Category: Yul

Trev: Driven by unspeakable shame, he inexplicably heads back to see Sal. Rain slashes his face as a vicious wind whips a steel gray sky. He doesn’t notice.

Mairi: Unconscious on the cold floor, her head in a small pool of dark blood. She tried to stop Trev from going. He punched her in the face.

Emy: Her new found sensitivity to sound is driving her insane. She is currently floating her agitated arse in an isolation chamber. She holds her brooch in her hand, realizes she can no longer see her mother and starts to punch the side of the chamber. No one can hear. Blood drips from her knuckles. She starts to smile as salt stings her open wounds.

Cait: Sitting in the study with the Commander and Tom. She has been informed of the circumstances and looks on as the Commander outlines his plan. When the Commander mentions Kyra, Cait stands up and yells, “I will not have that bitch in my house!” Ariel appears in the doorway and all three adults turn in unison toward the small child.

Kyra: On her way to Duckhead. She is the plan. She sits in meditative silence on the private transport oblivious to the multi-hued lights flashing by.

Von: Refused to take no. He is with Kyra. His left hand has a firm grip on his right. It shakes anyway.

Rog and John: Making idle conversation. The Matutinal Mercy has not yet been delivered. The room is ice cold. Neither notice.

Yul: Still in hospital. Too high to wonder why. Too low to care.

Kieran: Closely watching events unfold.

The Unknowns: Closely watching Kieran.

Interview with Yul (from Earth): Part 2

T: Ready to continue?

Y: Always ready.

T: I would expect no less (smiles). Tell me what happened when Rog walked in the door.

Y: You know how when in hospital they ask you to rate your pain on a scale of 1-10?

T: Yes.

Y: Well, on the pissed scale, I was about a 15. Beyond pissed, beyond anger. It was an odd place, emotionally. I felt like I was in the eye of a storm. Hell had happened and I had a feeling hell was going to happen again, but in this moment I felt the strangest sense of detachment. When he walked in that door, I felt nothing.

T: Nothing. At all?

Y: Not a damn thing; and it scared me to death. He sat there with his pathetic eye bandages, and I felt nothing. I didn’t even feel numb. He was like a book I had once read and at one time liked, maybe even loved, but now, it just looked old and yellow and for the life of me I couldn’t understand why I had ever felt the way I did. He didn’t look the same. I almost felt embarrassed.

T: (dumbfounded look)

Y: What?

T: I’m sorry. I was not expecting this and my mind is running, trying to grasp what you are saying.

Y: (sighs) I wasn’t expecting it either. It happened in an instant. The door opened. The nurse walked him to a chair beside my bed. He sat down, looking all the much like the Jackassary he explained himself to be, and I just didn’t care. If fact, I felt a strange sense of boredom. Only later did the eye pass and the second wave of hell overtake me. To be honest, the meeting with Rog, well, even saying it was anticlimactic, is overstating the case. It was a non-meeting meeting. He looked whipped, like a pampus with his tail between his legs. His shoulders drooped, his voice had no power and he seemed very uncomfortable not being able to see. I don’t think he really knew what he wanted to say, not that there was anything he could have said that would have made a difference.

T: I want to come back to this second wave of hell, but before we move on I want to bring closure to your meeting with Rog. My understanding is that when he came out of the room, the only thing he could tell Kyra that you said was “either/or.”

Y: (laughed) Not sure we really talked about much of anything.

T: But he was in there for an hour or so, right?

Y: Probably.

T: What did you do for an hour if not talk?

Y: I think you are missing the whole scene. We talked, but about nothing, at least nothing that I remember. But the words were only words. They didn’t mean anything. You see, there was only one thing to say. We both knew what it was. He didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t feel I needed to say it. He had made a choice. Right or wrong and that choice was, to put it bluntly, to leave me to die. I don’t frailing care what the circumstances were. I was dying. He choose to be elsewhere. Ain’t no words gonna reconcile that.

T: (silence)

Y: So, I told him. Either you get your sorry arse out of my room or I’ll find someone who can. He sat for what seemed like the longest time, almost like he didn’t comprehend what I said. Then he stood, again, just standing there like I was going to say something else. The silence must have just killed his soul, especially not being able to see me. Next thing he heard was the call button for the nurse. She escorted him out.

