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Subject: The Silver Ring by mesmer
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The Silver Ring

		     Hypnosis/Mind-Control
				"THE SILVER RING"

			 - by Mesmer (C)
				Chapter I

This is a story about a ring. To be more precise, a silver ring, which
had in its centre, on the facing side to the eyes, a deep coloured,
blue encrusted jewel, which appeared to have just grown upward and out
of the depths of the body of the ring to be exactly where it lay. To
anyone looking closely at the beautiful jewel set deeply into the
thick, silver band, the blue colour of the jewel appeared to deepen
the more the longer it was stared at, with light swirls of a lighter
blue seemingly passing across the face of the flawless stone like
continuous and wispy lighter blue clouds, while the background
deepened even more without changing to a totally black-blue colour. 

     Around the thick, silver band of the unusual and quite beautiful
ring were engraved hieroglyphics of strange and unusual character,
depicting in that strange language the history of the ring since its
inception, many thousands of years earlier, yet no previous wearer of
the silver ring had ever had the knowledge necessary to understand the
meaning of the many different hieroglyphic characters, and so were
unable to withdraw from the ring its secrets of the ages. Knowledge of
its age had been established by one previous wearer by carbon-dating
and spectroscope methods as being older than the known length of the
history of the world as it had always known to have been. But that had
been as all that could be discovered. The strange, yet beautiful
silver ring had never given of its secrets to any of its wearers to
date and waited patiently, gathering layer upon layer of dust and
dirt, only a few inches beneath the soil in which in lay, still
encircling the skeletal remains of the right index finger of its last
unfortunate wearer.

     The silver ring had owned many wearers over the countless
centuries of its existence, but none of those wearers had ever owned
the sliver ring, for it had only one owner, of surreal and intangible
existence, yet real nevertheless. Other hands could only wear it with
pride and amazement, but could never own it. It belonged to one owner
only, its original creator, the essence of whom lay within the density
and the very texture of the substance of its physical existence ...
and alive ... waiting for its next wearer to arrive in the fullness of
time, as they always did.

                               *

"Jesus!" Peter hissed between his teeth in a long hissing sound. 

     He stood rooted to the spot. He had stopped digging with the fork
in the area he had planned for his new garden as a surprise for his
wife because of the sight of something white.  He stared at what could
only be the skeleton of a human hand lying just beneath the surface of
the brown dirt in which he had been turning over in readiness for
flower seeds to be planted. 

     Slowly, he sank to his knees beside the small, open area of earth
and partially turned soil, his eyes never leaving the bony hand for a
single moment. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck was
standing straight up and his entire skin prickled. He reached down
with the hand spade and dug away at the dirt around the skeletal hand
until the whole bone structure of the hand could be easily seen. 

     After digging and clearing a little more soil away he hissed once
more through his teeth. The skeletal hand ran down to a skeletal
wrist. Peter sensed that were he to continue digging the skeleton
would develop into the full skeleton of a man or woman.
     His attention was then drawn to an object on the index finger of
the bony hand. He bent forward and blew quickly in three successive,
strong breaths, lifting the dust and encrusted dirt from the object's
surface. It was a ring. He stared at it for several minutes without
moving. Then, for no reason he could have explained to himself, Peter
looked suspiciously around him from left to right and then left again,
almost as if he expected someone to be watching what he was about to
do. Then he reached forward and gingerly and carefully took hold of
the ring between his finger and thumb and slowly lifted it upward and
away from the finger around which it had been lying.

     Peter sat back on his haunches, then transferred the ring to his
left hand while he quickly filled in the hole with the dirt he had
previously removed, all thoughts of his planned garden for his wife
long gone from his mind as he re-buried the hand beneath the soil and
surface of the back-yard of his rented house in the suburbs. He didn't
know what the skeleton in his back yard was doing there, nor how long
it had been there, and he didn't want to. He had enough troubles as it
was. He patted down the soil until it was firm and then stood up and
went inside the house to wash the ring under the tap.

     After cleaning the surface of the ring with an old toothbrush
Peter then dried it on a soft cloth and walked through tot he lounge
and sat down heavily, his mind still wondering as to the fate of the
owner of the skeletal hand. He was captivated by the blue jewel in the
ring's setting. It was a deep blue, with streaks of lighter blue
across the face of the stone. He turned the ring over and over in his
fingers, studying it closely, peering without understanding the
strange markings around the band on the outside. None of them made any
sense to him. He wondered then how old the ring was. It looked brand
new, especially after he had just cleaned it. It literally sparkled in
his fingers as he held it up close to his eyes and stared at it
closely, his mind trying to imagine what the history of the ring and
its own had been.

                               *
				Peter French was basically a good guy.
He was forty nine years of age and had been married twenty five years
to the woman he had loved all that time. Of course he had wondered
about other women and what it would be like to be with them, but that
was as far as his mind had ever taken the thoughts, simply because he
loved her dearly. They had two children, a son and a daughter, aged
fifteen and twelve respectively. He was liked by everyone at his place
of employment as a journalist at the local paper where he wrote a
weekly column about the strengths of the modern day society in which
everyone lived. 

     Peter basically kept to himself. When he wasn't working he was
writing as a hobby adventure books, but had never had one published.
They had all come back with the customary rejection slips attached to
them. His remaining free time he spent with his wife and children and
he enjoyed his life and was content, for he had never had the
inclination to contemplate any other life to live, other than they way
he had always lived, at least for the past twenty five years. Before
that was simply too long ago to remember now.

