A myth. ( i.e. a story that no one believes in anymore)

(photo by Julie Fain)

Once upon a time, a long time ago, when dragons were aplenty, there lived a girl, a very pretty girl, loved by many but who desired none.
She spent her days and nights in the forest outside her village, picking herbs, blossoms and shoots and using them to make curious, little potions which then she used on plants and animals to see their effects.
Some flowers bloomed before their time, others died before seeing the rising sun, animals grew wings and flew away, while others grew old and died. She kept the potions in small glass vials in the hidden pockets of her skirts, she made labels made of leaves to know which is which and she never let them out of her sight.
She was a clever, little girl with an everlasting talent for concotions and magic brews, a little witch, that was what she was.
Time flew, her beauty grew and so did her collections of tiny vials. Soon she could not carry them all at once
and began to look for a secret place to hide them, a cave perhaps.
Yet, such  a talent cannot stay obscure, especially in a tiny village like hers, the village people started to talk.
So she found no other way but to leave her tiny house in the tiny village and make her living elsewhere.
All the village lads tried to change her mind. They offered her jewels, marriage and fancy fabrics, they begged and they wept, they made promises of travels to new lands but she never yielded. She left in the dead of night, into her mighty forest she went, where all her weapons grew. As she happily skipped around the trees her tiny vials made a happy, high-pitched sound which echoed miles away from where she was but she cared not, she felt home already.
The rising sun found her under a tall pine tree which stood right next to the mouth of a cave. When she woke up the sun was high up in the sky which caused her skin to be all itchy and red. She had a nasty sun-burn.
Into the cave she ran and there in the shade she took all her bottles out, one by one until she found the right one. A few drops and the angry burn was gone, her skin was all soft and cool, the magic brew had done its wonders once again.
And so it was that the village girl had found a new place to dwell and was happy indeed because she neither knew nor she cared that the cave was the house of someone else far stronger than her.
After a fortnight the dragon returned to his lair, where generations of dragons before him had called it home.
He came back in the middle of the night and found the pretty girl sleeping on a bed made of leaves.
Without making any noise, he placed his newly found treasures at the very back on the cave and spent the night scrutinizing the girl and the dozens of glass vials stacked in a single file on the floor.
He uncorked them all, some he smelt, others he used on his scaly skin, by dawn he knew them all and the girl as well.
The girl woke up with a start, her face near the dragon's nose, his big green eyes opened wide and the warm masculine voice sounded wisely.
"Welcome pretty girl to my home. I'll call you Maya and you'll be mine. " 
The dragon's voice like a lover's song, touched her once closed heart. You see  dragons have a magic of their own, far more cunning than all the potions she brewed together. The girl fell for the dragon right then and there. She fell so deep, her real name was erased from memory, so the story goes, she was only Maya, the dragon girl.
And so time flew again and Maya was a girl no more.

(photo by Kerembeyit)


A dragon flier, a lover, a dragon witch, he had captured her heart, she had yielded within. Together fresh battles they won, new treasures they took, new places they explored and still time flew and a grown woman she soon was.
The dragon left her alone from time to time, in the cave she stayed, her potions she brew until one day, one very unfortunate day, a black steed came to rest outside the mouth of the cave, its rider all wounded and half dead lay on the steed's back still. She took him inside and made him all well, night after night he rested on her bed.
On the seventh night, the man's eyes opened and Maya was there, many nights followed and Maya slipped inside the bed.
A month later the man rode his horse at last, he asked her to come with him but she said that she couldn't. The man rode away but the dragon came back and he saw from the start Maya's change of heart.
Maya ran but not far enough the dragon followed. The dragon's angry breath burned her black silky hair and in the middle of her scream the dragon swallowed her whole!

And here the story ends, well not exactly but there is nothing much to tell. The dragon carried her within, close to his heart, two heart beats one inside the other. He made sure he fed regularly so that she could eat but never a herb of a weed, her weapons he was afraid to give. She cried and begged for the dragon to let her out but his vengeance lasted until her very last breath was out. Only then did the dragon cut his belly open and pulled her dead body out.
Woman and dragon lay together in the cave and were soon dead. I found their bones and their hidden treasures along with Maya's vials just like my husband had said. He was the wounded rider on the black steed and he was the only one in the story who lived happily ever after before he too, one day, dropped dead.

