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Posted on January 19, 2018 by Jamieson Wolf
She clutched at the shawl around her head.
“You should have used a pin to hold that in place, or something.” Costa said, unhelpfully.
Looking at him, Annigail stuck out her tongue. “You’re one to talk. You’re fucking invisible.”
“All the better to observe everyone. It’s what we do, remember. Or have you forgotten?”
“You know I haven’t.” Annigail said with an edge of steel to her voice.
A tendril of her hair snuck free from underneath the shawl and the light around her glowed brighter, the air seemed to him. She pushed the hair back underneath the shawl. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Such language! Do they all talk like that here? Or is it just you who speaks so eloquently?”
Letting out a loud yell of rage, Annigail pointed a finger at him in a threatening manner. “Don’t make me come over there and rip your fucking wings off, you fucking bastard.”
Costa smiled. “Oh, the dulcet tones of your voice, how I’ve missed them. There isn’t anywhere I’d rather be than on this…did you call is a but? It feels like a can full of sardines held together with spit and a prayer. Do human’s actually ride in these things willingly?”
“It’s called a bus.” She ended the word on a hiss. “And people need a way to get around.”
“Why don’t they just magic themselves where they want to go? Close their eyes and think of where they want to be and then, poof! They are there. We’ve always done things thusly.”
“That kind of thing only works in your world. Here we exist without magic.”
Grimacing, Costa said “You don’t mean to tell me you actually walk? Annigail You are royalty. The least you could do is have someone carry you or fly. You can still fly, can’t you? You haven’t done something horrible like cut off your wings in an act of rebellion, have you?” Costa reached out to her and clutched at her left arm. “Oh Gods, Annigail! Please tell me you weren’t so stupid?”
“What do you think I’m wearing this shawl? Clearly not for fashion points.” To prove her point, Annigail fluttered her wings a bit, which made the shawl flap behind her.
Costa put a hand to his chest. “Oh, thank the Gods. I mean, when they told me you had come here, to this…place, I thought they had learned a few tricks from your uncle Loki.”
Annigail scoffed. “By then, I suppose you mean my parents?”
“Yes, angel, who did you think I meant? Why don’t you come home? They miss you.”
“They’re the reason I’m here.” She said.
“Surely not. I doubt that Morganna and Oberon would never see fit to send you to a place filled with so much…smog.” He shuddered. “Sweetheart, wouldn’t you rather come home? Where your family is, and you have everything you could possibly want?”
“That’s part of the reason I’m here!” Annigail said. “Anything and everything you could possibly want in the blink of an eye!” Her voice was raising but she didn’t care. “When was the last time you actually worked for something you wanted?”
Costa grinned and stretched, ruffling his wings. “Oh honey, it’s work for me getting up in the morning. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why are you here, Costa?”
He ran a finger up her arm. “Mayhap to rekindle an old flame? How long has it been since you’ve ridden a maypole?”
Annigail slapped Costa’s hand away. “You’re such a fucking pig.”
He simpered. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Seriously, honey, what’s with all the anger? And why are you here? Why won’t you come home? Are you just torturing yourself? Is that it? You’re being a sexy martyr, aren’t you?”
She crossed her arms. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”
“Try me.” Costa reached out and touched her arm, running a finger along her skin. “There was a time we always understood each other. Don’t you remember?”
She slapped his hand away. “Don’t you fucking touch me!” She stood and towered over him. “That was another problem! All of the Fey folk, always fucking like rabbits! It’s all trickery and fucking with the whole lot of you.”
“You’re one of us, Annigail. You can’t deny who you are.” He smiled kindly. “Besides, I’ve brought some friends to see you, too.” He opened his coat and reached inside. When he pulled it out, two small pixies, so beautiful and sporting a bright metallic purple colour, sat on his palm. They were smiling at her and one of them waved.
“You brought pixies here? Don’t you know what trouble they can cause? Besides, they were your pets!” He held his hand out and the pixies flew up to Annigail, rushing around her head and talking in high pitched voices.
Annigail swatted at her head and began screaming. “You dare to bring them here? Where they could die? There’s so much technology here that their magic could drain out of them? Have you no conscience?”
Sighing, Costa crossed his arms. “There’s no need to yell at me. I love those little guys, too. I would never put them in danger. I’ll have you know that I put a cloaking spell around them, so they should be good for a while yet. Now will you sit the fuck down and tell me why you’re here? Why won’t you come home?”