     Peter never objected to anyone and mostly kept his private
thoughts to himself. If someone was annoying him he would walk away
rather than stand and argue, even if he was right, preferring his
peace of mind to arguments or heated discussions and bad friends. Now,
as he sat on the lounge chair studying the silver ring he slowly
slipped it down onto his right index finger. He didn't consciously
choose that finger. The fingers and thumb of his other hand just
seemed to put it there, and smoothly slid it all the way down. For
some reason he then smiled. The beautiful silver ring fitted his index
finger perfectly and comfortably, as if it had been made especially
for him. At first it had seemed a little tight, but strangely, by the
time he had slid the silver band to the bottom of his finger it became
a precise fit.

     Peter held out his hand in front of him, displaying the ring in
various hand poses.  Then he peered closely at the strange writings
around the band itself. He noticed his eyes left staring at the blue
jewel in the ring's centre with some difficulty. The jewel was very
relaxing on the eyes, the more he looked at it, but imagine and look
for similarities as he might, Peter could make no sense or meaning
whatsoever out of the unknown writing around the band. Then suddenly,
he felt a wave of heavy relaxation wash over him from head to toe. 

     He closed his eyes, wondering what he'd done that day to make him
feel so tired. And then he sank unresistingly into the deepest sleep:
one from which he would awake feeling more rested than he had ever
been in his life before from any sleep, natural or alcohol- induced.
The more Peter slept on throughout that long afternoon in July, the
more deeply and the more peacefully he slept, his mind and body
relaxing so completely as to almost be hovering just above the surface
of his own death, such was the slowness of his respiration and
heartbeat.

     And that was the way his wife found him after she had come home
from shopping and had put the groceries away. She had not even noticed
him until she had gone into the lounge room, after making a coffee, to
relax and sit down for a while. For a few moments after noticing him
and smiling softly with the love she had in her heart for him his wife
couldn't help but notice the slowness of his breathing. She studied
the almost imperceptible rise and fall of h is chest for several
minutes before slowly but surely becoming a little alarmed. She rose
from the chair with her anxiety mounting, knowing in her mind that
although her husband was reasonably fit for a man of his age, anything
was possible. She sat down on the lounge beside him and held her ear
close to his nose and mouth. He slept with his lips slightly parted.
She could only just feel the soft warmth of his breath and relaxed a
little of the tension in her chest, sinking down more comfortably into
the soft velvet of the expensive lounge that was her pride and joy.
She knew her husband had worked very late the previous evening on his
latest book and was probably just dead tired. 

     Peter's wife rose then, dismissing any thoughts of alarm as silly
and uncalled for, walked to her chair and picked up her coffee, then
walked through to the kitchen to prepare her family's evening meal,
deciding to let her obviously tired husband sleep on the lounge which
he often did when working late on one of his books. Before commencing
her dinner preparations she went to the closet and fetched a thick
blanket which she loving tucked around him up to the chin. Then she
bent down and kissed him goodnight on the forehead, turning the lights
out in the room and telling their two children to be quiet as their
father was sleeping in the lounge room.

     When his family awoke in the morning they found Peter still
deeply asleep and in the same position they had seen him when they had
kissed him goodnight the night before. His wife checked him again,
listening closely to his breathing and once again felt the warm
softness, as light as a baby's breath on her cheek. She straightened
up and looked down at her sleeping husband, a slight frown of concern
crossing her brow as she did so. She had seen him sleep long before
and so, was still not all that worried. After all, he had been keeping
several late nights of late - not just the one previously. Concluding
her thoughts in that manner she once again relaxed a little and
decided to leave him undisturbed until he awoke by himself, which she
was sure he would do naturally, sometime later on that morning. She
wrote him a sort, but loving and humorous note after getting the
children off to school and placed it on the cushion beside where he
slept on peacefully. Then she kissed him goodbye and left for her
part-time job in the city as an accounts clerk.

     And all the while Peter slept deeply and restfully on,
undisturbed by his wife's short- lived anxieties and humorous note
beside him. He knew nothing, thought nothing, and realised  nothing.
His mind was almost to the depth of flat-line on a cerebral scale were
it to have been measured at that time. His body remained completely
flaccid in every muscle and every nerve had almost ceased sensing as
every molecule of energy his brain produced was used internally to
regenerate and rejuvenate, renew and refresh every core of his mind
and body.

                               *
				When Peter's wife arrived home at
three in the afternoon she found her husband in exactly the same
position she had left him. He hadn't moved a muscle since she'd left
for work that morning. He had been sleeping for just under twenty four
hours and now she was worried.  Again she bent and checked his
breathing. Then she checked his pulse. It was barely perceptible, but
there, nevertheless. And nevertheless, although she had relaxed a
little after checking his vital signs, she still could not help a
feeling of strange alarm that began to creep slowly and coldly upward
along her spine. She decided to play it safe and called the doctor,
just to be sure.

     The doctor came within the hour and left within fifteen minutes,
reassuring Peter's wife and children that all was well, and that it
was just Peter's body taking a well-deserved rest, and that it was not
unusual for people to do so who kept late nights continually and
deprived their mind and body of much-needed sleep. The doctor left all
feeling much relieved, although Peter's wife still carried the frown
on her brow that had formed before she had called the doctor in the
first place. Again for the second time in two days Peter's wife tucked
up the blanket around his neck and kissed him goodnight, and along
with her children went to bed early that night. Sleep, however, was a
long time coming to her as she tossed and turned on the edge for
almost an hour before exhaustion finally closed her eyelids gently
down for her.

