Story Short Story: Dinah (Complete)

Kathy in FL

Kathy in FL

Administrator
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Muse hit last night. Just a short story for now. Dinah isn’t a pleasant story. It may turn into a full story at some point for now it is only a couple of chapters long. Not sure someone should read it before going to bed. It is disturbing but plays too much into what is going on in this country now.

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PROLOGUE

“You can kiss their ass, I’m not going to!!”

I sighed. This was just the last in a long line of arguments that Greg and I had had over the last two years.

“All you want is to have babies while I put my ass on the line every day!”

“Greg, I thought we agreed not to make this stuff personal again. I know you are angry but please don’t accuse me of things that aren’t true..”

“They’re making it personal so why shouldn’t I?!!”

I knew he was too angry to think straight. I knew he was going to say things that he would regret. Or at least he used to regret them. However, I also knew that if I didn’t find a way to calm him down it would devolve into him doing things we would both wind up regretting.

“They closed another bank account! What right do they have to do that?! I did nothing wrong!! How am I supposed to do business?!! Crock of shit is what this is!!”

My husband didn’t normally swear. Or at least he didn’t around me. It was just another symptom of the rage he was feeling. I was angry too but I had reason to try and not let it control me. I told him, “You’re right. We’ve done nothing wrong. We are just operating a business. A legal business. But we both also know that they have left themselves enough loopholes that that doesn’t matter.”

“They won’t even put it in writing why they’ve closed the account. Just like the other ones they’ve closed. Thank God I never put cash through our primary account. We really would be up shit creek and unable to pay the bills. Dammit, Charlie is right. It’s time to stop being ‘flexible’ and start fighting back.”

“Greg …”

“**** it. I’m going out.”

“Greg … !”

# # # # #

“Mrs. Neumann …”

“I’ve answered all of your questions regardless of the number of times you’ve asked them. Regardless of the number of times you’ve dragged me out of wherever you’ve had me … including this jail cell known as a ‘mental health facility’ for the last year.”

“There were financial irregularities that you had to have known about.”

“And as I’ve stated before, when most of the things you are currently calling irregularities happened, they were still legal and not irregular. Anything that happened after Greg was shot and murdered …”

“Ma’am, we’ve instructed you before to not …”

“I’m calling it what it was and is. I’m not even adding the murder of my baby.” I took a calming breath because they would use anything and everything they could at this point. “A supposedly off-duty federal agent shot my husband when he was already down with a head wound where the bank security guard had pistol whipped him as he was trying to exit the bank and get away from the crazies making a run on the bank.”

“Ma’am ..”

“You keep trying to change the timeline, but you are wrong; at this point in the investigation probably wrong on purpose hoping to create a situation that exonerates your people. I will explain it again, Greg had an appointment with the bank manager to get the last of our funds out of accounts that the bank had closed at the orders of the federal banking regulators. He wasn’t the only one there doing that, but they didn’t know each other … the ones that had had their accounts closed. For whatever reason the branch manager had scheduled all of those people to come in on the same day on the bank’s Saturday hours. Some of the other banking customers there at the time heard the branch manager say there was insufficient cash on hand to issue anything other than cashier checks for the amount in the closed account.”

“That is not a fact that has been proven.”

“Yes it is. Even the mainstream media got that much correct. Lord knows what has happened to that woman that was a whistleblower and turned over all those documents to Congress.”

“That person is being extradited back to face charges.”

I shook my head. “No she isn’t because she’s in Russia and they aren’t folding to your pressure. They don’t want that double agent back in as exchange no matter how it is being spun by the White House’s press bullies.”

The agent who was playing “good cop” sighed and turned to another agent in the back of the room. “Mrs. Neumann appears to be suffering another psychotic break. Her medication needs to be increased.”

I’d expected it. That’s the way they handle anything they don’t want to hear. I told them, “Go ahead. Play your mind games agent. With what you probably know at this point, it will be your turn on this side of the table sooner rather than later.”

He didn’t hide a fear in his eyes quickly enough for me to not see it. Worse, the other agents in the room sensed their superior’s concern and internalized it. But oh well, I didn’t fight them when the straight jacket patrol came to haul me back to bizarroland. I know there were more like me in this place, some that had already really been driven crazy. It has been two years since the bank runs and they were still investigating and arresting people, but like me, most of them had not even been at any of the locations that day. We were the sacrifices the government agency was willing to use to prosecute the ones that were there … most of them family or close friends of the original group that had been arrested.

