Fibonacci Tales: B and B Tales

By eLBe

Fibonacci Tales are fiction written in the format of the Fibonacci sequence, hence the name Fibonacci Tales. What Fibonacci did was plug a zero and a one and set the rule to always add the next two numbers. Each Fibonacci Tales book has the following:
two one-page chapters,
one two-page chapter,
one three-page chapter,
one five-page chapter,
one eight-page chapter,
one thirteen-page chapter,
one twenty-one-page chapter,
one thirty-four-page chapter,
one fifty-five-page chapter, and
one eighty-nine-page chapter for a total of 232 pages per book.

Fibonacci Tales are written for all ages and in paired sets of books. The first pair of Fibonacci Tales books are Fibonacci Tales: Vampire Tales and Fibonacci Tales: Knights Tales.

The second pair of Fibonacci Tales books are Fibonacci Tales: Dust Tales and Fibonacci Tales: Mother Tales.

The third pair of Fibonacci Tales books will be called Fibonacci Tales: Cat Tales and Fibonacci Tales: Goddess Tales. These books are works in progress since mid-September 2016. The author expects to complete the third pair of Fibonacci Tales books and available around early to mid-2017.

Fibonacci Tales books are designed for electronic book reading. Each pair of books includes music callouts that are essential to the stories (music has the power to calm the savage beast), and therefore, Fibonacci Tales books do not lend themselves to printed book format.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524588953

eLBe

When I was age three to four, I became wickedly angry about something, and Mom was no help. I went to the source, and I demanded to know why I agreed to come here and why I agreed to do this! The master said, “You have not because you ask not,” and I took that to heart. I asked. The divine one replied, “I can tell you everything you want to know about why you came to life, what you agreed to do, and even why you agreed to do that, but then you will have to forget.” “Why will I have to forget?” I demanded. The DO was silent for an infinite eternity then replied, “So that you will live and experience the pain, the anger, the injustice, the slings and arrows of cruel fate that befalls humans in one way or another, at one time or another, while they still remain in their body, mind, and brain. Their earth suit. “The spirit that inspires (the breath of life) and animates (quickens) the earth suit into life is, was, and always will be, infinite and eternal. A wise man once said, ‘God is a circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere.’ “In truth, man cannot be outside of the presence of the divine. Yet, in the conscious mind of man, the source of all and everything is ‘out there.’ It does not indwell the body, mind, and brain of man. “I gave mankind intelligence, reasoning power, and choice. Those gifts are placed into the conscious mind of man, where the co-creator lives. Man most deeply trusts linear thinking. Paradox. “To give perspective, the electromagnetic energy of the heart center is five thousand times greater than the electromagnetic energy of the mind. The paradox is not opposing opposites. It’s more of a two-step. “The co-creator mind is designed to collect the facts, figures, and data points of the physical plane, even empirical evidence. It is designed to consider possible outcomes—the likely ones, the lovely ones, even the really nasty ugly ones—and take all that evidence to the heart center and be at peace with it there until the conscious mind knows what it wants, why it wants it, and all the ways and reasons that the co-creator chooses to make the world a better place than it was before. “That’s why you must forget now because only you can load up the co-creator mind of yours with all the good, the bad, and the ugly experiences of life. Only you can teach and invite your co-creator mind to join you in the heart center, and you can do that only when it is your time to do what you came to life to do. “Then will you write Fibonacci Tales books.” 2016. “Welcome home again, crone of mine. Now is the time that you remember everything you forgot when I answered your questions of why you came to life and what you came to do. “Now it is time to accept, and to know that you are eLBe. That eLBe is the author of the Fibonacci Tales books. That the Fibonacci Tales books will change the world, one reader at a time.”

Book preview

FIBONACCI TALES

B and B Tales

eLBe

Copyright © 2017 by eLBe.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5245-8896-0

                eBook         978-1-5245-8895-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/25/2017

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

751442

Contents

Coke…

Death

Always the Wind

If a Shot

The Great Escape

What We Will Not See

Centerfold

To Gallery – Or Not

Witchy Woman

Big Brother

Master’s Mark

Coke…

Ain’t

Just

A soda

Death

Has

No Place

In the Absolute

Always the Wind

"What do you like best about the wind? Lena asks her sister-in-law who sits beside her on a park bench under old trees whose leaves cast moving shadows that let the light in.