                               *

Peter's eyes opened slowly at five the following morning. They
blinked, but did not see for several minutes. When they did finally
focus they simply and slowly closed again and he slept deeply for
another hour, waking again at six, one hour later exactly. Again it
took several minutes for his vision to clear and be able to focus on
anything to discern a shape or colour. He stretched and yawned several
times, feeling his muscles and sinews stretch in a way he had not felt
since his early twenties when he had super fit. He felt very good and
very relaxed. He felt strong within himself. In fact, when he thought
about it for a few minutes he had never felt better than he did right
at that precise moment.

     He looked around him, noticing immediately the time on his watch.
Then he stood up and walked slowly forward a few steps when suddenly
he was overcome with a total dizziness that left him grasping for
anything he could grab as he sank to his knees. His hands found only
the emptiness of the cool morning air as his knees felt the soft
firmness of the carpet on the floor. Then, just as suddenly the
dizziness left him, and it left him feeling absolutely empowered. His
thoughts soared nowhere and everywhere at once. His strength seemed to
flow through him as he rose effortlessly to his feet, his knee injury
not felt for the first time in rising for years. 

     Peter's sight seemed clearer and more acute, as did his senses.
Peter looked slowly around the room as if seeing it for the first
time, his gaze moving slowly, lingering here and there before finally
returning to his immediate front. He sucked a huge breath of air
deeply into his lungs and held it for a few seconds before exhaling
outward in a loud whoosh. He felt amazingly healthy as a smile began
to spread across his face. He looked at the doorway to his home and
decided to get the morning paper.

     Outside in the crisp early morning air he felt even more alive
than he did inside the house. He breathed the biting chill deeply and
smiled as the cold jet of steam left his mouth as he exhaled. Peter
spotted the paper and walk over to it, picking it up. Then he turned
back toward the house and walked up the front steps and inside.

     Once inside he closed the door and walked slowly back to the
lounge in which he had unknowingly spent so much time sleeping so
deeply and so peacefully. Taking the wrapper off the paper he leafed
through the first few pages quickly when suddenly he stopped, his eyes
rivetted on the date and day at the top right corner of the page -
Thursday. July 5th.  Peter looked again and again at the date and the
day, his mind not believing what his eyes told him in black and white
print in front of his face. His mind raced that it couldn't be
possible: that it must be some kind of joke or mistake on the part of
the paper. He looked around at the paper wrack in the corner of the
room where all the old papers were kept. Quickly he rose and walked
over to it, bending down and lifting out the top paper. He glanced
instantly at the date and day on the front page - Wednesday. July 4th.
Peter turned slowly and carried both papers back to the lounge and sat
down heavily into it, his wide-eyed gaze staring first at the date and
day of one, then the other until finally, defeated for the moment he
placed both papers carefully down on the lounge cushion beside him.

     The realisation that he had slept for almost two days hit his
mind and consciousness like a smack in the face. He closed his eyes,
shaking his head slowly from side to side. His thoughts roamed and
raced, and then stilled finally, retrieving nothing but insanity as he
fought to come to grips with his missing time. Where was his wife and
children? Why had they not wakened him? What was happening? What had
happened? He sank back deeply into the cushions, his mind and
consciousness sinking fast from sheer mental effort at trying to sort
things out. 

     Then slowly, everything in his conscious mind began to first turn
to grey, and then to black as sleep took him deeply once more into its
waiting arms. And again did Peter sleep on the edge of death for yet
another hour before awakening just as slowly for the third time that
morning.

     When he awoke again Peter's mind was strangely clear. He didn't
know why he had slept so   long, but he somehow felt that it had been
meant to be. Of the time lost in sleeping Peter put it down to his
mind and body's need for rest, and thought no more of it. Once again
he felt strong within himself, both in mind and body. And he actually
felt younger, as if his long sleep had somehow rejuvenated him from
the inside out, in mind and in body.

     When his family realised he was awake they swarmed over him,
telling him how long he'd slept and asking him how he felt. All of
them had a concerned look on their faces and in their eyes. He laughed
good-naturedly and calmed their fears and concerns, particularly those
of his wife's, who seemed relieved just to have her husband back among
the living. She quickly hurried the kids off to school, then sat down
opposite her husband who was woofing down his breakfast as if it was
the last meal he would ever have.

     His wife smiled, then chuckled at the ravenous look on her
husband's face, studying him in silence while he ate. There seemed
something different about him as her gaze roamed over his face and
features. He almost looked a little younger somehow, and straighter in
the way he sat in the chair. Nevertheless, she wasn't worried any
longer. Her husband was back with her and he looked as fit as a
fiddle. She leaned over and kissed him goodbye, then rose and went off
to work in a much happier frame of mind than she had been in for the
past fort eight hours.

     Peter finished his breakfast, went quickly to the kitchen and
made himself the same again, then ate that down just as quickly.
Feeling satisfied in the stomach he then took a long hot and cold
shower, alternating the temperature to extremes, and left the shower
feeling reborn. His whole mind and body literally tingled all over. It
was he was drying himself off that he happened to glance down and
notice the wide silver band on his right index finger. He studied it
for a moment, then forgot about it as he hung the towel back on the
rack and walked through to the bedroom and got dressed, somehow
optimistic and confident about his life and happiness in every way,
although he didn't know why.

                               *
				It had been three weeks since Peter
had found the silver ring. His wife and co-workers had noticed it and
had commented on its beauty, and then had said no more about it. He
told his wife the truth about finding it in the backyard, omitting the
part about it being attached to a skeleton of unknown origin., on the
basis of what she didn't know wouldn't worry her, and she was a
worrier. Peter's inner sense of vitality, health and mental well-being
grew rapidly from day to day. His love life with his wife had gone
from making love once or twice a week to once or twice each and every
day, sometimes more. His wife had mentioned it in the afterglow of
their love-making one morning when he had woken early and had
penetrated her while she had been sleeping. She had opened her eyes to
the fullness of him in mind and body and had quickly been taken to the
dizzy heights of unusually intense morning rapture and bliss.

