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semper-draca · 5 years

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6. the one where when you dream you’re seeing whatever your soulmate is currently experiencing. C:

When Malavai is fifteen years old his shoulder gets dislocated.

A scream rips out of his throat as he wakes up, his hand flying protectively to his right shoulder, tears welling up in his eyes. It hurts.

Within a minute, his mother is rushing into his room. “Malavai? What is it, what’s wrong?”

The pain is fading now, but it still aches. His shoulder feels hot and stretched out, as though every muscle has been inflamed. One difference is that he can move it without the pain changing in intensity, and his mind latches onto that discrepancy, bringing it to the forefront to prove that the pain is lying to him. “I had a dream,” he tells her, still clutching his shoulder. “I - they - hurt their arm. Dislocated shoulder, I think.”

His mother frowns, but nods in understanding. “Do you want an cold pack?”

“No. I don’t think it’d help.” There’s not much either of them can do about it. Nothing much anyone can do about it, besides his apparent soulmate not getting beat up. He remembers seeing fists raised and getting pushed around. “Mother?” he admits, “I think they were in a fight.”

“As in…”

“Not, you know, blasters.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. At least his soulmate probably isn’t fighting in the war. “What did you see that wasn’t fighting?”

“They’re smaller than me,” he says. He tries to pick through the dream for details. “A good few years younger.”

“Oh, well that can be nothing depending on when you meet them.”

He huffs. The age thing doesn’t really matter to him - his mother is older than his father, and he knows of soulmates that have almost twenty years between them. “I really hope my soulmate isn’t some - some delinquent.”

She just laughs and ruffles his hair.

~*~

Two weeks after his parents die on Rhen Var, Malavai gets a better dream.

In it, he’s studying for a test on Imperial government, going over the details of all the current Dark Council members and their personal histories. For some reason, his soulmate had been really absorbed with memorizing dates - are they bad at numbers or something? And they had been so worried about failing the test. End of year final exams? No, it hadn’t seemed like that. Stars, he hopes he’s not supposed to end up with someone who is not only a fight starting delinquent but also on the brink of dropping out of school.

Even so, it’s still a light in the darkness.

Everything might be in shambles right now, but at least his soulmate is an Imperial. At least there’s that.

~*~

Malavai wakes up swearing.

A sock smacks him in the forehead in response. That’d be Shen, the man he shares a barrack with. There’s two other soldiers in here with them, but they’re heavier sleepers and in the two months that Malavai’s been here, they’ve mostly gotten used to this sort of thing.

“What’d they do this time?” Shen asks groggily.

Phantom pain lingers in his chest when he breathes in and his fingers splay out across his left side, just to reassure himself that he’s physically fine. “Broken ribs,” he reports. His hand traces the bones under his skin. True ribs six and seven. Probably shattered. “They kept getting kicked.”

“Sounds unpleasant.”

“At least it wasn’t another shattered kneecap.” That had only happened once but still. No amount of uneventful dreams of studying or reading through speeder magazines could make up for just how much it had hurt.

“Stars, no wonder you’re becoming a medic. By the time you finally meet this idiot they’re going to be held together with duratape and glue. Don’t they ever have decent things happen to them?”

That’s not why he’s becoming a medic, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. “Occasionally,” he replies absently.

In this dream, they’d been armed, although it had been difficult to see what with, given that most of what they’d seen - what he’d seen - had been someone else’s boot and their own arms trying to cover their head. Maybe it was with a vibroblade? He remembers hands holding it, like for practice? Are they in the military as well? A very stupid voice in the back of his head wonders if maybe they’re in training to be a red guard, or if they’re in Imperial Intelligence, or any number of exciting possibilities.

Unlikely. He goes back to sleep and this time dreams of white medbay walls. Good. They’re not a complete idiot then.

~*~

After Malavai’s third, pointless, dreary year on Balmorra, he’s beginning to suspect that whoever his soulmate is, they spend the majority of every day getting injured. More times than not he’ll wake up nursing imaginary bruises, and even the dreams that are of just peaceful daily routine will include sore muscles and cuts on his soulmate’s hands.

One week, out of frustration at the interference to his work that these phantom pains are causing, he writes ‘Please stop injuring yourself’ on his wrist every morning, in the hopes that if they dream of him, they’ll see the message. Nothing comes of it, except one month later, when he dreams of them flipping through a speeder bike magazine, he can see the words ‘sorry - I’m trying’ written on their wrist.