What do I like best about the wind? She puzzles the question watching the play of light and shadow as said wind wanders and whispers secret things through the leaves above.

"That’s a hard question, friend a mine! I don’t know how to choose one best thing that I like about the wind. But Fillmore may answer better than me. Charles, as those close to him fondly call him, wrote that wind represents life currents that come from within.

Interesting that, don’t you think? Lena nods agreement and holds her peace in agreeable silence.

"And those life currents surround and envelope us – the whole being of us. We cannot get outside of a circle whose center is everywhere, and whose circumference is nowhere. Es impossible!

"Wind represents the executive power of the mind, and the executive, the chooser, opens the way to higher states of consciousness.

"Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever been so in love with nature and life itself as when I’m under trees and the wind is blowing through them. I feel the wind blow through me, and I am not the same, I am in a whole other altered state of mind.

"Jay doesn’t disturb me when I’m allowing the wind to blow away my fears. When that happens, thoughts of Jay blow away like dust in the wind, and I am at peace.

And there remains the questions, Lena poses: "Where does the wind go when it blows away fears from within? Where does it come from to do this healing thing? What is its source?"

Spirit! The girl-woman gives a one word answer.

"The indwelling I AM, to use more words. And we humans have to ask. And then, we must give praise and thanksgiving that it is already done. Even if we don’t see hide nor hair of it on the physical plane. Name it and claim it!

"I name and claim that Jay forgives himself for his headlong, willful fall from grace; and that he forgets us and all the nasty bad things he still wants to do to us. As if he hasn’t done enough already.

"I’m loving hiding here by the way, in our small complex so close to this neighborhood park. It’s a perfect place to be together and apart, and both of us be free of fear. I don’t think it will last though. Jay will keep hunting us until he finds us, and then there will be hell to pay. Again. For the same old shit!

What an asshole!

He’s your brother. Lena looks into her friend’s eyes sadly before she adds: "And you’re right, he won’t give up. He’ll find us.

And all the while he’s hunting us, he’ll be devising new and punitive ways to punish us.

Jay’s sister nods her understanding and agreement. It’s a good day then to enjoy this one singular day the Lord has made, and be glad in it.

Amen that! Lena agrees.

If a Shot

Goes off in a forest

And nobody hears

Does anybody die?

The Great Escape

The young woman awakens suddenly, heart pounding. Something is wrong. Very wrong. She doesn’t know what, but she knows with certainty that it is.

She scrambles from her bed, pulling on her housecoat, and stepping into her slippers. She hurries to the living room where she saw Jay’s sleeping bag.

Empty.

Where’s Jay? She hurries to the door, opens it and steps outside.

That’s the sound that woke me. She thinks with a puzzled frown.

What is that?

Where’s it coming from?

It’s the sound of shattering glass.

She follows it, and stops in her tracks when she sees the source of the sound.

Jay, she hisses sotto-voiced. What are you doing?

Lena won’t let me in, he complains whiningly but not winningly.

And why would she?

She’s my wife!

"And you abused her.

"You gut-punched her and purposely aborted the baby she was carrying. Your baby, Jay.

"Have you any idea what it feels like when a woman in love loses her baby of love, because her husband gut-punched her to kill her baby?

"To kill his baby, don’t you imagine? The D.O. poses.

"Think about it, what if Jay’s baby was as amoral as Jay? What is a man to do about his Satan’s spawn?

"So, it could be a hidden blessing for the spirit of the child that Jay did not have to pay for the care and keeping of an infant and could spend the money on Black Mollies? What if it is?

Uh, I think I am needed back in the present moment. Send angels S.T.A.T. The girl asks.

Beaming back down now, the girl woman recalibrates and focuses on Jay again. "And here you are, brother a mine, skulking about like a bad guy without the mask, and using your pearl handled pistol to break and to enter into Lena’s home.

"That you don’t pay for, Jay.

"Lena does.

"It’s Lena’s home. Not yours.

"She has a right to feel secure in her home.

"And she has a whole slew of very valid reasons to be afraid for her life of you, Jay.

Come down from there now! The woman jabs a finger at the concrete at her feet, and somehow that makes it a command. Jay is compelled. He comes down the stairs, poking his pearl handle pistol down the waistband of his jeans.