     Peter had responded to her question by telling her she was
bringing out the animal in him. She had seemed to accept that and had
questioned no more. His wife was, however, strangely aware that she
seemed to more fulfilled with their love-making, more than she had
ever been. In fact, she was actually aware consciously of being more
filled with his length and girth than she could ever remember being.
However, she was happy, and that was the main thing, such that she
quickly became used to the new and improving feel of her husband and
thought no more about the matter.

     Peter too had become aware of his new sensuality, and, upon
inspecting himself one day after showering alone, was sure his
physical length and girth had actually increased in physical size and
proportion. He figured it might have something to do with his age, but
he was not complaining, and neither was his wife, and that was the
main thing. She was well- satisfied on a daily basis and had no
objections so far. 

     He, on the other hand had been having a never-ending stream of
thoughts about other women, even while making love to his wife. He had
become aware on that morning alone when he had been far away in
thoughts of making love to various nationalities of women while he had
been thrusting steadily between the warm, morning thighs of his wife.
He had stroked steadily and very strongly and repeatedly while she had
writhed beneath him through her peak, and he had continued to do so
until her soft and gentle moans of discomfort had brought his senses
back to the present. Whereupon he had let go and had driven her home
in right-royal fashion, firing her passion and lustfulness once again
to tip her off the mountain of her pleasure's peak. He had then left
her lying breathless, sweating, and exhausted on their bed while he
had risen from between her limp thighs and showered, all the while
noticing his semi-hardness had remained throughout his bathing, as had
his thoughts of taking other women in similar fashion.

     One and a half hours later he kissed his wife goodbye at the
door. She looked tired but happy, winking at him and calling him her
stud as she closed the door behind her. Peter himself had been
impressed by his own performance that morning. He was also becoming
more and more aware that he seemed and felt like his mind and body
were actually going through some kind of change, although for the life
of him he couldn't figure out why.

Peter had been relaxing in his favourite lounge chair for about an
hour after his wife had left for work, reading a magazine, when the
doorbell rang. He rose and walked slowly to the door, opening it to
greet whoever was there with a smile already on his face before the
door had even opened. It was a woman in her mid to late thirties,
dressed in a long, thin and loose floral cotton dress. She carried a
small brief-case in her right hand and a magazine in her left.  She
greeted Peter's wide, warm smile with one of her own, showing even,
white teeth and a pink tongue as her lips parted.

     "Good morning!" she said brightly. "I wonder if I could ask you
for a few minutes of your time to complete a survey we're doing for
the local school in relation to a pedestrian crossing for the children
in Nathan street?"

     Peter had always had a pet hate for door-knockers, but for some
reason he found himself agreeing, smiling and asking the woman inside.
She followed him through to the lounge room and settled down into the
comfortable velvet chair he had offered her with a gesture of his arm
as he sat down opposite him.
     "Can I get you a coffee, or a cold drink?" Peter asked politely
with a slight smile still on his face.

     "Thank you, no." she answered smiling back at him. "I've only
just had breakfast."

     "So, how can I help you?" he asked her, settling down more deeply
and comfortably into his chair. As he did so he noticed her glancing
several times at his right hand. He looked down and saw the ring
immediately. When he looked up again she was still looking in the same
direction, straight at his right hand. She still had not answered him.

     ""How can I help you with your survey?" he asked again in a
slightly more firmer tone of voice. She seemed to come back to the
present from wherever she'd been and smiled, apologising immediately.

     "I'm sorry. I'm conducting research on ... on behalf of our
school parents and ...  parents and teacher's committee." she said
haltingly at times. "We feel it's ... ahh ... we feel that it's only a
matter of .. a matter of time before a child gets hit by a car .. for
no ... errr ..  for no good reason."

     Peter could see the woman had for some reason become
self-conscious. She was stammering and losing her thread of thought
every few seconds. Her face seemed flushed, and her gaze kept
returning to his right hand, or the silver ring that was on it.

     "Are you alright?" he asked sincerely.

     "I'm fine ... I'm...." she began and then stopped, her eyes
seeming to glaze and become distant. Then she shook her head quickly
from side to side as if trying to clear the cobwebs away. She couldn't
believe what was happening to her and understood it even less.  She
felt embarrassed and humiliated in front of this stranger, like a
schoolgirl trying out on her first sales pitch. "I will have that
glass of cold water, if you don't mind." she finished with.

     Peter rose quickly and went to the kitchen, returning with a
chilled glass of cold water. The woman was smiling and embarrassed
when he handed her the glass, apologising for her behaviour, saying
she didn't know why she had lost her train of thought like that.
Peter thought that maybe she was pregnant and didn't know it. He sat
back down, studying the woman closely as she drank the whole glass of
water down in one long, continuous swallow. When she finished she
lowered the glass and sighed.

     "That was just what I needed. " she said with a another sigh.
"Thank you."

     "You're welcome." he smiled warmly back at her, feeling sorry for
her embarrassment over the matter. "Now, what would you like me to do
to help your cause?"

     Peter noticed her gaze had returned to his right hand before he
had even finished speaking, and once again her eyes seemed to cloud
over and take on a distant and far away look about them.

     "Miss?" he said. No reply. "Miss?" he said again. 
     Her eyes seemed glazed and her lips were slightly parted as she
continued to stare at his right hand. He glanced down at the ring,
noticing instantly the slight movement across the face of the jewel.
He looked closer. It was as if there were lighter coloured blue clouds
moving from left to right across the darker blue face of the surface
of the jewel itself. Apart from feeling very relaxed Peter felt
nothing at all from looking at the face of the jewel. He looked up at
the woman again. She just sat there, leaning slightly forward in her
seat, her lips parted a little and her eyes and gaze fixed solidly
onto the face of the jewel in his silver ring.