Back in my cell the male nurse in control of the medication cart used a metal tongue depressor to open my mouth like a shoehorn, and tossed a pill of some type down my throat. I never knew what kind of med they were using. It was their way of controlling things … control the distribution of information and you control the world. However, lucky for me I have a strong gag reflex and it didn’t go down. The male nurse forced my mouth closed. I barely had a second to use my tongue to corral the pill and shove it under a crown I had on a back molar that had come loose early on when I was “accidentally” put in a room with male psychiatric patients. I was lucky getting slapped around was all that occurred, they’d definitely tried worse and it took a month before the last of the bruises on my personal and private parts had started to heal properly, especially that it had only been six months… six months since something those bastards did murdered my baby and I gave birth to a stillborn little girl. They wouldn’t be using that tactic again on me or any other of the women they had in custody because someone that had been visiting a family member got vids of it with their phone and for a while it kept popping up in mainstream media (and non mainstream media sources). Heck, even Congress played it during one of their own interrogations of some in the DOJ.

The “nurse,” if that really what he is, wrenched my mouth back open with the “shoehorn” and seeing that the pill appeared to have been swallowed, he pushed me backwards after causing me to gag with that tool from hell. Since I was in a straitjacket, I couldn’t catch myself and fell hard, knocking the wind out of me. Mr. Nurse no longer even bothered smirking, I wasn’t considered human enough (or possibly valuable enough) for him to get off on his brand of sadism.

I finally managed to maneuver myself into a sitting position and took up my favorite pose, leaning over into one of the room’s corners facing away from any of their stupid little cameras and observation windows. Next I knew was coming them playing with the thermostat. Why they still bother is beyond me. I haven’t changed my story since they took me into custody, two weeks after they’d killed Greg. I hadn’t even been one of the ones making all the noise in the mainstream news.

It took longer than normal to get the pill positioned so I could spit it out and hide it behind the wall padding. I was getting a little woozy. As I drifted, neither conscious or unconscious, my own personal nightmare played out behind my eyelids.
 
Kathy in FL

Kathy in FL

Administrator
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Chapter 1

My family had broken away from a Christian sect that had changed since their own years of growing up in their church. They weren’t bad people, my parents had family members still going to the church, but my parents didn’t want for my brother and I what was expected. My father had been in the military and we’d lived all over – Stateside and overseas. Daddy had been a trainer on special equipment the military used; or that’s what we were told to believe that Daddy’s job was. The part about him being a trainer for special military equipment was true, it’s the type of equipment and who he was training that we were supposed to pretend ignorance of.

On one of those cross-Atlantic moves the plane we were flying in was hit by a terrorist organization. Hit as in they thought it was okay to let fly with a ground to air missile to make the plane fall out of the sky. I don’t remember much but the fire and people screaming. We weren’t far over the water when it happened but it was still bad enough that most people died by drowning. If I think about it, I can remember the look on my parents’ faces and how they were holding my younger brother who was already bloody. But I don’t think about it. My parents wouldn’t want me to remember them like that. The worst part for me wasn’t the almost drowning in the cold Atlantic water. It was losing the grip on my father’s hand when the pilots tried valiantly to turn us back toward land and get us as close to rescue as possible.

I came to in a hospital. I was in some type of fugue state is what they wrote in the records. The truth was at fourteen I knew that when I woke up all the way I would have no choice but to accept what happened. A week later they’d put me on another plane, and we were landing in the States. I was wheeled into a conference room through one door. Through another door came a man, dressed and looking stern but I knew he could smile when strangers weren’t around.

I surprised everyone there by finally speaking. “Uncle Bill, they’ve all gone to Heaven and I got left behind. What am I going to do?”

He held me in arms nearly as strong as Daddy’s and let me cry. Even in my state, and age back then, I knew he was letting me do it in that conference room, away from prying eyes, because that was something frowned on back in the community where he came from. Emotions were private. You only showed them in the church sanctuary or the privacy of your own home, and even there were limitations and expectations. Not even at funerals were emotions supposed to be “made a banquet for gossip.”

I already knew what was expected of me as we did visit family as I was growing up. I’d also already come to understand that while most people seemed to mean well they were also a bunch of hypocrites. I came to learn that the community wasn’t for me and I wanted out … except things just kept pulling me in. There were a lot of funerals to attend, several of them in my own family … grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins … and the superstitious in the community, no matter how that wasn’t supposed to exist, whispered about me.

