The Sleeping Prince

     There once was a bright young prince. He was beloved by the people of the kingdom. He would often spend time helping teach the people in the kingdom things he had learned from his tutors. His own tutelage of the people often was met with mixed feelings, but many appreciated that he was wise, and willing to share his knowledge.

     On the eve of his 11th birthday, an evil sorceress versed in black arts made a ransom demand on the king and queen. A letter had arrived in the morning, addressed to the royal family. It read:

Foolish royals! How long have I suffered in the swamps since you banished me into its depths! Now I shall surely get my revenge upon your kingdom, which I have been so wrongly denied a place within.

If you do not grant me all that my heart desires, I shall bring ruin upon you and your kingdom, once and for all.

-Svetartia, Dark Sorceress of the Swamp

     The king and queen were not concerned, however, by this ransom note. Thinking it yet another ruse by the clever sorceress who had been known (before her banishment) for her dishonest dealings, they chose to ignore her letter. Svetartia listed no explicit demands, so it was assumed that the kingdom was safe. The king, however, had the letter posted in the public square, where it was read by the common people.

     The sorceresses and witches that read this letter were appalled by Svetartia's ransom! How dare she threaten to use her powers for such nefarious ends! Of course, this simply reassured them all that she deserved the banishment that she had received.

     Having been ignored, that evening, Svetartia entered town disguised as an old man. When she saw her note displayed in the public square as an object of mockery and ridicule, she knew her plan to get what she desired had failed, so she took her revenge.

     Svetartia made her way to the castle, and using her dark powers, sneaked into the bedroom of the young prince. There he slept, in his bed, peacefully. Spilling her own blood to write runes around his bed on the floor, she cast upon him a wicked spell before she once again stole off into the night.

     When the young prince's hand-servant arrived in the morning, he was unable to rouse the young prince from his slumber. Frantic, the servant attempted to get help, but alas, nobody was able to get the young prince to waken from his sleep. The king and queen panicked. All they wanted was to be able to have their son back, but alas, there was nothing they could do.

     It was, therefore, by royal decree that all people possessed of magick powers were to have an audience with the prince in an attempt to disenchant the poor young prince of his affliction. It was, however, a failure. Each of the good sorceresses and witches in the kingdom tried their spells, but none of them knew how to break the curse that had been placed upon him. The wizards, warlocks, and sorcerers came from throughout the kingdom, but none of them, whatever their background, could find a way beyond the arcane ties that bound him inside his body in a dreamless and endless sleep.

    So, for years, the young prince was bound in a sleep from which he could not waken. His body aged as usual, but he needed no food nor drink, and his body never developed sores from not being moved... but alas, he also never awoke.

     The people of the kingdom were sad, for their poor prince, whom they loved dearly, was tragically lost to this sleep. Then one day, his royal highness, the king, received a letter from a wise mage in a distant land. It stated:

Your highness, it has recently come to my attention through some rumours circulating through the land that your young prince has fallen tragically to a curse of dreamless sleep from which he will not awaken.

Fear not, your highness. I have seen this spell cast once before, in the distant past, when I was still just an apprentice to an even older and wiser mage than myself (who sadly has departed to be joined with arcane powers even greater than I can imagine).

The solution to this curse is known to me as well, and now, as a sign of good will, I shall disclose it to you here. To break the curse, your young prince need only be kissed upon his lips by his one true love. Then shall he be freed from the bond of sleep under which his body endures but his mind cannot escape.

Best of luck to you and your kin, High Mage Pontrico

    The king, with such useful information at his fingertips, rushed to see to it that the prince would once again have his chance to live out his life, and return to the land of the waking. So it was that the solution to this terrible dilemma was posted throughout the kingdom, with a reward for the one who broke the curse: a promise that whomsoever should break the curse would be wed to the prince.

