The Ossuary

This week I combined the prompt from Master Class and Studio 30 Plus.  I've been listening to The Glass of Time by Michael Cox lately and the two prompts came together in such a perfect way in my head.  Let me know what you think and be sure to check out other great prompt responses via the respective buttons below!

Oh, what a vain, wretched hopes I had standing in that cold ossuary.  What delusion had led me to believe my mistress still drew breath.  I’d seen the cold, pallor of her face.  The sightless gaze of her flat, unmoving eyes.  She had gone into that place all souls fled when the mortal coil was shed.

Yet, here I was.  Standing at her vault in the dead of night, believing with all my pathetic soul that she had not really fled this world.  Stranger yet, I could not say why I thought she still lived.  Not with any clarity or understanding that would yield any meaning should anyone inquire.

Such a folly it had been, becoming so intimately acquainted with my mistress.  Her siren’s allure drew me as surely as Odysseus, only I had no sailors to restrain me from answering that tantalizing call.  Surely, I have met a doom worthy of Homer’s epic at the hands of my mistress.  And, still, I stand at this mausoleum, this sanctuary of death, and hope for a life that has utterly destroyed mine.

Oh, what wretched hopes.

             

Tuesday Flash Fiction Train: Indecision

Flash Fiction Train over at Trials and Tribulations of Writing Fiction was up this week.  Never participated in it before, but I thought it might be fun to give it a shot.  Basically, each week we are given a prompt and must extend the story from the week before in 400 words or less.  So, be sure to check out the previous winners as I'm jumping in part way through the story.  Anyway, here's my offering coming in at 251 words.

Fumbling with the phone, Odessa choked on the knot in her throat as she tried to answer.
“Hey, O!”
Odessa laughed and cried as she slid down the wall.  It didn’t matter that her dress was wrinkling or that she looked so completely undignified.
“What’s going on?  You don’t sound like you’re okay.”
“Thank God it’s you, James!  You’re never going to believe this!”
“What?  You’re flipping out.”
“Archer.”
Silence twisted between them.
“James, tell me you’re still there.”
“I’m here.  What are you going to do?”
“Me!  You’re in on this, too!”
“I did not put us in to this situation.  You called me and drug me into it.”
“But you came.”
Silence filled the space again.
“James.”
Nothing.
Odessa looked to make sure the phone was still on.  It was.
“James!”
Not a sound.
She dropped the phone.
“What am I going to do?  This wasn’t suppose to happen.”
Odessa knew she should call the police.  Something happened to James.  She was sure of it.  But, if the police got involved, they might find out what happened.  Odessa picked up the phone again, not certain what she was going to do or who she was going to call.
Then, the silence struck her.  She’d never hung up the phone.  The dial tone eluded her, as did the annoying beeping reminding her to hang up the phone when she occasionally forgot to do so.  That knot came back, threatening to choke her as she struggled to remember how to breathe.

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Random Sunday – Crochet, Poo, and Work

Wow.  That particular title combination doesn’t look so good, does it?  Trust me.  It’s not as bad as it seems.  Stick with me.

I am braving a couple new crochet projects.  Well, one is started and the other is on the list.  The one I got started is an afghan for my cousin, who is getting married in March.  It takes a Q hook, which is by far the most ginormous hook I’ve ever used.  And, it uses 3 different skeins of yarn – all at the same time.  So far I think it’s coming out alright.  The second one is for my husband.  It’s amigurumi Star Wars figures.  Basically, think crocheted stuffed animals, only they’re figures from Star Wars.  The original trilogy.  I’ll let you know how those go once I start them.

Poo.  Yes.  Number 2.  It is a big focus around my house this last week.  As in my three-year-old has not gone.  In over a week.  We get little “eggs” in his pull up every day or so, but that’s it.  My husband and I have been debating about whether or not we wanted to try some prune juice with him.  I’m not sure I want to try to convince my son to drink the stuff.  We’re sticking with the white grape juice for now.  And lots of conversations trying to convince a three-year-old to go potty.

Work has been nuts lately.  I work in a boy’s residential treatment program.  We just changed our license so there are several changes to how we do things that are really throwing me off.  I have struggled to write much this last week because I spent quite a bit of time working on work stuff instead or am so burnt out by the time I get home from work I can’t muster the energy to write.  This week will be better, though.  I’ve got several ideas of how to make things better.  I hope.

