifty feet away. With a loud whoosh, the tree instantly turned into an incinerated stump. The spirit held his hand toward the river. The flame shot out and landed on the water turning into a ball of flame that spread across the water until the water burned from shore to shore. “This is the power you’ll have as long as you remain true to your word.”

Little Wolf awoke with sweat on his brow. He hardly believed his own vision. Excitement overcame him as he imagined the things he could do with this immense power. But was it true?  He couldn’t wait to tell his father what his vision showed, and to ask him if it were true. He returned to the village, and the wolves followed him. When they approached the village, dogs barked and growled at the scent of wolves. The wolves were quiet, and stuck by Little Wolf, one on each side, and one behind.

He and his wolves sat in front of his father’s tipi and waited for him to analyze his dream. The wolves lay by him as they had walked. He knew the Wolf Spirit sent them to protect him as before. His father soon sat opposite him, and he revealed his vision.

“I have prayed,” Whirlwind said, “That your name will no longer be Little Wolf. From this day forth you will have a new name once you show me the powers the Spirit has given you.”

Little Wolf stood and stepped several paces from his father. The three wolves walked with him in their usual order. He held out his hand as he had seen the God do in his vision. He envisioned a whooshing flame burning everything in its path, but nothing happened. He shook his hand, held it out again, and concentrated very hard on the image of a flame shooting from his hand. He felt warmth spread from his heart, down his arm and a burning sensation in the palm of his hand, but no flame exploded from it as the Spirit had shown him in his dream. He felt Despair flowing through him. What had he done wrong? Why wasn’t his gift operating? He believed that the spirit gave him the promised power, but he didn’t know how to use it. “I’ve failed father. I cannot do as the Wolf showed me.” He sat across from his father again and hung his head in shame for his failure, his eyes moist with tears that he couldn’t shed.

“You’re weak from not eating for days my son. Maybe your body needs fuel to create this fire. Eat and then try again.”

Little Wolf ate what Pari set before him. Although food made him sleepy, he wanted to see if he had the gift the Wolf promised him. He stepped away from his father and the wolves followed his every move. He held out his right hand and pictured fire erupting from it to burn the tree to a cinder. He felt heat spreading from his heart through his arm to his hand, and a small flame erupted from his palm. It fell to the ground igniting the grass at his feet. Excitement coursed through him at the sight even though the flame was small and ineffectual. He used his feet to stomp out the fire, and the onlookers laughed at this inadequate display, not knowing the power he had been given. Little Wolf became enraged and aimed his hand at those who laughed. He tried to send a flame at them, but this time the heat from his heart felt hotter and the flame that shot from his palm reached a few feet farther than before. He had to dance through much grass to put out the flames.

“Flaming Wolf, that’s your new name,” one of the Braves said and laughed. Why can’t they understand I’ve been given this power to save them? They are humiliating me with their laughter. I’ll teach them to respect me he thought. He attacked the ones who jeered with his closed fists. He swung and hit one of the hecklers in the nose, another in the lips and both were bloodied. They backed away from his devastating punches, “Okay, we’ll call you, Fighting Wolf instead.” They said, but Little Wolf continued his attack and went after another one.

His father arrived and put his hand on Little Wolf’s shoulder to stop the fight. “Burning Wolf is a fine name, and your spirit guide, the Wolf, would be happy with that name.”

Exhausted from his ordeal, Burning Wolf went to his tipi and lay down to sleep. The wolves surrounded him. He dreamed of Aruna and his dream was full of images that aroused him. His desire melted all resistance, and he wanted to wake and go to her tipi now and take her for his wife. The Wolf appeared in his dream and said, “You must remain true to your word, or your power will be no more.”

Burning Wolf awoke in a sweat. He remembered he had given his word to White Cloud, Aruna’s father, that he wouldn’t touch her before he paid the full price. He knew if she remained untouched, she was worth many more horses,. One side of him wanted to go and take Aruna, and the other side resisted because he knew he’d need his Spirit-given powers to protect the tribe. He made ready for the day. Now that he had his vision, a brave deed would earn him the right to wear an eagle feather in his hair.

Burning Wolf painted his face in the colors of war, put on his war-shirt and loaded his shield, spear, and bow on a painted horse. “Today I’ll gather many horses for my wife-to-be. Any who want to join me may,” he told the other young braves.

Because he had just been given a new name and was unproven as a full-grown brave, not one joined him in his quest. He rode off, a wolf on each side and one walking in the rear.