Uncle Bill aided and abetted me when he could. He’d taken the money from my family’s estate and put it in a Trust. It wasn’t a lot, not even with the money that came to me as part of the class action law suit over the attack on the plane. To say some people weren’t happy about that is an understatement. Not even my aunt who was one of the bigger hypocrites in the community as far as I was concerned. She was always watching me so I wouldn’t contaminate my cousins … or any other male in the community.

About the time I turned 17 a lot of the leadership of the community had changed hands. Uncle Bill also came down sick and the resulting covid infection attacked his joints causing painful arthritis. The symptoms would come and go but the remission was shorter and shorter between active bouts of the crippling pain. It was seen as a weakness rather than an illness by the new people in control of the running of things. My aunt hated that. She blamed me, just never openly. Uncle Bill told me that when I turned 18, even if I had to walk the two hundred miles to the nearest real city, that’s what I needed to do. He never explained why but then again, I wasn’t stupid, just innocent. Secretly he gave me all the information I would need to control the Trust until I could start drawing from it when I turned twenty-six. He also secretly gave me money in the form of gold and silver ingots to take with me.

“Sister, you don’t tell no one about this. No one. You hear me?”

He didn’t ask if I understood why he was telling me to do it, just that he was to be obeyed. And I did. Until the day he changed his mind.

At 18 the girls in the community were basically put on show for families to start picking them to marry them off to their sons. But with fewer girls being born in my generation the families got better terms when a connection was arranged. No one asked for me. At least not at first. I later found out it was because my aunt let out that while I didn’t have a dowry, I had money that would be coming to me when I turned 26. The younger men couldn’t afford to wait. The older men considered me too young for what they needed and they didn’t want to wait.

Between the ages of 18 and 20 I worked in the community’s Feed Depot. That’s where I met Greg. He was respected in the community and they didn’t hold it against him that he didn’t live inside the walls. He was the one that could get things for them – sometimes under the table – so that they wouldn’t have to go out in the heathen lands and sully themselves. And yes, that was indeed how it was explained to me. By the time I was twenty, Greg was thirty and looking to settle down. But he was particular. He didn’t want a woman that was going to try and tell him what to do, she needed to have all of the housewifery skills like his mother, but he also wanted one that would be an asset to his business, meaning that she wasn’t a whiner and knew how to keep books and was capable of growing into a partner. Or so he said. Nor was he looking for a “romance.” He didn’t believe all that foolishness was healthy, and that it could lead to other things that were even more unhealthy and ill-advised.

Uncle Bill was very ill. We all understood it was a matter of time, a matter of a short time. Greg surprised me by going to Uncle Bill and talking to him man to man. Uncle Bill surprised everyone by asking what I wanted and was I willing to accept a marriage of convenience, but one that had a lot of potential. What I wanted was out. The men of the town were starting to scare me. When Uncle Bill passed I knew I wouldn’t have any protection and they wouldn’t have any shame.

The sticking point was my lack of dowry. Greg already knew I was a hard worker as he said he watched me for two years to make sure it wasn’t an act or that I wouldn’t change just ‘cause I “got a little age on me.”

Uncle Bill took a turn for the worse and he knew his time had come. He called me to him and said, “Give Greg half those gold and silver ingots. Tell him … tell him you had them from your father and that no one knows about them. You keep the other half hidden … and don’t tell him about them. They’re for … just in case. Now you do what I say. You’ll get out of here and Greg will be a decent enough husband. Not everyone gets what your parents had. That’s just life and you have to make the best of it.”

I knew what Uncle Bill was saying. I also knew why. That night I snuck out of the house. I knew that Greg was meeting with some of the deacons. When he was driving back towards the highway I stepped out and he had stopped by slamming on his breaks.

“Dinah, I thought you were a deer. What are you doing out this time of night?”

“Mr. Neumann …”

“Call me Greg …”

“I’m going to stick with Mr. Neumann for this, no disrespect intended. Just the opposite. They’ve taken Uncle Bill to the clinic and he doesn’t expect to be coming home. Ever again. I overheard my aunt refusing to … um … a dowry.”

“Nothing against you. But, well … that’s true.”

“It is. However, what no one knows is ….” And I proceeded to give him the story that Uncle Bill had told me to use. It sealed the deal. And in a way I’d grown in his eyes and I’d earned his respect. I wasn’t looking for a fairytale. Well I certainly didn’t get one though it wasn’t as bad as most people would have thought … or maybe desired for it to be.