"I am sorry for you, Jay, because you brought this on yourself for preferring Black Mollies over anything else that life has to offer, even love.

"Even unconditional love. The kind that Lena gave you. And still gives you.

"But you still scare the living shit out of her!

You scare the shit out of me too, Jay, and for good reasons that came before Lena. You may as well face that truth too. Jay turns and walks away.

"Where are you going?

Jay, come back here.

She hears the car start up, hears it shift into reverse, and then forward and away.

I can’t follow you! She yells.

She knows Jay doesn’t hear. He’s slammed the car door and is driving away, music turned up high.

But Lena hears. She unlocks the shattered glass door and steps out to hug her sister-in-law in relief and residual fear.

They’ve been found.

Their low profile life ultimately served no practical security or protection at all.

But for a time it did, and that counts.

Where will we sleep? They ask in one voice, then laugh silly sappy happy for the sheer joy of being alive and the opportunity of living another one blessed day of life.

Together, they both say in one voice.

"My place then, because my louvers aren’t broken. And because I have a burglar bar to block the door.

And, I don’t think Jay will come back, the sister says with lowered head and eyes.

It is an admission. But Lena doesn’t know that. Not just yet. First she must make her own admission. Jay will not come back. She thinks but does not say.

Lena hears anyway.

That’s how true sisters are. Even when they both know full and well that they are not related by blood, only by love.

No – Jay won’t come back.

He can’t. He’s yielded too much of the Spirit of him to find his way home again. To either of our arms.

What do you think he will do?

Take himself out. Like Jessie James did, with a bullet to the brain. Death without pain. Do you suppose there is such a thing as no pain in death?

Besides, I do think all the pain came alive and lived in Jay long before his slow death by drug addiction.

He’s deathly afraid of success. He’s suffered this whole adult lifetime in high-anxiety alarm at being a success. I hate Jay for that.

I hate Jay for that too, agrees her brother’s vague vacuous voice.

Where did you leave your brain, Jay? Where did you drop your passion? Why did you do that?

You make it dangerous to love you. Why is that?

Because I don’t love me.

Never did.

Well, I did once. Before the priest butt-fucked me before the first mass when Ray and I served as altar boys.

He didn’t butt fuck Ray though. Ray grabbed him by the balls and squeezed hard, all the while telling Father not to make a sound and call attention to what was going on in the good father’s private study.

So…, it’s the priest’s fault that you have chosen to not love yourself?

And that makes sense because – why? What am I missing here?

No. It’s not the priest’s fault, although I do fault the priest! What a horny bitch on wheels!

The D.O. laughs a bubbling belly laugh. Then why have you chosen to not love yourself? Tell me, my son, confession is good for the soul.

How’d you get in this conversation anyway?

I was always there. I never left. God lives in, you know. Whether you are comfortable with that or not.

Because if you are not, you have fallen far from grace, and that’s why your life is so fantastically fucked up beyond recognition.

I made you better than that, Jay. Explain yourself. Confess. I AM always here for you. I am always here with you. The D.O. taps Jay’s heart a handful of thumps, and something changes in the rhythm of his heart. He’s in love again. With life and living it.

He’s not in love with the disastrous consequences of his bull-headed brilliance though, or of his unshakable conviction that he knew the right way the first time and no one, but no one, could safely challenge his supremacy. Yes, Jay truly was very good at winning when playing king of the mountain. He actually argued that the school should award ribbons for that competitive sport too, and not just for track and field and wrestling and running. The school board wasn’t persuaded. Jay was pissed. Nothing was ever fair by Jay’s lights. Except what Jay did. No matter how obnoxious and abusive it was to anyone else, as long as he scored more Black Mollies.

Lena went to her apartment to get some things she would need that day, and to take a shower. She felt safe. She knew Jay wouldn’t come back. She cried in the shower mourning her one love who loved Black Mollies better than her. Or anyone or anything else.

While she was gone, the girl woman hears her doorbell ring. She walks toward the door and stops in mid-stride, recognizing the blue uniform and badge. She is shattered into a million little pieces. The blue uniform waits patiently knowing without cause what’s going through the woman’s mind.