T: (sighs)

Y: Look. I never said I was some frailing Janussary.

T: True.

Y: And would you want to frail me as bad as you do if I were?

T: (hesitates)

Y: Still struggling to be bluntly honest.

T: (starts to speak)

Y: Look. Frailing is a waste of time without an absolute commitment of unadulterated openness. If there is anything, and I mean anything, between you and the other person, any idea, concept, thought, hope, belief, dream, whatever, then the frailing will suffer. You must bring all of you to the frail. And the same for the other. (pause) All of you. And nothing but you. Otherwise . . .

T: Otherwise . . .?

Y: Otherwise, the pieces won’t fit.

T: I’m not sure–

Y: Of course you don’t. You don’t speak my language. You see, the problem was not Rog and what Rog did. The problem was me. As soon as he left the room, the second wave of hell came, slowly at first, but with a relentlessness and a force, I suppose I can say this now, that was beautiful to watch in its power and intensity. And it was pure hell. Now stand up.

T: (stands)

Y: Take your pants off and show me what you got.

T: What?

Y: Take your pants off. Now.

T: I–

Y: Sit down. Why would I frail you and all your baggage? Drop the baggage and then come back and see me.

T: I don’t think you understand–

Y: No, I don’t think you do.

(to be continued)

The Yul Interview (Part 1)

Interview with Yul (from Earth)

T: Thanks for taking the time to talk with us this morning.

Y: No problem. What’s up?

T: I wanted to ask you about the time when Rog returned from the mission to rescue Bravo and–(notices strange look on Yul’s face). What?

Y: Go on.

T: You sure? You seem–

Y: Like a girl in the bathroom who hears a door open and a stranger walks in?

T: (smiles) Well, more like a girl in the bathroom who sees the stranger and doesn’t break eye contact but instead sits upright, chest out, eyes wide, lips slightly parted with a Mona Lisa smile.

Y: (laughs out loud) You know, I would frail you, how do you say it, just to be clear, and I would frail you right now (Yul seductively slides her spear-like blue tongue over her glistening upper lip, and her eyelashes, or so it seemed, swayed like palm trees in a gently breeze, glimmering and sparkling like the surface of the turquoise ocean they guarded and longed to reach.). What do you say? Be our little secret. Rog doesn’t have to know.

T: You know, you don’t really have to try so hard (deliberate pause), to avoid the subject. Just say you’d rather not discuss the matter. I understand if you don’t (shifts position).

Y: (laughs again, her eyes dropping, starring) Seems I’m not the one avoiding the question (winks). It’s getting a little warm. Do you mind if I take my shirt off? (starts to unzip her blouse, slowly, tilting her head without breaking eye contact)

T: (stares at her perfectly polished nails delicately and slowly pulling his eyes south with the metal enclosure, the valley of her feminine charm, fertile as fields before mountains, opening as flowers on the dawn, only the lush green replaced with an exotic, mysterious blue cast)

Y: (with a slight pout) The zipper seems to be stuck. Would you be so kind as to assist.

T: (smiles wide) Yul, perhaps we should continue this interview another time.

Y: Another time, yes (pulls the zipper back up). Now, what was your question?

T: You sure you want to do this?

Y: Oh, I want to do this. The question is, do you?

T: You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

Y: Like a cat with a ball of yarn. But I am making (drops her tone), things difficult for you.

T: No, not at all.

Y: Really? (looks down) To get the truth you must be willing to give it.

T: (turns to his aide) Turn the camera off and leave us.

Y: Thank you.

T: Do you want to interview or frail?

Y: Why does it have to either/or?

T: (bursts out laughing) Touché.

Y: Business before pleasure. Ask your first question.

T: After the operation, when you woke and you knew you were still alive, walk me through what you felt, what went through your mind.

Y: (sighs) You really know how to turn a girl on don’t you (her eyes water and her lids drop; she reaches out and touches his arm with her nails).

T: We can stop at anytime?

Y: No, I want to answer this question. Just not easy to go back there. Sometimes the past is best left in the past.

T: Easier said than done.

Y: True. Pain. That was the first thing I remember, the intense pain. I learned later their pain meds didn’t quite work as they should on our alien nerve centers. Every movement hurt. Breathing hurt. Laughing hurt. Lifting my head hurt. Moving my arm hurt. But none of those things hurt as much as waking up, in that white room, alone.