Annigail let out a rough breath and sat back down. “I can’t, Costa. I hope you understand.”
He gave Annigail a hard gaze, narrowing his eyes at her. “I can’t understand because you’ve told me nothing about why you’re here.” He held his arm out, making a gesture to encompass everyone on the bus. “It smells here. The people seem rude and ignorant. I’ve only been here for a few hours and already I’ve seen two fights and read about the war going on in this land.”
Taking Annigail’s hands in his, he looked into her eyes. “I don’t understand. You could have anything you could dream of, many things you have yet to dream, if you went home. Why are you here? In this world without magic, there is nothing.”
She gently pulled her hands away and the pixies flew down to her, dancing in her hair. “There is magic everywhere here and there is everything.”
Costa let out a scoff of disbelief. “Don’t insult my intelligence. These people have to fight for everything and they are a rudimentary people at best.” He fluttered his wings. “I haven’t seen so many people in need of magic all at once before. They look like a sad lot.”
Annigail shook her head. “You’re wrong.” She pointed to a mother with her two children. She was reading to them from a book she had pulled from her bag. “See that? That mother sharing knowledge with her offspring so that they can grow and learn? That is magic.”
She pointed to the seats behind her. A younger man gave an older woman his seat. “And that? That man got up and gave that woman his chair, making sure that she was settled. Now he stands instead. That is magic.”
Turning to look out the windows of the bus, Annigal pointed to a man giving change to a homeless woman who sat on the ground in the snow. “That man gave that money that he had earned so that hopefully that woman will have something to eat tonight. That is magic.”
He smiled at her and patted her hand. “Still so naive, after all this time?”
“I’m not naive, I simply choose to believe the best of people. Kindness is magic. Every kind act increases the magic of this realm.” She turned to Costa and smiled. “Can’t you see how it shines?”
Costa let out a snort. “I think shine is putting it on a bit thick, don’t you? More like lumbers, don’t you think?”
Annigail touched his right cheek softly. “Oh, Costa. Still the same after all this time. So enchantingly simple and shallow.” She took her hand away. “I look after these people and the magic they are creating. They do not know it, but each one of them holds a grain of magic inside them. With each kind act, each time they believe in the fantastic, the magic grows.”
She stood, and Costa saw the magic spark in her eyes, the fire of it riding like silver lightning along her skin. “Sometimes though, I like to help their magic along.”
Annigail let her black shawl fall to the ground. She stood there, her hair falling to the ground in deep red ringlets that shone like the sun. Her wings were opalescent, and they pulsed and moved like the water from the sea. Her gown was a dark green that made Costa think of forests filled with trees. She flew a few inches off the floor of the bus, glowing ever so brightly, a dream made flesh.
The entire bus looked at her and Costa knew that they would all believe in magic from this day forward. Even he could see the kernels of magic inside each of the mortals growing bigger as the moments passed. Soon, the bus was filled with a light that the mortals could not see, but they could feel it.
Approaching the bus driver, Annigail said kindly, “I’d like to get off at the next stop, please.”
She turned back to Costa and bestowed a glowing smile upon him. “Tell my parents that I’m okay. It was good to see you, Costa.”
The bus stopped, and she carefully got off. The doors closed, and the bus began speeding away. Costa ran to the window, the pixies following close by, to see if Annigail was still there. He put his hand on the glass of the bus window and looked back to where she had gotten on.
She was already gone. He could see a shimmer of magic in the air. Looking back at the people in the bus, he was shocked to see that they were all looking at him.
Well fuck, he thought.
Posted on January 11, 2018 by Jamieson Wolf
There are all kinds of death.
A job could end suddenly, a friendship could drift apart or perhaps a marriage falters. There is also the ending of a life; death happens all around us and all throughout our lives. How do you cope with such change an upheaval when the body and the mind want to float within the sea of shadows that is in all of us?
Thankfully, there is a light in the dark, a gift that we are being given, something we have to learn or something we can take away that will be for the better.
Brian D. Calhoun has written a book called The Gift Within the Darkness: Healing Insights, Heartfelt Stories and Techniques to Reconnect after Death that talks about this very subject. Here’s a bit about the book:
Have you recently experienced a death?
Are you still struggling after your loved one transitioned years ago?
Perhaps you have encountered a loss in another aspect of your life?
