Synopsis/Disclaimer: I’m bored and have way too many ideas.  One Fu mish mash coming up J  Look out for flying Kermits, Peters, and a sprinkling of the usual crowd J  I don’t own them, just playing, honest.  This story has a somewhat serious tone; you may or may not need the tissues.

Beads of Fu Wisdom

I hate writer’s block, and I hate fear.  I’m scared my KFTLC novel will turn out to be a Mary Sue, and for an aspiring writer like me, that doesn’t bode too well.  I want to be taken seriously.

Currently, I’m listening to Michael Flatley’s Feet of Flames on the CD player.  To fight my growing tension headache I close my eyes and let the songs carry me away…..

I find myself in a lush garden, the sun streaming golden rays upon my hair from its place in a near cloudless blue sky.  Sounds of a small waterfall drift in from nearby, my thoughts begin to quiet, and my insecurities begin to fade.

Soft, lilting notes draw my attention away from my thoughts and I softly pad towards them, my bare feet caressing the green carpet beneath me.

To my surprise, there sat Kwai Chang Caine himself, playing his flute.  My eyes blink back unshed tears, and I silently bowed to him, unsure of what to say.  Standing before me was one of the men whose voice and wisdom had guided me through tough times, comforted me, and taught me how to live honorably in a world that can sometimes be cruel and unforgiving. 

Caine lowered the flute from his lips and offered a gentle smile.  The soothing tone of his voice eased my soul.

“You are in need?  I sense great pain, and uncertainty.  What is the matter?”

‘I’m not exactly sure. All I know is that I am afraid.  I’m unsure how folks will see my stories, and I don’t want their messages to be lost.  I’m working on one story in particular…”

“And you are afraid that it will not be liked? That people will see it as extreme?”

I nodded wordlessly, the tears flowing freely now.  I wanted so much to be liked and accepted, but yet I yearned to tell a story in my own way.

He touched my cheek, speaking once more.  “Write from your heart, and use the gift that was given to you.  The message will be there.”

I looked up, and he was gone.  I dried my tears and turned around only to find myself face to face with Kermit Griffin himself.  He was dressed in his usual black suit and tie and carrying his beloved Desert Eagle. He wore his hair short, and it ruffled lightly in the breeze.

“If I’d have known I was gonna have visitors, I’d have dressed for the occasion” I quipped, and indicated my silk gi and informal hairdo. 

Kermit grinned broadly.  “Smart kid, I like that.  Listen to your instincts and go with your gut. They never lie.  You’ve done well for yourself, and you’ve come a long way.  You’re a scrapper.  You’ll find the mercenary in you, believe me, I did.”  There was a note of sadness in his voice as he said that and my heart went out to him.  “Oh, don’t forget to love as if your life depended on it.  See ya kid.”

“Don’t forget to kiss Mitch for me, and take care of Capt. Simms.”  I told him.

“Oh yeah...”

I circled the garden until I came by an old oak tree, its trunk weathered from age.  I sat in the shade and mulled over everything that had been said so far.  Let the story tell itself, don’t try so hard.  I looked up and saw a small pond in front of me.  The surface shimmered, catching the sunlight and sending tiny rainbows skittering over the surface.  I sighed and reached down to pick up a nearby pebble, admiring the smoothness and the way it felt in my hands when I turned it. 

“Start at the beginning.”  The tenor voice next to me said and I turned to face its owner.  Peter Caine looked at me with a measured gaze, and I felt myself blush as he smiled. 

“I like your story idea.  It has definite possibilities.  Do you mind telling me why you chose this particular point of view?  I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just curious.”

I drew a shaking breath into my lungs and spoke as honestly as I dared.

“I want people to know what it’s like to live with a disability.  I want them to see that we are people too, with thoughts and feelings, and opinions, and even dreams.  I want people to know that something beautiful and wondrous can arise from a tragic event, and that happy endings do exist.  I want them to know that anything is possible if you believe in it.”

There was a pregnant pause as Peter considered my words.  He turned to me and said, “We will be there with you every step of the way.  Follow your heart, and shoot from the hip if you need to.  Good luck sweetheart.”  He planted a soft kiss on my cheek, and I replied, “When you can snatch the pebble, you are ready Grasshopper.”  I tossed the pebble up in the air, and to my surprise, he deftly caught it in one hand.

“That’s not bad for a Shaolin cop, huh?  Now get to work.”

End