Uncle Bill died two days later. I barely got to tell him I did as he told me to. It seemed to bring him some comfort. I won’t hold that against him. He was raised a certain way, believed in certain things, and for all he didn’t agree with everyone in the community, he still had some beliefs that carried him into the beyond.

The day after Uncle Bill died, Greg showed up at the Feed Depot with a Justice of the Peace that occasionally did work for members of the community. I heard it was a nine-day scandal as there had been some other women thinking about trying to catch Greg’s attention by having their fathers or brothers have a meeting with him. I’m not bragging to say they never had a chance. I was to come to find out Greg wanted what he wanted and nothing could ever change his mind.
 
Kathy in FL

Kathy in FL

Administrator
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CHAPTER 2

I enjoyed being married. I enjoyed all the parts of being married. Greg and I might not have started with fireworks and romance, but it turned out that when two people really mean to do a thing right, it goes that way most of the time. And he was every bit as committed as I and that is something I’ve never doubted.

Greg insisted I get a degree in bookkeeping and office management, via an online school that he’d found for me. I also took computer classes to learn things that had been frowned on in the Community. He insisted I make good grades too. He said he’d made a promise to Uncle Bill that in case something happened to him, I could still make my way rather than have to return to the Community. The other thing Greg insisted on was that I read books and articles of his choosing and we would discuss it at night after dinner. When he saw that I could handle his money – our money – he began simply giving me a sum of money at the beginning of the month to take care of the household expenses with and whatever was left over was mine to keep.

“I don’t want to know about what you do with it Dinah. There’s gotta be some trust here and you’ve earned my trust. Think of it as a return on the investment that you gave me,” he said, speaking of the gold and silver ingots I had paid him as a form of dowry. That blew me away. I’m still not sure I can explain how it made me feel. It was like … control, or something. But it was also trust … and respect. I never will forget Greg for that reason alone.

Another thing Greg began to insist on is that I join him in certain activities with a group of people he socialized with. It was like I had achieved a new level in our relationship. But to be honest, Greg didn’t really have to “insist” as I was more than willing to do all those things he wanted me to do. I felt comfortable around those people as they had much the same opinions and beliefs as I’d grown up around. The women (and some of the men) did some of the same activities as the people that I’d grown up around. I liked them. And many of them were kind and smiled and laughed a lot … so long as you weren’t talking about the government or particular government officials.

Gradually Greg was relieved that I took over the bookkeeping and filing and the parts of the business he considered to be nothing but drudgery. Those jobs were important, but they took things away from Greg as well and I loved finding a place to help and be useful. By doing those jobs, it left more time for Greg to wheel and deal and he was very, very good at it. The business grew by leaps and bounds. Greg openly said I was a good wife and an asset to the marriage and to his business. He verbally – and financially – rewarded me for his success. He also gave me the things that I had missed after my parents died – again respect and open praise - and he wasn’t shy of saying that he’d made a good deal in me and that come when we were ready, I’d make a good mother to his children.

His family, the few that he was still in touch with, also seemed to like me. They’d say things like I brought out the best in Greg. I thought that’s just what wives were supposed to do. At the same time, I didn’t really think about why it took me to bring out the best in Greg. I was still naïve about some of what life was about to throw at me.

I’m not sure exactly when things started to change. If I had to take a guess it was about the time the first bank account was closed. That … well it offended Greg. I know that sounds strange but that’s about the best word for it I can find. He hadn’t been doing anything illegal. His honor had been impugned or something like that. He just got caught up with banking regulators deciding if you had anything to do with guns or ammo, knives, and certain other types of survival equipment, you were suspect and therefore the only way to control your potential criminal endeavor was to deny you access to a way to deal with the financial end of things.

It frustrated a lot of people, not just Greg. Normal everyday people had their accounts – both personal and business – closed because of “too much cash” or money coming from certain activities. I learned it had been going on for some time, often in waves to give the general public time to forget about it, but then it would happen again. People squealed about it but it didn’t stop it from happening. Not to mention it really wasn’t the banks doing it but the government who controlled the banks. I got lesson after lesson from the people Greg and I socialized with. Those regulations did shortly get overturned but by that time another bank account had been closed. Greg went from offended to irate. Same for a lot of the people that we socialized with.

They called various things happening “dots” on some map I was never privy to. These dots pointed to actions the government was taking that indicated … something, something not right. I never quite understood what others found obvious. I mean I had a sense of it but really understanding the minutiae? I just wasn’t there … yet.

