One night of no tomorrows
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Ten Thousand Tomorrows free porn video
Ten Thousand Tomorrows
"Lynn," she says softly to me. "It's time to go."
I am in my sacred place, my personal 'heaven' where I go when I meditate.
The voice is a woman behind me. I can't see her. Here, in this place, I am
a Fey, a gossamer winged, alabaster skinned, auburn haired, emerald eyed,
slightly luminescent fey. I mean, I AM Lynn LeFey, after all. I didn't
pick my name at random.
"You've got the wrong one," I tell her. "It was supposed to be." I wave my
hand vaguely. "Maybe one of the seven K's."
"And it never happened. And it has to happen. You know it. It's time."
"It's going to change things," I complain.
"Not really. Not in any meaningful way. Lynn... It HAS to be you."
I want to cry. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"
"Oh, honey... You've already HAD ten thousand tomorrows."
She's right. I KNOW she's right. It doesn't make it suck any less. I've
been tasked as The Messenger.
I pause, nod slightly, and turn.
This place is my personal heaven. It's perfect. A little valley, a few
acres of crops, a little cabin on a lake. Hills climbing up just beyond
the fields, and forests crisscrossed with footpaths. Perfect. I climb one
of those hills, and follow one of those footpaths. I CAN flit about on my
gossamer wings, but I prefer to walk barefoot on the rich soil, to touch
this sacred earth. And, honestly, to postpone. I'm trying to work up my
courage.
Up on the hill, along a footpath is a small stone building, like a
mausoleum. In front of that stone building is an old man, like an Indian
mystic. India Indian, not Native American. He's wearing the little Gandhi
glasses, sitting cross legged on the ground. His name is 'Deep'. I think
that's hilarious. He is the keeper of my Akashic Record.
He's holding a scroll made of vellum, and written in a strange script. The
symbols mean nothing to me, but if I stare at it long enough, it turns
into images in my mind, into memories.
"Here it is," he says gently. He's smiling. It's comforting. The smile
seems to say "You are up to the task."
I don't feel like I am, but then, I think that's the point. I know exactly
what the scroll is. It's exactly thirty years ago today. Exactly Ten
Thousand, Nine Hundred and Fifty days ago.
I will go, and I will wear the guise of how I actually look in the real
world, and I'll have the hard conversation.
I stare into the scroll, and fall into a memory.
...
It was autumn, and it was cold. Not freezing, but frost still covered
areas that lay in shadow. It had been a cold night. I was in woods made
mostly of faster growth trees, dogwood and the like, replacements for the
old first growth forest removed when this area was stripped to be made
into a clay pit, then abandoned decades ago.
Somewhere nearby, Len was having a full-blown hallucination. The ground
was inhaling and exhaling as he watched. He was near, and getting nearer.
I looked at myself. I was wearing a knit sweater. One of those Mexican
hippie pullover types with a hood and pocket for my hands. The colors were
very autumnal. I had a long billowing skirt, mostly rust red, but with
batik patterns. Around my neck, on a cord, there was a steel firestriker.
"It should be a pentacle," I thought. That was one of the details that
changed, and it might have been a problem. Enough that I concentrated, and
changed it to my silver rose-pentacle. I was a mental projection. I was
allowed to do that kind of thing.
I sat down on a fallen tree, and waited. I watched my breath come out in
billowing plumes.
I pulled at a lock of hair that hung down from my temples. It was about
70% gray. The rest of my hair was maybe only 20 or 30% gray. What wasn't
gray was an uninteresting brown. "It should be auburn," I thought to
myself, but that detail didn't matter.
I was feeling panicked. I couldn't remember exactly what I said. Or what
HE said.
I hear him coming. My heart is racing in my chest.
He was wearing brown hiking boots, worn jeans that were ripped at the
knees, a pale blue T-shirt with 'Alpha Flight' on it, and a gray
unbuttoned flannel over it. His hair was long, and pulled back in a pony
tail held back by one of the little green rubber bands used to bundle
newspapers into rolls. I'd forgotten that. Newspapers... how quaint. He
wore glasses with brown plastic rims, and a gray plaid fedora. He had a
mustache and goatee. The rest of the hair on his face was trimmed down.
Maybe most strangely, he had a replica roman short sword in a homemade
leather sheath hanging from his belt. He looked like he was maybe in his
mid-late twenties. In fact, he was seventeen. Someone once said he looked
like Charles Manson. I had forgotten. I hadn't seen his senior yearbook
photo in forever. That was more than a little true, and when I saw it, it
was a bit shocking. So much anger and pain, and such a complete armor
against it.
He dropped acid about two hours ago, and he was now completely into the
trip. That was the only way I was able to get through. There had to be an
opening in his mental defense. He was so guarded. So locked-down. So
emotionally numb. And in that long space of emotional wastelands, in that
little sliver of time, when there was a crack inside, I would walk in with
a dagger to his heart. I felt like shit.
