"This is a work of fiction" It had been a few months since Anne had left us, before the finality of it set in. I had been understanding, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. She was tired of L.A., and living in our truck. There was no making it better for her, no matter how I tried. Claiming she was homesick, when the truth was so much simpler. Maybe not to say, just to understand. Anne was starving for a normal life. Without a doubt, not something I could ever have given her. In our time together she gained something much more useful. Several years prior I had taken her to street school.

Not the result of accident, or natural illness. She was a victim, " the Taken" as a dear lady friend calls them. These girls, some very young, are removed from themselves, and some go missing for two months before they are returned all fucked up, addicted to heroin, dissociative behaviour it takes a psychic to get through to them. They are discredited as wingnut, junkie, dope whores. I know what they are... The Third eye on each one is wide open. All of them have one more common thread. Me. I knew them all when they were Normalz. Some of them love me, and some want to kill me, others do both. Everyone of them trusts me. For the most part; due the fact without myself and the Christopher's they would not have made it this far. I'm down here with them, with you, in the gutters, and dumpsters, providing for the struggle to go on. It will with or without you. I will make sure of it.

The bunny was the happiest creature in the meadow, a soft ball of fur with wide, trusting eyes and a heart too big for his tiny body. He bounced from flower to flower, offering tomatoes as red as the morning sun, fresh hemp that smelled of earth and sky, and smooth gray stones that, when held, made the world feel a little softer, a little kinder. And oh, how he loved! He loved the crickets that sang to the moon, the deer with their slow, thoughtful eyes, the field mice who nibbled at the edges of his offerings. He gave without thought, without hesitation. His world was made of warmth, of sharing, of the gentle hum of life itself. But then came the wolf.