T: Was Mairi not there?

Y: No. After the operation, she went back to her quarters to get cleaned up, to recover, and I suppose that is when Trev appeared. At the time I didn’t know why Mairi was not there. I had no idea the trouble Trev had gotten himself in nor the extreme guilt Mairi felt, undeservedly, in my opinion, but then again, who am I to judge the burden another picks up, right? (laughs)

T: Can you describe the loneliness?

Y: You’re alive. A miracle has occurred. And you want to die. As painful as the surgery was, it was the moon to the sun of my mental torment. I suppose I was primed to feel sorry for myself. As I think you know, I was never “the one.” My sister (Yul pauses), can we take a break?

T: Sure.

Y: (wipes her eyes) Never mind, I’ll push ahead. My sister was the one. She got everything. I was passed over so many times, the scars, well, if I told you even today they were completely healed, I would by lying. So when I woke up and there was no one there, well, I slipped into an emotional free fall. Not exactly what the doctors wanted to see.

T: Keep going.

Y: (takes a deep breath) I knew Rog had made a choice to be elsewhere but I was not expecting neither Mairi nor Trev to be absent. I was angry, resentful, bitter, scared. I didn’t understand why they weren’t. I mean, how could they not be there! Frail, for Janus’ sake. How could they not be there! So you want to know what I felt. I felt frailing pain like you will never understand. Think of it this way. Imagine you walk into a bank and you present your life as a deposit and the banker looks over your portfolio and starts laughing. You ask him why he is laughing and he says there is nothing here. Imagine that. Your life is deemed worthless by those who know you best. You are on your deathbed and your lover leaves you. You go under the knife and when you wake your other two friends are not there. Do you have any idea, any frailing idea what it is like to wake in an alien hospital, attended to by aliens, your mind is drugged, you are disoriented, in pain, severe physical pain and they are whispering in a language you can’t understand while taking sideways glances at you, and there you are, rejected again, abandoned again, told, not with words, but with actions, that you don’t count. You want to know what went through my mind? I’ll frailing tell you. I thought of Mairi and Trev sitting in the sun having a leisurely breakfast and talking nonsense about what they were going to do that day without my name ever coming up. And then I thought about Rog, jacking off, and you know what. He wasn’t thinking about me. He was thinking about Kyra, about Em, in his quarters, wailing away. That’s what I frailing thought. And then I thought, frail them all. Just frailing frail them all. You know what I mean?

T: I had no idea.

Y: (Yul looked at him hard) Frail you.

T: Pardon?

Y: I don’t need your false sympathy. If you want to continue this interview I need you to be real, just speak the truth, otherwise we’ve got nowhere to go.

T: (sighs) Look, I understand the events, the time line. I meant I have no idea what it must have been like to be you at that point, not that I didn’t know there was pain.

Y: Oh, my bad. Won’t be the last time I put my foot in my mouth. Promise. Make it up to you later.

T: Don’t worry about it. So when did you know Rog was on his way to see you?

Y: About five minutes before he walked in the door but I don’t think that is what you’re asking is it.

T: Not really.

Y: Since the moment I slammed the phone against the wall and broke it into a thousand pieces, all I could think about was that moment when he returned and what I would say. Keep in mind, I had ample time prior to the operation to stew and mull and that soup burned under the blazing fire of eminent death. Not even Mairi knew she was capable of pulling off what she did. I could see the look in her eyes, same for the doctors. There was no light, no hope. The surgery, at best, was going to be a living autopsy. I was their plaything. Not of their kind. What the frail did they care whether I lived or died. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn they looked eager to open me up. Anyway, so before the operation, my emotions were running so strong, not thinking, but knowing I was going to die, and I was obsessed with how I could somehow pay that little frailer back for abandoning me. I mean what the frail. I’m frailing dying and he runs off to save someone else. Stop and think about that for a second. Put yourself in my shoes. How would you feel?

(to be continued)

Not White

Yul starred at the door with its small window, puckered her lips, sighed, and, throwing her head into the pillow, looked at the ceiling. White, she thought. Why is everything white? White, white, and frailing white. Frail me if I ever decorate a frailing room in frailing white.