If he stole horses from the Sixtou he could count coup and would bring honor to himself and his tribe. He headed for Sixtou territory with three wolves marching in their usual formation following him as leader of the pack.

Reaching Sixtou territory after riding for a day, he made camp. With no fire for warmth, the wolves snuggled in close and shared their body heat with him. He dreamed of Aruna and ached for her touch. He awoke with the realization that she was within reach and would finally be his as soon as he returned with enough ponies to pay her price. His burning desire for her and the thought of sharing his tipi with her was constantly in his head. His desire to love her was so strong that he almost broke his promise to her father to keep her pure until they married several times during the last moon.

Howling came with moonrise, and Burning Wolf looked to the sky and the full moon. He answered with a howl of his own.  The resounding howl told him Sixtou were camped nearby. Other howls told him the Sixtou were returning from a raid on a Awkio camp and held many horses.

His chance had come. He readied his horse and weapons and told the wolves’ how to drive the horses back to Laki territory once he set them free.

Finding their camp, he saw twenty or more Braves. Tied to trees were about forty horses. He knew this would be more than enough to buy Aruna for a wife. Little Wolf wondered if his powers would allow him to defeat so many? Should he kill them with flames, or try to scare them off and count coup? He decided he wouldn’t kill, only drive the warriors away so he could take their horses as his own. His body tingled from excitement, not fear. “Oh Heammawihio,” he prayed. Give me the courage and strength to defeat these horse thieves.” He held out his hand and felt the heat from his heart travel to his right hand. He aimed his hand at the high grass between the horses and the Sixtou camp. He let loose with a burst of flame that set the horses to neighing. The Sixtou came running. Burning Wolf aimed his hand. The flame whooshed out and set the surrounding grass aflame. The Sixtou ran and tried to go around the flames. Burning Wolf aimed in that direction. Soon they had only one way to go or be burned from the flames.

Burning Wolf cut all the rawhide strands that held the horses. They all ran away from the flames. He felt the heat as the grass glowed with brightly burning flames. He let the wolves drive the horses while he stood still thinking what he could do with this vast power given to him when the whites came as he knew they would. Maybe he could chase them away by using his new power.

He rode after the freed horses and stopped and dismounted when he saw his wolves sitting on a cliff’s edge. His stomach turned with fear as he prayed to the Great Spirit, “No, please don’t let it be what I think it is.” Burning Wolf had seen wolves drive their prey over a cliff more than once before. If that’s what happened to the horses, he couldn’t make Aruna his wife. He walked close to the edge saying all the while, “Please, please don’t let them all be dead.” His prayers weren’t answered. On the canyon floor lay dead horses. Carrion birds already swooped around. The wolves looked at him with their gray eyes ablaze from the setting sun. He knew they did their best. It was just natural for them to kill their prey. Anger flared and subsided because he realized it was his fault for turning the wolves loose on the herd. He imagined another brave with many horses buying Aruna for his own. Her image haunted him. He couldn’t return with empty hands. The Sixtou were now warned a horse thief was in their territory. He couldn’t give up. After almost succeeding, he felt the first pangs of doubt. When he thought of Aruna married to another, he had no choice but to head for Chemack territory where he might find more horses. He went to the bottom of the canyon where the perished horses lay and cut enough horse flesh for him and the wolves to last for days.

Something in the distance moved. He saw movement but couldn’t see what it was. He prayed that it might be a herd of wild horses. He mounted and sped toward the movement. Burning Wolf thanked Heammawihio for giving him another chance to acquire the ponies he desperately needed. He rode toward the movement, and as he got closer he saw not only horses, but wagons, cattle, and white people walking alongside their overloaded wagons.

Concealing himself in the tall grass, he watched as a hundred wagons passed. These were the very first white people he had seen since the massacre, and pictures of his friends being raped and murdered returned. Thoughts of vengeance filled him, and his body shook with pleasure at the thought of using his powers on these invaders.

He’d stop them before they moved onto Laki land. He and the wolves circled around while he planned his attack. The wind blew from west to east. Burning Wolf had seen plenty of grass fires and knew how fast they traveled when a strong wind blew. He rode far enough west to start a fire that would speed toward the wagon train and engulf it in flames.

He rode through the tall grass, letting out battle cries as flames shot from his right hand setting large fast moving fires in the tall prairie grass for two miles in a straight line before he stopped and watched as the long wall of flames bore down on the whites and their wagons. They saw the flames coming and tried to escape by turning their wagons and whipped the beasts that drew them. They couldn’t escape the fast-moving flames and Burning Wolf watched in joy as wagon after wagon burst into flame.