I can’t outwait him. He deserves better than that, just for wearing the blue target walking. She cries anyway, tears trembling in her eyes but not falling. How will I tell Lena? Lena knows, and she’s at peace now. There’s nothing left to be afraid of. Not for me either, she thinks and pulls a small smile as she opens the door and greets the officer standing there. Hello, officer Steadman, she says with a small smile. She meets his eyes levelly. I guess you’ll want to come in and…. She completely loses her composure and can’t go on. He nods as he steps inside, takes her elbow and guides her to a chair. He sits on the sofa, making himself look busy scoping the room giving the woman time to compose herself. He pulls a paper from his pocket and hands it to the woman, Is this your brother’s handwriting? The girl woman nods. He died last night.

With a bullet to the brain. The woman offers solemnly sorrowing. The barrel of his pearl handled six-shooter in his mouth aimed at his brain. Jay died the way Jesse James did, but using his own pearl handled pistol. Where was he?

"Memorial Park, way across the bayou where few hikers even go. He was sitting against a tree, still holding his six-shooter in his hand fallen in his lap. Does his wife live here too?

Yes, the woman looks up as Lena comes in. I wish I could warn her.

She knows, Lena says stepping inside, closing the door, and sitting on the sofa next to the officer holding a death certificate needing to be signed by a surviving family member. I’m Jay’s wife. I’ll help you fill in any missing pieces for your report, and I will go with you to the coroner to identify the body, and then I’ll sign Jay’s death certificate. Lena looks suddenly tired and drained low in emotions. She has no tears left for today.

What We Will Not See

One silent night the girl sits on the hood of the family sedan her back leaned against the windshield. It is her nighttime peace practice. Alone. Her mom knows where she is.

Hester is with her in spirit. And in mind. She too is outside, where the air is big and alive and scented sweet with new mown alfalfa, and the earthy scent of wheat straw mixed with cattle dung (by the cows themselves) composting in the garden.

Dad taught me how to taste the soil in the field, and from the flavors of the dirt, figure out what nutrients the field needs this growing season for the crop that will be planted there. He taught me how and where the elements in the soil hit the tongue and how to know from that what fertilizer the soil needs during its fallow time to support the crop that will be planted there in the spring.

In a town eight miles away a car door closes, keys jingle on a ring, and homing neighbors call good will and good night.

The distant hum of iron on rails foretells a coming train. The sounds and activities of mundane life slows and eases into perpetual peace as fundamental to the heart of the universe as wind, and water, and air, and fire.

Stars sing in angelic voices and the girl is transported to a higher realm where angels tread, and there are no boundaries and no borders.

There are no others.

No wolf lurks in dark shadows beside the house….

A present peril shreds the serenity of the night while instinct diffuses and fine-focuses the girl’s awareness. She becomes one with the indivisible energy of life.

By inner sight more than earthly vision she senses a profound blackness hunkered by the side of the house, cast into midnight gloom by the harvest moon rising behind it. She peers into ebony shade with captivated curiosity that effectively overrides and eases the terror that is forever evoked in man when faced with a mysterious anomaly that cannot be ‘real’.

A wolf…? It is a statement of denial by the girl’s mind. And, the denial wholly disregards the question mark that arises in the girl’s mind following the thought.

A deeper black than night? Interesting, that.

Here?

Wolves don’t live on the plains. Reason asserts its dutiful denial.

Their food doesn’t live here. Logic continues ticking off its copious list of ways and whys that what is cannot be.

There is no wolf in the dark shadows beside the house! The girl is assured that she sees things that are not there. She is not afraid.

A round red harvest moon rises behind the house throwing the kitchen garden into ebon shadow.

And smoke…. The girl thinks. She does not know what to do with the whole smoke thing though so she puts it aside for later consideration. Or not.

Denial and fear can reassure, or debilitate, with equal ease and efficacy. Yet unlike caution, denial is an act of choice. By its nature, denial awakens power. Denial trains and focuses the mind. Denial promotes all the five senses to heightened awareness. Denial can reveal and expose the true nature of the beast lurking in the edgy shadowy. Denial can enhance sub audible sounds to reveal energies hidden in the dark.

Denial cannot change the nature of the beast loitering in ebon darkness beside the house.

She hears a hot silent slaver whispered on zealous hot breath, vibrant and shrill to the ear and nerve endings. It’s all real.

