Mystical Bee 1875

Prologue

The empty rocking chair rocked; danced its way to the creaking sound of the wood up under, as southerners would say it, each time the moon was full of blue.  Blue, the color of mystical, as it sounds, yet mentally molded into the navy blue skies.  

There stood ghostly Madam Braema; from the rocking chair. The spell was successfully put upon him.  Invisible to the outside world, Madam Braema proudly wore.  Well trained by her grandmother; now a full woman.  A mirror image of her once grandmother and with powers far beyond the blood of her grandmother. 

What a magnificent scene, you’d have to see.  Mystical energy; patiently relaying; through the veins of time; giving life to every dead soul, including, the rocking chair. 

"One creek low; One creek high;

Sing to blue...

You tangled, awful sigh"

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"Let the tangled web grow freely it goes;

Weaving...

from West Africa and its highs and lows..."

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"Creek high; creek low;

The rocking chair will go"

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"This must be a dream; 

Not reality, so it will seem"

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"Fear not wake me if there’s a solid plan;

I awake, anyway, with a gun in my hand

Killing each of you, later, without a clue;

Maybe just a hint of Braema cursin’ you"

Is what he mumbled to himself as he viciously, secretively stared at each church member going in to begin Sunday’s church service.  He waited for a full house and went in to follow through. 

His life is now tormented by the very blood he delivered;

One by one ... from life to death 

His victims helplessly shivered 

Nor can he go on, accept, and live;

Without the very things, himself, that he can’t forgive

Juju ..... 

Africa - 1875 ..........

Tell Me about your dream! demanded Zola, dancing, smiling, moving her bare feet zigzagging in the sand as she blocked me from walking; excited to hear about yet another dream she heard I  had.  I hate to keep them waiting; however, waiting makes them trust me more. I gave them satisfying predictions in the past; they yearn for me. You would too if you saw how beautiful I am; from head-to-toe, body like a statute.  HaHa.  Just teasing.  And so I’m Gifted; yes, let the author of this book spell that word with a capital G. Being gifted is definitely an advantage in this here ol’ town... not taken lightly and highly respected.  

People from all around town visit me to hear my sleeping dreams.  My dreams predict the future of this forever changing world.  People don’t rely or listen to their God (the Christ) regarding their past, present, or future.  They always come to me to hear what is next going to happen, whether good or bad, they travel to me from in our town and surrounding towns.  They even come to hear weather predictions - especially after they’ve heard that I had a dream about the weather, just when the wind has picked up in the last few days.  Many houses have only been damaged - even after my predictions.  However, if it wasn’t for my forewarning to help them prep their houses for bad weather approaching - their houses would have been completely destroyed down to nothing; to the ground.  They say if they wait on their God to give them an answer, their houses would be completely destroyed down to nothing; to the ground.  They say I am their savior; I help them save their houses. 

They even tell me their dream and I tell them exactly what will happen or what’s happening in their lives based on their dreams.  Most could care less of what I foresaw in their lives.  Maybe I’ll tell them, according to the dreams they told me, that they’ll be dead in a few weeks.  Whatever the answer is, whether good or bad, they want to know.  Whatever I foresaw is like a sex drive to them; the harder I push my fist up their asses, the more they scream for more. Whether I tell them by midnight tonight all their animals will die.  Whether I tell them you cannot birth children.  Whether I tell them you will win $100 at the gambling ‘hole.’  Whether I tell them your fourth born son will die in months.  Me, and only me, can see the blood sweating from their forehead, and the anxiousness, as they could care less what I tell them what I foresaw.

Then they submit to me by spending their last money, giving me money and not paying their bills or taxes, and even not feeding their children.  All to get an answer on their past or future.  However they use my predictions is their business; I only tell them the truth.  My customers, from children to older people, come with little or no money; coins, mostly wrapped in a brown paper sack; however they choose to do so, they count on me, and not their God, for answers of their past and future.  I’ve had many visits; some scarier than others, of course, and some, yet unbearable to tell them what I foresaw.  People walk away satisfied; feeling accomplished; ready and prepared to stop or allow to proceed whatever I foresaw.  Stop his daughter from being killed next week, being present at the right hour to win the $100 I foresaw them winning; make the woman rest for the entire nine months so that she nor the child will die during childbirth. Some even decide, unbearably, to not have children after I foresaw their third child fall to his death at two years old.  