Not a Normal Dinner Conversation, Part 2

Master Class this week gave hostile intentions as one of the prompt phrases.  It seemed to fit well with getting One Night in Dusseldorf going again.  Here's a quick synopsis of the story so far, with links to the previous posts above.  Emma is looking for her sister's killer.  Her search took her to Dusseldorf where she fell in with a pack of werewolves, only she didn't know it at the time.  Now she's discovered they're werewolves and they think she's the key to keeping the pack healthy.  James, the second in command to Kris, the leader of the werewolf pack, has just explained that part to Emma.  Now she wants to know about her sister supposedly still being alive.

            James looked down at his half eaten dinner.  I was determined to wait him out.  Dropping a bomb on me like he did claiming my sister is still alive and that they’d been playing games with me all along had me feeling rather angry.  I’m not sure if James could feel me glaring at him, if he finally gave in to the silence, or he decided his dinner wasn’t that interesting to stare at, but he finally glanced back up at me.

            “There is a war of sorts going on.  One humans know nothing about.  Lauren got caught up in it.”

            “And?”

            “She was wanted for the same reason we needed you here.  You are both strong druids, coming from an unbroken line of druids stemming back at least ten centuries.  Maybe even longer.”

            “So why did I see the police reports?  The pictures?”

            “They were the result of what could be considered some hostile interventions.”

            I snorted, “That’s one way to put it.  The body was identified by DNA.  There wasn’t even enough left for dental records.”

            “That was done intentionally so no one would catch on that the body was not Lauren’s.”

            “Were you and Kris involved?”

            James jerked back as if I’d slapped him, “Gods no!  Kris would have killed anyone involved in something like that.  Our pack is fighting to reestablish the natural balance in the supernatural world.”

            “I take it not everyone is?”

            “No.  There are some packs that are quite power hungry.  When many of the druids disappeared, some packs fared worse than others.  Those packs have completely lost the balance.  Kris hopes to find enough druids who are strong enough to reign in those packs, to save them from this madness.”

            “And that’s where Lauren and I come in.”

            “Exactly.”

            “Where is Lauren now, then?”

            “That is a more difficult question to answer.”

Be sure to stop by Master Class to read other great responses, too!

Random Sunday – Faith, Exercise, and To Do Lists

Let me start this part with a disclaimer.  These are simply my observations and not meant to insult, cause an argument, or anything else of the sort.  They are just things I’ve noticed.  With that said, it’s interesting how people in general treat faith now.  It seems like things have become so very black and white.  Either you believe in some religion or you believe in science.  Either you believe in helping others to a crazy extreme or you focus on yourself to a crazy extreme.  What happened to the grey in the middle?  Why can’t someone believe in science AND have faith in a higher power?  Why can’t we help others in appropriate ways without going to either extreme?  I’m just wondering why there has to be a choice of one OR the other.  While I’m no expert, I do think that seeing the grey would help solve a number of issues going on in the world today.

I’ve been trying to exercise more now that I’m not wrapped up in completing my Master’s degree.  First, let me just add that I didn’t realize how far out of shape I was until I started trying to do something about it.  So, needless to say, I’ve been pretty sore in the days after a workout.  Well, my son (who is 3 and so busy he really doesn’t need more exercise) doesn’t get that.  He keeps telling me he wants to do five more.  Even under his looser interpretation of five meaning more, I still think he’s trying to kill me sometimes…

We moved this summer.  We bought an actual single family home rather than the mobile home we’d had until this point.  And I’m learning to hate to do lists.  It seems like it doesn’t matter how much we get done, there’s always so much more left to do on that list.  I wonder if the to do list is in cahoots with the hangers and odd socks that multiply when I’m not looking. 

Dinner Gone Awry

I managed to get a Studio 30 Plus prompt done this week!!!  I picked back up with another serial on this one.  Studio 30 Plus gave us clever and/or adroit.  I'll be honest, I just couldn't figure out how to use adroit in a sentence that didn't sound overly contrived.  Maybe it's just not in my voice.  Anyway, I did get clever worked in.  The rest of the story is found under the Weather Riders tab up on top.  Let me know what you think!

Caiden must have picked up on my nervousness.  Maybe it was the way I stomped up to the table, or he caught that I’d come from the kitchen.

