And [the beast]
Time: During the 3rd Year of the Tribulation.
Place: On the private
private patio, on top of a penthouse,
in Maui, Hawaii.
Characters: Don, and his wife, Satir.
(Satir opens her eyes. The smell of flowers, and
clorinated water, and Pacific ocean breeze, tantalizes
her small, well-sculptured nostils. Satir realizes she has been asleep. Through her sunglasses she can see
that the skies have clouded over, a bit, and
that she is a little hungry. She raises her head barely an
inch from her bright yellow raft, and calls to her
husband across the pool.)
What TIME.....is it?"
(Satir lays back, and yawns; she wasn't worried about sunburn;
their entired pool was shaded by huge potted
flowering plants, and giant Hawaiian ferns. The air was filled with flowering scents, pungent ocean smells, and the sound
of a small airplane peacefully humming in the clouds, above.)
I been asleep,
"Yes.......I didn't want to
(Don's voice was deep,
and distracted, as usual.)
"Did Martha bring....
(Satir opened her eyes again, and realized her
notepad was still lying on her small, bare midriff;
she had been sending an email to a friend, when she had closed her eyes for a moment, and then drifted off. There were drops of pool water on the screen, but it didn't matter; the notepad was waterproof: the shade of soft rose, Satir's favorite color.
Satir glanced down at her mailbox, and gave a little laugh; yes, she had sent the email, before she had closed her eyes. She smiled, again, and touched another icon on her screen: it would let Martha know, down in the kitchen, to bring her up
something to eat.)
"Are the Hughes coming
hon. Oh, could you call
up MARTHA..... and ask her to bring up some of that LOTION... for me, AGAIN?"
(Satir dipped a smooth, well-manicured hand into the water, and pushed her raft slowly over to the side of the pool. She wanted
to get her bathing suit cover-up; as usual, at this time of day, the ocean breeze was becoming a bit cooler.)
"Why: you still have
"Oh........yeah. The doc
said it would go away....
just a REACTION....."
(Satir gracefully slipped into the water: letting
her raft gently float away toward the middle of the pool. She padded lightly over the multi-colored tiles of the steps out of the pool. She paused a moment to tilt her blond head back,
press some of the wate droplets out of her thick, shoulder-length hair. Her fingertips slid, just for a moment, over her smooth high forehead; now only a slight impression disfigured it, but she had paid for the best at a private clinic.)
"You SHOULD....have had
it done on the FOREHEAD, Ron.......I haven't had any RASH....
(Satir reached over to
pick up her floppy straw
hat, and little, terry
"Didn't you have that
RASH.....a couple months,
(Ron's voice, already,
was sounding distracted,
and mumbled. Even when
away from the office,
downstairs at the bank
headquarters, he was
busy reading mail, and
"Hm......I think that
was just from the SUN...
you know, when we were
on the Hughes' yaht that
weekend, and I forgot
to wear my HAT....?"
"I just text'd her,
again: to bring up your
(Satir padded over, barefoot, and poured
herself some more lemonade from the bar. Her toenails
were small, and beautifully polished a soft shade of red.
Her left small toe was encircled by a gold band with a
tiny diamond chip on it.)
"You know.....I SPOKE to
her and CLYDE...again,
about getting over to the CLINIC.....I TOLD them
we'd PAY for OUR doctor to do it....so, they
wouldn't have to go to
one of those FREE ones..."
(Ron's voice rose to
a loud murmur.)
not going to have ILLEGALS....working for
me! When are they...
(Satir had set down her things on a little side table, and was stretching her long tan legs out on a bright yellow lounger. It had begun to sprinkle a bit, but having lived in Maui for quite some time, Satir was accustomed to the light afternoon drizzle. The bright yellow lounge umbrella was enough protection, unless the rain began to really pick up.)
(Satir turned her head towards the soft buzz of their patio elevator.)
"You KNOW..what a hard
TIME...she's had since
her son's FAMILY....."
(Satir lowered her voice to a whisper; her lovely soft lips, only touched by a smidge of sungloss and the fullness of youth,
forming carefully enunciated phonetics.)
(Don scratched at the
bumpy red rash on his
wrist, again, and glanced
impatiently at the opening elevator doors.)
they better get on the
BALL, soon......I WON'T
Satir glared just for
a moment at her husband, and then smiled
at the short plump woman, of obvious Hawaiian descent,
who was busily hurrying out of their elevator: both competant
hands holding a large platter filled to the brim with small plates of Hawaiian fruit salad, and freshly made sandwiches of various meats and nuts, and cups of coffee.
On one side of the platter, on a separate plate, was Don's prescription-lotion for his rash.
Satir eyed the small plastic bottle, uneasily.
She greeted her maid, warmly: making polite small talk,
and smiling brightly, while Martha busily set up the drinks, and snacks.
Satir was thinking of the new tiny rash she had found just this morning.....while she was clipping on her
Oh, it was nothing.
Just a rash.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't really a rash,
at all: from the sun, or
from the clorine......
or from the newly-made
It was the little cluster
of nest-like beds........of hatchlings......
that were waiting to be
where their worm
does not die,
is not quenched.
Read more articles by Julie Michaelson or search for articles on the same topic or others.