A familiar fox arrives, the rose behind its left ear bobbing as it bows its head to you, then takes a missive from the bag at its side.

You take the letter, and begin to read...

In personal news...

I've been fighting an ear infection/blocked eustachian tube/possible sinus polyps for a month and a half, now. Fun-fun silly-willy with antibiotics, nasal sprays, steroids... I'm choosing to be alright taking deliberate rest time and then deliberate commitments. I've been kind of out of it, but the decision is making it better.

I'm soon to be an aunt, which is exciting and a little nerve-wracking.

What I’ve Been Reading:

I'm still in the middle of the books I was last time. Further along, but not done. BUT I did finish Bad Badger, by Maryrose Wood.

It was a slow-paced book. Fairly sweet. There was something I couldn't quite put my finger on that gave me a funny feeling; but I don't think that there was malicious intent in it. I think it's the current culture of denying what we were created to be that gave the questioning protagonist (who wonders if he's actually even a badger because sometimes he's NOT very badger-ish; his fur is different, he lives in the wrong place, etc.) a weird "vibe" for me. It does end well and it does clearly state that he IS a badger, he's just a slightly unusual one, but well within the parameters of being a badger.

Some Funny Stuff:

Snippets/Stories to Share:

At Havok (the magazine where I work), we do stories each month following a theme. This story is in line with November's theme, Luke James... (AKA, Therrus.) you can find his character profile here. I'm writing these exclusively for you guys, not even submitting these. So enjoy! I'm working on a little running series about imaginary friends starring the various prompt characters, so you'll be seeing these stories in this space for another month or so. Just to warn you. 😁

“Hey, miss?” The youngster, about five, pokes me in the side. “Can my friend sit here?”

As I look up, taking my earbud out, his mother shoos him along. “Sorry,” she says, but the boy looks back at me, putting his thumb in his mouth. I nod, then look around for his Friend… somehow, kids can tell I’m more open to the Imaginary world, and it doesn’t hurt to make connections. But oddly enough, the Friend is nowhere in sight.

Two more people board the bus, and I slowly go back to my knitting as they pay their fare. As the doors close, a burly shape hurries in, but nobody seems to notice him. As for my part, I keep my head down, turning off the music and pretending to dial my phone.

The shape hesitates, then, as the little boy squeaks something I can’t quite catch, he slips into the seat near me, ramrod straight and keeping a careful three inches between us. He’s a big guy. I mean, big. Nearly eight feet tall, bald, and built, with sunglasses and a ballcap.

“Hey,” I say to the call-less phone, and glance quickly at my seatmate, indicating I noticed him. He looks back at me quizzically, and then looks around the bus. “Hey?”

“What’s up?” I continue, shifting the phone to my pocket, and clicking the mic on my headphones so that people don’t notice anything weird.

“Um.” he looks up, taking me literally, then realizes I’m speaking metaphorically. “...Nothing.” He stares at me behind his sunglasses like I’m an oddity; which, being an adult that can see Imaginary Friends, I am… but he seems really uncomfortable.

“I’m doing the usual, running errands,” I continue, “though I may stop off at the park later. Will you be out and about?”

He tilts his head to one side, then looks back at his child before looking back at me. “We’re out getting groceries with Mom,” he says slowly. “We might go to the park.”

“Great!” I grin as though I’ve received a cheery response. “Would you like to see if we can meet up?”

He stares at me, then turns back to his boy, and I look down at the knitting again, nodding as if the person I’m talking to is rambling on about their to-do list.

“If you would like to?” He sounds a lot more skeptical about this than I thought.

“Well, we don’t have to.” I drop a stitch as the bus joggles to a stop, frown, and re-loop it as a guy with shopping bags crowds on and heads for our seat. “But we’ll give it a shot, hmm?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but the guy drops a bag through him and he gives a distressed gasp, then vanishes.

I turn back to my work but the child behind me lets out a squeak, and his mother shushes him.

This one’ll be a doozy, I can tell already.

***

At the park, I continue my knitting, glancing up occasionally when a new child joins the playground group with a gleeful squeak. A tug on my arm, however, reveals my new little acquaintance.

“Hi,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Hey. What’s up, little buddy?”

“Luke said you wanted to meet up at the park. Are you a spy?”

I look around for his mother; but she’s several benches away, texting.

“Nope. But I work for a place that helps Friends like your Luke.”

“Wow,” he says, putting his thumb in his mouth. Then, as if remembering, he removes it and wipes it carefully on his shirt. “Is he in trouble cuz I know he’s a lizardman?”

“...No. I didn’t know he was a lizardman.”

“I keep telling him he doesn’t need the disguise, but he doesn’t believe me.” The boy heaves a heavy sigh, as if world-weary already. “He needs help calming down. He’s my friend. I don’t want him to worry so much.”

I shake my head, holding back a smile. This genuineness is something I’ve missed from childhood that I get in spades in this job. “Well, you can tell him I just like getting to know people I might have to work with sometimes. If Luke is here but nervous, could I talk to him myself?”

He turns back towards a tree, and makes the “come here” gesture.

Suddenly, the man appears besides him, looking around nervously at first, but when I extend my hand with a smile, and my little buddy tugs on his pants and points at me, he slowly extends his own hand (with a finger too many, I notice) and takes mine as best he can, being not quite corporeal.