In his head, he thanked Heammawihio, for helping him to find these invaders before they stole Indian land, and for sending so many whites for him to kill. He faintly heard screams coming from the whites as they burned. He thanked the Wolf, for the powers given him to protect his people. Burning Wolf let out a long loud victory cry. His spirit’s lifted because finally he had done something to repay the white skins for what they did to his people.

He came upon two wagons that escaped being burned by rolling into a small pond. Two men and a woman stood by the wagon, and when the men saw him, they both pulled pistols and shot at him. Little Wolf rode his horse in a circle around the wagons diverting their attention as they tried to shoot him from his horse. Meanwhile the wolves moved silently through the tall grass and unseen by the men, surprised them when they leaped upon them. Both men were knocked to the ground and lay motionless as the snarling wolves showed their razor sharp teeth and snapped their jaws within inches of the men’s throats every time they moved.

Burning Wolf wanted to see what the wagons contained, and he pulled back the canvas covering the opening of the first covered wagon. He was surprised to see about twenty white children of many ages.

Chivington’s words rang in his head. “Nits make lice.” Now he understood. With so many children, these whites would soon greatly outnumber the Sixtou. He did what he thought he should and held out his hand to the wagon, and his heart got warm and heat spread to his arm. He didn’t want to kill all these helpless children, but those words Chivington spoke long ago rang through his head. He knew in a few years these children would be grown and become Indian hunters like the other whites. The whites never hesitated to kill Indian children.

“No! What are you going to do?” The woman screamed.

Reluctantly he let the flame spring from his hand and watched as it exploded against the wagon. The children’s screams tore through the roar of the passing fire. The wagon burned to the ground in a short time. Silence filled the air, except for the white woman’s sobs. The two men lay on their backs with wolves’ teeth inches from their throats. They didn’t dare move, but tears flowed from the eyes of one man.

Burning Wolf looked in the other wagon and found it loaded with crates of rifles and bullets. A valuable cargo that would pay for Aruna a hundred times over.

Burning Wolf took possession of two saddle horses that stood in the water along with eight oxen used for pulling the wagons. He searched the men, took their guns, and used sign language to tell them to harness the oxen and drive the wagon with its horde to Laki Territory. They didn’t want to do what he said until he raised his right hand and pointed it at them. Burning Wolf released a stream of flames from his hand that hit the water two feet in front of them. He raised his hand a little higher, and they hurried to comply and hitched four oxen to the covered wagon. The white woman, still crying, climbed into the wagon, the two white men sat on the driver’s bench. Both looked forlorn and helpless without their guns. The wolves took up their guard positions of one on each side and one to the rear. He stayed behind his captives because when he rode close, their long unwashed bodies gave off aromas that made him unwell. Burning Wolf and his wolves drove the two horses and the other four oxen along.

Satisfied because he had killed so many whites, Burning Wolf decided to give the white prisoners to Chief Black Kettle so he could exact his vengeance for Sand Creek. The wagon, horses, and some of the rifles would go to Aruna’s father in payment for her, and he would use the other rifles to arm his fellow Braves.

Burning Wolf thought of how sweet life would be once he and Aruna lived together. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard battle sounds echoing from his village. Without hesitating, he kicked his horse to make it run for home. Who could be attacking his village? He couldn’t wait to join the battle, so he could use his new powers on the enemies of the Laki. The wagon driver whipped his oxen and headed the opposite way. The wolves followed Burning Wolf, ready for battle.

Blue clad soldiers rode on horses through the village with flaming branches setting fires to Laki tipis. He raised his hand and aimed it at one rider who carried a flaming torch. The flame from Burning Wolf’s hand set him on fire, and he rode through the camp screaming in pain. Burning Wolf felt his heart burn from the heat as flame after flame shot from his hand and burned any soldier he aimed at. The leader of the bluecoats saw what he was doing and ordered his men to attack Burning Wolf. They formed into a group and charged toward him. He released a tremendous flame that engulfed all twenty soldiers attacking him. They all burst into flame, and the terrified horses ran every which way. They bucked and neighed as they tried to remove the screaming burning loads from their backs.  Once the other soldiers saw what happened they rode away. Burning Wolf walked through the camp looking for any soldiers that may be hiding from his flame. A boy pointed to a tipi where soldiers hid inside. Burning Wolf set the tipi on fire with a blast from his hand. Two soldiers ran from the fire with pistols in their hands. Burning Wolf aimed the flame at their hands, and the heat caused their hands to blister and drop their weapons. The men screamed in pain. Many gathered around the screaming soldiers with their knives ready.