Given how inconvenient walking around with ink on his wrist is, he doesn’t attempt to communicate in that manner again. And the injuries don’t decrease in frequency to the point where he starts getting in the habit of taking sleeping aids, as they increase his odds of relatively dreamless nights.

Then he dreams of reaching out, his hands closing around someone else’s neck except they’re nowhere near his reach, feeling veins struggle underneath his fingers. Watching a boy - young, maybe sixteen - choke and sputter and claw at invisible hands on their throat. Watches the boy die.

Okay, Malavai thinks when he wakes, trying very hard not to panic, my soulmate is Sith.

That’s… unexpected.

At least they aren’t some delinquent?

~*~

The revelation that his soulmate is apparently - to his surprise and confusion - does shed light on some things. When he next dreams, he recategorizes the fights he sees as training. The weapons they’re holding are vibroswords, clearly practice for lightsabers, and thankfully, the injuries petter out into very little after that revealing dream. He saw nothing from them for a month, even though he abandoned the sleep aids in an effort to find out more information, but after that month the dreams restarted and suddenly his soulmate seems to be winning more fights than losing.

Thank the stars.

For the first time in years, his sleep, and his dreams, are peaceful.

~*~

One night he sees their face.

Er - her face. He thinks. The image had been blurry.

She’d been standing in front of a mirror, black ink and blood smeared on her hands despite the sink below her. There had been a needle - She’d been tattooing her face. Her eyelids. And there had been horns. A - A Zabrak, then? A Zabrak with ludicrous pain tolerance. He sits up in bed, pressing his palms into his closed eyes to try and get that horrible sensation out. Every aspect of her face had been burning with pain, and she’d just stood there and made it worse.

It had hurt, too, and not just physically. He’d looked out through her eyes and all he’d wanted to do was curl into a ball and cease existing.

He’s never seriously considered looking for his soulmate before. Part of that had been very limited information - searching for one Sith in the Empire is a dead end before it’s even started. Part of it had been his own reluctance. He’s stuck on Balmorra, after all, and that’s unlikely to change. Why put forth so much effort for something that’s not really going to reap any rewards, and why would he find them only to have to inform them that he’s - well - trapped. It wouldn’t be fair, especially not to a Sith.

Now he’s less certain. Something has gone wrong in her life, something that just dreams can’t comprehend. Something that some deep down part of himself wants to help her with.

And isn’t that a foolish thought. He’ll meet her eventually. That’s what he tells himself.

~*~

“I didn’t mean - “

“Get out.”

“It was an accident - “

“Jillins,” Malavai says, slamming his datapad down on the terminal. “Get. Out.”

The man leaves in a rush, bumping into two people on his way out, causing one of them to swear as she stumbles into his office. It’s a blue Twi’lek woman, a slave collar on her neck - not who he’d been expecting, and she’s cursing up a storm, dragging someone else in behind her. Malavai gets to his feet, preparing to shoo the slave out of here, when the second person enters and -

It’s her.

Her, her.

Her face looks only a little older than when he saw her in that mirror, her tattoos complete and fully healed, and there’s only an echo of that terrible sorrow that had dominated her eyes before. Shorter than he expected. For some reason he’d thought Sith, and then he’d thought Zabrak, and he’d assumed a height that she absolutely does not have.

“You must be Lieutenant Quinn,” she says, bowing at the waist. Polite, he thinks. That’s also surprising. Polite and small. His mind is trying very hard to think of something less clinical to say about her. Should he be feeling something he isn’t? Does she know who he is? Does she care, does she even want to know who he is in relation to her, does she - “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she continues, “I’m Gimrizh Korribanil, Darth Baras’s newest apprentice.”

“Ah.” His throat feels like dust. So she’s - he’s supposed to be spying on her. He’s not sure if this revelation makes that aspect of his job easier, more difficult, or entirely impossible. “That - that does complicate matters.”

~*~

#swtor #gayazrael #sith warrior #malavai quinn #sith warrior/malavai quinn #gimrizh #thanks for the ask!#my writing

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the-record-columns · 6 years

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September 5, 2018: Columns

Marjorie Roberts about to open up another block of Jenkins finest on Livermush Monday

Americana Day and Livermush Monday

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

What an amazing fun weekend we were treated to this Labor Day!

