FAIR WARNING:
The Miss Daisy Chronicles are a stand-alone group of
stories set in the same universe as Cannibal 4H; a
universe where, as the result of "The Great Disaster,"
humans are used as livestock and cannibalism is the
accepted norm.
The Miss Daisy Chronicles contain graphic descriptions
of sex in many and varied forms, some of which
selected people might consider deviant and perverse.
It contains violence, death, family tragedy, the
raising of humans as livestock and the consumption of
human flesh.
Be aware children are not spared in this tale! They
often meet a grisly end. This series, like C4H, is
not for the timid or squeamish. NOR IS IT FOR MINORS.
If you are a minor go away. If reading this story
would in any way violate the local laws, rules,
regulations, morals or customs where you live go away.
There are many other more edifying stories to be found
elsewhere, stories that would be more appropriate to
your age and legal status.
Let me restate this one more time: the story that
follows this caution is intended for mature,
consenting adults only and should only be accessed
and/or downloaded if doing so would not violate any
legal edicts adhered to in your locale or your own
personal taste.
Pay attention to the story codes at the beginning of
each chapter. They will help you decide if that
particular
story is to your own taste. Do not complain if you
ignore these codes and discover material you don't
enjoy or
approve of.
THIS CHAPTER IS CODED (CAUTION, HUMAN
CATTLE,CANNIBALISM)
If you don't know what the codes mean, go to:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/code/scfr.htm
If you are a parent and you find your child has
downloaded this story or other material you find
objectionable, sorry but you need to do a better job
of being a parent.
Consider moving the computer into a room where you can
see what is on the screen. Only let your children go
on-line while you are at home or Google "parental
control software" for a full listing of available
filters and programs. If you don't know how to
"Google," your kids will.
The author does not endorse or advocate the
practices found within these stories any more
than Stephen King really believes people should
move their families in to a deserted hotel in
the mountains in the dead of winter and then
try to chop them into kibble with an axe. They
are fiction, make-believe, a fantasy, a
fabrication, not a promotion of the culture
they describe. But they are intriguing to
write.
In real life the author is considered to be a
kind and gentle individual who likes small
children and dogs, tips well in restaurants,
holds doors open for ladies and senior citizens
and even goes to the effort of catching insects
in the house only to release them alive and
unharmed outside.
Previous chapters of The Miss Daisy Chronicles: Making
Miss Daisy are available at
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Eurytion/THE MISS
DAISY CHRONICLES/MAKING MISS DAISY/
and www.bdsmlibrary.com
Previous chapters of Cannibal 4-H are available at
www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Eurytion/C4H/
And
www.bsdmlibrary.com.
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
copyright with all rights reserved by its author
unless explicitly indicated. Reproduction except for
personal use and reposting without the author's
written permission is prohibited.
Finally this saga is for Miss Daisy. She knows who she
is.
Eurytion@yahoo.com
"I don't know what your destiny will be, but one thing
I know: the only ones among you who will be really
happy are those who have sought and found how to
serve." Albert Schweitzer
THE MISS DAISY CHRONICLES: MAKING MISS DAISY
CHAPTER FOUR: DEFINING MOMENT
Her chest tight and stomach roiling with anxiety,
Tansy knocked softly on the cloudy white glass panel
above Mrs. Patel's nameplate. She didn't know the
school's career counsellor very well, having never
spoken directly with her although she did hear her
speak at the beginning of the school year about how
her door was always open for students with questions
or concerns. She guessed she'd find out if that was so
now.
Among her classmates, the view was that Mrs. Patel was
"different" then the rest of the teachers. Not a weird
and creepy different like Mr. Brumbaugh the science
teacher who everyone knew lived in a house full of
caged spiders which was why he was always out in the
fields behind the school humming to himself while he
chased crickets and grasshoppers with a little mesh
net; not a humorous different like Mrs. Positano the
English teacher whose round, plumb face was always
split by a wide smile as she started that day's class
off with a corny joke and who would always add a point
or to the score of a student who made the day's most
outrageous pun; more of a "not from around here"
different.
For one thing there was the way she dressed. No one
else Tansy knew wore clothes like Mrs. Patel's, so
long and flowing, silky and colourful with all the
embroidery and patchwork. And then there was that red
dot in the centre of her forehead. What was that all
about anyhow?
She always had a sweet, smoky scent about her yet she
told Jamie Roeser she didn't wear any perfume. Where
did the smell come from? Then there was the food she
ate. Always vegetables, fruits and grains, usually
with some spicy sauce and never, ever any meat. How
could someone go even a day without eating any meat,
let alone a whole lifetime? Would someone who didn't
eat meat approve of her being a cow?
While Tansy pondered her questions, her knock was
answered by the door swinging inward, a pleasant
soothing voice inviting her to please come in.
Stepping through the door, she discovered another
difference about Mrs. Patel; her office was unlike any
other in the school, more like a family room than
anything else.