     "I think I'll get another glass of cold water." he said,
concerned for the woman and began to rise form his chair.

     "Yes." the woman suddenly said clearly. "Another glass of cold
water."

     He returned with the water and handed it to her. She sat there
unmoving, her eyes once again quickly finding his ring to fixate upon.

     "Drink this." he said, moving the glass closer to her face.

     "Yes. Drink this." she repeated, reaching up and taking the glass
without shifting her gaze from the silver ring. 

     He watched her drink it down and then just hold the glass in her
hand, still staring at his silver ring.

     "I'll take that now." he said, reaching for the glass.

     "Yes. You take this now." she repeated almost word for word,
handing him the empty glass.

     He took it back to the kitchen sink and then returned to the
lounge. The woman remained as he had left her - eyes fixed on his
right hand, lips slightly parted. She was still leaning forward
slightly in her chair. Peter thought the woman seemed mesmerised or
hypnotised somehow. Her expression seemed vacant as was her eyes. Her
posture seemed relaxed, but there was definitely something wrong with
her, and he had absolutely no idea what it could be. He sat back down
in his own chair, watching her eyes following his right hand as he did
so. He wondered then if he should call the doctor, thinking maybe she
was about to have a fit or something sinister and dangerous like that.

     "Why don't you just relax?" he suggested to her. "While I think
of how I can help you."

     "Yes." she said immediately. "I'll relax and you think about
helping me."

     Then amazed, Peter watched as she settled back in the chair and
visibly relaxed completely. Her shoulders sagged deeply. Her arms fell
limply on her lap and her legs stretched out in front of her, the full
and loose cotton dress hanging like a sheet between them as she did
so. Peter twigged instantly then to what seemed to be happening,
strange as it might seem to him. The woman was repeating everything he
said to her back to him, literally word for word. Not only that, she
seemed to be doing exactly what he told her to do. First getting the
water, then drinking the water, then taking the glass. And now
relaxing and telling him to think about helping her, which was exactly
what he had said earlier to her. He studied her face and eyes closely.
Her gaze was fixed on his silver ring. Her face was relaxed and calm,
and her breathing was gentle.

     "Are you feeling okay?" he asked, still unsure of what was going
on with her.

     "Yes. I am feeling okay." she answered immediately, continuing to
just sit there.

     Peter decided for some reason to test her.

     "It's hot in here. Isn't it?" he stated and waited.

     "Yes. It's hot in here." she replied.

     He let the breath he had not known he'd been holding out slowly
between his teeth in a long, hissing sound. She had repeated exactly
what he'd said.

     "It's cold in here." he said.

     "Yes. It's cold in here." she repeated like a robot, but sounding
sincere in her tone as if she really felt the cold. 

     He looked closely at her arms and was absolutely amazed to see
the goose bumps on both her forearms. Peter sat back even more in his
chair and studied the woman and her strange and unusual behaviour.
Then his gaze quickly moved down to the silver ring on his finger. He
covered it with his left hand so she couldn't see it, but there was no
change in the woman's appearance or manner that he could visibly
ascertain. It must have something to do with his ring, he thought, as
his gaze remained fixed on her face and eyes, although he wondered as
he thought that why nothing had changed when he had covered it with
his left hand. She was behaving as if she were a slave or something,
he concluded finally, not knowing what else to think about the strange
goings-on. Peter thought about that for a few seconds. A slave. Now
that was an interesting thought. Then he shook it out of his head,
more concerned with what the hell he was going to do with her to get
her back to being normal. Then he had an idea. A longshot, but worth a
try.

     "You feel like your old self now." he said to her.

     "Yes." she answered immediately. "I feel like my old self now."

     Then she sat up straight in her chair and blinked quickly several
times. Her hands came up to rub her temples and then she focussed
directly on his eyes. Then she smiled.

     "I was wondering if you could help us with our research survey."
she said. "It's about getting a pedestrian crossing for the children
on the dangerous corner at Nathan street."

     Peter was speechless. It seemed as if she remembered nothing of
what had happened since she'd come into his house. Her face and colour
had returned to normal and she sat normally in the chair the way he
would have expected her to. Now she sat and waited for him to answer
her. Her lips had parted in a polite smile, and her hands lightly
clasped the magazine or leaflet she had been holding all the time in
her right hand. He smiled warmly back at her.

     "I'd be happy to." he told her. "Do I have to sign a petition or
something?"

     The woman beamed. He noticed only now that she was rather
attractive in her own way. 

     "Thank you very much." she said gratefully. "It's a pity there
weren't more like you."

     Then she handed him the leaflet she had been holding. He opened
it up to see a list of signatures half-filling the page. He signed it
quickly with the pen she had been holding out for him and then handed
both pen and leaflet back to her.

     "Thank you very much." she repeated as she readied to stand.

     "Would you like another glass of cold water?" he asked her, just
to make sure she felt good about going on her way.

     "Another? ....er.. huh?" she said immediately, her eyebrows
raised in question and her gaze directly on his own. Then, "Yes.
Another glass of cold water." she continued, and with that she relaxed
her weight back into the depths of her chair, her eyes and gaze once
again taking on a far-away look.

     Peter leaned back more into his chair, not comprehending in the
slightest what the hell was happening in his lounge room with the
woman. She had seemed fully awake, but as soon as he had suggested
something she had agreed with, and had accepted fully his suggestion,
without question and seemingly without doubt. His brow furrowed as his
thoughts deepened. Then Peter's eyes suddenly and slowly narrowed as
his thoughts took on a different nature entirely.