Fledgeling

   First he runs his lips over my powdered flesh,  lavander and cinnamon, lilies and honeysuckle. He sighs.

 Then his mouth opens and rests upon the vein, his tongue follows the throbbing of my heart,

I feel his lashes move over my skin, his eyes close. He waits.
The anticipation makes my heart race and he knows it so he lingers. Cool breeze runs through my hair making me shiver.
I feel his teeth pressing my skin, like butter it parts and heat comes out. He's forcing my blood inside him and my eye-lids drop.
I am all alone in the burning heat, my knees go weak but I don't mind. I know he won't let me fall.

His lips force my mouth to open. He cradles me in his arms and places me on the ground.

I take his head in my hand and push it to the side. My mouth opens and I stab his flesh with pearly teeth.

I wish I was more sentimental.

He is my vessel and I drink, his body shivers, his skin turns cold too fast for my liking, but he is young.

My fledgeling.

 My head drops on the wet earth and my eyes blur. The green dome of the forest, a mixture of green and grey-blue calms me and grants him life. I touch his hair and he shifts.

 He'll be all right.

The Misanthropist

                      (photo by PhantomThrone)



"Behind my mask of dignity and righteousness I wish them all dead!
My blood runs toxic in my veins when they touch me with their stupidity and ignorance. They should be rotting in the ground providing fresh food to the blessed worms rather than roam the surface of the Earth spreading ugliness and disease.
 People.
It's when they are dead that I look back at them with respect, when I value  their lives. Being dead cleanses them, makes them bearable to the thought. Being dead is their gift to the tortured living..
If I could, I would make them see themselves as I see them; with the same force and conviction. Maybe then, they would decide to relieve us from their presence and die. Though their stupidity would make even that harder than it is.
There are people everywhere.
The streets are full of them, they drive, they walk, they look suspiciously around them, see evil everywhere, drop their filth and occasionally spit when they see you watching.
They are rude, they lie, they deceive and they love to be deceived, they love to hate and are happy when it is the others that die a very painful death. They are afraid of everything that might happen and couldn't care less of what is happening unless it is in their own living-room and perhaps not even then.
I want them to see themselves are they truly are: an abomination, a thorn in the flesh...my flesh!

That's why I've come to you sweet sister. Give me what I've asked for! Give me the power to make them see themselves as they truly are! This is all I want."

"Behind my mask, I see them in their Venetian Red costumes, pretending to be someone they'll never be. They are desperate ghosts picking stardust from the marbles just before the flood.
Pointless...Even under all this velvet you can smell their stink; the smell of pus manages to escape their plaster masks, death simmers behind their eyes, he gloats....ha, what is he waiting for..I can give him a hand you know...you see that jester over there....wouldn't you just love to see him dead? A dead jester in Venice...so appropriate..I can do it with one gloved finger like this..."

"STOP IT SISTER! There are so many people you will be seen! As stupid as they may be, they can always find a witch in a crowd.
Listen to me..give me what I want. Grant me my wish once more and when the time comes I will make sure you are rewarded generously."

"You will reward me for giving you death?
Have you ever seen yourself through the eyes of another...sister? Have you felt their hate, their disgust, have you heard their whispers in your head asking you to die, out of spite, have you seen their horrid play unfold behind your wet eyes, your own death scene, blood sprouting out of your pores, your youth fading away, your hair falling off leaving open sores on your skull...your body breaking in your mind, your scream frozen in your mouth, their hate so poweful, eons of magic cannot cast it away..Have you? This is the gift you seek."

"I shall not use it on myself. I will control it, you'll see.."

"I see fear is already nesting in your mouth,....You know I speak the truth...good! It is not a power that you seek but a curse...Still you confuse me. You say you hate all human beings and then you say that you want them to see themselves as they truly are...you want to change them, save them from themselves...what kind of a punishement is that, I wonder.."

"It is what they deserve."

"But still, an act that shifts prespectives and changes attitudes.. a very merciful act. The strong ones will shift and find deliverance and the weak ones shall go crazy and die..."

"Why are you making it so difficult. I have never asked anything of you, I put up with your madness...What are you doing. Leave that Jester alone. He's only a boy."

"Look, his is coming this way. I want him and so I claim him. He will see himself through my eyes tonight...I hope he is as entertaining as he seems and his blood as warm."