At 11 a. m. on Saturday morning, the ridge on E Street in North Wilkesboro where The Record Park is located simply broke out in music when the 13th Annual Americana Day Youth Music program began.

This event, hosted by The Record, pays tribute to our local VFW Post and its Honor Guard with a special day of music, made all the more special by the fact that the players are all under 18 years of age.

Clearly, bluegrass and Americana music is safely in the hands of some very talented young people.

At noon, as is our custom during events at The Record Park, the American flag was raised by the VFW Post 1142's Honor Guard. After Post Chaplain Larry Reavis led everyone in the Pledge of Allegiance, 12-year-old Libby Harbour played the Star Spangled Banner on her fiddle. The sun was bright, the wind was calm, the soldiers and the crowd stood at attention, and the silence was broken by only by Libby's perfectly played rendition of our National Anthem. I said it then, and I'll say it again now, it would bring a tear to the eye of a stone statue.

And so it went for the rest of the day. Youngsters like 8-year-old Lake Carver played and sang with a stage presence that completely belied their youth. Two others, Heidi Holloway and Devin Huie, have both played at 12 Americana Days, and are about to age out of this event. They thankfully both have a future in music that we will all get to enjoy for the years to come.

Americana Day 2018 was truly a beautiful day with beautiful children, and a musical treat for everyone which will be long remembered. Thank you to all who helped.

Then comes Labor Day Monday morning, and I find myself in Carl White's studio with Allen Langley, our mutual friend from Shelby, N.C., recording a podcast with Carl. These podcasts, as Carl says, will tell the story behind the stories. From there we head up NC Hwy 268 West to beautiful downtown Ferguson to introduce Allen to an event like no other, The Grocery Basket Café, 86 year-old Marjorie Roberts, and a unique musical experience known simply as Livermush Monday.

Some 15 years ago, musicians and others who attended the fiddlers convention in Happy Valley near Ferguson, and didn't leave on Sunday evening to go home, found themselves looking for a bit of breakfast on Monday. The Grocery Basket Café was nearby, Marjorie is an angel on this earth, and in no time a few folks began to bring along their fiddles and banjos and such, and Livermush Monday was born. Sometimes there are as many as 15-20 people in a loose circle; one person will start a song and the others will jump in, playing everything from "Froggy went a Courtin'" to "Will the Circle be Unbroken." If you can't pat your foot at Livermush Monday, you have a broken leg.

A few years ago, through our connections with Allen and Carl, Marc Mauney with Jenkins Foods in Shelby was contacted and Marc cheerfully took on a de-facto sponsorship, providing Jenkins Livermush for the event. He spent a lot of time in Wilkes and surrounding areas and we came to know him as a man who didn't mind working hard and who had a heart of gold. Sadly, we lost Marc last year in September to a heart attack, but it was truly uplifting to speak with many of his customers in Wilkes--to them he was far more than just Jenkins Foods, he really had become their friend on many, many levels. Marc Mauney's legacy was well-remembered on Monday.

I spent several hours on Monday at the Grocery Basket Café with Carl, Allen, and a full house of folks from Icard to Ireland--all with a common bond--a love of family, friendship, music and especially love for a wonderful soul who had just celebrated her 86th birthday, Marjorie Roberts.

Her smile would open the vaults at Fort Knox.

What a great weekend, full of music and smiling faces from 8 to 86.

Standing Up

By LAURA WELBORN

There is so much in the news these days revealing the destruction that has been wrought from keeping things secret.

The Me Too movement came from this: the Catholic Church that kept secret the years of abuse by priests and the pharmaceutical companies’ promotion of opioids. Both have been destroying lives with well intentioned people hiding the truth to protect institutions or companies with little regard to the lives lost.

Yesterday, a friend of mine gave me the book “Dopesick-Dealers, Doctors and the Drug Company that addicted America” by Beth Macy.

The book documents how opioid pain drugs got their start in the 90’s and where they were first heavily marketed. That first market was Appalachia. Wilkes County is part of that region.

We have the highest number of opioid addicted people of any county in the state. I help people everyday who started out on painkillers from an injury or post surgery and ended up unintentionally addicted.

How big is our problem?

Wilkes County has one of the highest rate of opioid-related deaths per capita in the state. In 2016, Wilkes County saw 25 such deaths compared to 10 fatalities by car crashes (many car crashes are related to impairment by alcohol/drugs- which are related to people taking painkillers (opioids) while driving).