I exert the slightest bit of influence (the benefit of training and an active imagination) and make contact. “Nice to meet you, Luke.” He looks surprised, then pleased as I give him a smile, and turn back to our mutual friend. “We’ll get to know one another for a bit, then I’ll return him to you before you go, okay?”

The boy grins, bounces on one foot, then dashes off, waving at us. “ ‘Bye, Luke! Be good for the nice lady!”

His mom glances up at him, shakes her head with a snort, and goes back to her phone, unaware of me or Luke.

“Have a seat?” I sit again, patting the bench beside me. “The benches are distant enough that nobody’ll notice us talking.”

“Thank you.” He sits, the basic reality of the surroundings acclimating to the visitor by allowing him to sit.

“So you’ve been his Friend for a little while now, else you wouldn’t be able to sit or form fully,” I observe aloud. “First kid, though, huh?”

“How did you know?” He says, cheeks deepening to a slightly grayish-green, and I stare for a moment before realizing that he must blush differently.

“You seemed really uncomfortable with the fact that someone dropped something through you. And surprised I could see you; but you were trying to hide it. Most of the experienced Friends don’t bother hiding their shock.”

He gives an awkward chuckle. “I’m pretty terrible at this, aren’t I?”

“Not at all. If he hadn’t told me that you have other origins, I’d never have guessed you were a lizardman.”

His adam’s apple bobs nervously as he glances at the kiddo blissfully digging in sand a couple yards away, then back at me.

“...Ah. He told you.”

“It’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me. I’m one of probably three adults worldwide who can see you.”

“I’m starting to realize you’re not the norm,” he sighs, and takes off his glasses and rubs at his yellow eyes, a rather disturbing look if I hadn’t known it was coming. “He’s a great kid, though. Lets me look at the comics when we go to the liberry.”

“...That’s library,” I correct gently.

“English is hard,” he sighs. “I’m still trying to get the hang of it. Thank goodness Barry is fairly literate at his age. He helps sometimes.”

“Ah.”

“So… people really can’t see me? Sometimes, I’d swear they can. Mom, in particular, tries to talk to me sometimes.”

“That’s something adults do sometimes. They’re trying to understand their kid better. They’re convinced you’re not real, and they’d rather keep on their child’s good side.”

“Hmm.” He looks out over the park, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “That would explain it, I suppose… But why can you see me?” He looks back at me, puzzlement written all over his face.

I shrug. “Search me.”

He looks puzzled, then reaches out and awkwardly attempts to pat me down, going right through me. “Do you have some sort of amulet?”

I focus, exert enough Influence to catch hold of his arms, and gently push him off. “My apologies. That’s an expression to say ‘I don’t have more answers than you.’ I rather wish I did, sometimes. It would make things easier.“

“Oh, dear,” he says, and turns that odd grayish color again. “A thousand pardons.”

“That’s alright. But I think you and I should spend the rest of our time on a crash course of slang.”

“Ah!” He lights up, and taps his fingers together delightedly. “Then perhaps you can explain this Skibidi business. No-one seems to have any consistent meaning for it, other than something about a toilet?”

I sigh and put my face in my hands.

Something Cool to Me:

The Great British Baking Show. Peak entertainment for those of us who are obsessed with baked goods. I love it a lot. Just saw the finale of the most recent season. Am highly pleased with results: they do a quick review of "since the show" and there were contestants who'd made friends, gotten engaged, passed medical finals... it was lovely to see that they may not have won the game, but that they were living full and joyous lives. It's a beautiful thing.

Closing thoughts:

This one mostly concerns personal feelings; ones that I have discussed with you semi-recently, I know, but Psalm 94 does an excellent job of putting a lot of it into words, and I find myself coming back to the feelings.

God's justice will not be enacted on our time, in our way, or anything like that. But it will come. There is no statute of limitations that applies to His execution of matters. When Jesus returns, He will sit on the throne, meting out His justice. While we are to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with Him, we are not responsible to be the judge or the excecutioner. We are not to overstep our bounds. We are to speak truth. We are to follow God's law and see that our civil matters are done well... but there is no place for vengeance.

I find it hard, recently, to do that. When I see someone steal at the store and we're told that nothing can be done about it. When evildoers are let right back out to hurt others, instead of facing jail time, community service, and/or a death penalty, depending on the crime. I see people throw trash on the road and mock the guys who come to clean it up. I see wicked men take advantage of young people and convince them to mutilate themselves so that their agenda may be furthered. I know of those who have had their lives ruined by those they should've been able to trust, and I know of those who have had their lives destroyed by strangers they will never meet.

It isn't right the sin happens and that people are crushed or destroyed by it. It's even worse that those sins often face no punishment on this earth. This isn't the way we were made to live, and it is NO way to live.

But the Lord will have victory in the end. And we have to wait for it, sometimes.

It's not denying the problem happens, and it's not being happy about the delay in God's action. It's about crying out to Him, and living in expectation of His deliverance. He grieves when we do, and He does not change. He is no more "okay" with sin today than he was yesterday, or 3000 years ago.

How long, O Lord, will the wicked prevail?

Long enough for Him to ready their end.

The fox bows again, and as it turns to leave, cocks its head.

"Shall I take a message in return?"