They believed in whatever I told them, not their God, and tried to break the curse of whatever I foresaw.  What they failed to realize is, even if the woman rested for the entire nine months what was meant to happen, the death of her and her child, will happen in some other kind of way.  So as well she rested for the entire nine months and then too gave birth to a healthy baby son - he would grow up to have a wife and she would die in child birth.  

Life is a revolving door.  Good will happen if you put out good.  And bad will befall you when you put out bad.  When the Universe decides to curse you, there is no way out of it.   Either you or your blood line must feel the wrath of the Universe.  Once you feel the wrath of the Universe, it feeds from you; growing bigger and stronger with more bad or good karma to feed the next virgin.

Seems as if I’ve helped feed the Universe.  The Universe is my mother, my comforter, and I must feed her.  She talks to me, loves me like I’m her own daughter, and takes very good care of me, because I take very good care of her. My ancestors fed her well and that passion has been transferred down our bloodline to me.  And for my feeding, the Universe provided playmates for me: My Bees. My name is Madam Braema, an immortal witch doctor, better known from country to country; city to city; town to town as the Sorceress Queen.  

Tell Me about your dream!  She screamed, again, only this time jumping up and down; blocking me from walking any further.   Each step I took, the more demanding she became, with a smile of course, facing me, anxiously waiting on me to share my dream.  Watch out for the car behind you! I shockingly shouted; trying to trick her into moving just a little over to the side out of my way so that I can began my run escape. ‘And we’re off’ ...... dust from me rapidly running through the sands almost covered my tracks, but she finally caught up with me - and believe it or not - she was back to square one, yet with a laugh of defeat this time.

Tell Me about your dream!  I began to laugh as well. Never have I ever seen anyone too incredibly desperate to not learn about my dreams, however, all about me. 

My aunt, my father’s sister, named Cita, was an herbalist in our hometown.  She cured many, many diseases; even cancer they say.  She became pregnant when she was fifteen years old by a white man, Mr. Edwards, a man seen always with a bottle of liquor in his hands, who came in to town from Europe with his crew, visiting, looking for gold; and gold is what he found in Cita.  He walked with a limp and relied on his best friend, a wooden stick, to get up and down his horse or even around town.  

Just that day - Cita was looking for clay near the mounts and he spotted her, rather, accused her of stealing his gold before he could claim it.  An argument burst out and he demanded his crew of workers, around four I was told, to grab her and capture her before she ran off.  She helplessly denied his accusations and told him to even look for himself.  He looked through the bag she carried and did indeed find bundles of clay.  Yet, instead, drunk and hysterical, he beat her for ANY lies that would come out of her mouth for years to come.  His crew then was curious of how a black woman felt on the inside of her body and begged him to take turns having sex with her.  A virgin as she was, she strongly bared the awful scents, including fowl breaths, the soreness, and discharge running down to her toes as she stumbled very weak to home.  How dare would anyone call higher authority to discipline the gentleman to hang in death.  The white man was the ruler in Africa and they came and did as they pleased.  The helpless and crippled father suffered the most; their daughters were the prize; the white men who came were well aware of it. 

A voice cries out like a domino effect, however, the last one doesn’t land as it should.  There were so many rumors spreading about what happened to Cita.  Majority of the rumors landed in the lap of Cita’s mother and father.  As a result, her mother and father were sometimes treated with a cruel harshness.  The town increased their property taxes; people would leave animal and human feces spread on their front door or left in bags on the front porch. Cita was not allowed in school or the grocery store that allowed the family to purchase food on credit and pay later.  They cancelled their account. If there were news, events, or a crisis in their town - everyone was aware to not include Cita and her family.  

The most horrific rumor was that Cita’s parents were very good friends with Mr. Edwards and his crew; even fed Mr. Edward and his crew and allowed them to stay in their house for a few days.  The author of this horrific rumor said that Cita’s father sexually offered her to Mr. Edwards in exchange for a horse as a means of transportation.  The author of this brutal rumor was certain, though a valuable source, possibly the brag from one of Mr. Edward’s crew member of how good Cita’s vagina felt; that what she or he heard was the truth of what really happened to Cita.  

Cita‘s family lived very poorly, sometimes didn’t eat for days, and had no cows for meat or milk, garden for fresh vegetables, or even a means of transportation so that Cita’s father could make a better living for his family.  This rumor, so the author says, is at this point when Cita was offered to Mr. Edwards.  Mr. Edwards then felt, due to the longevity and strength of the horse, that the four or so crew members should each be allowed to be sexually satisfied as well.  Cita’s father was devastated, hurt, yet knew that in just