The Gift Within the Darkness is a unique and insightful view at the effects of loss on you and your life. Within these pages, you will discover how you can heal and reconnect after death, with a specific look at:
Understanding death with its varying disguises
How grief affects you in different ways
How to move past the pain to see and experience the gift
The bereavement process
How death can impact you and your life – long after loss
Healing and connecting with spirit
And more…
You too can get in touch with the energy contained within the soul, through the teachings, heartfelt stories, prayers and healing messages shared within this book.
Connect with your angels, guides, psychic abilities and energy bodies to learn how to channel these forces to reconnect with your heavenly loved ones to get your own messages, should you wish to.
The Gift Within the Darkness provides you with incredible insights about a world that is an enigma for many. Get your copy today and begin to unravel the mystery now!
Brian asked several others to contribute their stories for the book, to show that loss and death could happen at any time in our lives and how we chose to deal with it. When Brian asked me to write a piece for the book, I knew that I wanted to write about the end of my previous marriage and what it cost me; also, what I learned and gained in my healing.
I share it with you in hopes that it helps someone else. You can find it below. Make sure to get a copy of The Gift Within the Darkness at here:
And now, here is my piece from The Gift Within the Darkness:
Clearing Away the Smoke with Fire
My mind was a sea of fog.
Through the thick cloud I could hear nothing, see nothing, and feel nothing. My entire world was numb. Within that numbness appeared three words:
“You’re a failure.”
As I tried to go on with my life and attempted to find something good left within it, I walked through the fog that followed me everywhere. From within that fog came three words:
“You’re a failure.”
I lay within my fog. The last three words he had spoken to me repeated again and again inside my head.
“You’re a failure.”
I replayed every moment, everything that had been said, as my marriage crashed to pieces around me. I saw myself trying to catch the pieces in the air, but they were jagged crystal from a broken chalice that sliced through my hands until they erupted in blood. My palms looked as if they were covered with liquid rose petals.
I was like this for a few weeks. Until the papers came.
When they arrived, I didn’t know what they were. I felt a sense of unease as I stared at the official envelope. The plain rectangle screamed not to be opened, but I had to know. When I slid the envelope open and withdrew the papers, I saw Robert’s name.
Then I read through them, one sheet at a time.
They were divorce papers, the ones he didn’t even have the courage to hand me himself. I sat down, gutted, the walls moving around me as if the world itself was shaking. He had asked for the separation and I had given that to him. I had given him everything: my heart, my comfort, and my sanity.
I had given him everything and he had given me nothing in return.
I sat there, shaking, the papers trembling in my grasp. Then I looked at them again. He had not signed them. Both spots for the signatures remained empty. He had mailed me the papers to goad me into coming back to him, or just to upset me. It had the desired effect, but not the way that Robert hoped it would.
“You’re a coward,” I said out loud. My voice boomed in my small apartment. “You’re a coward, Robert. You’re a coward.”
I felt furious. A fire burned in me, bright and strong, and it cleared away the fog. It cleared away the fear. My sense of self returned to me, an awareness of me that hadn’t been there for years. I had sacrificed a lot of myself to my marriage and had let Robert cut away until I was but a shell of who I had been.
He had taken away my friends, who had stopped calling to talk to me. He had driven a wedge in between my parents and me. He had left me alone on an island within a marriage. At that moment, when I was at my lowest, I decided that I would never be alone again.
I would come to know myself once more, and I would start living my life, not just merely existing or wading through the fog. I wanted to engage with life, celebrate life, and truly live it. I would not let Robert’s last words be my own.
I began a journey that day, sitting in my dark apartment. I searched for the light in my life. Where there was none, I created light so that there would be no more darkness or mist. There would be no more shadows. I would finally take control of my own life, rather than let someone else control me.
I reconnected with friends, forged ahead in my writing career, and strengthened my relationship with my parents. I also stayed open to love and the possibility that there was love out there in the world for me—real, true love.
The separation had taken over my life, but now I could focus again on living. In the end, what had seemed like the most horrible thing to me at the time turned into a gift. I was no longer under someone else’s control, no longer in the dark.
What Robert had unknowingly given me has continued to give back. The death of my marriage had brought me a new life, a new existence. I was able to mend my chalice.
For that, I am eternally thankful.