In place of the usual stark black and chrome metal
desks and chairs, there were soft over-stuffed chairs
and a small love seat all surrounding a polished
cherry coffee table whose surface was covered with
various pamphlets. Real paintings of flowers and
landscapes, not posters with trite sayings, adorned
the walls. There was a small refrigerator, and a
stereo system along with a combination TV/DVD player
on top of a chest of drawers on one side of the room.
The only really unusual thing about the room, aside
from the fact it smelled like Mrs. Patel always did,
was a triangular stand tucked unobtrusively away in a
far corner.
Accepting the counsellor's offer of a soda, and her
suggestion she sit in the "big blue chair," Tansy
turned an attentive eye on the counsellor, hoping to
read something in her body language that would give
her a clue of how to begin.
What she saw was a relaxed woman in her mid-twenties
dressed in a snug sleeveless top of shimmering shades
of blues, golds and greens that hugged the contours of
her modest bosom. The top ended just underneath her
naval, leaving a small gap between it and the blue
jean pants, below it that revealed a flat, athletic
abdomen of skin the shade of burnished chestnut. The
pants were canted off to one side and held up by a
longer than necessary khaki belt, which itself loosely
extended a good six inches past the buckle.
The face above the top was inviting and friendly with
a smile as warm as the summer sun. Two black eyebrows
arched over deep velvet caramel eyes themselves set on
either side of a pert upturned nose. A forest of
thick shiny ebony hair brushed straight back from the
crimson-dotted forehead and tied into a stubby
ponytail completed the ensemble.
Aware of the ongoing inspection, Mrs. Patel lowered
herself with an easy fluid grace into the chair
opposite Tansy, waiting a few moments more before
breaking the ice. She knew she had a reputation of
being somewhat odd among the school's students; what
kind of counsellor would she be if she weren't aware
of the undercurrents? It was best to give first-timers
a few minutes to adjust and get comfortable before
beginning a session; a little social chitchat was
never amiss.
"Good morning Tansy. I know we're here to talk about
you today but I thought it'd be nice if I started out
by telling you something about myself. Now I know the
name on the door is Mrs. Patel and that's probably
what you should call me when you see me anywhere else
than this room. But in here I want you to call me
'Jay." That's short for my full name Jyeshtha which
means 'eldest daughter.' I have three sisters, all of
them younger than me so that's part of where my name
comes from.
"I was born in this country but my grandparents
originally came from India. Heritage, culture and
tradition are very important in my family, which is
why my first name is so unusual. It's also a real
tongue twister, so that's why my nickname is Jay. The
only time I get called Jyeshtha is when my mother's
really mad at me.
"I'm married, which is a good thing 'cause otherwise
the Mrs. would be pretty silly. My husband's family is
also from India and his name is Chiranjeev, which
means 'long-lived.' Everyone calls him Charlie,
though. The only time he gets called Chiranjeev is
when I'm mad at him. Charlie's an engineer down at the
electrical plant. We don't have any kids yet but we do
have a dog, a mutt with the normal name, at least for
a dog, of Scoundrel.
"The big red blotch in the centre of my forehead isn't
a pimple or a scar. It's called a Tilak and it's a
sacred sign in my religion, one that is intended to
help awaken the wearer's spirituality. It's not red
paint either; it's a spice, red turmeric, that we call
'kumkum'."
A quick smile crinkled Tansy's mouth as she heard the
other name for the spice. She knew about having cum
on her face; her cousin Swen had taught her all about
that, although his was a pearly white, not red.
Taking the student's grin as an indication she was
comfortable, the counsellor moved on to business.
"Tansy,' Jay said leaning forward and looking
earnestly into the young girl's eyes, "I want you to
know that this is a safe room. You can tell me
anything you want in this room, ask any questions you
have in this room; laugh, cry or swear in this room
and it's OK. Nobody makes any ethical judgments in
this room. Nobody tells you whether or not something
is good or evil, right or wrong, moral or immoral.
I'm here to help you to make informed decisions and to
help you to get to where you want to be. Now why don't
you tell me a little bit about yourself and what you'd
like to do?"
After days of practicing this conversation in her
head, what she would say and how she would say it,
Tansy found herself uncertain of how to start. All the
rehearsed phrases and polished arguments to defeat any
objections Mrs. Patel might have to her becoming a cow
had fled, leaving her tongue as dry as a cornhusk in
October. Say something, her brain screamed. It doesn't
matter what, just let her know you can speak.
"I want to be a dairy cow," Tansy blurted, her eyes
widening in shock at the way those fateful words had
escaped her vocal cords. Committed to this new course
of action, she went on with her explanation, a rapid
torrent of speech unleashed by the broken dam of her
silence. "I really do. Uncle Morgan says, even though
I'd be a good milker, it's just a passing fancy. Being
at the dairy put thoughts in my head; this month I
want to be a cow, next month I'll want to be a nurse.