     Shortly before the first applicant had arrived, the hand-servant had found the young prince's journal. Inside, the young prince admitted his longing to be with another fellow one day whom would share with him all times, both good and bad, the joys and the pains which life would bring. This journal was quickly presented to the queen, who declared that by the words in the journal, it should be so that no girl nor woman would be able to satisfy the conditions of being the one true love needed to break the spell.

     Days passed, and although the reward promised was great, nobody came forward to even make the attempt to waken the young prince from his slumber. And so, moons did pass, and yet still not one soul came to visit the prince in hopes of freeing him from his curse. As the seasons wore on, the king and queen began to lose hope that they would ever again see their poor young prince return to his former youthful vigour.

     Years later, the king and queen passed on, and still the prince (no longer so young) had not awakened. Alas, with the reward being hardly less than a claim to the throne, women and girls from miles around flocked to the prince in a hope to be able to be the one true love. Without the queen to remind them that it would be a failure, each of these women made their way to the prince, only to leave dejected as they found out that they were not the true love of this prince.

     Over time, the prince grew into his middle ages, but never once did he awaken. The kingdom had no leadership of a king, and as such, the advisers of the court decided amongst themselves to choose a new ruler. The prince was left to his slumber, and knowledge of him faded into the obscurity of time. Never did he find his true love, and in his slumber he did die, forgotten and alone.

     As a historian, I, however, have seen it fit to preserve memory of the young prince through the writing of this summary in this tome of historical events. It is unlikely that anyone should find or read it, and even less likely that someone should care, aside from greying haired historians such as myself. Nevertheless, this concludes the story of our dear Prince *illegible*.

- Stomrowe Tomesmith

Royal Historian, Kingdom of *also illegible*, rule of King Patros XII.

Emotional geometry

Here I am.
I am a point.
A place in space, coordinates unknown to me, but there nonetheless.

I'm travelling through my life, look at my ray.
My ray, a point I am, travelling through space.
I leave this ray behind me. It is a path I have traveled.
See that point on the other end of the ray?
That point was who I was. The point I used to be, but my coordinates have changed.

My life is this polygon.
Observe these beautiful curves.
These Béziers, all those times when the points I am have travelled along a smooth but twisted path.
All the turns, but all the good times within them.
I was at peace.

Look at these angles!
They are so sharp!
The anger, the blame!
Such negativity. See it turn inward, over here it turns outward.
My life, my polygon's area becomes smaller with inward anger.
Look at how my polygon interferes when my anger shot outward.
All these other points, these other people.
The people and their rays, the polygons of their own lives.

Like chains, we're linked, our relationships define us, in part.
Alone, I am but one polygon.
Together, my relationships, these combined polygons, we make something more.

Oh, but look how these polygons interfere.
See this negativity from that polygon?
Someone else's line, thrusting itself into the pattern I am weaving.
Look how it changes the pattern.
The bigger picture is distorted by these places.
The polygon I form is less beautiful now.
That polygon and my own were not meant to overlap there.
I can see it in the pattern.

Oh, the agony of the form. What was beautiful is now tragic, but still beautiful.
Beautiful because of the pain.
Beautiful because of the scribble disrupting the form.
See how my polygon is now disjointed.
It is sad, but makes the picture drawn more real.
It's real because it has flaws. Nothing is perfect.

What path is my ray going to take?
Where am I, as a point, going to go?
How will my geometry change?

Can you see the deviation in the color of the line I make?
See how I go from black to red, to blue, to any assortment!
This geometry with unseen variables, but they are color!
A warm yellow, defined by the times of joy.
A sad blue, defined by the sadness.
A red for the passion, for the anger, for the love.
No, no. But the problem is that my point's colors change like they do.
See how my polygon is so blue?
See how my polygon is so red?
Here, I find myself, a point, reviewing from a new vertical axis my ray, my polygon.
All those painful times when I was sad. All the painful times when I was angry.
I have become three dimensional, but I feel I have lost part of who I am.
I'm not just a point, my life not just a 2D plane in between the vertices.