In her book, Macy talks about the marketing of the drug OxyContin. It used preliminary and ultimately flawed scientific studies heralding the “less than 1 percent” addiction rate from observations of hospital use of opioid pain relievers. The critical part left out was a 56 percent addiction rate after patients left the hospital and tried handle their pain.

The book talks about Purdue Pharma’s marketing of OxyContin for all kinds of chronic pain, not just cancer, and claimed it was safe and reliable. Pardue sales reps get bonuses for the number of Appalachia doctors they convinced to prescribe Opioids. They fanned out, evangelizing doctors and dentists in all 50 states with the message “prescribing OxyContin for pain is the moral, responsible and compassionate thing to do for people with back injuries, wisdom-tooth surgery and bronchitis.” The wave of Opioid addiction that followed could not be called moral, responsible or compassionate.

The 1996 introduction of OxyContin coincided with pain being defined as “the fifth vital sign.” Traditionally, temperature, blood pressure, respiratory rate, and heart rate were considered the vital signs, and all could be easily measured and recorded. Pain level was different. In 1999, the Joint Commission on Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations approved new mandatory standards for the assessment and treatment of pain. But, unlike the other four vital signs, pain could not be externally measured. Patients were asked to assess their own pain and the goal was no pain. Sales rates and profits for opioid producing pharmaceutical companies skyrocketed. The movement of opioid pain relief had begun and with it the cover up of the devastation and death from addiction.

The book describes several physicians and advocates who tried to stop this movement but were largely ignored. It is the advocates who interest me. The people working to uncover wrong and stop harm. What separates these people willing to risk their own careers, comfort and peace to advocate for the most vulnerable? Is it the power of love and not the love of power? People who are willing to stand up against wrong and challenge rules and institutions when they see harm are a special breed. I think every time we challenge something we see as wrong we are doing God’s greatest work.

Laura Welborn is a Licensed Clinical Addiction Specialist with Donlin Counseling Services. See www.Donlincounseling.com

Enemies of Israel Pay the Price

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

Israel has a long history of standing up to bullies and their threats. They require not only an Iron Dome but also an iron fist, occasionally wrapped in a velvet glove, to protect her land and her people.

One of the first bullies to unleash taunts and threats against Israel was the Philistine giant Goliath. His military stance—and the future king of Israel’s response—is an example of how to stand up to bullies, whether individuals or nations.

Before David showed up at the battlefield, things weren’t going well. Goliath’s intimidation tactics were working. Fear had paralyzed King Saul’s army. Nine-feet tall, armored to the teeth, and toting a formidable 14-kilo spear, this guy trained hard and was combat-seasoned. But above all, he was BIG. Israel’s present-day enemies are also “big”— in the sheer numbers of anti-Zionists, radical Islamists, and hostile leftists, globalists and thugs spewing threats, lies and insults like a giant corporate Goliath.

Due to fear, no soldier was willing to confront the giant. But fear is what feeds bullies. The best way to neutralize intimidation is to run at it with the right weapon in hand, which David did. Even school counselors in America, which is facing a rash of bullying, advises kids to look the bully in the eye without hesitation and stand their ground. Bullying only increases “when the bully realizes his victim is not going to stand up for himself,” says author Signe Whitson.

But the truth is, Goliath didn’t have much going for himself except for his colossal size.

His presumed victory was so narrowly focused on bigness that he rashly provoked a one-on-one contest—based not just on ancient custom but also on his own arrogance—that would haunt his people for years: “If [David] can fight and kill me, then we will become [Israel’s] subjects.”

Goliath’s gigantic ego was his undoing. His imperious belief in himself blinded his judgment and limited his focus. The mighty warrior —crippled by inadequate intelligence (in more ways than one)—underestimated his opponent. Could history be repeating itself?

In the giant’s eyes, David didn’t have much going for him. He was young and seemed inexperienced for war. After all, he had no armor or helmet, spear or sword.

Nor did he anticipate David’s speed, training, or motivation: David, zealous for Israel and the G-d of Israel, was appalled that an “uncircumcised Philistine” [defied] the armies of the living G-d.” (1 Sam. 17:26)

Mustered by Saul, David “ran quickly” toward Goliath and hurled a fatal stone into his forehead. The giant fell hard and before the shocked Philistines could react, David again “ran,” grabbed Goliath’s sword, and severed his head.