“Evening,” he pulled out my chair for me.

“Hi.”

“I assume you work here?”

I unfolded my napkin in my lap to hide my face.  So much for being clever.

“I’m a chef.”

“Interesting.  I wouldn’t have expected that.”

I arched a brow at him, “Why?”

“Because you seem to be more of the management type.  Albeit one who would be down in the thick of things willing to lead by example.”

I smiled, “I do get my way.  I just do so from the kitchen.”

“Executive chef, then.  Please, if you will, I would be honored if you ordered for us both as you know the menu in exquisite detail.”

I didn’t know how to take Caiden’s attitude. He was such the polite gentleman sitting here with me, but I know for a dead certain fact that polite gentleman was nowhere to be found during that storm a few days ago.  The small talk continued until after our food arrived.

After the first few bites Caiden set his fork down, “Is this a dish of your creation?”

I nodded, uncertain of my voice and having no idea why I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“It is amazing.  The way in which you balance the spices with the subtle caramel flavor while allowing the flavor of the steak to still dominate the dish is impressive.”

The look on my face must have said it all because Caiden started to laugh.  I stood, ready to flee the disaster this dinner was turning in to.

Caiden gestured for me to sit while he took several sobering breaths, “I am not what you expected.  Clearly.  I meant no insult by it and I apologize for your discomfort.  In all honesty, these manners are a bit of a stretch for me now, it’s been so long since I’ve had call to use them.”

“I can imagine from your line of work.”

“How long have you had the scar?”

“Three years.”

He nodded, “Young for one of us.”

I didn’t know how to answer.  Caiden saved me from trying to figure it out.

“You haven’t had much training with this particular job, have you?”

I shook my head, “My teacher went rogue about a year into my training.”

Caiden glanced up at the ceiling for several seconds, “Must have been Joseph Ramirez?”

“Yeah.”

“I knew the Monitor who confronted Joseph.  Didn’t end well.”

I snorted, “That’s one way to put it.  That Enforcer didn’t give Joe a chance.”

Caiden flinched ever so slightly at that, “There was more than you realize to what happened with Joseph.”

“Try me.”

“Joseph was looking for a way to take your powers as well.  He was looking for a better high from the storms.”

“Whatever.  I’m done.”

“Please, Shayna.  I’m not trying to speak ill of him.  You wanted to know.”

“True.  If you’re right, prove it.  How was Joe going to try to hurt me?”

“What did Joseph tell you of your ability as a Rider?”

“I had enough talent to train, that I needed to be trained so I didn’t hurt anyone.  I’d probably never be one of the great Riders.”

“That’s the first part of the proof.  You’re not just a Rider.  I’m guessing you’d make one hell of a Monitor.  You have an intuition about storms and Riders that few of our kind can match.”

That caught me off guard.  Caiden didn’t give me much time, though, to digest that news.

“The second part is that I knew one of the others who trained under Joseph.  I believe he would have been Joseph’s apprentice just before Joseph started to train you.  Michael?”

I nodded my head.  Joe’d told me about a guy named Michael, “I was told Michael’d burned himself out trying to take on too big of a storm by himself.”

“Not true.  The Master Counsel’s belief is that Joe was trying to ride the storm through Michael.”

“Thinking he could magnify his high because of the added ability from Michael.”

Caiden nodded.  He let me chew on that discovery for a few minutes before continuing.

“Now.  Back to what I said about your abilities.  Shayna, you need more training.  Your potential will not let you live in peace.  With talent like what you have, if you don’t accept the training, the chances of you ending up rogue are quite high.  And I don’t want to think of what it would take to stop you if that ever were to happen.”

I blinked.  What was there to say to that?  

Check out other Studio 30 Plus prompt responses.  Just click on the badge!

Down the Rabbit Hole

Here's a bonus post tonight!  I began a series, based on some writing prompts, called The White Wolves.  Links to the rest of the story are up on top.  Here's the next piece in Jen's efforts to find her missing son.

                Jen froze.  Rhys studied the damp, quiet night, waiting for her to digest what he’d just said.

                “My son’s alive.”

                “Yes.”

                “You know that for certain?”

                “Short of me personally seeing it with my own eyes, yes.  The intel I have is that he is alive.”

                “And that’s from a reliable source?”