What I did notice, if others didn’t (or at least didn’t talk about), is that some of those we once socialized with – in person and online – were disappearing. Some without notice never to be heard again and some after talking about “going gray” or “going Galt” which referred to one of the books that Greg had insisted I read called Atlas Shrugged. Some were also aging out and were simply tired of the fights that the core group seemed to want to have. Those people would say things like once the inevitable fight started they would join in battle the best they could but until that time they would have to simply pray for the ones on the front lines.

I wasn’t sure what to think but I do know that I had to start being very careful what I shared of my thoughts. People were acting strange. Some that used to be kind and understanding seemed ready to bite anyone’s head off that didn’t agree with them In lockstep. I began to wonder what had turned them that way or whether they’d always been like that and I’d just avoided seeing it.

I was confused enough that I took it to Greg to talk about. At that time Greg praised me for noticing the “disappearance” and the changes in behavior, some of which he said he’d missed. He hugged me and said he understood now that I’d brought it to his attention. His explanation? You never knew who people really were and you were never really sure how much you could trust them. He said maybe it would be best if I pulled back from our online groups and when we were socializing in person – something I did less and less because my responsibilities had been increasing within the business.

By then we’d been married almost three years – I was twenty three and he was thirty-three – when the started to talk of talk children. His sister brought it up on the anniversary of their mother’s passing. “You’re getting older Greg. And frankly so is Dinah. How much longer are you going to wait? If you are waiting on perfection, you’ll never have kids.”

At first Greg was all for it and I was all for what made Greg happy as I thought that was what a good wife did. But when another year approached and no pregnancy, a chink in our relationship appeared. Now when we had a disagreement somehow it came back to the fact that all I wanted him for was to make babies. That wasn’t true and I even said I was willing to put it aside since he didn’t like the idea. That was another fight that went in circles which made no sense. A lot of the arguments we had during that time made no sense, at least not to me.

I really did try and fix what was breaking in our marriage. For his part Greg did too. He sensed he wasn’t being reasonable but didn’t seem able to do anything about it, and for my part I tried to pick up that slack and became over understanding and the rest of the mistakes people make when they are trying to do the right thing without really understanding what was wrong in the first place.

Greg had gone from offended to irate to a frightening rage … not at me, not about me, never either if those, but about how the country was going. And he hung around men and women that felt the same way. I was able to admit that their rage frightened me. I understood, yet I didn’t. I pleaded with him to be careful. Someone might hear and tattle to people that could cause us problems.

“It should put fear in the hearts of those destroying this country,” Greg would snarl. “I don’t know if everything will ever turn back around. The Tree of Liberty may need to be watered before we can take our country back.”

That kind of talk rattled me. It shook me from the foundation up. It’s not that I didn’t believe the same thing, I was worried where those beliefs were taking us, taking the country. And how Greg and his friends went from quietly discussing the problems we all faced and their opinions of what caused it, to loud public gatherings in protest of other groups with an agenda counter to what appeared good sense and reality.

I remember learning about what was called the January 6th Almost-Insurrection when I was a child in school. The things that Greg and our friends told about it were nearly the polar opposite of what appeared in my school books. I wondered if the same thing was going to happen again. I worried more that Greg was going to be part of it, that he and his friends wanted to be part of something like that. Nothing constructive had come from it. Many of the people arrested were never really seen again. One poor woman had even died and her killer was never brought to justice. A lot of innocent people were persecuted while a lot of guilty people never saw man’s justice.

On that topic Greg wouldn’t listen. But he did tell me that he’d make sure I was taken care of if something did happen did happen to him, like he’d promised Uncle Bill. He started talking about bug out locations and losing things on fishing expeditions. The problem was it was all talk. Yes, he bought a “bug out location” but never did anything with the property beyond “going hunting” a few times with his buddies. I went with him once, in the dead of night, to bury some things around the property but he never told me what, just made me memorize the GPS coordinates of the capped PVC pipes.

Worries on top of worries. Then came another bank account closure and this time they were trying to hold onto the money in the account until we could prove the taxes were paid on it and that it wasn’t from a criminal enterprise.
 
