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This is a reverse amnesia story.
January 21 2018

This is Josephine Nehr and Ted Basel’s story. If you like a feisty heroine and a strong, but fair alpha, this one’s for you. And if you are over 18 and you’d like to hear a smoking hot narrated scene of this story – with some visuals to help you follow along, just click the picture below. This is the first segment of three. I will be posting segment two next Sunday and then the last a week later. So be sure to come back. 🙂


I swear it’s true. You have to picture this. I’m in the process of two sets of edits and finishing up a proposal for a three book series, not to mention company, Christmas and all the stuff that comes with that, so I’m a little stressed. Anyway, there I am, waking up in the wee hours and I find myself going over all the things I either need to buy, put down on paper or take off the page. Honey is sound asleep to my right and I’m constantly sitting up to look over his huge shoulder to see what time it is.

This is when the dread sets in because the ritual begins. 2am. Darn. 3am. Shit. 4am. Okay, this isn’t funny. 5am. I’m screwed. 6am. Kill me now. 6.58 I fall dead asleep. 7am. Honey scoops me in for a hug and says, “Good morning, Sunshine.”

Don’t. Ask. But I’ll give you a clue. There ain’t any rays beaming from me, I can assure you.

This is how it’s been for the past week or so. Only? There’s something I neglected to mention about the ritual. Occasionally, in those dark hours I hear this noise. At first I’m thinking it’s bees that have found a home between my exterior wall and interior one. Not so much buzzing, but something like that. I try each night to ignore it when it occurs to me. I never hear this sound when I’m in our room during the day. WTH?

This is when the author in me gets carried away and I start to dream up all kinds of possibilities. The most probable? I am being haunted by the hounds of hell. They come to visit me each night and whisper in my ear. They’re raspy little voices become clearer. I can actually make out words. OH. MY. GOD. They are here to possess me! What am I going to do?

Well, the first thing I’m going to do is keep all this to myself. I don’t want anyone to know what a freak I am. Second? I’m going to bathe in garlic and borrow my mother’s rosary. Only, I think Honey might become suspicious since I hate the smell of garlic and I sleep in the buff so a big honking wood-beaded rosary hanging around my neck might stick out, ya know? What to do. I need a plan. *insert Jeopardy theme song here* I know *perks up* I shall do what all other females have done before. I shall let the demons from hell possess me and while in that rabid state I shall blame it on PMS.

Hey don’t give me that look and don’t judge me. I said it was a plan maybe not a good one, but a plan nonetheless.

So there I am. Imagine crazed and looking rather hag-like. Seriously, nothing spells a hot mess better than no sleep and a heightened fear of possession. I begin to think the evil is manifesting itself in physical form as I look in the mirror every morning with escalating dread. How can this be happening to me?

And then? I wake up this morning after my two full minutes of sleep and decide. I’m going to tell Honey when we have our morning coffee. If he doesn’t want to live with one of Lucifer’s minions we’ll just have to make other arrangements. I’m plotting and planning before I get out of bed on how to broach the subject. It’s not easy, you know. Because there’s no delicate way to say, “Oh, by the way, we may have to schedule an exorcism for me before Christmas. Can you pass the cream please?” And that’s when it hits me. It’s morning. Light out. And? The whispers are back. I stare at the ceiling thinking they’re louder though. Maybe it’s my hearing. Maybe I’m going deaf or I’m going to be one of those people who will have ringing in their ears for the rest of their…

Blinded by the light

I hear this so clearly the song starts to play in my head and it takes me a second to connect the dots, but when I do I sit up and dive over Honey’s side of the bed. Plucking up the clock radio I hold it to my ear. Jesus, H! The stupid thing is on only so low all you can hear is a rasp of words and music. THIS IS WHAT HAS BEEN PLAGUING ME FOR AN EFFING WEEK? And he didn’t hear it???? The only decision to be made now was in what manner he was going to die. Unbelievable.

And ten minutes later when I tell him my sad tale over coffee and he finishes wiping the tears from his eyes because you know I embellished the hell out of the story, he gave me that grin. Here’s the conversation.

Me, “What?”

He shakes his head. “If I didn’t want to live with Lucifer’s minion?”

“I swear. I thought the guy was recruiting me.”

He looks me dead in the eyes. “I think he already did because most days I could swear I am.”

And there’s me LMAO because he has no idea. After that little comment? I’m sharpening my horns and polishing up my trident shaped tail. Poor guy. I foresee a nice little haunting in his future. Not too near. I have to let him forget about this and when he does? Bam!




It’s true.  I really believe this, but then my version of creation with God being female would be that earth was created in five days instead of seven because, well, women are more efficient than men and besides, they wouldn’t have taken a whole day off to rest afterward.

So there I am thinking about the concept of “no”.  It’s such a small word and yet spoken in the female vernacular, it translates big time in many different ways.

Again for the sake of this being my version of creation, my messenger angel will be called ‘Express Male’ and he’ll look like Brad Pitt (in the part of Achilles in Troy) and he’ll um, have wings for no other reason than I believe that they’re quirky and any self-respecting angel should sport them.  Now my female deity? Hm. Think a cross between Heidi Klum and Pamela Anderson with maybe a little Selma Hayak thrown in for good measure. I’d probably go with the circumference of Selma’s hips. <- killer in: From Dust Till Dawn . Seriously, I think the snake played that part for free. 🙂

Okay, here’s the conversation after earth’s been around a while.

Express Male enters the heavenly gates and seeks out God, “The mortals are at it again I’m afraid. They want to start another war.  Should we let them?”

God without blinking: “No.”

“Got it. They also want to strip the land of raw materials to make toys to play with. Should we give them carte blanche to do that?”

God not amused: “No.”

Express male warming up to the subject. “Well Mother Nature’s pretty pissed about this.  She wants to flood the Eastern seaboard. Should we let her?”

God, rolling her eyes. “No.”

Express male makes notes and then prepares to leave, but just before he walks off, he spies the last item at the bottom of the page. “Oh, one more thing. Politicians are seeking permission to do their own reality T.V shows. Should we allow them?”

God blinks rapidly, clearly at a loss. (Personally, I don’t know why she’s surprised here. I knew we were going to hell in a handcart the minute American Idol made it to season four)

“Can I take that as a yes?”

God gasps.  No!”

“Got it. May I go now?”

God undoes her heavenly hair clip, slowly letting down her ethereal curls with a shake of her head.

Express Male sees her do it and swallows.  “N-no?”

God smiles.  “No…”

All right. Shoot me. It’s my version, isn’t it?  Besides, tell me who in their right mind -even a God- could turn down Brad Pitt with that hair and those biceps. Why, given the opportunity to wield some power with him  I’d be all over that. Although now that I’m calling up a visual, the wings are kind of awkward. 0_0  Meh!  This is fiction. I’m can make them disappear with the stroke of a few keys if I wanted to. *wipes brows then looks at you*

So wait, *insert me looking at the ceiling, walls and floor* where the heck was I going with this before The Brad distracted me? Oh, yeah. No is a powerful word. Maybe if we weren’t so afraid to use it once in a while we’d actually get something  worthwhile done.


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