                “As reliable as they come.  I’ve never gotten bad information from this source yet.”

                Silent tears crept down her face to mingle on the pavement with the droplets from the trees.  Then she took a deep breath and shook her head a little.

                “Now.  What do you mean about his father?”

                Rhys rubbed his chin and glanced around again.

                “Spill it.  You’re stalling.”

                “You’re right.  I’m stalling.  But not for why you think,” he caught her gaze and held it with an intensity Jen had never experienced before, “If I explain what I meant by that, there’s no going back.  You cannot unlearn what you will learn if you get that explanation.”

                “Why the warning?  What is so bad about my ex that it deserves this?”

                “Not bad.  Just not something that is easily understood.  And, like drugs, once you find out there’s no way to not know anymore.  The knowledge will be there in everything you think and do.”

                “Kinda like Alice.”

                “Yes.  Only this isn’t the same as Wonderland.  This is our lives.  Here.  Now.”

                Jen turned and paced up and down three squares on the sidewalk.  She could feel Rhys watching her, waiting for her answer.  She didn’t really want to know, yet there was something compelling her to find out.  Something whispering that this wasn’t just about her ex, but something bigger.

                Whirling on her heel, she marched back to Rhys, “Tell me.  I’ve been through quite the tour of Hell already.  This’ll be just another part.”

                Jen thought she saw Rhys smile a little.  Something told her he wanted her to know.

                “Werewolves are real.  Your ex is one.”

                Jen laughed, “Nice.  Now what’s the real story?”

                Rhys looked around for several seconds then stepped back.  Jen opened her mouth to say something when a hazy cloud began shimmering around Rhys, almost like a heat mirage.  Jen rubbed her eyes, but it was still there.

                “Mr. Waylon?” Jen scrubbed at her face again, “Rhys?”

                The haze cleared.  Jen was left staring at a wolf.  Blacker than a moonless midnight and almost twice as large as the average grey wolf, the wolf’s yellow eyes pierced hers with an intelligence that confirmed.  It was Rhys.

                “Holy shit,” Jen wanted to scream but almost didn’t manage a whisper.

Random Sunday – Chamomile Tea, Why, and Cars

I have always loved tea.  Can’t drink coffee.  Gives me horrid heart burn every time.  For whatever reason, tea – even black tea with lots of caffeine – doesn’t.  I am slowly learning another reason why I love tea.  I’ve always been told by my mom and my sister, who has a degree in holistic healing specializing in herbal supplements, that chamomile tea will help with muscle soreness.  Well, I’m trying to get into a little bit better shape now that I’m not eyeball deep in my master’s degree anymore.  Yeah.  I’m way more out of shape than I thought.  Chamomile tea is starting to be a life saver.  Try it.  Trust me.  It works.

I started this blog not long before my son was born.  He’s now three and a half.  And he’s hit one of those so very frustrating toddler stages.  Why?  Any parent out there knows exactly what I mean.  I even have a degree in child and adolescent development, so I really do get what’s going on with why.  Right now, though, there are days I swear he asks me why 487 times.  And those are days I work and only see him for a few hours while he’s awake.  It gets worse on weekends when I have the whole day with him.  While I love his curiosity, I can’t wait for him to outgrow this.  Or find someone to pay me a dime for every time he asks why.

Today wasn’t a good day for me and cars.  And I’m not sure my husband helped.  My car, which I have to say is probably my favorite car I’ve ever owned, decided to give me a “Reduced Engine Power” and “Service Stabilitrak” warning lights – while we were driving down the highway to my son’s doctor’s appointment.  My husband, in his infinite wisdom, googled the issue after we got home and I headed off to work.  He then checked everything over in my car and started it a few times.  All of the warning lights went off.  So he figured there’s nothing anyone can do and we should just keep driving my car without checking further.  I’m not sure who I’m currently more frustrated with on that score – my car or my husband.  Needless to say, we have an appointment with our regular mechanic tomorrow morning to have it checked on.

Shattered Precipice Part 2

Here's the second half of Shattered Precipice.  Here's a link to the first half, including a trigger warning.

Cheyenne settled in the other recliner.  She put in a small pair of earbuds and started a playlist as Michael placed similar electrodes around her head.  When she nodded at him, Michael activated the computer program and left the room.

