Out of town

I just wanted to let my followers know that I am out of town and am trying to keep up, but it has been difficult. I am using my tablet, but it is taking some getting used to. I brought my grandson’s back home and it is a hard time as I already miss them so much. I am visiting with my sister and am getting to see my son which are both good things. I only get to see them once or twice a year.

I will be working on my books and other writing so I won’t be on much. I hope all those traveling have safe journeys. All those that are having a hard time due depression or addiction that you are in my thoughts and prayers. For those who live in countries experiencing violence and terror. I pray for your safety and that peace may be found. There are so many creative and talented people that I have met on this blog. I truly enjoy opening Word Press everyday and seeing what has been posted. To you I wish for your muse to give you inspiration.

Love and Peace to all of you.
Pavanne

How Do You Become an ISIS Terrorist?

pavanneh:

I found this an insightful and reasoned post on this subject. These terrorists did not spring up over night. They were created.

Originally posted on Sweden and the Middle East Views:

ISIS or ISIL or IS – they are so creative in their name changings, I have to give them that – has startled the whole world it seems with their ambitious brutality. The Iraqi military just gave up their weapons and ran, despite the years and years of trainings from American experts, trying to compensate their invasion. The Kurdish Peshmerga tried to hold the fort but failed. But should we really have been so surprised?

I won’t discuss what a failure it is for Iraqi intelligence not to recognize the threat of ISIS, nor will I discuss the exclusion of minorities from the Iraqi government and the consequences it has had. This blog post will go back in time, and ask how these young men became ISIS terrorists in the first place.

How can a normal human being become attracted to such a merciless, murderous organization with no respect for…

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Laney’s Legacy

Traces of the soul completed a story using this prompt from: Mindlovemiserysmenagerie Wordle 21

Write a poem or story using 10 of these words

  1. Delicate 2. Dirty 3. Legacy 4. Shrapnel 5. Gehenna (any place of extreme torment or suffering) 6. Douse 7. Hate 8. Syringe 9. Precipice 10. Hedonistic 11. Rot 12. Disintegrate

So, I thought I would give it a try.

Laney sat against the wall of her cell. Her blue eyes stared forward as her mind worked furiously to find a way out of this. Her delicate fingers wrapped around the dirty bars of her cell and her grip tightened as she realized how long she may have been there. She had been captured at least three days ago as she tried to get the box containing the medical supplies to her people. There was an outbreak of smallpox and she had been able to scrape enough money together for the vaccination kits they needed. How many had died? How many more were sick? She had to get out of there. They had left the box sitting on a table across the room from her. A slap in her face, a taunt of her failure.

Their people had been at war off and on since the great Cataclysm and the group of survivors had split into two camps. One on each side of the mountain. Her people had built a city, a new civilization. A legacy worth leaving to their young. They loved art and music and the gentleness of life and instilling the hope for the betterment of mankind. While the Others had chosen a hedonistic, savage way of life. Always teetering on the precipice of their own destruction. The rot from within their own society would soon cause it to disintegrate, but not before they attacked her ailing people and destroyed them. She listened to the celebration below. The celebration for the impending attack and destruction of her people. Her hate grew until it tasted like bile in her mouth. She felt as if she was in hell in Gehenna. Her tears flowed, leaving tracks of white bright against the dirt that remained.

She was not bad looking, there were those that thought she was beautiful. In the end that is what most likely kept her from being killed. She was to be saved for later. She combed her fingers through her tangled hair and loosened her shirt and unbuttoned several buttons. She took a little of the water she had left and wiped her face with the edge of her shirt. She called to the guard. It didn’t take long for him to come in. She knew he was angry because he had to stay and guard her instead of going to the celebration below. He approached the cell warily, but she could see the lust in his eyes. She adjusted the shirt a little more to show more of her breast. “The sounds of the celebration have…excited me. Come here and I will give you something special, something no one has ever had.” He licked his lips and approached the bars.

