Upside Down Kris

Intolerant of Tolerance Tolerance. How much should we be tolerant, and for what? Does it always lead to a good thing? Maybe I should reflect upon the difference between tolerance and acceptance first. I see them as two very different things. For me tolerance means you "allow" things that go against your way of thinking. Acceptance means that every cell of your body relaxes because you know you can't change something and are ok with it. I feel like sometimes we accept some things that we could change and are intolerant of things that don't matter. Like, how long did it take some people to accept bans on indoor cigarette smoking even though it's for the public good? On the contrary, people accept the high level of sugar in our diets which has been proven to affect our weight, mood, and cognitive activity. But then again, how intolerant are some people when there is a person taking a long time in a check-out line? Does it really matter in the end?  I imagine some typ

The Time Keeper The Time Keeper crossed his arms, an ink design curling on his skin from under his sleeves. He was dressed all in black and forbidding in his stance. We ran from him, trying to find a path through the woods, but he was always behind us. He barely fit into his white vehicle with open sides, although he was tracking us with it. A voice pumped out from the vehicle's depths reminded us of our tardiness. The warnings were incessant and seemed to spread through every angle of the forest.  Were we really late? And for what? Our feet scurried past a gnome staring at a pool of pestilent water. Green algae covered it, and his job was to keep guard day and night. He remained with his focus fixed on the surface and didn't look up as we passed. I slowed down to see what he could see in the water, and could have sworn I heard a scratchy voice say: "Jump in." I scanned the gnome's pointy face, but it was of stone. Still, I had the urge to swim into that pool, no

  Vipers "We are all vipers," she said. I didn't answer for a while as I imagined all of us slithering around on the earth–some of us with our mouths open in attack mode, and others retreating into the tall grass. We were all fascinating in our own way–some of us were violet, some red, some a deceiving baby blue, some unsuspectingly blending into the environment...We took turns snapping at each other and then disappearing into the green. "What do you mean by that?" I finally asked. "That we're all waiting to criticise each other. We've all got something to say about somebody else. It's not just bullies who bully other people." I sat back and thought: She's right . Could I truthfully say that I had never criticised anyone? No, even if I prided myself on making people feel good about themselves. And how many times had I thought a critique without saying it? Was that even worse? I'm not sure why we feel the need to criticise others. Pe

Hitchcock Meets Stephen King There was no rhyme or reason to their flight. They bumped into each other as they tried to whizz by, only to change direction as soon as they reached where they thought they wanted to be. They lived in a realm of glorious chaos until they were reined in by the clang of two metal rods. The Rod Keeper stood by the Keeping House and looked on as one by one they danced inside, entranced by the still ringing rods. Is this the beginning to a fantasy novel? Let's try again: They had taken over, the bees. No one knows exactly how it came about, but from time immemorial they had conquered the trees. People had learned to avoid the woods, but sometimes a weary traveler rested under the inviting shade, unleashing the bees' wrath. "How dare you stop underneath our home! Should we give up this, too, you greedy human? How much more do we have to endure?" they shouted. Then, they would swarm around the person, scaring him away or even stinging him to dea