Within moments Cheyenne felt herself being tugged out of her body.  The chaotic intensity of what she entered hit her like a stun grenade.  Slightly panicked, she focused on finding the beat from the music she knew was in her mind alone.  It took longer than she cared to admit, but she found it.  Cheyenne breathed until her heart rate matched the rhythm of the music.  Then she opened her eyes.

It took several agonizing minutes to discern what she was seeing.  Fragments of events from the Middle East blended with voices she presumed were from some point in Lucas’s military training.  Under all of it she could smell cologne.  Each time she tried to focus on one sensory memory, it shifted.

Cheyenne shook her head.  This was not good.  Praying Michael was wrong, she moved deeper into the vortex of disintegrated memories.  Somewhere was the core of Lucas’s psyche, the heart of who Lucas was.  Without that, nothing would weave his psyche back together.

Each layer further into Lucas’s mind assaulted Cheyenne with broken bits of Lucas’s past.  Every time she managed to get to that next metaphysical level, those slivers were a bit more vivid.  Bit just a little deeper.

Cheyenne lost track of time.  Space.  Everything but finding the essence that was Lucas.  Thick, warm, metallic tastes randomly filled her mouth and nose to where she gagged and were just as quick to disappear.  Pain had long since set every last nerve singing to where it was all she could do to keep it tuned to the music that anchored her being.  Tortures were wreaked upon her metaphysical body.

One thought began to filter through all the sensory chaos flooding Cheyenne’s mind.  She was dangerously near the shattered precipice.  The merge was so complete, though, that she struggled to discern if it was Lucas’s or her own.

“Stop.”

The clear, strong voice sounded so alien to Cheyenne it took her a moment to even compute what was said.

“Who are you?”

“Cheyenne.  I’m here to help.”

“Who sent you?”

“Your father.  He brought you to me.  He wants you back.”

“He’s dead.  Who sent you?!”

“Lucas.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Your father sent me.  He told me your name.  He told me something happened to you.  He didn’t know what.  That doesn’t matter to him.  He wants you back.”

“I saw him die.”

“No, Lucas.  He’s alive.  In my office right now.”

Lucas laughed, “Don’t know if you’ve missed it, but we’re not in an office.  Now.  Who the hell are you?”

“I told you.  My name is Cheyenne.  I’m a special type of therapist.  I help people.  I want to help you.”

“Help me what?  I don’t need any help.”

“Lucas.  You’re not in the Middle East anymore.  You’re home.”

“Home?”

Cheyenne caught a glimpse of a memory whirling near her.  She reached out as if to grab it.  Lucas’s attention shifted.  The memory flew past her to collide with Lucas.  The haze weaving through him lightened a little.

“The plane ride.  Remember?  There were the banners and balloons.  Your parents were so over the top you were embarrassed, but you loved that they were so excited to see you.”

“Jamie and little Tommy were there.  He tried to chew on my uniform.”

Even though his words were slow and hesitant, Cheyenne wanted to jump up and down, “Yes!”

Lucas scrubbed at his face.  Several more memories wrapped themselves around Lucas.  Cheyenne could only see glimpses, but that was enough.  Lucas tensed.  His face went blank.  An invisible band wrapped itself around Cheyenne.  The pressure was almost unbearable.

“Lucas!  Please!  You’re safe.  You got home.  You’re living with your parents.”

“They tried to poison me.”

“They love you!”

“Then where are they?”

“This is your mind.  They couldn’t follow me here.  Come with me and I can bring you to your father.  He’s in my office.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Look at me.  You can see my thoughts.  You know the truth.”

The hurricane slackened enough for Cheyenne to see Lucas’s mindscape around her.  Then wished she hadn’t.  They were on the shattered precipice.  Any mistake, any misstep and the ground beneath them both would crumble away.  She’d never been here before.  Close, but not actually here.  The supernatural wind picked up again, this time driving her toward the edge.

“Lucas!  Look around you!”

“We’re in the Hindu Kush.”

“Why would I be here then?  Why would I know what I do about you?  Your father’s here.  In my office.  Come with me and I can show you.”

“Know what about me?”

“You enlisted in the Marine Corps two months before you turned eighteen.  It was all you ever wanted to do.  Your mother cried the day you left for Boot Camp.  It was the first time you ever saw her cry.  The second was when you were sent to the middle east for the first time.”