"You are mad! I don't know why I've come here..."

"Take what you ask for and be gone. I want to play with my Jester now. Here! The red stone is yours."

The Hunt

(http://youbentmywookie.com/wtf/1800s-vampire-killing-kit-sold-for-14850-1613)

"...and what you see here, boys and girls, is a beautiful specimen of the equipment Balkan vampire hunters used in the 18th and 19th centuries. The hunter who owned this particular case was a Sabbatarian, which means that he was born on a Saturday, a natural vampire hunter! According to local legend he could see an invisible vampire and was able to entice it with alluring music before stabbing it to death.
Hawthorn wood was used to make the stakes, which was the only wood that could kill a vampire, and the glass phials contain holy water, a very effective way of vampire disposal...."

" LOL! Vampires are very religious creatures who sparkle in the sun, everyone knows that!"
"What can a wooden stake do to our veggie vampires who wouldn't hurt a soul...."
"How old is that garlic anyway?"

"The garlic is recent...."

"Can we go now...I'm sick of this vampire crap!"

"I know it's hard to believe, but there are people who still believe in Vampires. Take the Serbian President Slobodan Milocevic for example. His body was vandalised not long ago. They staked him through the heart in order to keep him from returning as a vampire.....or the story of the Bloody lake in Iraq, just here

 and the the reasons the locals give to explain the incredible mansions built all around the coast of this gruesome lake...they believe that vampires have bought the entire area and have built amazing fortresses and castles while spending their leasure time swimming in the lake! So you see vampire folklore is not dead yet I'm afraid!"

"Does this lake really exist? I mean, really?"
"Oh yes, this was taken from Google Earth. The local people say that all the blood comes either from the slaughter houses or the vampire victims....."
"What do you believe?"
"Me....I really don't know..but for this area to have such value....who would want to live near such a thing?...I really don't know...Well, back to the case..."


"What about the bullets then, are they silver?"

"No, this kit is for vampires only. We are greatful that Mr Joss McMillian, chose our museum for this generous donation. Thank you Mr McMillan, we are most greatful."

All heads turned around for a glimpse of Mr McMillian..

"The pleasure is all mine Miss London." said a very young voice from the very back of the room.

"What a hunk..."
"He reminds me of  Edward Cullen, my baby and future husband."
"Shhhhh...I can't hear, be quiet!!!."

"You see this museum and my family go way back. This case belonged to my great -grand father who passed it on to my grandfatrher and so on. It is quite useless today so I decided to put it to some good use."

"Why is it useless? The stakes look functionable to me.. LOL!."

" Well, let's just say that stakes have been made redudant. Vampires, like witches, have evolved through time and have managed to live among us without causing problems. Vampires, if you get to know them, are quite peaceful creatures not to mention wise. They have blended so well in our society, they live and work among us so seamlessly that it has become very hard to tell who is a vampire and who is not."

". . . . . . ."

"Don't look so surprised. Vampires don't need to butcher people anymore, there are plenty of private blood banks that can suply them with the necessary amount of blood to sustain them, which is not as much as you think! The older a vampire gets the less he consumes you know..."

"Well thank you Mr McMillian, so now boys and girls...."

"Take Miss London for example, how do you know that she is not a vampire?"

"Vampires have fangs!"
"And they don't come out in the daytime!"
"They have red eyes!"
"And they are absolutely gorgeous!"

" You can't tell a vampire by how he looks, it's what he can do that makes him stand out and we rarely get to see that these days..."

"Thank you Mr McMillian but I am afraid we have run out of time.."

" Oh 'cmon, Miss London, we have so many questions....."

"Your buses are here kids but if you are so interested in vampire lore, why don't you all come to my cottage in Delphi next Sunday where I am organising a traditional vampire hunt with some friends where you can all get an idea of my great-grandfather's line of work, meet interesting people and see my collection.."

"Excellent!!"

"Oh Miss London can we go...."
"Yeah...please"

"I don't know.. I will have to talk to the director..."

"Summer school is such a bore, now that we've found something worth doing....."

"If you bring them Miss London I'll make sure the museum receives another generous donation..."

"I 'll let you know by the end of the week.."

"See you Joss....!!"
"Byeee!"

.              .                  .

