Author: Candid Corvid Productions

As the ever vigilant guard dogs finally scented and chased the interloping Pied Piper out from the castle’s protective corridors, fierce currents of blast-hot air whipped about her gown and through her entangling hair as she stood backlit upon the night’s parapet overlooking the flickering scenery of the courtyard down below and clutched her barely-retrieved heart, wound-bleeding in her trembling yet careful hands, then coddled it against her now thrice-emptied bossom.

Watching him scramble with a yelp of fear over the barbed wire fencing where he had before just so easily glided through locked gate’s entry by seductive spellcasting, she wondered if there’d ever be a worthy suitor calling, now that the flames set by such earnest yet fleeting passion burned black scorch marks into the resistant, ancient-aged timber walls behind her, and her soul ached with regret as memory of his alluring song released its grip upon her.

“I’ve made a few…”

(Lyrics by the band Queen from “We are The Champions”)

“You’re pretty fiesty underneath all of that external reserve, aren’t you?” he ventured to joke, half-cautiously.

“Yeah!” she sparked up, unable to contain the tension bursting from within her.

“I’ve just grown into being intolerant if I sense any b.s. being thrown at me!”

That attempt at demeaning brush-off that certain men like to project onto women who have endured through hard trials, have grown and overcome despite them, and who are no longer naive and refuse to play “stupid.”

“Funny how boys grow into men and try to come back and kill the wyze and gracious dragon.

Always afraid of Truth.

Men avoid or try to kill it.”

“How are we to learn, if we don’t tell each other what is happening?”

For as much as certain men devalue emotions in women as invalid and irrational, they then ignore how theirs rule them – and how they thus feel justified in propagating further injustices.

“You think you can just toy with me?

I won’t try to hurt you – but I will let you know what I see!”

“She has the burden of ensuring that there are only wanted pregnancies; the burden of taking the hormones to prevent any; the burden of trying to stay sane, polite, and loving while the hormones rip her mind apart and ramp her emotional sensitivity beyond manageability; and she has the burden of dealing with the loss and rejection when she is discarded and replaced by or in favor of some soon other – making her become the victim of yet another crime of absolute and complete lack of accountability, responsibility, or any commitment from the man and/ or men who feed into her being continuously put into this position.

Because we all know that although men still expect perfection, they do not ensure that women can have any – and in fact, now take so much more and contribute even less (if at all) to help abate – let alone diminish – a woman’s deep distress that the man/men have propagated.”

Having fallen into the trap of yet another man’s disgarding ambitions, and realizing that the car accident’s injuries at least for another year would rank her as if she were in her seventies, her brief thoughts of trying to find a real love match got scrapped as she turned her attentions ever further inward.

Those men who go into sacred places where they take, yet have no intention of honoring nor contributing to.

“It’s a relief to no longer be on standby.”