Tapping her fingers on the crisp white sheets she reached, without looking, for her comm on the nightstand. She could find it with her eyes closed now, which is what happens when you pick the damn thing up a hundred times in as many minutes. And a hundred times the message was the same—nothing. She pulled her arm back as if to hurl the small object against the wall before remembering the incident with the phone and muttered under her breath with a sideways glance, Where the frailing frail is everyone?

Closing her eyes the words echoed through the halls of her memory. Where the frail is everyone, where the frail is everyone, where the . . .

The sun had set quickly and the addresses were hard to read. Yul pulled the note out of her coat pocket, reread the address, looked at the door and took a deep breathe. This was it. Just knock, that’s all, just knock. She opened the screen door and was about to knock when a small white object caught her eye—a note. Unfolding the paper she read these words: So sorry. Something has come up. Another time perhaps. Then she read it again and then again and again, reading without moving, reading without thinking, reading without feeling her feet on the ground.

Yul just stood on the old gray wooden porch, her head bent over, the note hanging loosely in her right hand like a leaf in autumn feeling the pull of gravity. She starred at the writing as if starring would reveal some hidden meaning, some explanation that would soothe the sickening feeling growing in her gut. But stare all she might, the house was dark, the door locked and this note was all there was. Silence never sounded so loud and although no one else was on the street she felt as if a hundred eyes were boring a hole in her back. Her neck tensed and turning her head, assuming she wanted to, became next to impossible.

Balling the note in her delicate hand she felt a wave of heated emotion rise from her tight chest to her glassy eyes, and as if her soul itself needed release into the cool night air, one tear followed another in an endless steam of repressed self-hatred. Why me?

Three hours later . . .

“Dad, can you hear me?”

“Yes Yul, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my keys.”

“Tell me where you are, I’ll be right there.”

One hour later . . .

“Dear, what happened?” asked Ms Yul.

“Get the little lying bitch cleaned up and in bed. I’ll deal with this frailing shiott in the morning.”

Yul lay on the ground in the fetal position. Her face was a mess. Her vision blurred and her clothes matted with a most foul smelling stain. Looking up she saw Aly, her eyes wide, in her pristine white nightgown. Nothing needed to be said. There was Aly and there was Yul. One standing and one on the ground. Seems this is the way it would always be.

“Turn out the light!” yelled Yul, trying to cover her eyes.

“Sorry Yul, but I thought you’d like to know you have a visitor,” said the nurse, dressed, of course, in all white.

Commentary Part 1

Commentary Part 2 with cameo from Maria

With Bitter Verve

“Morning Yul, how are you?” asked Mairi.

Yul moved her eyes without moving her head giving Mairi a look as cold as a witch’s tit.

“I did what I had to do.”

Yul pulled her hand away.

Mairi sighed.

“I want you to leave.”

Mairi looked without expression.


Mairi started to speak, stopped and then said, with effort, “As you wish.” She walked to the door and before leaving looked back. “Yul?”

Yul did not response.

“Frail you you ungrateful betoch,” said Mairi, with calculated bitter verve. She didn’t wait for a response she knew wasn’t coming.

Recommended soundtrack for this chapter: Bonnie Somerville’s Winding Road

Alternative soundtrack: Yungchen Lhamo’s Fade Away

Categories: Story, Yul, Mairi

Trev, prone, naked and secured by ankle and wrist, swallowed the fifth sip, with a little help from Lil’s firm hand fisting his hair. Sal moved to his prostrated rear and slapped her tight and taut boy like a farmer slapping a side of beef. His flesh was warm, unlike her own species; and he had an instrument, full and ripe, alien and exotic, that seems to pulse and throb and hang with a certain sense of living heft as if his heart were in his arse rather than his chest.

Mairi sat with the quiet patience of a weary cat in a sunny window, content to let Yul sleep as long as she liked. The operation, the doctors had said, somewhat nervously, had gone better than expected. More tests would be run later, they said. So she sat and rubbed her head but succor eluded the feeling of being sunburned from the inside of her skull. Dr. X promised she would heal, fully. She still thought he was a complete bastard.