Posted on January 11, 2018 by Jamieson Wolf
The journey that
has become my
life has taken
me on many
twists and turns,
the path guiding
me over hills
and into gullies,
past gardens and
meadows that sat
alongside abandoned buildings,
their windows crushed
into glittering sand.
The journey that
has become my
life has led
me over oceans,
to the top
of the highest
mountain, through a
wasteland that was
filled with burnt
trees. It was
while climbing that
mountain that I
debated whether I
could go any
further, whether there
was a point
to the constant
journey, any purpose
in continuing a
journey that seemed
to get me
nowhere. I sat
at the top
of that mountain
and looked at
the world around
me, at the
water that flowed
through the earth,
intend on its
own path. The
sun was warm
on my face
and I felt
something fall into
place inside of
me, as if
it had been
waiting for that
moment of realization.
I sat there,
the sun warming
my skin, and
realized that I wasn’t
on a physical
journey. Looking around
me, I realized
that all these
different places, both
the lush gardens
and the shadowy
abandoned buildings covered
in diamond dust,
existed within me.
The journey that
I was on
was inside of
myself, as I
got to know
myself, and my
spirit, all over
again. As I
continue along my
path, I can’t help
but wonder what
sights I have
left to see.
Posted on January 4, 2018 by Jamieson Wolf
I’ve taken on Canadian author ’Nathan Burgoine’s monthly flash fiction challenge. The challenge for January was to write a story that was in the fairy tale genre, included the location of a prison and also included a tattoo machine as an object. All this and the story could only be 1,000 words. Here is my entry and I hope you enjoy it!
The story clocks in at 954 words and I had an absolute blast writing it. I can’t wait until next month!
The Storyteller
Once upon a time, in the village of Inglewood Hamlet, there was a woman that was covered in ink.
Mr. Brocade, the owner of the Dog and Puddle Pub, said so. “It was as if someone had covered her skin in lines of ink. They make no rhyme or reason, but there they are. T’was the oddest thing.”
Other villagers had seen her, too. Once, on a hot day, Miss. Velvete had seen the back of the woman’s neck when she had lifted the veil that covered her head so that a breeze could cool her skin. “It was beautiful.” Miss Velvete said. “Looked as if she had been dipped in ink made of the finest jewels.”
The woman heard the whispers and felt them upon her skin. She smiled. If only they knew the power of their words. She itched to get the words on paper. There were so many stories to tell.
Letting herself into what they called home, Kathan called out. “Sophie, are you home?”
Her voice echoed through out the empty cells and clattered against the stone walls and the echoes were joined by the sound of small footsteps running on stone. The prison had stood empty for so long that it seemed silly to pay for housing; what did it matter that they shared their home with the occasional spirit?
Sophie appeared out of a nearby doorway, a smile on her face. Sophie ran to Kathan and threw her arms around Kathan in a big hug.
“Oh, well if I knew I’d receive such a greeting, I would have gone to market sooner.” Kathan said with a smile. She put down her basket of foodstuffs and hugged her daughter back.
“Mama, I wrote a story! Just like you do. Want to see?”
Sophie lifted up the sleeve of her sweater and Kathan saw several words written upon her arm in a childish script. Ruffling her daughter’s hair, Kathan asked “Did you do all those letters by yourself? That’s very good poppet.”
“Now I can make magic like you, Mum!” She gave Kathan a wide smile. “Can we make some magic now? You promised!”
Kathan let out a laugh and hugged her daughter again. “You’re still too young, poppet, but I can show you how its done. Come, lets go see Ms. Maven.”
Sophie let out a loud, happy squeal and ran towards the kitchens and Kathan followed closely behind. She found Sophie chatting animatedly with Ms. Maven who was a lovely pearlescent blue. She floated a few feet off the ground in front of Sophie.
“And Mama’s going to do magic and everything! And I get to see!” Sophie said.
“You don’t say, love. Now you be a good girl while I help out your mama, okay?”
Ms. Maven patted Sophie’s head and it looked as if the wind blew at her hair. Sophie let out a giggle. “Ms. Maven! It tickles when you do that!”
Ms. Maven stuck out her tongue at Sophie and then gave her a soft smile. Floating over to Kathan, she regarded Kathan with concern. “You’re full of words today, dear. People have been telling a lot of stories.
Kathan nodded. “It’s always like that on market days. The food is in the front hall.”
“Never you mind. You come sit at the table and I’ll get everything set up. I’ll put on some lavender tea for afterwards.”