Yet I am still also a point. My life is still a polygon. My past is still a ray.
I'm seeing a larger whole, but I don't understand it just yet.
I seek another point to travel beside. Perhaps the picture I paint will be brighter colors.

But look at all the polygon, all the object, all the rays, all my vertices...
My vertices, the turning points of my life. Things change.
I'm still travelling my ray, and it is now blue, and I observe that many times, my ray was gray.
Gray, feeling emotionless. Apathic, stoic, numb.
Was I trying to protect myself?
Was I trying to protect others?
Even so, the vibrancy is lost.
Look as the fill color becomes muddy and desaturated.

Look at all those brighter colors that become pastel.
I don't like pastels. They don't seem genuine.
See, all those times I was pretending to be happy.

Do you pity me?
Do you understand?
Do you despise me?
Do you scoff at me?
Do you care?

What do I want?
Pity? Understanding?
What I want is love.
I can make my own happiness... but love is a complicated thing.

My emotional geometry seems broken.
Calculations that make no sense.
My normals are inverted, I reflect no light here on these faces.
My normals are regular, I show these colors on these faces.
How is this so?
I am twisted up inside.

Hear these words, and although you may not understand, know that it is all true.
Genuine, honest, real.
Here I give you a peek at my heart, ripped apart by myself and others.
Here I give you a taste of my soul, drifting in a sea of emotion alone.

Hurting, anger, healing?

So, recently I have been seriously fluctuating between emotions.

As the result of decisions made in the past (not all of them my own), I find myself saddled with unnecessary anger and resentment about certain things (those who know me know what things).

I've been trying to think of what I can do to channel this negative energy into something productive.
See, anger isn't itself always a bad thing. Sometimes, it can be a powerful force for change which is for the good... the problem with anger is that often it blinds us to reason, causing us to use that energy instead for revenge or petty squabbles (becoming a powerful force for change that is for the worse).

So, I've been... we can say meditating, I suppose, upon not just the feeling, but on the reason why I have the feeling... on what I can DO with that feeling. (Just meditating on the feeling would be putting me perilously close to being blinded by the anger and doing rash things, like I mentioned above.)

Honestly, this emotion this time cannot just disappear. It's justified. I have every right to be angry. Normally, I let my anger pass, and I forgive and move on. However, this time, it's justified in more ways than one. Instead of the anger being based on something that happened that affected me for the moment, it is based upon something that happened to me that will affect me for the rest of my life... and that's the kind of thing that no matter where you turn, it will show up again sooner or later.

So, the question is, where do I expend this emotion?
I haven't figured it out, yet. I'm not sure I can ever find a truly positive way to use this anger, except to fight to make sure that as few people as possible go through what I have, and to do something expressive to release the negativity.

For the sake of expressing my emotions so they don't overwhelm me, I have decided I would write a short story, or a poem. If you want to read it, I'll be linking it here, when it's finished.

I think I have learned something about the consequences of people's actions from this whole... life.
All actions a person takes are permanent. None of them can be undone. Some can be reversed, and some cannot, but they cannot be undone. It happens once and you can't turn back time (except if you're in science fiction).

I had always kept this in mind when choosing what I said to people. After all, words are either bullets, ornaments, or bandages. Bullets if they're used to hurt (once said, you can't take it back, just like firing a bullet from a gun). Ornaments if they're nothing more than decoration. Bandages if they are used to heal a hurt that someone has experienced.

Now I'm thinking more critically about my actions too. I have done my best for... most of my life, at least, to only do things that would cause the least amount of harm (and when applicable, the most amount of good).
And although my intentions have almost always been measured, now I'm thinking about what small and seemingly innocuous actions I take can potentially devastate others. And how long they could be hurt by these things. Even though the thing that has bred in me this anger I feel was by no means a small thing, it could be mistakenly seen as such. And that is exactly how it was seen... by everyone except me. To me, I feel that I should be the one to make decisions about my body, not anyone else... and that's part of why I have cast off the shackles of body image issues... or at least, body image issues caused by suggestions of how I "should" look to be "attractive".