     "It is very hot in here." was all he said.

     "Yes. It is very hot in here." she answered immediately.

     "It's incredibly hot in here." he stated again with more
emphasis.

     "Yes. It's incredibly hot in here." she repeated instantly.

     Astounded, Peter then saw the tiny beads of filmy perspiration
forming rapidly over her forehead and upper lip. Her breathing also
deepened as if she now seemed to want more oxygen for each breath she
was taking than she had been receiving before he had said that.

     "Heat makes your clothes feel sticky." he said.

     "Yes." she replied. "Heat makes my clothes feel sticky."

     Peter then watched as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair,
pulling the loose cotton dress away from her neck in a fanning action
attempt to keep cool. His pulse surged a little as his thoughts
continued along the vein they had somehow chosen.

     "Much cooler with your clothes off." he stated.

     "Yes. Much cooler with my clothes off." the woman repeated.

     Peter watched expecting the woman to stand up and take off her
dress, but she did nothing of the sort. She just sat there sweating
more and more by the passing minute. He decided to take a punt. His
heart thumped against his ribs.

     "Take all your clothes off now." he told her.

     "Yes. Take all my clothes off now." she repeated word for word.

     Stunned, Peter then watched as the woman rose slowly to her feet.
She stepped out of her shoes, revealing her purple-coloured toenails
to his gaze. Her hands then came up to reach behind her back and undo
the bow between her shoulder blades. She then slipped each shoulder of
the cotton dress away and let the dress slip down over her hips to
fall into a heap around her ankles. Then she stepped aside from it.
She then reached behind her back to release the bra strap and dropped
the bra to the floor with the dress. Her fingers quickly slipped under
the sides of her blue cotton panties and slipped them too down over
her hips, stepping out of them as she had her dress and shoes.

     Peter's eyes were open wide in amazement as he sat staring at the
woman's nakedness. Her breasts were full and jutting. No children as
yet, obviously, Peter thought as his gaze dropped to her thighs. The
dark, lush thatch of curly, soft-looking down of pubic hair captured
his gaze instantly. He hardened immediately, feeling the blood pulsing
rapidly to where his unconscious mind had directed it to go. He
adjusted himself, feeling himself harden again instantly at his own
touch. His next suggestion to her formed before he knew he had done
it.

     "You really feel like masturbating to a very intense orgasm." he
stated.

     "Yes." the nude woman replied immediately. "I really feel like
masturbating to a very intense orgasm."

     Nothing happened. She stood there loose, limp, and very naked,
but did nothing. Her arms hung as if dead at her sides.

     "Masturbate now." he said. "With feeling." 

     "Yes." she answered."Masturbate now ... with feeling."

     Peter just sat back and smiled, wondering what else he could do.
And then he grinned widely, unbelievingly, as he watched in
anticipation while the naked woman's gentle fingers began in deadly
earnest to search with feeling, the centre of her own downy softness,
and the instant flowering of her own special jewel.
				End Chapter I
				~~ to be continued~~


		     HYPNOSIS-MIND-CONTROL
				"THE SILVER RING ..........."
				( by Mesmer) (C)
				Chapter II
				More than two weeks had passed since
the woman had called at his house seeking his support for her
petition. Peter had not taken advantage of her physically, but had
enjoyed himself immensely watching her pleasuring herself to the point
of near exhaustion while she stood naked before him. He had thought of
it, and had nearly succumbed at one point when the woman had reached a
highly intensified state in her orgasmic rapture. Somehow, he had
managed to restrain himself, preferring instead to pass on the dizzy
heights of the passion and raw lust rampant between his thighs and in
his mind to his wife that evening, which he did, pleasuring himself
and her until they were both speechless from his superhuman effort.

     Peter knew by now that there was something strange and unusual
about his silver ring. It had a power of some, but not over others. He
had tried it out on the guys at work, but with no effect. Yet every
woman who became aware of the ring's presence fell under its
hypnotising power almost immediately, with complete amnesia for
everything that was said or done before fixing their gaze on the
mesmerising blue jewel. He had only tried small tests of the ring's
power with the women from work, as well as his wife and daughter,
attempting to gain more and more knowledge first-hand from his efforts
about the ring's powers and exactly what he could do with it. To date,
all Peter had discovered was that its power only seemed to affect
females, and then only in varying degrees. Each and every one of the
females, including his own daughter seemed different in their
responsiveness to his suggestions.

     Peter visited the library in search of the meaning of the
characters around the ring's band, even enlisting a local university
student who majored in ancient languages to help. His name was bill.
He was a friend of one of his wife friends. They had met at an
afternoon party hosted by the group's wives association in their
fund-raising efforts. He liked Bill, but so far no new information had
come to light that would explain the meaning of the symbols
surrounding the silver band, either from Bill, or from the extensive
research he had carried out at the library. Of course he had not let
on to Bill about the power the ring seemed to have over the female
gender, only the strange writing around the band. Bill had been
enthusiastic, but luckless to date with his efforts.

     Then one day Peter received a call from Bill asking him to meet
at the university that evening. Bill wanted to introduce him to
someone who might be able to help in the deciphering of the
hieroglyphics on his ring. Peter readily agreed and looked forward to
the meeting. Maybe now he would find out something about the ring's
history after all.