Sitting at table in the kitchen, Kathan watched as Ms. Maven floated up to the highest shelf and took down a small wooden box and placed it in front of Kathan.
Nodding in thanks, Kathan reached into her dress for a fountain tip pen. She opened the box and clipped it inside so that it stood upright. The holder had hinges on either side of it, so that fountain pen could move back and forth.
Next, Kathan placed a pile of paper in a spot at the bottom of the box. There were hinges and pullies there that could pull in pages and push them out. Ms. Maven had designed the box herself and, without it, Kathan could not work her magic.
“Okay, Sophie, are you ready?”
“Yes, Mama!”
Standing, Kathan removed her shawl. Sophie drew in a breath when she saw what waited underneath: everywhere on Kathan’s skin, there were words written in ink. They looped and curved and tilted along her skin, so many words that you couldn’t read them.
“Watch, Sophie.”
Sophie nodded and Kathan placed her hands on the fountain pen. It began to move at once and Sophie watched as words began to fill the pages. As the pages kept filling with more words, so did the words that were on Kathan’s skin disappear. It was as if they were being pulled from her body.
When it was done, and the last page was filled, Kathan looked at her daughter. “Do you understand, dear one?”
“You’re the ink, Mama!”
“Yes, poppet, that’s very good!” She and Ms. Maven looked on happily.
“But why Mama? Why do this? You have thousands of pages of people’s stories.” She looked confused. “Why?”
Kathan took Sophie’s hands in hers. “Because poppet, we must always remember. The land needs stories just as if needs water and sunshine. If we forget where we’ve come from, we cease to be. Only with stories do we remember. Through our stories, we live on inside of the hearts of others. I’m a storyteller. It’s what we do. You will do this, too, one day.”
“But who will read this story, Mama?” Sophie asked. “Who will read your story?”
“I have a feeling there is someone reading this story right now. And they will remember me.”
Or so the story goes…
Posted on December 30, 2017 by Jamieson Wolf
A new year

is beginning,
its pathway stretching
out before me
like a yellow brick road.
I wonder what
the year will bring
and I contemplate
what will come.
I decide to meditate
on the year ahead
and when I
close my eyes,
I can see clouds
filled with light.
Reaching out,
I pluck one
of the clouds
and hold it
close to my face.
The scent of cinnamon
and oranges, lemons
and juniper blossoms
fills the air
and the cloud
is pulsing softly
with a soft glow,
as if the cloud
holds a small heart.
Inside the cloud,
there is a small clockwork boy
made out of metal.
A key should be there,
sticking from his back,
but it is missing.
I put the metal boy
back inside the cloud
and I begin to look for the key.
I look into more clouds,
each filled with something different:
a silver chain with a pendant shaped like a star,
a small music box that plays a tune I didn’t know,
a post card, but I can’t see where it’s from.
I open my eyes
and find a woman
sitting next to me.
She offers me a serene smile.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for.”
She says softly.
Smiling, she holds
out a hand.
I watch as
a cloud forms
in her palm,
pulsing as if filled by light.
“Think of these clouds as wishes. They show what might be.”
I thought about what she said.
“But then if they are not what is coming, what are they?”
She laid a hand
on one of mine.
“They are wishes, hopes and dreams. It does not do to spend time wondering what will happen. You simply have to live.”
I nodded, feeling
a light grow around me.
“Where is the key for the boy?”
I asked gently.
“Why don’t you know?”
She said.
“It is inside of you. You already process the key. What you do with it is up to you.”
Reaching out,
she touched my chest.
At her touch,
I watched as a the
outline of a key
filled my chest.
Though I knew it was impossible,
I could feel it there,
beating like a heart
inside of me.
“The key is a gift.”
She said, smiling.
“Use it to open what you will, but make sure that it unlocks brings you joy.”
I nodded, taking heed
of her words.
My sight began
to fill with soft, pulsing light,
so much so
that the woman was gone,
enveloped in a cocoon
of sublime brightness.
When I opened my eyes,
I was holding a key
in the palm of my hand.

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Jamieson Wolf has written a compelling story about navigating multiple sclerosis and cerebral palsy. His story will touch your heart, make you cry, then laugh, and inspire you. A touching memoir with a bit of magic…and tarot! ~ Theresa Reed, author of The Tarot Coloring Book
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