So, will I ever heal from this? I don't know.
Have I learned something? Yes, but it makes me nervous.
I don't even know when I could potentially be hurting someone and don't know it.
On the other hand, I do trust my intuition of others' emotions, so I will attempt (as usual) to do as little harm as possible. The only potential roadblock to that is that some people never reveal how they feel... those who hold everything inside and never express themselves are much harder to read. (Not impossible, just difficult.)

So, am I angry? I'm not, and I am... but I vow to focus where I can on being a positive person.
Life is hard enough, relationship are hard enough... without being angry at everyone.

This is the poetry I mentioned above.

The eternal scapegoat

Over the past few years, I have been wondering what the new scapegoat would be.

In recent times (several hundred years), the scapegoats have been non-whites, women, non-Christians and now non-heterosexuals.

Non-whites have seen some reduction in the amount they have been used as scapegoats. Black people freed from slavery (although still not seen as blameless even when innocent, it seems). Hispanic people still face quite a large scapegoating stigma, but even that has lessened of late.

Women received voting rights, and have reached some strange semi-equality with men... but it's still not quite right. Women get worse financial opportunities than men in most cases.

Non-Christians have been victims of persecution (much in the same way Protestant Christians were persecuted during the founding years of the British colonies). More and more people are starting to stand up for people of other faiths (but it's still not fair).

Non-heterosexuals have been looked down upon as second class citizens, but this is changing ever so slightly.

My question was "if these are the scapegoats now, what will be the scapegoats next?"

I asked this question, and immediately, I felt that the answer would be non-cisgendered people. It would only make sense that they would be the next big target of scapegoating. Ok, so if that's obvious, who is the scapegoat to come next?

I've seen a disturbing trend of late... a trend of regression. Women are starting to receive worse treatment, and their bodies are being looked upon by lawmakers with disdain. It seems to me that women are quickly becoming the next scapegoat. I asked myself "why?", but I couldn't come up with much of a good reason. Seems that there isn't a reason for women to face scapegoating more than once.

Then it hit me. We are all eternal scapegoats. Those who are looked down upon once may rise up in status for a time, but ultimately, they are doomed to be once again persecuted.

Women are being targeted again. Why? Because, simply put, they are an easy target. They're an easy target not because they're lesser than men, but because they haven't reached full equality, and if a large number of people in the population face persecution, and are made powerless, it leaves those in power even more powerful. Women are born more often than men (statistically, 2% more often), and though I don't know the exact number of women and men that are not cisgendered when born, I would assume the number is relatively equal on both sides. So, targeting women to make them feel powerless would benefit the men. Less competition, as if women are a threat. Well, I suppose from a certain view, they are. A threat to a patriarchy, most definitely.

So, if women are facing renewed persecution, who's next?
I'm not sure, but I'm not exactly excited to find out.
My opinion is that we should stop trying to scapegoat people based upon class, or gender, or race, or sexual orientation, or even sexual identity!
Shouldn't our scapegoat be on poverty, hunger, disease, unethical treatement of children or elderly people, and unnecessary death?

It's disgusting and sad that instead of facing these issues, the politicians (at least in America) would rather point blame at groups to marginalize and demonize them.

Why should women be denied the say over their own uterus or babies be forced to be circumcised? Why should couples be refused the right to get married, or other people refused the chance to live in a body that reflects how they feel inside?

The scapegoating is ridiculous, and it's time for it to stop.

Happiness

Mary was a very sad woman. Every day, she left her house and her neighbors teased her. She went to work, and got ridiculed during business meetings. She'd come home, and it would be raining.

One day, when she was off work, she took a stroll down a street in town that she hadn't recalled being down. She thought it was strange she had never known about it, given that she had lived in that town for half her life.

The street was covered in shadows, and there was a single bar located in the side of one of the buildings. The other buildings on the street were the back-doors to shops on either street over. Although she was never one to drink, she felt a need to enter the bar.