Kathy in FL

Kathy in FL

Administrator
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CHAPTER 3

The regulators were way overstepping their legal authority. Everyone said so including several courts, but that didn’t stop them, not even the cease-and-desist orders the courts handed out stopped them. The only way to get the money out of the accounts was to meet with the banker, provide proof through only certain accepted documents where the money in the account had come from and where you planned on it going, and then they would issue a cashier’s check that would have to be held by any new bank for 30 days to make sure that the IRS didn’t put a hold on it. And even if they didn’t, you wouldn’t be able to use that money by any cash measures. In other words you couldn’t take that money out in cash, but could only use it to pay bills online or similar electronic means.

What came out is that they, meaning the government, were taking another go at a fully digital currency. The first attempt when I was a girl was a failure in so many areas that it was never fully implemented. But they’d expanded the infrastructure needed as well as gotten a lot of people hooked on going only-digital because there were bonuses. For instance, digital money earned a significantly higher percentage in a savings account than cash deposited into the same account. That was already being tested in court, but it didn’t stop it from happening.

The day Greg was murdered – and I fully believe that is what happened – he was going to try and get our money out of the bank. I was supposed to go with him but I was puking so bad and couldn’t stop. We’d learned I was finally pregnant the week before and Greg didn’t know whether to crow or or not. Either way he didn’t want me there.

“The doc said you need to take it easy. That’s what you are going to do. I’m not going to let those bank SOBs get to you and endanger our child. End of this discussion Dinah. I’m putting my foot down.”

And I was grateful at the time that he did. My nerves were shot. “Please Greg, just get the check and get out of there. They don’t deserve a piece of your mind, I doubt they’d understand it if you give it to them, and even if they did … you remember what it was like back in the Community … you only show emotion when they say they can or there was heck to pay.”

He kissed me. “You’re worrying about nothing. This isn’t a George Orwell novel. We’ll talk when I get home.”

But he never came home. In fact I saw more of his body on the news than I ever did any other time. I didn’t even get to go to a funeral. I was on my way, was on the church steps, when they took me into custody, right in front of the entire world because of all of the media people that were there.

They tried to get rough until some reporter inserted himself into the story and told them I was pregnant. By then I already had a black eye and a busted lip. The agent that was putting me into cuffs stunned a lot of people when he said, “So? What is that to you?”

That clip played over and over for weeks. That’s the only reason they handled me with kid gloves at first, that and they confirmed my pregnancy by taking my blood without my permission. They claimed they had a court order for DNA evidence. The early weeks were chaotic. I was shunted from location to location, a lawyer always just out of my reach, because I wasn’t really under arrest. I was being questioned but that was all. I was one of the way too many “domestic terrorists” that were being held in an attempt to get the whole story.

I was seven months along when … when I lost my baby girl. I’d behaved, answered all their questions, did almost anything they asked to get the promised obstetric appointments. They’d just moved me to a psychiatric facility – some trumped up diagnosis of PTSD from when the plane was shot down – when my medication was “accidentally” switched. They didn’t know how. They threw some poor doctor and nurse under the bus to have someone to blame. I gave premature birth but she might have lived … had she not already died. They claimed failure to thrive. I don’t believe them. They’d been putting something through the pic line I had they took so much blood and my veins were in danger of collapsing. I refused oral medication of any type so unless they put it in my food, it had to be when they were flushing the pic line. They said I must be an addict because that is ultimately what the coroner ruled caused the death of my baby.

That was another funeral I was not allowed to attend. I was in the midst of a “psychotic break” and it was for my own health. I was a danger to myself and others. Bastards. There was only one agent that I wouldn’t wish the worst possible death for. He smuggled me a picture that showed Baby Girl Neumann was buried next to her father in the Neumann Family Plot. I never ratted him out but someone must have because one day he just up and disappeared and no one spoke of him again.

Two years. Two years I’ve endured. When people say it is because of my faith, my worldview, I want to say that it is true. Just not in the way they think. I know there is a God. I know He is in control. I know His ways are not mine. But I also know He is the ultimate Judge, Jury … and Executioner. I remember the passages in the Bible where it talks about Him being the one to bring down Judgment. He destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, Admin and Zeboiin, Jericho and Babylon. That’s the only comfort I have. That eventually those evil people are going to get theirs. And the only reason I haven’t just given up and died is because I want to be around to witness it.

The End?
 
Griz3752

Griz3752

Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Kathy in FL said:
This one wants to grow up and be a full story … but it will have to wait until I get some other ones finished however. If I do add more, or edit what I’ve already written, I’ll post it here.
Click to expand...
And on that subject of becoming a full story . . . . .

What if anything can we do to assist?

I read it again today and, like many I'm sure, am officially hooked!
 
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