“I had to go.”

“She knew that.  And she was proud of you, even as she hated that you were leaving.”

“I promised her I’d come home.”

“And you did.  Lucas, you’ve served your time in Hell.  Let me help you home.  I will help you fix the rest.”

Whatever was holding her disappeared.  Cheyenne collapsed even as the ground around her crumbled further.

“How do you fix this?”

The venom in his words were arrows that literally pinned her to the unstable ground.  A black miasmic bubble spun out of the maelstrom around them and slammed into her.  Viscous emotions writhed into her body, melting their way through every pore.

Cheyenne opened her eyes.  Mountains surrounded her and a language she didn’t recognize echoed in her mind, yet she knew what was being said.  It was a deal being made.  Weapons.  Intelligence.  Military positions.  Part of her had no real idea what all of it meant while another could picture every last detail being described.

Then the talk shifted to drugs.  Heroin.  That Cheyenne knew quite a bit about.  Over the years she’d had several clients die from heroin overdoses.  They were all trauma survivors that hadn’t really survived.  Here, the amount of heroin being discussed was staggering.  Millions of dollars.

When she saw the speakers it felt as if a knife had been shoved through her guts.  The Afghan man didn’t spark any recognition, but the man in the American military uniform certainly did.  He was the CO of the nearby US forward operating base.  And he’d just sold out not only that base, but two others as well.

A storm of emotion and memory whirled around her.  Then, the CO was in front of her, a pistol aimed at her chest.

“Why did you have to follow me?  Nothing was going to happen until you were gone.”

“Why the hell did you do it?  Heroin?  You were always so against drugs.  And to sell out your fellow Marines?”

“It wasn’t for drugs.  The heroin was simply a means to an end.”

“Money.”

The CO smiled as he pulled the trigger.  Cheyenne felt the bulled tear through his upper shoulder and chest.

The pain ejected her from the memory to a spot on the decaying precipice just a few feet away from Lucas.  One arm dangled over the edge.  In theory, even if she fell, she wouldn’t go mad.  However, finding her way out of Lucas’s insanity would be a feat of mythical proportions.

She ventured a glance up into Lucas’s face.  Fear, loathing, guilt, hurt, sadness, and anger vacillated there.

Cheyenne tried to get up, but couldn’t, “Lucas.  I get it.  He destroyed everything that meant anything to you.  He’s destroying you, too, with this.  Please.  Let me help you.”

Whatever was holding her began inching her toward the abyss.  Cheyenne could see the psychosis creeping around the edges of his eyes.  She was losing him, and probably herself as well.

With almost half of her body hanging over the chasm, Cheyenne took an approach that, had any of her professors or mentors saw they’d probably help shove her over.

“Lucas!  You will stop this instantly!  Stand your post and let me go!”

Something got through because her slow slide toward insanity stopped.  Maybe she had an opening.

“You are not a murderer and I am not your enemy.  Look at me.”

His eyes attempted to focus on her.  For a moment, maybe they did.  Then they slid away again.  Unfocused.  Back into the cruel memory.

“Look.  At.  Me.  We are not in Afghanistan.  I am a civilian.  Where is the honor in harming me?  It took so much courage to do what you did in Afghanistan.  Where is that courage now?  Come with me.  You’ve been loyal to all the Marine Corps stands for despite everything.  Don’t give that up now.”

The feelers of psychosis faded from Lucas’s face.

“Ma’am?  What are you doing here?  It’s dangerous here.”

Cheyenne blinked, “I’m here to help you, Marine.  I can show you the way out.”

Lucas pulled her back from the precipice, “Please, ma’am.  I’m not sure where I am.  Every time I try to leave I end up back here.

“Take my hands and listen.  Peel back each layer of sound until you hear music.  Feel the tempo match your heart.  The cadence calling you.  Follow it.”

Cheyenne chose to wait for a moment before leaving Lucas’s mind.  The shattered precipice looked a little stronger already.  The maelstrom was dying down.  It was more like a vicious prairie storm now.  She closed her eyes and let a few tears fall.  It had been close.  Too close.  Michael would be furious.  Would probably demand her retirement from active PRT.

“Maybe he’s right.  But, how can I leave men like Lucas hurting when I can start to fix it?”

Cheyenne followed Lucas back to the conscious world.