                               *

The person Bill introduced him to was his main university professors,
Professor Ruth King, an expert in medieval and ancient languages and
symbolic communication in all forms known to man. Ruth King was in her
late thirties, an unattractive, nondescript woman who seemed very
friendly, and, who turned out to seem to Peter to be very
knowledgeable on the subject of languages and communication. Bill's
teacher had a nice figure, tall and solid, Peter noticed as he
listened attentively throughout her initial talk. Peter wondered how
different her personality would be if her facial looks would have been
a little more appealing to the eye. 

     Bill's teacher seemed very enthusiastic and keen to question
Peter about how he came by the ring, yet when questioned back at some
points in their conversation Professor Ruth King became suddenly vague
and evasive, tending to laugh off his questions as those posed by a
laymen who couldn't have understood her answer, even if she had given
him one. Then strangely, Ruth King asked Bill if he would mind if she
spoke to Peter alone from that point onward, thanking him profusely
for bringing the matter of the ring's existence to her attention, an
act that would not go unnoticed when it came to end of term
assessments. Bill was caught obviously by surprise at his professor's
request, but quickly agreed when she mentioned the end of term
assessment carrot.

     They were in the professor's office, a distinguished turnout,
Peter thought, as he looked around admiringly at the mahogany desk and
wall shelves housing hundreds of books in varying states of condition.
When he heard the professor's door to the office shut as Bill left he
returned his gaze to her as she sat in her chair behind her desk,
staring intently at him.  He smiled politely. She did also. Then she
leaned back in her leather chair, interlocking her fingers behind her
head. She breathed deeply and sighed as she shifted her gaze to the
copies Bill had sketched of the characters on the silver ring that had
been placed on her desk earlier when she and Bill had first talked of
the matter. As yet, the professor had not seen and had not asked to
see the ring itself. 

     Peter couldn't help noticing the fullness of the professor's
breasts as she stretched her shoulders backward with the interlocking
of her fingers. When Peter looked at her face again he felt acutely
embarrassed to find her looking directly into his eyes with a
half-smile on her face. He had been caught, obviously staring at her
breasts. He knew it, and she obviously knew it too. Peter felt like a
little boy who had been sent to the Principal's office for being
naughty, but Ruth King chose to ignore where she knew he had been
staring so imaginatively only moments before. Then she leaned slowly
forward, her gaze never leaving his for an instant. Her chin rested on
her doubled over hands as her elbows supported their weight on her
desk top. Her lips were slightly parted and she was drawing breath to
speak. Peter waited, suddenly captivated by the fact that her whole
action had seemed to be precise and deliberate, almost as if intending
her action to be perceived in slow motion.

     "Could you tell me again how you came by the ring, Mr French?"
she asked when she had finished taking her long, shallow breath.

     Her question annoyed Peter. He had never had much time for
academics in the past and her question was not endearing him to change
his original attitude about them.

     "Professor, I..." he began, but she cut him off immediately.

     "Please." she said. "Call me Ruth. There are no students here
with us now."
     Peter smiled politely and accepted her offer, suggesting she do
the same.

     "Why have you not asked to see the ring?" Peter asked her,
deciding to satisfy his curiosity about the fact.

     "All in good time, Peter. All in good time." she answered,
fobbing off his question.  "For the moment I'm more interested in how
it came into your possession. And what, if any, have been your
experiences with it."

     Now what the hell did she know about that? Peter wondered. She
must know something about the ring's history, he concluded, but he
wasn't going to give up his secrets for nothing in exchange.

     "Listen Ruth." he began seriously. "I didn't come here for games,
and I can leave just as quickly as I came in. All the same to me. I
told you how I came by the ring. I found it. As simple as that. Now
you tell me what you know, or out the door I'll go, and that'll be
that.  The choice is yours, but let's not waste each other's time.
Okay with you?"

     The professor had been caught off-guard by Peter's directness,
but recovered quickly, smiling a little while she quickly regrouped
her mental defences. She took a deep breath and sighed, letting it out
slowly.

     "Okay." he listened to her say finally, as she smiled a defeated
smile that Peter did not believe for an instant. He felt strongly that
something was amiss here, but he didn't for the life of him know what
it was. All the while the ring on Peter's finger remained hidden from
view of the professor's sight as his right hand rested lightly on his
thigh.

     "At first," she began, "I was puzzled by the characters and
symbols Bill brought to my attention. He didn't tell me they had come
from a ring at first. They interested me greatly, simply because I had
never seen anything like them, and I've been studying this area all my
life. After I had run a check of matching individual characters and
symbols for singular identification through the world university
computer data base I had to know more about where they came from. I
questioned Bill and he told me he was helping out a friend and said
that he'd sketched them from your ring."

     Peter sat in silence while she took a deep breath and then
continued without giving him the chance to get a word in.

     "The characters and symbols do have a history, at least as far as
the data base goes, although it isn't all that much. It's what the
data base doesn't say that interests me greatly.  The data base told
of a person who owned the ring in the early sixties. He was a
professor as well, or to be more correct as far as his qualifications
went, he was an accredited university scientist with a lifetime tenure
at his university. The data base didn't say where or how he had come
by the ring, only what he had discovered about it, and that, as it was
reported, was only discovered by accident. He disappeared suddenly one
summer and was never seen or heard from again. An investigation was
held, but found nothing. When his things and his office were later
researched by the university security they found many files and
computer data bases of his works and especially about the ring, and,
the effect it had on people. But, that was that. He had originally
photographed and enlarged the characters and symbols and transferred
them to computer, as well as all of his documentation on the
experiments he had carried out using the ring As a source of some kind
of power."