He stopped nearby, within twenty feet. He turned and scrutinized the area
where I sat. He felt my presence. I saw the moment of recognition, when he
realized I was there. He had a slight jolt run through him.
"Hi. Excuse me," he started tentatively. "I just came across a hunter a
few minutes back, and I was just thinking it might not be the best idea to
be in the woods in the clothing you're wearing. You might get mistaken for
some game animal."
He was so... My heart was exploding with a million emotions. It was so
weird. The memory was so weirdly perfect, but I saw it from a completely
different angle. I stared too long.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Still, I remained frozen, until at last my paralysis was broken.
"Yes," I finally managed. I wanted to gush. Then, I remembered the duties
at hand. "Why are you here?" I asked. I tried a slight emphasis on the
word 'here'.
"My friends and I are out here..."
"No, not that. Why are you HERE?" This time, hard emphasis.
His slow steps turned to a dead stop. He was looking me over. I had never
felt that before. THAT mind scrutinizing me. I smiled slightly at the
experience. His eyes locked on the pentacle. This is why I made the
change.
"You Wiccan?" he asked.
"Eclectic," I specified with a slight nod. It was maybe a bit of an
inaccuracy, but he'd know what was meant by the pentacle.
His eyes darted away, and he smiled. He paused, before saying "May I be
utterly honest with you?"
"By all means," I responded, remembering I have a speaking role here.
"I'm about two hours into an acid trip, and you're just short of freaking
me out. I'm not even one hundred percent sure you're real. So, if you want
to ask me something, please be a little more straight forward."
He only knew me for a minute, and he was already letting me in. Who does
that? Is that courage, stupidity, or the drugs? Some reasonable assumption
of the overlap of pagan religion and drug culture?
The smile remained, but there was almost a slight panicked look in his
expression.
I nodded reassuringly. "All right. Why are you on an acid trip? What is it
you're looking for by tripping?"
"I don't know. An answer. THE answer, if there is such a thing."
I was about to deliver the message, the answer he was looking for, and I
was terrified, because I didn't like hurting people, and what transpired
next was a terrible, TERRIBLE, and necessary wound, and I hated being the
one to deliver it. I screwed up my courage.
"But, you know the answer," I said as gently and as with as much love as I
could. "You're just refusing to see it. I could point you to some clues,
if you like." I smiled, but it was a lie, and I felt like it was so
obvious that it hurt.
His eyes locked on mine, looked away, came back. He shifted on his feet.
"I guess."
Oh, God. Oh Goddess... Forgive me. "You dream about a young woman with
Auburn hair. You see her standing in sunlit meadows, or lying on the
carpet of moss growing on rocks by streams. She is painfully real to you.
Look at me, Leonard. Look very closely."
My eyes MUST have been welling up. They must have. This hurt so much. I
felt like such a monster.
He huffed a breath, broke eye contact, stepped as if to move away,
stopped, stepped again, in confusion. I called him by name, without him
introducing himself himself. I knew his secret. He turned to move away.
Oh, Len... God... I'm so sorry I had to do this. I continued.
"When you lie in bed at night, touching yourself, you imagine that you are
that auburn-haired woman. You don't know why, and it fills you with such
horrible self-loathing. Am I about right?"
"I don't want to hear this!" he said in a low rumble. It was a measured,
controlled rage.
"You have to," I said sadly. "That's why you're here. A few years ago, for
an English assignment, you wrote a paper on Gender..." I stop myself. It
wasn't called Gender Confirmation Surgery back then. "On Sex Reassignment
Surgery. It was a paper on Social Issues for English. Do you remember? Why
do you think that is, Len?"
"Look, those assignments were drawn randomly. I had no choice!" Len
countered.
"Let's be honest, Len. Another student near you drew the SRS slip. You
traded it with him, supposedly to relieving his anxiety over the
assignment, but you did it to have a reason to look into it, without the
burden of shame for wanting to know. Do you even remember what the first
thing you drew was? What you traded away?" I asked as smoothly and gently
as I could.
"No..." he finally admitted.
"These are the little clues that you carefully misfiled, intentionally
forgot, or conveniently remembered incorrectly. Should I go on? Do you
remember when you were a toddler on a walk with your mother, and some
woman said what a pretty daughter she had? How happy that made you? It's
one of your first memories. Or how your mother reacted when your sister
dressed you up as a girl when you were four? She thought it was cute,
didn't she? But she didn't think it was so cute when you were eight.
Speaking of your sister... How many pairs of her underwear are stashed
cleverly in your room?"
"Okay." He flushed with anger. "That's enough of that bullshit. What do
you want to hear from me? That I get off while wearing panties? That I
fantasize about being a girl? What is it you want?"
"I only want one thing from you, Len. I want you to recognize me for who I
am. Do you understand?" I asked softly.
I waited, as those eyes scrutinized me. Those green eyes, unique in all
the world. They were not the emerald green of my perfect-version Fey self.