“These killers of women and children are yours,” he told the angry gathering. He left with the screams of the soldiers in his ears.

He went to see that Aruna, Whirlwind, and Pari were safe.

“You have saved us this day,” his father said. “Now the soldiers know that the spirits are on our side.”

A hunting party returning to the village had recaptured the wagon with the two white men and woman in it. The Indian women had tasted blood and wanted more. They all remembered that day ten years ago. They wanted revenge for the mutilations that had been performed on the bodies of the dead Laki.  They ripped the clothes from the woman and whipped her with a rawhide lash, and then the children threw stones at her. The Indian women reluctantly gave the bloodied white woman to the Braves to do whatever they wanted with her, and the Laki Women stripped the two men and whipped them. An older woman, Running Deer, whose daughter had her pubic hair cut off at Sand Creek, cried for her right to vengeance. The women tied the two whites to wooden stakes driven into the ground and stood in a circle around them.  Running deer approached the men with a hunting knife held in her hand. She carved a section of skin off one man’s arm. As he screamed and pled, she turned to the other man who tried to remain brave. Once Running Deer took his penis in her hand, he forgot all about bravery and begged and pleaded that she kill him first.

Unmoved by his cries, she slowly sawed his penis. The man’s scream filled the camp. The other man looked around trying to find a sympathetic face, but all he saw were faces that appeared to enjoy what was happening. Once she had severed the penis, she danced around the two whites with the penis in her hand. She stopped dancing, turned to the other man and stuck the severed penis into his mouth. She then started to cut his penis slowly off. He couldn’t scream because his mouth was stuffed. Once she cut off his penis, she stuffed it into the other man’s mouth. “For my daughter you mutilated,” she said and ran crying from the men. The women converged on the dying men with sharpened knives and finished what Running Deer had started. They believed this action would somehow erase their grief and memories of Sand Creek.

“The wagon was mine to trade for a wife, but when I heard the battle I let it go to save the village. It should still belong to me. I needed it to get Aruna for my wife.” Burning Wolf told his father. “I was going to distribute the rifles free to our warriors. Those hunters have traded the rifles for firewater.”

“My son, you know our law. If it’s free to roam, no one owns it.” He put his hand on his son’s shoulder in sympathy. His face showed his regret, but as shaman, he had to follow the law.

Burning Wolf felt it was unfair. He was unable to buy his wife because he sacrificed her price to save his village. The spirits were against his union with Aruna it seemed. Twice now, he had enough to buy her, and twice it was taken away from him. A brave handed him a container of whiskey. “Take a big gulp. It’ll soon chase your worries off to the stars.”

Burning Wolf swallowed as much as he could. It burned his mouth and his throat. Soon he felt mellow and wanted to dance. He walked to the campfire and danced his story of chasing the Sixtou and of the horses running off a cliff. He danced and sang how he had killed and chased off the whites coming to take their land. He stopped and emptied the container of fluid and howled to the moon.

Burning Wolf slept, and his brain cleared from the haze. He went to the river to bathe.  Aruna was taking her bath when he arrived.  She didn’t know he was there watching her. Her nakedness caused his desire to burn and then roar. He lost control, took her by the arm, and led her under the trees. Wrapping his arms around her he whispered into her ear, “You know I saved your life yesterday. You should be my wife now, so you must give me what I need.”

“But the spirits insist you keep your word, or you’ll lose your power.”

He put his hand on her thigh and couldn’t refuse the devil that called. Aruna reluctantly submitted to him.  Afterward Burning Wolf returned to his tipi and his wolves were nowhere to be seen. He slept and dreamt of men dressed in blue surrounding the Laki camp that night. He awoke to screams and shouts. Soldiers were shooting everything that moved. His chance had come again to save the camp. He held up his arm and aimed his hand at the men in blue. His heart didn’t get warm. It got cold. And it got colder yet as he knew his dream had indeed come true when he looked up and saw three soldiers dragging Aruna off towards the woods and were tearing her clothes from her. He attempted to rescue her but was knocked to the ground. He looked at Aruna who returned an accusing look, as though to say he had betrayed her, that he wasn’t a man who kept his promises. From the corner of his eye, he saw a rifle butt rushing toward his face in an attempt to smash his brains from his head.

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  • Heammawihio – The great spirit
  • Maheo – Supreme god or great spirit and creator
  • Maiyun – The great spirit