John played the signal again. Rog listened. John looked. Rog listened some more with the look of a school boy trying to convince his teacher he knew the answer when he really didn’t. John played it again. Rog, blessing his own hide, yelped for effect, and did a little dance; his eyes shown with recognition fueled by hope. John just shook his head.

Ariel crawled into Cait’s lap, the soft light of a reading lamp holding the pair in the warm repose of mother and child. Cait held back a sigh as Ariel nestled in tight to her chest, pushing her little head and primrose hair into the twin softness of living pillows. Turning the page, she read slowly, trying to lose herself in the story, trying to crowd out the anger in her heart until she heard her daughter sigh and she realized she had not turned the page for quite some time.

+My dear friend, we meet again.+

Kyra opened her eyes as one to light after many days in a cave. There was a voice, but no one was there. She looked for Em and Von but they were not there either. The room was white and rather bright, the edges fuzzy and from somewhere in her heart, she would later swear, was a taste of things past and a remembrance of things to be.

Kieran? Is that you?”

Categories: Story, Kyra, Trev, Mairi, Yul, John Discovery, Rog, Lil’ Twilight, Ariel, Cait


Yul drifted into sleep, her head turning softly away from Mairi on the pillow as if, from slumber, she sought separation, distance, a final act of submission. Mairi looked up in supplication as those who prostrate themselves look down in mercy, her lower lids as dams staining to hold back her own doubt and fear and anger and regret. As Yul’s hand fell slack, the dam burst. +My Janus, I can’t do this. Damn you! Do you hear me, I can’t do this.+

Mairi cried and to the extent her countenance betrayed torment and dismay, Yul’s placid pale visage paid homage to lakes calm in twilight. Taking the back of her trembling fingers, Mairi brushed Yul’s silver hair from her cheek. Bending over she kissed the crest of her dimple and whispered words neither recorded nor remembered.

Three hours later:

+You did well my dear Chatelaine+

+Frail you, you frailing whore of children forgotten and abandoned.+ Mairi sobbed uncontrollably, her head pounding from the inside out as she shook as patients burning with fever shake from cold.

+You did all I could have asked, all anyone could have expected. And soon, you will love me again as only a Chatelaine can love the art of grace and execution, of passion controlled by mind and whipped by heart.+

+You lie with daggers dull and crooked; and if I had my wits I would hurl venom and hatred as the unkind do in confrontation with difference. I will never forgive nor forget, my liege, the obligation I owe to one so blessed with duplicity and greed.+

Dr X smiled. +I knew talent when I saw it, and you, my dear, are a gift beyond my dreams.+

Mairi lay on the ground, soaking wet, her eyes blurry, her immaculate makeup smeared almost beyond recognition.

+Rest my darling Null.+

Doctor #1: What happened?

Doctor #2: I have no idea. What does the tape show?

Doctor #1: You’re not going to believe this.

Doctor #2: What?

Doctor #1: It’s blank.

Categories: Story, Yul, Mairi, Dr. X


With heavy eyes and slurred speech Yul spoke through the early stages of the anesthesia, surgery approaching at the top of the hour.

“Mairi. Are you there?”

“I’m here darlin.” Squeezing Yul’s hand she repeated, “I’m here.”

Yul tried to smile. “Do me a favor. If I don’t make it—“

“Don’t say that. You’re going to make it. I—“

“Please, let me finish.” Yul’s voice seemed distance and getting weaker by the moment. “Tell them I understand. Tell them I forgive them. Tell them I love them.”

Mairi leaned over and kissed her forehead as Yul gave in to the persistence of her leaden eyelids. “I will.”

Categories: Story, Mairi, Yul

Like a Bull

Lil’ handed Trev a clear v-shaped glass with a narrow stem. Five different liqueurs, five different colors, each maintaining horizontal integrity shimmered in the soft glow of Lil’s quarters.

“I’m not thirsty,” said Trev. “And–“

Lil’ licked her crimson lips, slowly. “I think you are.” Placing her delicate and perfectly manicured finger under the stem, she slowly lifted the glass toward Trev’s parting lips. Neither broke eye contact with the other. “Five sips, sixty seconds apart, and then–“ Lil’ smiled with dimple and eye.


