My Soul Evolved

By May Sinclair PhD

This is a companion book to My Soul Forgot and My Soul Remembered.

Get ready to have your mind coil, bend, and spring up when reading some really, really short and some other much, much longer fantastical stories. Each lays bare human sentiments, passions, excitements, and sensations.

The underlying theme of Sinclair's short stories is the evolution of human emotions. Some of the characters from her prior published works show up again to be viewed from a different perspective.

Using the genres of literary, speculative, and fantasy fiction, often sprinkled with magical realism, the tales range from being about murder, pandemic, ghosts, witches, fairies and elves, despair, reincarnation, and a world where life is fair.

She begins with the question of whether the threat of murder to extort from the filthy rich is ethical.  Since politics is personal, in a few of the stories witches get involved in political campaigns, and elves and fairies reflect on a Union leader's motivations. None of the topics affected by emotions are ignored. Global pandemics, gun violence, family relationships, guardian angels along with other spiritual and ghostly beliefs, how DNA affects our decision making process, what happens after death, and trust in life, gets her full attention.

• Language: English
• Publisher: May Sinclair PhD
• Release date: Apr 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393778684

May Sinclair PhD

May Sinclair's doctorate is in the philosophy of Metaphysics. An award-winning and internationally acclaimed author of numerous non-fiction and fiction books, based on symbolism and ancient history, she is currently writing the third book in the metaphysical fantasy trilogy about reincration: Another turn of the Wheel.

Book preview

For Amy

Thank you for all of your support

THE EXPERIMENT

DIMLY LIT, THE SMALL auditorium was packed—not one of the hundred plus seats was empty.

Tilly entered at the exact moment the lights blazed on to the platform, her flat-heeled shoes noiseless as she strutted center stage. The screen projection behind her zoomed in to show a close-up of her face as her voice boomed out, Thank you for coming to this private school I set up years ago. Knew the journalists would think our meeting was not newsworthy in this venue, so it’s perfect for my purposes. The timbre of her voice then changed. Glad to see so many of you who don’t want to be killed in your bed when the civil war begins.

Her words were met with murmurs.

You all read the prospectus. You know it’s coming. The only question is when. Tilting her head, she added, More about that later.

Mumblings were heard.

Listen to me. She spoke softly into her headset microphone so it sounded like a whisper, "I’m offering you a chance to buy a get out of being slaughtered card in the Monopoly game your corporations and families have all participated in for centuries."

Tilly placed the edge of her open hand across her brow to peer into the audience. Yes, I see you out there. Dressed to perfection and visibly nervous because your personal bodyguards couldn’t come inside.  Most of you’ve known me since childhood. You think I’ll give you the formula for maintaining the status quo. She laughed lightly before going on, I’m not going to do that.  I’ve invited you here to participate in an experiment. Her laugh was louder. "What I mean is to fund my experiment. She jabbed her finger out in several directions towards the audience. You’ve done your deeds and now history will repeat itself. Her voice softened again. Imperialism always ends with another group rising up to use terror and yes, let me make this clear, slaughter, to take over. So my experiment is a new paradigm."

Are you talking about some Socialist idea? Or taxing us? That won’t happen, we own the political process, called out a man past middle age from the audience.

Tilly peered into the crowd. I knew you’d bring that up, John Crates. You are one of the most smug and self-absorbed people I’ve ever known.

The murmurs in the room were half in agreement with her and the other half shocked at her plain speaking.

Socialism, Tilly shouted, is a word that’s been used and abused in your economics game.

She stepped to the edge of the platform. "I invited you specifically here today John, because I knew you’d bring up the topic that must be addressed to prevent you losing your head—literally.

John stood up. You expect me to fund some Socialist scheme? I won’t.

Tilly asked, Did you open the clasp on the prospectus, John? You must turn it in before you leave the building.

Tossing it onto his seat, he said, I opened it and read the first page. It’s just drivel.

A look of relief covered Tilly’s face. Okay, go back to your compound, your paid guards, and wait for your death.

Several people, including the young, expensively dressed woman in the seat next to John, stood and began to exit with him.

Tilly called out, Those mercenaries will leave you as soon as someone offers them a better deal. I know that to be true since one of my family’s corporations includes Silverfire. My family has initiated and controlled wars around the world since before I was born. 

Hearing her words, all of them, other than John, went back to their seats to listen to more of what she had to say.

She was silent until John went out the door. 

If you haven’t yet opened your copy of my prospectus, do it now.

She made sure everyone had the clasps opened, and then used her fingers to tick off items as she spoke. Here’s my plan.  First we buy every square inch in one of the states in the U. S. to create a model.

To stop the titters of laughter she put up her palm in a blocking motion and then went on, I was thinking Mississippi. Pointing she said, I’ve gone over the broad plan with Governor Jackson. Stand up George.

The smattering of applause was slight.

Those of you with brains that function will be questioning what will happen to those in the state who don’t want to sell their property. She cocked her head before saying, Come on people, you all know how to rid yourself of those types.

She ticked off another finger. Everyone who wants to stay can as long as they agree to the rules. The water will be made clean to the highest standards and so will the air. Another finger was ticked. All the people get educated, even those who must be forced into it.

Her words were cut off by a shout, Is this one of those ploys to get us to pay for everything so people can be loafers?

Not at all. Unlike you, people will have real jobs and work they’ll take pleasure from doing, be proud of, and be able to afford their homes and life-styles. Buildings will be built to last and cleanliness enforced.

There were rumbles of laughter. You’re naïve.