But that's not true. It's not just some silly girl's
whim. Just because I'm only 13 doesn't mean I can't
know what I want. And I do know it; every fibre of my
being knows it. I think even Uncle Morgan knows it,
he's just afraid of what my mother will say. He says
he won't even let me consider it or talk to mum about
it unless you say I should be a cow. So here I am.
Jay, please tell me I should be a diary cow," she
finished, her verbal flood diminishing to a trickle.
Stunned by suddenness of the girl's request, the
counsellor found she was uncertain about proceed. A
lot of girls who wanted to be a cow, or who hadn't but
should have, had sat in the same chair as Tansy. None
of them had attacked the subject so directly or with
so much passion. Her previous decision at the dairy
reaffirmed, Jay decided to return the girl's
directness with equal candour.
She began by talking with Tansy about her religious
beliefs. "Tansy, I told you my family came from India.
Did you know India is one of the few places in the
world that still has cows? I don't mean human cows; I
mean the actual four-legged animal that doesn't exist
here anymore." Tansy shook her head no.
"Well, it's a fact. Cows weren't allowed to die off
India like they were in almost every other country."
"But if you can't drink the milk the cow gives or eat
their meat why keep them alive? Why waste precious
food on livestock that can't give you anything in
return?"
"Cows are sacred in my religion; even after Ahriman's
Curse caused the Great Disaster, even though we can no
longer accept their offering of milk, they remain a
symbol of life, a gift from the gods. To kill a cow is
the same as killing one of our holy men. To allow our
cows to die when they could be saved would have been
the same as killing them. We couldn't do that and
many sacrificed much to preserve this species."
Pointing with a tapered finger to the stand in the
corner, the counsellor continued to describe the
tenets of her beliefs. The stand was a shrine and the
young woman with four hands depicted in the painting
was the goddess of wisdom; the one who endows human
beings with the powers of intellect, wisdom and
learning. "Those of us who work towards spiritual
progress attach great importance to the worship of
this goddess."
The deity's four hands represented the four aspects of
human personality in learning: mind, intellect,
alertness and ego. Those were the sacred scriptures in
one hand and a lotus, the symbol of true knowledge, in
the second. She was using her other two hands to play
the music of love and life on a string instrument
called the veena. Her flowing white raiment symbolized
purity.
The three sweetheart roses in front of the painting
meant Jay had offered her heart to the deity while the
water sprinkled on the roses stood for purification.
The golden lamp on the right side of the shrine was
lit to dispel ignorance. Incense was burned in the
small jade holder on the left, the sweet scent going
everywhere, including her clothes, to symbolize God as
being everywhere. The silver bell was rung to awaken
the deity and also to block out other disturbances.
"Here at school I only burn perfumed incense," Jay
offered, smiling. "At home Charlie and I burn camphor
at the shrine to signify the destruction of our egos.
It doesn't smell as nice, in fact it smells pretty
awful so we're careful to keep the door closed and the
window open and we never wear those clothes out in
public."
There was more to worship than just veneration before
the shrine. "Any activity we do that takes us closer
to the gods can be called worship including the
voluntary obliteration of the ego in service of
mankind."
Seeing the confused look on Tansy's face, Jay tried to
simplify her explanation. "We hold human cows, and
their offering of milk, to be as much of a gift from
the gods as natural cows. Human cows are just as
sacred to us, more so since in order to become a dairy
cow a person has sacrifice their ego in service of
mankind. We'll drink the bounty of their milk but we
will not eat the meat. Killing a human cow is a sin
and we will not participate in that crime.
"You've chosen to worship in a very special and holy
manner. I cannot stand in your way."
"Mrs. Patel, I mean Jay, I'm not sure I understand.
You're not going to try to talk me out of it? You'll
sign the recommendation; I can be a cow? "
A tinkling laugh flew like a fairy from Jay's lips.
"Yes Tansy, you can be a cow. And it really doesn't
have all that much to do with my religious beliefs. As
your counsellor, I have to look at being a dairy cow
just as I would any other career. Every career has a
set of optimum profiles you need to match up against.
From your first day of school on, your permanent
record contains information we can use to match you up
against these profiles. At the beginning and end of
every school year this information is updated to help
us help you make the best career decision.
"After you made the appointment to see me I pulled
your permanent record and ran it through our profiling
software. I wasn't aware you wanted to be a cow," a
little white lie the gods will forgive me for Jay
thought," yet that's exactly what the computer said
your career choice should be. You scored anywhere from
the 90th to the 98th percentile on every one of the
career diagnostics. I don't think any student has ever
had such a clear-cut indication for any career choice
in the three years I've been here. Your feelings are
right Tansy. You were meant to be a dairy cow."
Practically skipping down the hall, Tansy couldn't
wait until she got home and gave her copy of Mrs.
Patel's recommendation to Uncle Morgan, a sprightly
sparkling happiness rushing through her like bubbles
rising in a champagne flute. Another barrier to her
becoming a cow had been victoriously stormed. Now all
she had to do was succeed in playing the game.
NEXT UP:
CHAPTER FIVE:
EXTENDED FAMILY