When she entered, she noticed right away that the bar was well-lit, and that there was a soft jazz music playing. She noticed that aside from herself and the bartender, there was one other man and one woman occupying the bar. They seemed to be sitting a fair distance apart from each other, and they didn't notice each other's presence.

Feeling uncomfortable talking to either of them, she took a seat at the bar, and spoke to the friendly looking barkeep. He turned around, and handed her a glass filled with a dark beverage.

"Oh, no, I don't drink." Mary said to the bartender. To her surprise, he laughed.

"Surely you drink something at some point. There's no alcohol in that, you know. It's just a regular coke."

"Oh, well, then. I suppose I shouldn't turn down the drink."

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, madam?" He asked her. Mary was caught off guard for a moment.

"What do you mean? I was just walking, and I realized that I hadn't been here before."

"That's interesting. Normally, the only visitors we have are miserable. So, what's troubling you?"

"I'm not really troubled about anything." Mary said defensively, but the bartender gave her a friendly but firm stare until she finally answered the question.

"I see, so you're feeling pretty sad. You don't feel like anyone sees your true self, hmm? Well, maybe I should introduce you to one of our patrons. I'll let you speak with one of them, but before I introduce you, let me tell you about each of them. That man over there is known as Passion. He gets all excited about anything that happens. If he sees injustice, he fights it bitterly and with fire. If he wants something, he goes after it. He doesn't get along with the woman. That woman is Logic. She doesn't really get excited about anything, but she thinks all the time. If she sees terrible things happen, she comes up with a solution. If she desires something, she makes a plan, and then saves her desire until it is reachable. So, who would you like me to introduce you to?"

"Passion... Logic... are you kidding me? You're trying to tell me that those people are named Passion and Logic and they follow their names exactly... and you're going to introduce me to one of them? Are you just trying to make fun of me?"

"Of course not, madam. It just seems to me that you need to have an experience with one. You may learn something."

Mary was not sure how she felt about the whole experience. It all seemed surreal. There was no way that a person would be named Passion or Logic. Certainly, even if they were named like that, they wouldn't match their names exactly. Then the idea that they just both happen to be in the same place, and that they don't get along? Mary was unsure if she could believe the bartender at all.

At last, she decided which person she would rather be introduced to. A moment of deliberation led her to  the only conclusion she felt she could make. Speaking up, she informed the bartender of her choice.

"Alright, then introduce me to Logic. If there's anyone whom I don't really understand, it's her."

The bartender introduced her, and right away, Mary saw that her personality was a bit grating to her. She spoke impassively and her voice implied a distance from anyone and everyone.

"You're Mary. You're teased, ridiculed, looked down upon. You never stand up for yourself, and you bring all these things upon yourself."

"I don't invite people to tease me! I don't want to be ridiculed!"

"But because you don't do anything to stop it, you are doing just the same. You might as well have asked them to treat you poorly. Don't blame anyone else for your mistakes and faults." Logic stated coldly.

"Then what should I do, miss know-it-all!?" Mary yelled.

"Control your emotions, and when people start mistreating you, tell them 'have a nice day' and work hard to get in a position of power above them. Treat them nicely, and they'll be ashamed of how they've treated you in the past."

Mary got angry, hearing what Logic had dictated, and in her anger, she left the bar. She went to the street, where the light was flooding into the darkened street. Calming down, she went back, but the bar was not there. Having nothing else to do, Mary headed home. When she returned, the neighbor out watering her flowers commented on Mary's hair.

"Oh! My, Mary! What ever have you done with your hair!? It looks terrible, have you just gotten back from someplace humid?" The neighbor laughed, continuing to water her flowers.

"Have a nice day, Lenna!" Mary said, walking into her house. She vowed to make her neighbor regret making fun of her.

The following day at work, she found herself ousted, ridiculed, and looked down upon by her co-workers, as usual. This, too, she pretended did not bother her, but all the while, she vowed to make them pay.

