The Miracle, the Teacher & Labor Story

 “Victor, it’s me again.”

Startled, Victor jumps out of his bed to turn on the light.

“Who is that talking? Where are you?” He says looking around paranoid.

I’m up here, on the ceiling fan.

Victor notices a small little woman with wings.

“What are you? Are you some kind of angel or something?” He replies.

“If that’s what they call us down here. The names Hudson, and I’m here to get you back to work,” she says while making a fist and showing her small muscles.

“Am I the only one that can see you?”

“Yep, you asked God for help paying the bills, you asked God to help out your coworkers to end the strike so he sent me.” Hudson explained.

“So what do I do?”

Hudson flys over to Victor’s messy desk across the room.

“It will be hard, but I was informed by the big guy that only you could do it. You have to start your very own school.”

Victor takes a seat, “But, I’m too old.”

“When I first visited Abraham and his wife she thought she was too old to have children and she ended up saving humanity. When I first visited Moses he said he couldn’t speak well and he ended up leading the children of Israel to the promised land. Then there was Noah, he built the ark. And now it’s you, the teacher.”

Hudson flew over to his bedrail, “All you have to do is start one school in the hardest part of town.

In about twelve seconds you will fall into a deep sleep and then tomorrow your assignment will begin.”

The next morning Victor woke up to his phone ringing, “Hello,” he said realizing what time it was.

“We’re out here on the picket lines, where are you?” His coworker Dennis asked.

“I’m going to teach my students the old fashion way. I think we’ve turned away from God Dennis. I’m going to go back to the fundamentals,” Victor explained.

“Victor, it’s 2023, and we have to go by state rules. If you’re having your come to Jesus moment why don’t you just go teach at a private school?” Dennis replied.

“I had the strangest dream last night, I dreamed about good and obedient students. Students who listened and created a better world. I also dreamed about a library. It was big. People from all over the world came to my school to learn and teach. We’re missing the key ingredient to the imagination Dennis, we’re leaving out a creator. That’s the magic of learning.” 

“Well, you keep dreaming, I’m going to get back on the picket lines.”

Hanging up the phone, Victor noticed Hudson laying across his desk. 

“Good job, now go to visit Mr. Wesley on Cambridge St. He has some land with an old school building on it. One of his daughters just got in a very bad accident. She can’t take care of the old school anymore, he’s going to give it to you and that’s when the miracle begins,” Hudson explained.

Victor threw on a T-Shirt and some jeans. It was reaching the end of summer so he had to move quickly.

Sure enough, Hudson was right. Mr. Wesley was at the building on Cambridge St. on the phone with his wife checking on his daughter.

“I’ll call you back sweetheart, I have a visitor,” he puts his phone down, “Victor, what brings you here?”

“I came to apply for a job,” he said.

“It’s been slow. Work isn’t what it used to be, but I do need some help with one of my buildings.” Mr. Wesley explained.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Hey, wait, I thought the teachers were on strike. Why aren’t you on the picket lines?” Mr. Wesley asked.

“What do you need me to do?” Victor replied, ignoring his question.

“Here’s the keys to my old school building Victor, may God be with you.”

Moving fast, Victor called everyone he knew. The fire was burning inside of him, and everything Hudson said Victor was all ears.

Spending every last dime he had to get his school prepared Victor turned to Hudson who was standing on some books by his old used desk.

“What do I do now?” He asked.

Dusting off her hands, “Now you wait, but while you’re waiting I have to remind you that this school building was built in 1972 by laid off steel workers. They built it to prove that they could serve the community’s needs on their own and they did. They funded this school all alone and every student graduated and moved on. They were on the brink of taking over this entire district until the war broke out and they all got drafted. Go to the basement. They left a huge box of bibles down there. I want you to put them in every classroom. Mr. Wesley has already started spreading the word and you will get your first class in three days. Now these kids were home schooled but their parents had to go back into the workforce so give them a break on the financial side. Just teach and we angels will do the rest.” Hudson explained.

“What about money? How are we going to pay the bills?” Victor asked.