They were almost hazel. Moss green around the edge, lighter toward the
middle, and one of them seemed a brighter green, because there is a large
bright yellow fleck in it. There was only one human in the whole world
with those eyes. And we both had them. The only difference in those eyes
was that mine had seen ten thousand more tomorrows. And, of course, that
mine needed reader glasses, not just glasses for distance.
"Your hair isn't auburn," he said weakly.
"No. I tried it once. It's not really for me. I found out that I prefer
being honest. I don't even try to hide my gray," I said as sweetly as I
could. I show him the mostly-gray lock of the hair at my temple. I shrug,
"And, honestly, I'm a little lazy and it's a pain to keep up."
He laughed. His head bowed as he did. I think he was about to cry.
I had to ask again. "So, do you understand?"
"Yeah... I think so. Is there any way I can avoid this?" he asked.
"Not that I could find, and trying to avoid it was it's own misery. The
quicker you come to terms with this, the better it will be for all
involved. Let me save you twelve thousand dollars worth of therapy. You're
a transsexual. There's no changing that. Basically you're going to be
miserable until you transition. Even then, it's a tough go."
"I don't need this shit in my life," he protested weakly.
"No. It's not fair. Here, I'll save you another five grand in shrink
visits. The world's not fair, we're not all treated equally. You got a
shit draw, Len, and I'm sorry, but there are no do-overs. Now, the only
thing you can do is deal with it."
I tried to make it sound light hearted, but I knew I was starting to cry.
He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, straightened. When those
eyes, OUR eyes, opened again, they were on the move. The brain behind them
worked furiously. I sat patiently. After a moment, those eyes turned back
toward the camp site where he'd spent the night. His thoughts, I knew,
went to his friends, one of the few safe harbors of refuge in his crappy
life.
"How will they take it, when they find out?" he asked.
He loved deeply. Losing his friends was going to be a real blow. I began
to cry again.
"Cherish your time with them while you can," I managed. "Burn these
moments into your mind. Nothing lasts forever."
It was a devastating blow to him. His look said 'why would you ever do
this to me? What did I do to deserve this agony?' I could barely stand
myself.
"Is there anything good that comes from all this?" he pleaded.
"Oh, God. Len..." I smiled, and all my pain slowly transformed to joy. The
hard part had passed. Now, delivering the message became a pleasure.
"After all the pain, all the agony, and all the," I want to say 'years',
but stop myself, "all the time that feels like an endless torment, what
lies ahead is the most indescribable gift. You come to love yourself. I
don't mean you have proven to the world your positive qualities. I mean,
you come to accept everything about yourself, and you find out how to love
yourself despite all your flaws. You find your place in the world. It
feels to me like most people never get there. Friendships are gained, and
friendships come to ruin. There are wonders great and small. But I'm sorry
to say that for you, it takes wading through the Valley of Shadow."
He'll know the reference. It was a book we read in middle-school, and that
title was taken from the bible. We were brought up hard-core conservative
Christian. He knows what I mean by it.
"I liked it better when the ground was breathing," Len said, unrelated to
anything I'd said. He started to walk again.
"Len," I stopped him. "I need you to know one last thing. If I could say
just one thing to you, it would be this. I heard it from a friend when I
needed it most, but you need it nearly as much. When it gets so bad that
you think you can't take it any more, when you are certain you have
reached your limit, if you ever think you should just end it, and take
your own life... remember, you can always wait until tomorrow. But if you
make that choice, then you have no more tomorrows. It's your last choice,
and you're lost, and I'm lost, and all the Lynns before me, and all who
follow me, we're all lost. On behalf of all the Lynns who have been since
you, thank you. We know you can do this, because you already have. Your
strength is a wonder to behold, and we love you."
He stared, speechless. He turned to go back to his camp. I pulled myself
out of the memory.
...
It's different now. The memory had been rewritten. Schrodinger's Cat or
something.
Deep watches the scroll. Finally he nods. The changes are minor. I would
come to this point exactly as I had before. Just a tiny ripple, a mote of
courage for Len.
He stands from his seated position, and turns to put the scroll back into
the stone building, my Akashic Record.
In that stone building were scrolls upon scrolls, and some of them were my
future.
Looking at the ones of my future, I ask "What's on those scrolls?"
He says softly, "We do not read the unwritten scrolls."
I turn, to go back down to my meadow by the lake, to my perfect little
cabin. Not reality, but my heaven.
I sit on a moss covered rock to bask in the warm sun. My terrible task is
done, and the burden has lifted.
She's standing behind me again, and I suddenly know who she is.
"Thank you, Lynn," she says. "I love you as much as I love him."
"Which one are you?" I ask.
"I'm the last Lynn. I'm sorry that I can't tell you how many Lynns there
are between us. More than a handful."
"Thanks to him," I say. "Thanks to the courage of that... confused, fucked
up, almost non-functional, ball of beautiful chaos and heartache."
"Yes. Thanks to him, we might, even now, have another ten thousand
tomorrows."
Kierra
- 14.10.2022
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