"Google him, go on! I'm telling you! He is a BOOK character! It is not his real name!"
"Are you sure, I mean it can just be a coincidence, you know, these things happen!"
"I looked through all the city files, there is no such a name anywhere. Google it and see for yourself... Joss McMillian..see?"
"Ok so he shares his name with a book character.."
"I don't know, I think we shouldn't go.."
"I am going alright!"
"But I can't find him anywhere..."
"Miss London knows him and she lives here...."
"Yeah, but what do we know about Miss London anyway? She is a teacher and also works at the museum..."
"I don't care what you say! This is the closest I'll ever get to a vampiric experience. I am going to live my dream and you can stay here for all I care!"

.               .                    .

(http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=spooky+mansion#/d14ytfk)

"Oh Wow! This is an amazing place!"

"Yes...well Mr McMillian is a very wealthy man, therefore the donations..."

"So you've been here before Miss London?"

"Yes I have! Mr McMillian is a very hospitable and generous man. We are very lucky to be here tonight you know..."

"So has he done this...hunt before?"

"Oh yes, it is an annual thing, in memory of his ancestors. It's all very theatrical, and atmospheric...you'll see."

" The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

  but I have promises to keep,

and miles to go before I sleep,

and miles to go before I sleep!

Robert Lee Frost was right you know! This is going to be a very long night!!

Welcome friends to my annual Vampire Hunt here in my forefathers' house! We have some new guests this year, the student's of St. John's summer school, and though I expected around twenty of them I can see that only two are here! Where are the others Miss London?"

"They had made other arrangements for tonight, I'm afraid!"

"I wish the others had come! He looks so disappointed.."

"Shhh! He's talking about the hunt!"

"...what you have to do is simple! There's a vampire lurking in the forest. Your mission is to track down the enchanting, male vampire, use your map and your tool case to corner and capture him.

The one who manages to stay alive and complete the misson before dawn, is going to receive a prize worthy of a true vampire slayer. As always, the hunt starts at sundown. You have until sunrise to claim your prize!"

"An enchanting, MALE, vampire...how delicious!"

"Look at the kit, it's like the one in the museum..."

"....a few hours to spare until then. Please help yourself to the buffet, read the map and get to know your kit. The hunt will commence when the torches are lit and the forest gates open!"

.                     .                        .

                                              (photo by renq)

"So Miss London, why only two this time?"

"We need to be more careful you know or people might start to suspect! They are still looking for the one who went missing last year..Denise. I still don't know what you saw in her.."

"You smell so good when you are jealous you know, it'd be foolish of me to reassure you..."

"Joss... I mean it...."

" I miss old times my love...when the world was big and the women pure. I feel nostalgic, you wouldn't know...you are so young. And anyway, if it wasn't for the hunt you wouldn't be here now...my vampire queen... "

"Until the next one comes along...who is it going to be tonight the blond or the brunette?"

"It might be both you know....they are both crazy about sparkly, veggie vampires they might like the real thing..."

"And you say you love me..you just want me to lure young girls to your castle so that you can drain them and make them your whores..."

"They all like it you know...you like it, Denise liked it...you needn't have burnt her. It was just a fling. But still I am not angry. I can never be angry with you!"

"They way you looked at her was just unbearable..."

"My love...you are so scrumptious.. that you can have the brunette..."

"Really? Oh thank you my love, you are so sweet..Come here there's plenty of time before the sun dies..."

"I want your neck first."

Blood bath of love / Carpe Noctem.

(photo by DanielEyre)

"Come with me into a lover's blood bath,

with no other blood but yours and mine.

Why linger on the doorstep,

why don't you step inside?

 You're so full of Pretension, Hypocrisy and Pride.

Tell me: Do they all stem 

from a foul excess of phlegm?

This bodily humour will subside,

once I wrap your flesh around mine.

Intoxicated, sanguine and peaceful

in the tub of love, you and

    not sanguinary and blood thirsty,

like they say it will be.

.A little cut is all there is,

the rest will be all mine.

I'll bathe you in a pool of love,

Temptation, and Tenderness,

will be our only crime.

Together we will vanquish Death,

you'll never rot in grime.

Feed with me in a pool of blood,

I swear, it's worth your time..."

360 billion.. An open letter to the horrified mortals of this country.