“A teacher should be smart, but to be a good teacher a teacher must be smart enough to teach and plant good fruit. Plant some seeds first and witness the power of 360 knowledge,” Hudson said, pointing to an old lemonade stand in the back of his classroom.

Lightbulbs began to go off in Victor’s head. 

“I’m going to teach my students how to learn and fund this school.”

Seeing the state of a failed school district, Victor’s classes were filling up fast. The community donated books and exchanged labor for credits. They worked, and some even paid Victor to sleep at the school just to keep the money in circulation. In less than three years Victor was on the verge of creating universal learning techniques that would change the entire system of education and funding.

Dennis couldn’t believe it. How did a language teacher do it? How did one phone call about an impossible dream come true?

The next morning the newspaper read:

“The Miracle, the Teacher & the Labor story.”

Victor did it.

He gave his community a happy ending.

P.S.

With God, all things are possible.

With out him, a man’s working spirit will be soft, planting his man made trees with artificial fruit that die quickly.

At the end of Victor’s journey, Hudson gave him an apple, and a key to his classroom in the infinite heavens.

The End.

King of Kings

The first king thought he had it all figured out.

The second king killed furiously.

The third king lied.

The fourth king had too many women.

The fifth king fought too many wars.

The sixth king had too many enemies.

The seventh king had too many Gods.

The eighth king healed the sick, fed the poor, and was killed because he said he came to free the people from their sins. His story has given kings strength on their last days, and has given people with nothing a reason to rise. In times of sadness, in times of tragedy, in times of war, and in times of complete chaos, supreme understanding and calm spirits have to come from somewhere. For a person to live in freedom and forget about the greatest story ever told, that person may not be free at all, but is deprived of another place outside of this world, another kingdom, and most of all—another home. This can’t be it, there has to be more. If one out of a billion sperm make it to the egg, where does the other 999,999,999 million go? Some kings think they have it all figured out, some kings kill furiously, some kings lie, some kings have too many women, some kings fight too many wars, some kings have too many enemies, some kings have too many Gods, and some kings show mercy. In the end, we all have to die with a legacy left behind. One out of all eight kings has given me a reason to get up and try again. My ego is gone, I humbly take off my own crown, I let go of my own faults, and most of all I find a friend. As my brother, if I can’t do it he can. I find the king of kings.

King of Kings.

Henry the Raccoon

 “Hey, Henry, where were you last night? We had a feast at Mrs. Steven’s house, she had fresh burgers in her trash. I saved some for dinner. We were eating good and then the lights went out. It was pitch black. If it weren’t for the car lights, Sasha would be dead. She almost got ran over.” Deana said while Henry took his seat at the table.

“I’m sorry, I cut the power lines. I confess, it was me.” 

This got Deana’s full attention.

“What!” She replied.

“Yeah, I’m tired of living trash can to trash can Deana. The humans have everything that we dream of out here in the woods. I found out where they’re getting all of their power from so I slashed the lines.” Henry explained.

“You could have killed yourself. Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes, and I’m tired. Do you see any light out here in the woods besides the sun and the moon? Those humans have advanced far beyond what we can imagine so one power line at a time should bring them back down to our level,” Henry said while preparing his utensils at the table to eat.

His comments also got Sasha’s attention, “Oh my, so did you start the fire at Ms. Richardson’s house also?” Sasha asked.

Henry couldn’t help but get his raging point across, “I did it all,” he replied.

Deana began serving the burgers that she collected from the garbage last night. 

“So you were pretty busy. What time did you get in last night?” She asked.

“I got in just in time to catch a shower in the sewer. I was having a mental breakdown and it felt good to finally let my frustration out.”

Sasha and Deana couldn’t help but smile as Henry scarfed down his burgers. 

“I had a feeling that you were up to something so I made you a shirt,” Sasha said grabbing some of her best art T-Shirts from the back room.  

When Henry noticed what the shirt said he smiled and hugged his little girl.

“Make raccoons great again,” is what the shirt read.

Enjoying their family moment, Henry began dancing to a new song he made for his Raccoon lives matter club. Filled with a brief spirit of liberation, he and his family celebrated their small revolutionary moment.