In long-eyed detachment of suspended belief the girl tracks electric impulses through the brain of the beast, experiencing the stalker as thinker, observer, and actor. Her contact is instinctive, intuitive and pre-tactile, and for all its vagueness, it stimulates in her mouth a bloom of uncommon flavors like the metallic weight of blood fresh on the edge of her tongue. She is aroused and captivated by a fiery inner relish for the maleficent purge of destruction that catalyzes rejuvenation and stimulates new life and rebirth. Re-do!

An ancient, urgent intelligence nudges her from the hood of the car to peer over it into the attentive, observant dark. She feels more than hears a sibilant snarl that enthralls her in lusciously exposed terror.

The Mind of Separation

She sees me. The creature paces a tight internal thought track. Although I am shifted. That is just wrong! Mortal eyes cannot see the shifted. Does she know nothing?

Or something? A disembodied voice counter’s inside the wolf’s inner ear.

Only those with Sight to see into shadow of life can see those who are shifted, the beast snarls with confident conviction. And this one does not see the light. The dark beast ponders puzzled. It’s a curious disability for a sighted one.

The scent of the girl’s tense wariness wafts to the wolf. It excites and augments the hunter instinct that is a native power of wolf. Sinew and muscle tense as the wolf’s hot red eyes impale and immobilize her. The smile of a wolf at times like these is terror inducing and utterly entrancing in its ancient mesmeric power. The beast in the gloom backlit by a blood moon celebrates its capacity to captivate and control the mind of untested youth – who thinks she’s protected from the dark side within her by being under the care and keeping of Jacob and Hester. How droll!

Thought creates, niece. I am both the spirit, and the very nature, of your fear on this timeless night. Twin arcs of molten red light blaze from the beast’s eyes and leap to bridge the gap to where the girl is.

The Goddess Speaks

No! Timeless power rises defiant in the girl, and without instruction or thought, she instinctively blocks the force of the instantaneous leap by the unthinkable unknown across a red light bridge to seize her for its own. That is not happening! Not on my watch. This time it is not the girl’s mind that thinks the words.

Unfinished Business

Scarlet eyes and molten bridge glare from the gloom as instinct and will re-focus, recalibrate, scent, and probe the weak will of youth. Tasting the air for panic and its opportunity, the beast hunts for a drift of focus, a moment of disturbance to enable completion of its red light arc and make the leap, to drink of her life energy, just enough of it to feed him just on this one full moon night.

Just enough blood energy to heal me, to make me whole and hale again. Then, I would tend and pamper the girl. I would nurture and nourish her. I would shape and form her into my own special one.

I would not drain her of Life Force Energy. I would not leave her nor abandon her to die a slow solitary death.

As my death will be without her living life energy to keep me alive and living in it. In truth the beast covets one to tutor, to prepare, to train, to turn. To his will. To his end-game.

This is the promised one, Papa. You old fool! The shadow wolf thinks. This is the one with the power to make your vision manifest in this benighted land! It was never the one you chose, and sired, and trained, and turned to your purpose. Not any one of the dozens of them. Old fool!

Jacob and Hester hid the girl in plain sight! In your own house that you built for people of our kind! On the very land you homesteaded, and consecrated to sheltering people who shift. People like us, Papa!

That is wickedly rich and twisted! But you never had one modicum of a single shred of a sense of humor.

I never heard anything funny enough to laugh about! A ghostly voice drones sullen sour, then falls silent.

Your fear blinded you, you old fool.

You feared dying without a successor that you fed. And fed on. You feared treachery, so you betrayed others before they had any opportunity to betray you. You fear those who you think are stronger than you. And you abuse all you judge are weaker than you.

Your pig shit stink always rolls downhill, Papa! Don’t you finally get that now that you are on the other side?

Silence.

Your fear led us to this. I was willing to be your successor in every way. I was willing to learn and to use power in the ancient ways that you used those powers.

But to you, I am your third son. Unworthy of inheriting land. Incapable of wielding power. Undeserving of even being a priest.

I was, and am, nothing to you. Except a food source.

I loved you anyway, Papa. I did your will. I obeyed you. I made myself like unto you.

Even the n’th degree of unconditional love is inadequate to feed the empty forsaken sink hole in the heart of you. You are a giant black hole that absorbs and consumes everything in your orb of influence.

My weak brothers rejected your heritage, Papa.

They turned their backs and walked away to another life, away from your creation, and