Years passed, and Mary dedicated herself to gaining power, power enough to have control. Power enough for her to smite those whom had laughed at her. The day had finally come. As the COO of her company, she now had the power in her grasp to do what she wanted.
She had dutifully, carefully worked her way up to the top, and now she had every ability to make the people pay.

Using her vast power, she laid off the workers who had mistreated her, and she used her material goods and her money to get her neighbor evicted. At last, she had her revenge.

One evening, on her way home from her office, she started to feel a bit sick. Not sure what would happen, Mary told her driver to pull over. She stepped out of the cab, and promptly left the lunch she had that day on the sidewalk. Looking up from the mess she had made, she noticed that she was in front of the same alleyway as she had gone to in the past. Curious if the bar would be there, she drifted inside.

There it stood, a small bar, and lonely. Mary entered. Once again, she saw two people at different tables. Neither of them looked very good.
Once again, she felt ill-at-ease speaking with them, so she took a seat at the bar.

"Ah, I can see you are back. That is a bit strange, considering the only patrons we have..." The bartender was interrupted as Mary finished his thought, callously.

"Yes, yes, the only patrons you have are miserable people. What happened to those two?" Mary asked the bartender, impatiently.

"Ah, you were only half paying attention, then, weren't you?" The bartender asked.

"Why aren't you answering my question?" Mary seethed.

"But I have. The only patrons we have are those who are miserable. So if my only patrons are miserable, why are Logic and Passion here, hmm?" The bartender asked.

"They're... miserable?"

"Indeed, they are."

"But if that's the case, why did you introduce me to one of them?"

"I said I thought you needed an encounter. I never said that you should take their advice."

"Wait, so you thought I would become miserable just because you introduced me to them?" Mary raised her voice.

"Now, now, that's not what I said. But let me tell you why they are miserable. Look over there. Surely you remember her? Logic. As you can see, she's a total mess. The reason? Quite simple. She is all alone. She has nobody. She spends too much time in her head, and cannot connect with those around her. She is so stuck in her ways, she will be alone forever. And do you remember that gentleman over there?"

"He's... Passion, right?" Mary asked, feeling skeptical.

"That is correct. You may notice, he is also a mess. See, he chased what he wanted passionately, but he never had a plan. He often got what he wanted, and he has just as often lost it because he didn't plan for his future. He got a family, and then they left him. He had many jobs, but his indignation at things others did caused him to lose them too. He had money, but he got greedy, and lost it all. He had possessions, but he had to lose them just to stay alive. Everything he found, he promptly lost." The bartender smiled.

The bartender's smile unnerved Mary. How could it be? Was any of this real? Why was the bartender happy? Would she become like Logic and Passion? She had to know.

"Wait, but what about me? Why am I here?" Mary asked.

"You should know the answer to that question already. It's clear you're not satisfied. You're not happy."

"But I thought that by meeting one of those two I was supposed to become happy!"

"My dear girl, if you are all one thing, or all another, surely you won't be happy. You will be missing the very thing you are not."

"STOP SMILING! WHY ARE YOU SMILING!?" Mary yelled.

"I smile because as long as there are miserable people in this world, my business will never close. My bar shall forever remain open." The bartender replied. Mary was struck. All she had worked for, and she had nothing to show for it. Mary fled through the bar, into the alley, and back to the car.

"Take me home. Please." Mary said to the driver.

"Of course, my dear. Of course." He replied. As Mary looked up and saw the face of the driver, the doors all locked.

"No! It can't be!" Mary exclaimed.

"What is that, madam?" The driver replied, with a smile on his face.

"NO! LET ME OUT YOU EVIL BASTARD!" She yelled. And as the bartender turned around in the seat to look at her with hollow eyes, she screamed.

Mary awoke in a cold sweat. She vowed that she would balance passion with logic... and not let herself be a punching bag ever again. She also swore to herself that she would never allow herself to lose her humanity as she had before. No petty revenge would be worth ruining the lives of others... and she never wanted to see that bartender again.