John felt cold, though the sun shone brightly on his face. As if in a dream, he saw the faces of the multitude, passing by, looking at him with seemingly sightless eyes, quickly glancing, then, just as quickly looking away. He looked down at the front of his suit jacket, noticing, for the first time, the stains that decorated his suit, and he marveled at the myriad of colours that danced there, and yet, for some reason he didn't seem to feel very worried that he was a mess. Strange, as he was usually a fastidious dresser.
He looked again at the sun, and then at the faces of the people hurrying by.
"What a mess", he thought to himself, and he laughed.
“I warned them, all those years ago, I told them what would happen, and that unrestricted immigration would ruin this country".
It wasn't that he was bigoted in any way, it was just that, well he had always believed, and each should look after their own.
He couldn't understand why, after each and every disaster or war in the world, he should be asked to support some program or other, designed to help the poor helpless victims. He hadn't minded at first, but then he started to see those " poor victims" walking down his streets, living in his suburb, joining his club, well that was something else, wasn't it.
The Government called it Multi-Culturalism, and he hated them for it. He called it a fifth column takeover of his country.
In the beginning, it was okay, but slowly at first, he started to see Asians, Arabs, Jews, Africans, taking over the city. Everywhere he looked, they were there. But the Indians, they were the worst. They always looked dirty, unclean, and the smell, musky, almost animal like. And they all seemed to work in Curry Houses. He knew that to be a fact, he often ate dinner at his favourite Vindaloo Restaurant; never saw any white people working there.
As for the Asians, the only good thing about them were the women. He did after all keep an Asian girlfriend on the side, as well as a rather beautiful Arab girl. But then, they did not have much choice. In the current economic climate, people will do anything to keep their job. If his staff did not bend over backwards, literally speaking, no job. and as for Su Lin, well she was an illegal. He giggled to himself at the thought; after all they were only women, weren't they?
Of course, he would never be seen in public with a Coloured or Asian woman, let alone allow himself to be related to one. Like the day his son had walked into his office, and announced that he intended to marry his Lebanese girlfriend. He had tried his best to thwart their plans, he had failed of course, but he'd shown him who was boss, hadn't he.
His son had converted to Islam, and married his beautiful Shari. He had laughed in his fathers face, telling how he had been going to the Mosque, instead of University, and meeting his beloved, instead of going to the library to study.
But he'd fixed them. He was rich; he could do whatever he wanted. Richard never new what hit him. First he'd lost his job, then his allowance had been withdrawn, credit cards cancelled, and finally made homeless, the bank did the rest, his bank of course. To add insult, he had contacted his daughter in law, and feigning a change of heart, offering to help, he had beaten her and then ravished her. He had told her that if she told Richard, he would intimate that she was a willing participant, and she would lose him. Of course, she had kept the secret, telling her husband that she'd had an accident, fell down the stairs.
He giggled again, as he wondered if the child she carried was his, and not his grandchild, sweet revenge? Oh yes revenge is sweet.
A sharp pain in his chest brought him back to reality. "Really" he thought, "This is most inconvenient, I was supposed to be at a meeting half an hour ago, cut Richard out of my will, leave it to the dogs home for all I care"
He'd been walking down Main street, He’d left the car and walked. He hated walking, hated having to walk amongst the scum, rubbing shoulders with the rabble. The smelly mob offended him, offended his personal sense of decency. He hated the beggars that tugged at him, the poor, and the street people, out of tune singers, playing out of tune guitars assaulted his ears.
Suddenly, it had seemed that the sun had exploded in his head. He stumbled once, twice, eventually falling against the wall, and sliding to the footpath. He had felt his breakfast rise and spill down his jacket, and he had marveled at the pretty colours.
He looked at the faces of the people rushing past, and he became angry that no one would stop and help. He tried to call out to them, but only inarticulate grunts issued from his mouth. He started to panic, thinking "Can't they see I need help, why don't they stop"
As if in answer to his thoughts, a vaguely familiar face appeared before him. The man was dressed as he was pinstriped suit, shiny shoes. The lips moved, saying, " Hello again" and they smiled, a warm comforting smile. He thought he knew this stranger, but couldn't place the face.
As if on cue, the stranger spoke, saying, “I’m sorry old man, but you do know me". At that, he started to change, firstly, he was a soldier, a pilot, a young maiden, a Roman Legionnaire, until suddenly the stranger stood before him, and he new him, he didn't know how, he just knew.
Before him stood a tall being, dressed in skins, across his back was a bow of gold, in his quiver was a silver arrow, at his side a giant sword, and upon his head grew Antlers.
He spoke, saying, “John, I am Herne, Lord of the forest, protector of the She Oak, Consort to the Mother, I reign supreme over life and death. I am also known by many names, by many peoples, in many languages. Do you know me now?
John felt a tear roll down his cheek, he knew now that it was all over, he could never put things right. He had always believed that, in the end, he would have time to make amends, not like this, suddenly, lying in the street like some overdosed junkie. His soul cried out in anguish and fear. Frantically, he tried to call out for help, but no sound came out.
Herne smiled,” John, tell me, are you fearing death, or hell, or do you just fear me?"
"Fear not” he said, and with that he reached down, taking John by the hand, he lifted him up saying.
“What is done is done" and darkness filled his eyes.
Someone in the crowd slowed their pace; he stopped, and bending down, looked deeply into John's lifeless eyes. He felt for a pulse, and finding none, reached into the jacket and removed the wallet, emptied it and tossing it aside, walked on, as if nothing was wrong.
Slowly he stirred, and opened his eyes. At first he thought he'd had a bad dream, but no, someone was holding him. He turned his head and saw a face that radiated beauty and love. Her smooth dark skin, felt like velvet, her eyes were the deepest green and seemed filled with ancient wisdom. Her long hair seemed the colour of mid-night, and hung down past her shoulders. He saw and he started to cry. Her voice was like music to his ears.
He suddenly heard another voice, a familiar voice, the voice of Richard; he could make amends after all, make things right, but only squeals came out of his mouth.
“Have you thought of a name" the voice of Richard said.
The woman looked at him, and said, " Jasmine, for she is beautiful."

A dark veil fell before his eyes, and in the distance he heard the voice of Herne.
“What is done is done; I am the Lord of Life and Death. Sometimes you will remember, and weep. One day, within this existence, you will remember much of what you have forgotten, and you will curse me. Your tears will flow in despair at the children you will bear, and one day, you will step, once again, into the circle, and know the peace that dwells therein... But before that time you must learn, that what is placed on the circle, you will reap tenfold. The circle never ends, so look into your heart and find the love that you have lost. When you find it, Place it on the edge of the circle, so that those you have tormented before, may take of it, and be healed. Know also that the soul has no colour, or creed, it is neither God nor Goddess, It is both, according to it's living needs. It's essence is Love. Sleep now, and remember no more, until the time comes that you will be called.

Robin A Spicer (c) 2003