Best Little What House?!?!

History of Seeing

This was part of my history, and I had learned much about this; that I was part of this whole Mayan mess in a way that I never wanted to be. This seeing thing started back in 1984, though there had been hints of this previous to even this event.

1984 and the Best Little Whore What?

A teen was all I was, and only the breasts made me into one. Officially I had just crossed the divide from preteen to teen just that November of 1984. The first time that a vision took over, occurred that December. I was sitting the wrong way on my grandmother's upholstered chair, legs folded negligently over one arm, while my head was set indolently against the other arm. I had almost fell asleep in the chair, desperate to stay awake because if my mother caught me watching the show I was viewing right them, I was going to be in deep crap for the next month, with Christmas on the way. Thirteen was so awful, that was the thought of the day. My one friend had watched “The Best Little Whore House in Texas” and I thought that I could too, but NOOOOOOOOOO! My mother's phrase had been “Best Little Whore What?????!!!!”, and she gave me the eyes I learned very well to despise, and avoid causing at all cost. My mother was a 375lb one woman battalion; she could snatch up, speed up and all of a sudden be where you did not want her to be and the thought of her IN my rear end was fearful indeed. But there I was officially watching the show I knew I was not to watch, no matter how much I liked Dolly Pardon. I murmured with dissatisfaction as one a young teen can, my eyes strained to keep on seeing the Burt Reynolds, Dolly Pardon bedroom scene, blinked seemingly only once and FAILED. I passed out, before Burt or Dolly showed anything of importance.

And I woke up somewhere in the galaxy. I could not feel cold or warm, just a floating almost out of air feeling that felt eerie. It felt REAL, not like a dream at all. Then, a being dressed in dark cloaks edged in fire, with a face touched with flame that I could barely see past a kind of hood over her head, swirled into my view. She said her name was, Mehaela, and she touched the mountains, and they exploded, and then another and it melted and slid! I commented that whatever her name was it was must mean trouble 'cause she was sure causing some trouble somewhere.

Hey Fireface, How did you Do THAT?

She turned to face me and I felt scared. For the first time, I felt really scared, the thin air seemed to disappear and if this was guilt from watching THAT movie, I was sure to never do so until at least 16.

“My name means Destruction,” was what that awful voice she had said.

She touched a plane and it fell out of the sky, she touched bodies of people with her cloak and they fell over. I had a feeling they were dead. She stepped closer and I was chest level of a female something or other, sized like the Sears Tower, killing stuff with just the edge of her clothes, praying NOT to die if she breathed on me.

I shut my eyes tight.

Her voice was more awful in the dark, growled, stormy and squeaky and ugly.

“You must live and speak of this.”

I tried to make myself speak, and thought, if I had AIR I would speak of this, but your killing me anyway. Then I seemed to pass out.

& I am Supposed to Do What?

I woke up in the chair, the little whores were off bothering someone else and I thought that I was going to DIE of a broken neck. It was cramped and tight and in pain, with that sharp knife-like pain that CAN be something.

Then I came fully awake, and knew real fright, though this did NOT stop me. Destruction had spoken, and I was the messenger to warn people (though I did not know who yet).

It was December 1984 and 1985 started with a bang.

People all over the place seemed to be dying for no reason; a high speed train derailed in Ethiopia and killed over 420 and more stuff seemed to be happening everywhere. The deaths at a stadium in Britain and the mudslide killing 22,000 in Columbia. Close friends keeling over while riding their bikes. A dirigible crashing out of the sky and the year could not end without another crash as Ricky Nelson's plane failed, though all of the people in the plane died of smoke inhalation.

And here we are 28 years later, and it seems as though destruction has spoken to me again . . .

Lookout text on cordissa, such as spore, programmed and where ever she could end up, for more . . .

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