Chapter 1….

I have always wanted to see myself as a Goddess among men. Who wants to settle for being a mere Princess and be loved by the subjects of your kingdom? I wanted to be loved by the world. When I was little I would imagine myself having the power to control others. I would pretend I could control animals heal wounds and still be able to put supper on the table. There were no limits to my imagination.

I stayed in my imaginary world as long as I could. My friends had grown to accept my weirdness. I was fine, just the way I was. I spent hours on end making sure everyone was my friend. Looking back, they didn’t care if I wore wigs to school, in fact one teacher joined me sometimes. They didn’t care that I pretended to be someone else in class. It was just a very Chandi thing to do. That’s my name by the way Chandi.

I was born in a big city to an unusual family. We are what happens when and Indian shaman marries a mystic gypsy. The women in the family had the ability to whisper into the universes ear and be given great gifts. Our prayers, or wishes if you would like, our deepest desires were granted if we spoke them. I learned about my ability early. I must have been five or so.

My life as a child was amazing. I was the center of my family’s attention. My sisters carried me around where ever they went. My brothers, as vile as they were, stuck up for me when I had people who were mean to me. Yes even for me there were some people who were unaffected by my charms. They just took a little extra effort. Sometimes the effort wasn’t worth it so I didn’t try. People can be very cruel when they want something they can’t have and I refused to play their game.

My imagination spilled over into my everyday world. My creative wishing turned to complete tyranny against others. I used my self-absorbed love for myself to always have my way. I ruled the house; if I wasn’t happy then no one was happy. I was the glowing light of my grandmother’s eyes, and I hated her. She was always trying to show me things about my gifts and never let me have my way. The she would say to me, my words had power, and I did not respect them.

Of course my words had power, I thought. I could see spirits energy. I get what I want by wishing for it. I could say to the sky my wants and have them land in my lap the next day. How could she think I didn’t know my words had power? She died when I was young. Her last words to me were you could be more than you are, baby girl. I look back now and wish I would have stopped to listen to her. It has always been my one regret. I wish I had learned more, but, I knew it all. Who can expect a young child to make the wise decisions? It was her death that triggered the downfall of everything I held dear.

I cared little for the people who cared and loved me. I was so busy being queen I didn’t notice my family dynamic changing. Me being what I was, a Goddess among men, I was to be adored. I didn’t have to love them back. If I was angry I just thought of horrible things to come into their lives. It wouldn’t be long before tragedy would befall them. It was like an easy way to cope with disappointment. I would like to say I didn’t know any better but I did.

After the divorce of my parents she needed a change. She had remarked it was to help me grow out of my selfish stage, but, I doubt that. My mother felt it best we went somewhere I could not have an abundance of energy to tap into. My power came from the energy around me. I could pluck it from the air and use it to my advantage. So she moved me to the country.

I had always felt if my Mother could not treat me the way I deserved, I would be happier. That was a no. She refused to use her gifts, or so I thought. I learned later she just used it differently. She combined her gift with faith. Unlike me who used the energy around me she created her own. My happiness was no long her main concern. So I would pout. If she wouldn’t do as I asked I would just go somewhere else.

I moved back to my dad’s in the city. I was back in with my adoring public. But, something had changed. My dad was different. He drank so much that I was no longer the center of his world. Now that mom was gone I was not the most important thing in his life. We would fight. Big fights. He knew what the women in our family could do and it reminded him of my mother. It hurt him and I could feel the hurt being directed at me. He hid in a bottle and ignored me. He left me to my own devices and that, was where my city life ended.

My mother decided a change was best and I wasn’t old enough to fight it. I had been in too much trouble to be left in the city. I still carried the regal, I should say arrogant, demeanor my life had been. I had known for some time had sever attraction. Boys would gather to me. Even grown men would admire and talk to me.

I loved attention. I used my words to flirt and charm what I wanted. They never stayed around. I was careless. No, that’s not right, I was stuck up. I accepted everything they gave and gave nothing of myself. Again I realized people don’t like being used or taken for granted. Someone finally told my mother what I was doing.

Without any notice, she came and scooped my up. Tearing me away from my friends again. I didn’t want to leave my public. I eventually somewhat settled down. I like every other girl at that age. I fell in love with a boy, Davis Jefferson.


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