(photo by Green Potter)


 Dearest Children of our ancient land,

Are we the only ones who care about you? Are we really the only ones who cry at the sight of your demented shapes, hopeless and angry faces, talking to yourselves as you pass in front of the empty shop windows, muttering, swearing, questioning, begging?
We can feel your anger, we can smell your fear,we can sense your despair, we can see your darkness, we can taste your bitterness, your blood is going sour, it thickens, it's going stale....Something must be done.

We, the ancient vampires of this land, are here for you!

It is common knowledge that mental illness makes the blood go bad, and with all this medication you are pushing down your throats you smell bad and taste even worse.
The happiness drawn on your faces when we come for you, when we sink our teeth into your olive complexions is unacceptable. It's pathetic!  Are you the children of your ancestors? Where are your ideals, where is your strength,

 WHERE IS YOUR PRIDE?


Your blood has kept us alive for more than 3000 years, your sweet-sweet blood has nourished us, made us immune to the sizzling sun, made us one of you. We have fed on your death and craved for your life, and so now the time has come to give some of it back.
Out of pity for everything you hear on the news every night, out of compassion for all the humiliating things that happen to you during the day, for your dying humanity and because we CANNOT make any more vampires. We are not like your public workers, we cannot be bought with blood-fountains and gall bladders (however fresh they might be), we are not doing favours in exchange for family members, beloved or not.

We have all the money you need and more, much more, in cash, without having to sell a single island, mountain or lake and we are more than willing, and happy to give it to you, right now.

No more debt, no more empty windows, no more humiliation.
Take this money and let us take care of you. Let us remind you how your forefathers ruled this land, let us show you the true meaning of Democracy. You can live - and we can re-live- the re-birth of this nation.

Just say yes, choose any monument and paint it red, and we'll come in with the money and do the rest!


With Kind Regards,

G.V.S







......................................................................................................................................................................

Till death do us part...

  FRED: the alive/ mortal groom.

"Some people are white

while others are black.

Some women are thin and some are really fat.

People are different,

 to that we agree,

well, my bride is dead,

 as dead as can be.

I knew that right from day one

she never, ever tried to hide that fact,

and I loved her even for that.

My bride is dead...and so what?

Her lips are cold,

I can see through her back.

She can't breathe, she can't eat

but her kiss is sweet

and so is her heart.

Being with her makes me feel so secure,'cause I know I can never endure, black, wet death tearing us apart.

Her being already deceased, 

means my hidden fear is at rest,

my sweet bride is Oh so dead,

death is conquered,

I have deceived death!                                                          

"The people around me are over- upset,

they can't perceive the major advantages of a bride that is dead.

No food nor drink, no ambitions

                     within,

subtleness, silence, obedience,

no desire for luxuries nor flirting from other men,

who in the world would desire a bride that
her ribs are hard to hide...

                    

"They say: Fred! The woman is dead,

worms come crawling out of the crown

                  of her head!

I say: Hold you tongue, you ignorant men,

she's more alive and caring than all of your                       

brides together when we are alone in bed!
To that they frowned, everybody knows
the turn-on of bedding the undead!

Today the church bells ring for Berenice and I,
my joy I cannot hide,
and those of you who ask why,
I tell you this,
the dead cannot lie and are not afraid to die!

BERENICE: the rotting / dead  bride.

 "I feel my insides rot,

but it's not my fault,

I wasn't meant to die,

and dead people can never lie.

He says death on me looks eerie and sweet,

he says he loves the gaping holes on my skin,

the worms racing around my heart,

he says he loves me even for that.

Being with him makes me forget,

the torture of knowing that I am all dead.

The darkeness, the distance,

the fear, the disgust,

the  craving for darkness

and the blood lust.

I want to forget

that my breath is all spent,

I want to let go of the dread, the despair,

that I will be labelled as a worthless undead.

This life feels like the echo

of my life that was,

the colours are dimmed,

the sounds are all hushed.

Tastes and textures

were left in the grave,

I give him a soft laugh,

 and pretend it's the same.

Dead....Dread............Fred, tells me it's fine,

he will love me so, till the end of his time.

With flowers and perfumes, lace and satin scarves,

he covers my holes and the constant smell of dust.

He says I have jumped out of a poem of Poe,

worthy only for Vampire Lestat,

he buys me raw meat, and liver and heart,

I wish I could cry, Oh how I wish I could do that..."