“Your going to have to open that door if you want me.” Laney said as she slipped the shirt down her shoulders and onto the floor. The guard fumbled for his keys and told her to kneel on the ground with her hands in front of her. She obeyed and the guard entered the cell. As he moved toward her, his breath ragged and his voice husky as he asked her to stand and face the wall. She stood, but just as he came behind her she grabbed his groin and twisted, bringing him to his knees. She kneed him in the face and then kicked him again in the head for good measure. She was glad they hadn’t taken her steel toed boots from her. She disarmed him, grabbed her shirt and threw it on. She locked the cell door behind her and placed the strap for carrying the medical package on her shoulder.

The celebration was going on full force. Sounds of moaning, yelling, laughing echoed in the halls. She slid out of the door and headed toward the exit and the stables. There were few guards. No one expected a mere woman to escape and there would be no attack from her city tonight. She saw barrels of oil or gas by the entrance. She opened the taps and let the liquid douse the ground. She crept to the corral and opened the gate and jumped onto the back of a horse as it ran though. She had ridden bareback her whole life and she was glad of it this night. She threw down a torch from the corral onto the oil and the fire sprang to life, blocking the entrance.

She heard shouts and gunfire, but she praised the powers that be she did nor her horse were hit. She didn’t think she let her breath out until she reached her city gates. She yelled out in despair at the quiet walls. Then the doors opened and Thomas motioned for her to quickly come inside. She kicked the horse forward and was pleased to see that there were less funerary fires than before. She wasn’t too late. “Is it controlled Thomas?”

“Yes Laney, but there are still sick. Did you get the Vaccine from Charleston?” He asked as he helped from the horse. “Yes Thomas. Have everyone meet me in medical that can be inoculated. They gave me another round of medicine for those that are sick already. They said it should work for them too.”  Laney walked into the medical bay and set up to prepare the first syringe. Perhaps their legacy would survive. 

 

 

 

Share Your World-Week 32 Cee Cee’s challenge

I have been looking for some inspiration to get back to posting original posts on my own page. There are a few I started, but I really want to give this one a go. So, for Cee Cee’s challenge this week I will answer her questions from Share Your World.

Do you prefer ketchup or mustard?

I like ketchup more than mustard. Though I really like to use mustard as a dip for soft pretzels and definitely need it on a corn dog or hot dog.  I use Ketchup all the time in recipes and have to have it on hamburgers. My nephew eats it on everything, but especially macaroni and cheese.

If someone made a movie of your life would it be a drama, a comedy, a romantic-comedy, action film, or science fiction?

I keep thinking of Drama, but there are comedic, funny parts of my life. So, perhaps a Dramedy.

If you could be given any gift what would it be?

I would like enough money to pay my bills, pay what I owe my family for all the help they have given me, help my kids finish school and go on a trip through Europe with my husband. I don’t want to be rich, just comfortable and comfortable enough to be able to help others.

 For potlucks or parties do you cook it yourself, buy from a grocery store, or pay for catering?

I cook most of the time or do a combination of cooking and store bought. It depends on what time of year, what is requested and how much time I have.  But, I really like bringing something home made. I think it means more to the event when people are willing to spend the time to cook for others.

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

I’m grateful for the time I have had to spend with my grandchildren. I am raising my oldest grandchild and never get to see her sister. She lives with her father in Virginia. The boys only come for the summer and when we can afford to get them Christmas every other year. They live in CT with their father. I miss them terribly and hope that someday we can be together all the time. I love my family more than anything and enjoy the time I spend with them. That means more than anything.

A Quote–C. Palahniuk

A Quote–C. Palahniuk

pavanneh:

These words really hit home for me today. They are so true. When did the expectation of sadness and pain become more than the expectation of happiness and joy? I have been told the last three days several times that I am really becoming negative. I said I was being a realist, but in reality I am getting in the habit of looking for the worst. The last few months it has been harder and harder to be positive. I must change this, I want to change this.

Originally posted on The Mirror Obscura:

“It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.”
—- C. Palahniuk

If we could learn to capture and remember those times when our hearts were peaceful; if we could truly learn to hold onto the essence of those times when happiness seemed to wash over us; if we could simply recognise the days when turmoil in all its forms did not take part in our days, then perhaps the scars of pain and hurt wouldn’t be so deep. But, we take the days when no grief happens and pass by them as if they were a birthright and do not need to be cultivated; we do not celebrate the common place. To call a day ordinary is almost to use a pejorative in describing it. We do not say today was…

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