No I am not.  Inventors, medical initiators, teachers will be encouraged to expand on their ideas and abilities. No longer will the corporations get all the money from their ideas and labor, so people won’t get lost or intentionally forced into the social cracks.

Another indignant voice called out, I give plenty to set up charities and support museums.  Why would I want to give your experiment additional funds?

Tilly scoffed. "I know what you give, Robert Carstairs. It’s like tossing a quarter to a beggar.  Do you honestly believe your foundations are worthy of the tax write-off you get? Her voice softened. The question isn’t about your ill-gotten gains. It’s about saving your skin at this point."

More murmurs.

Stop whining. You know you’ve pushed too hard. There are people who are naturally cooperative and smart that are gathering together and making a plan to get rid of every one of you. They aren’t going to smash their cars into markets filled with the unwary and innocent. Their plan is to rid the planet of the fear mongers and fear makers—from the top tier. Jabbing her finger at several people in the audience, she said, That means you, you, you, and all of you.

The screen projection behind her again showed a close-up of her face. Tilly grinned. I’m one of those people. I stepped away from the spin to recognize who benefits from it and will cause those who were pushed against the emotional wall to slaughter and pillage. I’ve begun the process. Each of you who opened the clasp on the prospectus was infected with a disease specific to your own body. The only way you’ll get the antidote is to pony up.

Several people screamed for their bodyguards. Others shouted, You’ll never get by with this.

Tilly leaned her face out towards the crowd. Stop yelling. This room is sound proof. Oh, and by the way I will get by with this. You won’t die for a while and there will be no evidence in your bodies of anything unusual about the diseases as they kill you. She snorted. That’s another part of Silvefire’s capabilities. We know how to use chemicals in warfare. Her laugh was hard. We always get what we pay for. Our well-paid mercenaries do more than use guns.

There was the sound of a whimper. Are you going to let John get the cure?

No. I don’t think so, Tilly replied, but let’s ask his wife whether she’d like me to.

All eyes went to one of the youngest women in the room who remained sitting next to the single empty chair. She only wagged her head back and forth.

No? said Tilly. Okay, then. I don’t doubt John wouldn’t have left you in your seat if you controlled any wealth. But you do have my condolences on your soon-to-be widowhood, and don’t worry if you need a little extra time to arrange for the money, I’ll make sure you have the antidote before your own disease kicks in.

The overhead light in the room blinked three times in quick succession.

Right, I need a trillion dollars to get my experiment moving forward and time is short for many of you, so let’s get down to business. There are phones under your seats all set up to contact your money managers. Transfer funds in the amount specified on your personal pamphlet. Once it’s confirmed that you’ve sent it, then the curative medicine is yours. 

TSUNAMI

ON THE DAY THE WORLD was changed beyond recognition Phoebe Smoothers sat quietly in her laboratory.

It all began before sunrise on Friday morning.  People in her facility were checking for changes in the earth’s crust.

SHRIEK . . . S C R E E C H . . . SHRIEK . . .

Phoebe jerked involuntarily. Unable to concentrate she huffed and placed her pen down. What’s that fool thinking?  This is the third alarm in a week.

She pushed her chair back and glanced at her desk computer screen.

TSUNAMI WARNING

THIS IS NOT A DRILL

Quickly, she keyed in her code of acknowledgement, and the ear-splitting noise was silenced.

Shoulders tensed, she stepped across the room, and typed in three sets of security codes to bring a satellite image over the gulf into view.  Another flick of her fingers brought a bank of screens up on the wall in front of her onto various types of feeds. She shivered watching her observation tower of steel and concrete break up like a handful of toothpicks.  She murmured, At least Biloxi was vacated when Tilly took the state over, so Mother Nature didn’t pick a populated location for her mischief. 

Phoebe’s fingers scrolled down and pressed the plus and minus keys to get a clear picture of where the underwater plates were grinding to form mountainous waves that moved at a startling rate. She whispered, They’ve got to be traveling at hundreds of miles an hour. 

Making sure all the video feeds and recordings were in order, her attention was drawn to the water being pulled away from the shoreline to mingle with the chaos.  There wasn’t a gradual slope of land, it was a steep precipice like a canyon wall, never seeing to the bottom of the sea floor.

The waves swelled and within minutes two hundred-foot surges smashed onto the shore. They didn’t stop there.  The forceful currents drove the surf miles inland.

Releasing her tension with a low whistle through pursed lips, she watched the seawater begin its withdrawal.  But then she moved closer to her screen.  The gulf and land didn’t return to their normal configurations.  All the grinding and heaving of the plates disgorged a landmass that had been submerged and then left it above sea level. It wasn’t an island expelled from the Gulf of Mexico, but fit the edge of the shorelines along bits of Texas, all the gulf coast of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and a section of Florida, as though it was a tight fitting puzzle piece.

She was wrong about Mother Nature’s devastation.  The loss of life along the prior shores’ lines from the numerous tsunamis was greater than all the others she’s seen put together.  Another of her satellite feeds showed a mountain ridge where the seventy-foot legs of the oil rig platform was now exposed on top. Phoebe held her breath watching the ant sized men scramble in the high winds to make sure the cap was closed and oil didn’t spill. She exhaled and went back to view the waters as they churned where beaches used to be, seeking on outlet and forming torrents in deep gorges where ancient rivers must have flowed before the plates shifted, fault lines broke, and plunged it all down into unfathomable depts.

Squinting, she moved her face even closer to the monitor where the Mississippi shore used to be. Those look like buildings.

Her next actions were swift.  Cell phone in hand she pressed the icons to call her friend six states to the north.  It was picked up