Due to the fact that he was an animal, he got off on all charges.

The End.

The Budget Pt. 2

Things have to be accounted for.

Without money, nothing gets paid, and if no one shows up to work, then there could be a problem.

Something wakes me up and tells me to work until I drop dead.

Something tells me not to be like them, those lazy coke snorters.

Those people who sit, smoke, & drink all day doing nothing.

I don’t want to judge or discriminate, but instead of putting a tattoo on my flesh, I would rather make sure folks are given what’s due to them. 

In my perfect world my accountant is paid because my clients pay and are happy.

In my world, there is a sense of order, a sense of pride in handling responsibilities.

I love women, but I’ve come to love my peaceful nights alone reading a book.

I’ve grown to love my space, my quiet time to myself.

In my world, I have to pay the bills by any means necessary.

I get paranoid when the bills are not paid.

I get frustrated when I can’t meet my budget goals.

I get militant, confused, and crazy.

This may sound sick, but when a bill collector calls me I have a phobia of reneging against the contract.

Bill collectors don’t want to hear about God or your feelings, they want what’s due. Simply put, they want their money.

I’m a nice guy, but I’ve learned a valuable lesson in life. I’ve learned about my religion, my family, my race, and my friends. I’ve learned that when it comes to money, it can make a good soul bitter. It can make a blind man steal glasses and a revered kill his entire congregation with toxic juice.

It can make a musical genius say whatever to sell records.

It can make an attractive woman strip to feed her babies.

Debt is like being eaten by a snake and being finished off by ants carrying your crumbs of sweet flesh to the queen.

Debt is like being whipped into submission while the slave master pays the bills with your children’s free labor as you tend the fields to pay room and board.

Debt feels like a burning flame deep inside of your soul. 

It’s a loose trigger with little to no bullets to hit the target.

Being around poor people makes it no easier, they don’t seem to understand, and the word no could cost you your life. 

Some people enjoy seeing people suffer in debt.

It’s almost like some people can smell money so they take pride in stealing your increase.

Life is not fair when you’re in debt because you’re worthless, you’re a slave to the people you owe.

Determined to keep my budget in tack, I know I’ve lost it.

I know I’m stuck in my ways.

I know I have to pay the bills, and that alone gives me common sense enough to finally get the message.

People can think that I’m crazy, they can assume that I’m weird, they can even call me out of my name, but I will do everything to make sure the bills are paid. In my world, my life depends on my budget goals, and in my opinion, there is no such thing as being rich. Everyone has to pay, even free loaders.

I’m counting right now to stay within the budget.

Even if I have to count pennies.

The Budget

Hmm, things just don’t seem to be adding up.

I guess I’ll start trimming and cutting some cost.

Ahhh, that feels better.

Oh boy, someone just threw a brick through the window.

I guess I can’t please everyone.

Oh, I forgot about the property taxes; figuring, adding, and paying the bills isn’t easy. 

I wonder if I should apply for a cheaper loan.

The Budget.

Neon Flames

 “Kid B, what burns my man?” Dougie flame asked.

“Peep game God MC, I had this mellow fresh dream you dig.” Kid B replied.

“And what was that new school?”

“You see Dougie Flame this here neon flame. The colors are not like the red and blue flames. This is mine young God. These are my colors. I dreamed them then brung them to life old school. My art is priceless.” Kid B explained.

Seeing Kid B’s new invention inspired Dougie Flames. Kid B’s art was before his time, he was the originator of the neon flame. At every gathering Kid B had the lights off with his glowing neon flames. The world had never seen anything like it. Kid B had created Neo vibes, the twisting of the mind to a mellowed outer space on earth. He was the founder of night stars and Cee Lo grooves. The kid was king of the bright bottle, bringing light to the night with his three isotopes. He was the originator of the neon atom. Kid B was neutral with his 10 electrons, 10 protons, and a completed outer shell of 8 electrons. When tempted by the drug users to poison his mind, Kid B’s escape line was “If you stressed by the red and blue flames get down with my neon gas flames and free yo mind.”