I look at myself in the mirror,
this wedding dress is a bit large.
I turn around and hear the rib snap,
it tears the white silk,
the worms pour out like sour milk,
and breathe fresh air at last.

(photo by SamuraiChopStick)

                                                                                                                                  

Love lives on though Amelia is dead.

(photo by Oer-Wout)

I knew he would come for me,

that he wouldn't let go.

A love like that is not easily forgotten,

not when two souls merge and feel as one.

But I couldn't be with him,

not anymore,

he made me feel like I wasn't myself,

my once crystal dreams had blurred.

He shattered them with promises, plans and demands,

he made me feel drained,

a lifeless shadow behind his fiery passion, and darkest heart.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't feel,

I had to leave,

and so I did.

The whole Kingdom whispered that this would mean my death,

betrayal always has the smell of blood,

so I knew the day was near,

when he would take away everything I hold dear,

my golden youth, my fairy dreams,

his eyes when his seas are calm,

his flesh against my heart.

But though I knew, I just went on,

playing my happy song on the guitar,

singing along,

under the Poplar tree,

the tree of Death,

Hades' beloved tree.

My feet are turning blue in the winter stream.

"Oh, how I dream of countries far and wide,

to see them all before I die,

I am so young and fair and true,

my sons shall sing my happy tune.

Oh, mother Earth and Oceans wide,

I feel your tide rising inside,

Oh! Gods believe me,

I do not lie...

I do not wish to die"

My tear as cold as the melting snow, maybe I have already died.

I saw him from the corner of my eye,

my gleaming Prince holding his sword.

He had left his white steed not far behind,

the killing wouldn't take him long.

His once blue eyes were red and bloody,

stormy rings encirled both,

his skin was pale,

his lips looked dead and ash clouded his hair,

his clothes were torn, the gold was covered in blood,

what have you done,

my love,

what have you done...

-Amelia, you knew I'd find you... why did you linger?

He drew his sword and stood before me,

I felt its cold steel on my neck.

-Why did you leave me...WHY?

I did not speak then, I stood before the tree,

 closed my eyes and heard the water

gurgling through the mud and stones,

happy and free.

-Speak! Tell me why!

 His rusty breath filled my lungs,

I heard fiery wrath shattering the remnants of his heart.

- I want to be what I was meant to be,

not a figment of your dream.

I won't obey your commands,

that is not what true love does.

-If I can't have you, nobody will.

 Witch!

You shall taste my steel and wrath.

THIS is what true love does.

The coldest blade broke into my spine,

Amelia was no more alive,

and as I watched myself bleed,

I heard my old Prince weep,

not with remorse, not with relief.

He pushed his face in the gash

and drank my unfairly, spilt blood,

each drop a wail, a cry,

until my body ran dry.

But love lives on,

beyond Hades' halls,

loves lives on

among the dead souls,

He'll come to me,

soon enough,

love lives on,

beyond death and wrath.



The Therapist

(photo by Kingston Lounge)

All the agony and pain she gradually crammed between the books,
each spine, a bloody tale,
each cover a relived dream,
a bookcase, a shrine and a held-back tear,
a flash of memory, a gutted zombie walks out of its tomb.

And though she knows all the secret, magic words,
she never says them out-loud,
she is afraid of a heart beat out of tune,
and of death, himself - he might come out and collect-
and then all the words will die with her.

She keeps the words in a glass bowl,
like marbles and fish alive,
she feeds them hope and they grow fat,
but never comes round to the tedious task,
to write them down and pass them around,
like proper witches do.

The bookcase, ladden with facts and recipes of out-wordly tasks,
casts its shadow in the dark,
she feels it even when the lights are dead.
Does she dare, with paper and ink, to pull the volumes out,
to relieve the dreams and take the truth down?

The red ink spills on the floor and makes the white sheets red,
she doesn't mind, she doesn't care,
she knows, she feels,
the stories are real,
and that even she, the most powerful witch, must not be spared.

What happened to the key story.

It was a really good story when I first came up with it, but each time I tried to put my hands around it and do something with it, it just went flat.
I feel very frustrated when something like this happens but I think there is no better way to deal with it than just letting the story rest for a while.

Maybe later on, the key will let me curl my fingers around it and squeeze its story out.