“The wonder of modern chemistry. The first liqueur, the sapphire one, drink up, massages the pain centers in your frontal lobe.” Seeing Trev’s reaction, she added, “No worries my sweet, before you feel anything, it will be time for the second liqueur, the golden one. Let’s just say you’ll experience something akin to warm honeyed aloe soothing the throbbing in your temples. Your mind will go slightly fuzzy, but only until the third liqueur, the emerald one.”

“Is this safe?” I mean—“

“Trevor,” whispered Lil’, her nails tracing the outline of his reddening cheeks, “if your heart stops beating, I’ll personally get it started again. And Trevor, I’ve never failed in that endeavor.” She squeezed his thigh.


“And Trev?”


“If you interrupt me again I may just cut off your gonads before you get to the fifth.” Lil’ smiled, “Time for the second.” He drank the golden liqueur. “Good boy. Now, the emerald potion will make you feel warm, all over. You’ll feel on the verge of wetting yourself and that is where the fourth liqueur comes in, assuming, of course, you don’t actually wet yourself. Now, you wouldn’t loose control right here in front of me, would you Trev?”

Trev started to speak but Lil’ stopped him with her finger. Nodding her head, Trev followed suit. “Good. Now, the fourth, the citrine one. Goes straight to the centers of fear and control in your brain, the very one’s the third elicits, and loosens, as they say, the ties that bind. Only once the fourth liqueur takes effect, will you be ready for the fifth.”

Trev’s comm started blinking. Lil’ quickly slipped it from his waist to her pocket.

“The fifth, my sweet friend, which by the way, only works in conjunction with the first four, is nothing less than a pure shot of adrenalin.” Lil’ paused. “To your agent of masculine surrender. How should I put this? At this stage, you’ll feel like a bull in the chute, or so it seems from my perspective, not that I’ll be complaining.”

Trev was in stage two and his mind started to slip. Lil’ took his hand. He followed. There would be no china broken on her watch. Sal was waiting.

“Mairi, is he on his way?” asked Yul, trying hard to keep her eyes open.

“Yes he is,” lied Mairi.

“Good. I want Trev here, by my side during the operation.”

“Get your rest darlin’. I’ll let you know as soon as he arrives.”

Categories: Story, Lil’ Twilight, Trev, Mairi, Yul

Close Your Eyes

Yul drove the back of her head into the down pillow like a mother in the throes of childbirth. Her wet lower lip trembled as Mairi’s mind eased into her centers of pleasure and pain with intent on pain, with quiet prejudice to push Yul to those dark corners of her sexual soul beyond the horizons of her experience, to places only a Chatelaine could take her. My frailing Janus, Yul thought (screamed) as Mairi entered (violated) her mind, forcing (raping) her way in, beotch slap me into frailing whoredom you Janus forsaken cu–.

Mairi heard it, saw it, felt it from the inside out. Yul spasmed. Mairi pushed deeper, the pain increased. Yul tensed, hard, harder, her muscles straining. Her eyes opened as if to say what the frail. Then Mairi mind slapped her as hard as Rog had ever done with hand while rubbing her warmly lubricated thumb and index fingers together, feeling the thin membrane few had felt and massaging (melting) the pain into pleasure. Yul gasped, relaxed, and gasped again. She was having trouble breathing, a feeling of falling, of being out of control, warmly, embarrassingly, flooded her senses. Her mind raced to comprehend what her body was feeling but she had no frame of reference to describe what Mairi was doing to her now.

“Easy now, my little beotch,” whispered Mairi, unbuttoning her blouse with her free hand, a distinct bluish glow slipping from the valley of her tight and taut amplitude. Yul started to speak but couldn’t. Mairi smiled. +You’ll talk when I’m ready for you to talk. Now let me see that tongue of yours, you know, the one Rog says he can’t live without.+

Mairi took the back of her index finger and ran it over Yul’s upper lip. +Come now, baby, let me see it. Show me that blue spear of pleasure and delight. Wrap it around my finger like a candy cane.+

Yul felt her lips part and her tongue slip between them and around Mairi’s finger. Slithering like the painted snake on her cheek, she licked Mairi’s finger with her long blue tongue.

+You miss him don’t you? You miss feeling his warmth beside you, inside you, like my fingers are now, taking you, in places, in ways you’ve allowed no one else. You want him back, here, with you?+


+Close your eyes.+

Categories: Story, Mairi, Yul