Kid B had the purist beats and sounds in town. When folks heard his organized noise they couldn’t help but welcome Kid B into their foggy atmosphere. He alone cleaned up the streets you dig. He was sent from afar to introduce empty corrupted minds to a new kind of energy. His sessions were rocked out with health drinks and organic fruit juices. The young God was sent to earth to ignite the neon flames. His flag was filled with fluorescent colors and his political ideology manifested with debates rooted from a neutral corner. Kid B was the originator, the alien with neon cash printed from the planet of peace. His money had his neon face on it. Dig the God MC, Kid B, with the neon flames that were just too cool to burn and light enough to fly like an angel with fluorescent wings. Dig the neon flames. Get down with the originator of old and new funk in a place called present time. 

Kid B & his Neon Flames

The Art of Genocide

Genocide- Killing with no mercy; killing with the will to destroy a particular group of people completely.

Brutal he was, his power spanned from this corner to that corner, but a child was born from a heathen tribe and created an uprising. This upset the dictator. King Kush, was his name.

“You have stood tall through it all, King Kush the great, now tell your generals what you desire,” Sir Dash said.

King Kush took his position.

“My people tip over in their wine. They have become weak and fragile in their wealth. The Gods gave me a dream to cleanse the land last night.”

These words got Sir Dash’s attention, “Is that what you want?”

Kush took a walk to his window to observe the land.

“I hear my men have grown jealous of me, and what is this symbol the heathen tribe is carrying around?”

“It’s a cross. They have created a new God to worship because they feel that you have deprived them of their freedoms,” Sir Dash explained.

“Do they not know that God speaks through me. Don the black garments, I understand what the dream meant, at sunrise, if little Lilly does not allow the sunlight through the clouds, then a dark death will be unleashed to cleanse the land.” Kush replied.

“What about the women and their children?”

Kush pointed to a scar on his face that one of his concubines had given him.

“They caused this mess, now they too must suffer.”

Word had spread quickly about Kush’s plan to cleanse the land and the people had grown weary. Drug smugglers, thieves, and robbers began collecting their last spoils to skip town.

Standing on a hill, the town watched as a group of men stood on a mountain in black robes on black horses. Kush watched from his balcony to see if little Lilly was going to let the sunlight in.

Little Lilly was his daughter who died at the hands of the heathen tribes. Kush believed that she was a sacrifice to the sun God because he had shown to much mercy on matters that he did not accept. In deep thought, Kush would wake up every morning to see his little girl shining through the clouds but this particular morning was different. 

Kush’s army stood and awaited his command. Watching the sun come through the clouds, Kush noticed something different, he noticed a black rainbow reflecting from his soldier’s ready to carry out his genocide in the morning sky. Spellbound, he saw his daughter walking from the clouds.

“Father, there has been enough bloodshed. Our God gives me back to you as a gift to save our people from genocide.” Lilly explained to her father.

The entire nation of Kush became humbled at the sight of seeing Lilly given back as a gift from the Gods. They threw away their heathen symbols only to witness the true power of their God. A God of mercy, a God of strength, a God of life, and most of all, a God of peace. The land of Kush had been reborn, saved from genocide by the risen daughter of King Kush.

The Art of Genocide had now been painted with a brush of divine mercy.

Little Lilly was now Immortal, a virgin princess reborn to purify her people. 

Reborn to save them from genocide.

The End.

Lost Soldier

I had to vote on a critical issue today.

Honestly, I’ve come to find that no matter what I decide  I’m still a lost soldier.

I’m on my own in a field.

I’m on my own, lost in a jungle.

Hearing the enemy advancing, I find out that I’m surrounded. 

My fate is now in God’s hands.

Property of my country, sitting in a cell with no help, I read off my government number only to realize that I’ve been left for dead.

If I fight, either way, I’m outnumbered.

I can only win with a supernatural force.

I’m a lost soldier, wondering if the people will remember me.

They don’t even know I’m still alive.

I’m just a number.

I’m just a lost soldier, aware, awoke, and alone in enemy territory.

I am on my own.

My flag is my white t-shirt with my black government issued number on it tied to a stick waiving for help.

Lord help me.