Unbeknownst to Goliath, David did train for adversity—as a shepherd under sometimes dangerous conditions. The flock’s enemies were his own enemies. He perfected his aim with a sling while guarding the sheep entrusted to his care. When a lion or bear attacked, David killed them head-on thus delivering the sheep from their jaws and laws. His training helped him develop an intense motivation foreign to Goliath’s low mentality. David’s heart was for Israel and for the G-d of Israel. This made him fearless.

Israel has had its share of lions, bears and Goliaths. They still stalk, sniffing at the borders, probing for vulnerabilities. They still brag, threaten and incite violence and fearmonger.

But they underestimate and fail to understand Israel, whose founding documents, laws and defense forces have a different motivation and moral code than to rob, hate, kill and destroy. Israel does not sacrifice its people to lions and bears—it defends them.

As in David’s day, present-day “Goliaths” know nothing of the G-d of Israel’s love for the land and people of Israel. David knew, so he was not afraid to face Goliath—or the “giants” that followed. It is also why he won a seemingly asymmetrical battle.

Let us run, with Israel, toward this band of giants, who share not just the attitude of the Goliath of old, but who also are making the same errors in judgment. Whether our slings are the written or spoken word, diplomacy, a timely vote, or another gift, let’s use it faithfully and fearlessly just as David did.

An Invitation to Come Back

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

It was an umbrella day for our cameras and everyone else in Shelby NC, and a lot of people had traveled to the town square for the much-anticipated opening of the Earl Scruggs Center. Earl Eugene Scruggs was born in the nearby farming community of Flint Hill. Growing up, he had been surrounded by brothers and sisters who played the banjo and guitar, so it’s no surprise that they had a significant influence on his life.

The surprise, however, may have come when, at the age of twenty-one, Earl was invited to join Bill Monroe’s Bluegrass Boys. This was just the beginning. Three years later he and Lester Flatt left the Bluegrass Boys and formed the Foggy Mountain Boys; before long the group was simply know as Flat and Scruggs. In 1955 the group joined the Grand Ole Opry and soon the incredibly successful Martha White brand sponsorship become synonymous with the sounds of Bluegrass music. Martha White Self-Rising Flour with Hot Rise “Goodness Gracious, It’s Good” became a common expression of the day.

Another significant public success came in 1962 with their release of "The Ballad of Jed Clampett" on the TV show The Beverly Hillbillies. Flat and Scruggs were guests on the show several times over the years.

The Flat and Scruggs band parted ways in 1969 and Earl went on to organize the Earl Scruggs Revue. They enjoyed much success and the three finger Scruggs style of banjo playing has charmed hundreds of millions of music listeners and players around the world.

The Earl Scruggs Center is located in the middle of the historic Shelby Town Square in the old Court House and is all about the music and stories of the American South. I met a lot of great people on the opening day of the Scruggs Center, and we produced a good segment for Life in the Carolinas on the day’s activities.

After I finished my interviews I was leaving by one of the side doors of the center. I was greeted by someone saying, "Hi, Carl, welcome to Shelby. I’m Allen Langley and I’m a fan of your show."

We had a pleasant conversation, and Allen invited me to come back to Shelby and he gave me a list of things that he thought would be good stories. He shared his contact number and said he would be happy to assist in any way that he could. I come to discover that Allen was right about Cleveland County and he was also true to his word; when I called, he was very helpful in assisting with producing stories in Cleveland County. Allen leads a very busy life running his business activities. He is an active Rotarian, serves on various boards and has a big heart for those in need, with all that going on he found the time to help anyway. Allen is a good friend to have.

I was glad to discover that The American Legion World Series now calls Shelby NC its permanent home. When I met Eddie Holbrook, co-chairmen of the Executive Committee of the American Legion World Series, I came to understand the true power of his community.

I witnessed hundreds of people working together on projects that benefit their community at large. Eddie was the first to tell me that it’s always a team effort. And those around him told me of his tireless work and comment to benefiting everyone.

It seems like that’s the way community champions should be.I’ve been invited to return many times and I have always enjoyed by visits and continued new discoveries.

You can email Carl at [email protected] Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its seventh year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturdays at noon. For more on the show visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com You can also catch episodes of Life In The Carolinas on Amazon Prime

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