     Peter watched as she finished and drew a deep breath, waiting and
expecting her to continue, but she didn't. Once again she leaned back
in her chair and interlocked her fingers behind her head. Once again
Peter's attention was immediately drawn to her breasts, only this
time, for some reason, he wasn't bothered by the thought of her
knowing he was looking at them. When he'd satisfied his imagination's
imaginary inspection of the fullness and shape he looked up, only to
notice immediately that this time, it was she who was blushing at his
obviousness. He said nothing by way of an apology, drawing breath of
his own to speak.  Although his mouth opened, he said nothing for a
few seconds. And then he did.

     "Does anyone else know we are here talking, or that the ring has
re-surfaced again?" he asked, watching her eyes very carefully.

     "No." she smiled. "Only you and I, and Bill of course." 

     She was lying and Peter knew it. Without warning, nor knowing of
his unconscious choice to even do it he flashed the silver ring
quickly up from his lap and leaned forward, holding it a few inches
away from the professor's face. She jerked backward against the wall
behind her chair, but her eyes never left the ring for an instant.

     "No!" she cried out sharply as she turned her head away from the
ring, only to have it slowly return itself once more to the front.
"Please! Don't!" she begged, but Peter held the ring closer, directly
an inch from the tip of her nose. He watched as her eyes crossed while
trying to fight to look away, yet trying at the same time to focus
intently on the blue jewel.

     "You! ... have! ... no! ... idea!" she cried hesitatingly as she
continued to struggle internally with herself in a desperate attempt
and effort to avert her gaze, but it was no use.  Although her cheeks
presented themselves in turn to the jewel of the ring face-on, her
gaze never left the already changing scenery happening on the face of
the blue jewel in the silver band.

     Then Peter watched as her facial tension began to drain away. Her
gaze glazed slightly and she flushed upward from her open-neck
expensive designer shirt. Then her eyes took on a vacant look as she
sighed and then relaxed back into her chair. All in all it took about
three minutes, Peter thought as he became aware of his racing pulse.
He rose from his chair and walked around to her, sitting himself down
on the top of her desk. He glanced down at the sketches, noting the
striking similarity to those on his ring. An exact likeness.  He'd
just never seen them blown up pictorially before. Then he leaned
forward very close to the mesmerised professor, inhaling deeply the
scent of her musk, and feeling himself thicken at the same time with
the onset of the familiar stirring in his loins.

     "Who else knows about this?" he demanded of the now-subdued
professor.

     No response. She just sat there staring at the changing face of
the jewel in the very centre of her vision.

     "You will tell me now who else knows the ring has re-surfaced."
he said, rephrasing his question to her.

     "I will tell you now who else knows the ring has resurfaced." she
repeated immediately. Peter smiled, waiting, his heart thumping
against his rib cage.

     "The data base clerk at university central knows the ring has
resurfaced. He told a government man the ring has resurfaced. The
government is coming here now at eight- thirty."

     Peter glanced quickly at his watch. Seven-thirty five. He looked
quickly back at the entranced woman as her mouth opened to continue
speaking.

     "The Dean of this university knows the ring has resurfaced and is
coming with the government man tonight at eight-thirty." she finished.

     "You will tell me now, where are all the floppy discs on the
ring's history?" he told the stunned professor. "And you will not
repeat any more statements back to me. You will just do as you are
told without question and without delay. Now, tell me where they are."
he added.

     "They are in my safe in the wall." the professor said slowly.

     "Get them now, and all other documentation and proof that the
ring has resurfaced." he told her.

     Peter moved sideways to allow her to move past him as she rose
from her chair and walked to the central wall of her office. She moved
a picture aside and then opened a small wall safe, removing a small
package from within. Then she locked the safe and straightened the
picture. She turned and walked back to where he sat on the top of her
desk.

     "Give me the package." he ordered her.

     She handed him the package as she stared directly ahead, no
longer looking at the ring, seemingly deeply in some kind of trance
with her eyes wide open.

     "Tell me if anybody else know my name?" he asked her.

     "No." she answered. "Only myself at this stage."

     "Tell me why the government man is interested in the ring." he
commanded her.

     "Something to do with the disappearance of the owner on the
disk." she replied.

     "Tell me what else you personally know about the ring that has
any significance." h e ordered her, and her immediate answer nearly
floored him.

     "It can kill people." she said without a hint of emotion or
credulity.

     "Tell me how it kills people." Peter asked when the had recovered
his thoughts from her last answer.

     "I don't know." she said.

     "Tell me what else you know." he commanded her again.

     "It has a strange and immediate power over women." she replied.
Then added. "And it has to change the wearer somehow before it can
have an affect on men."

     "Tell me what you mean by that."

     "I don't know the meaning or the reason." she answered. "That's
why I'm so interested."

     "Tell me how old the ring is." 

     "Older then we can measure. At least as old as civilisation
itself. This one anyway." she told him.

     Peter sat back and collected his thoughts. He didn't have much
time.

     "You will remove every single piece of clothing you have on, and,
you will do it now!" he ordered her.

     The professor quickly removed all her clothing, dropping it into
an untidy pile on the floor beside her ankles. Peter watched as the
fullness of her breasts became truly known to him. When released from
their bindings of the bra they sagged downward from the weight of
themselves. They were truly a size and a half. Her figure was plump,
Peter noticed, as he watched every move she made, as well as looking
at his watch repeatedly. And she had the bushiest thatch of lush,
curly black pubic hair he had ever seen on a woman, not that he had
seen that many in the flesh. Then, for no special reason. He followed
a hunch. Peter's loins hardened like concrete. He felt like drilling
her just for being an academic he didn't like, but he didn't have the
time or the inclination.

     "Tell me the truth about your sexual preferences." he told her.

     "I am a lesbian dominatrix." she answered, her arms hanging
loosely by her sides. 

     He smiled to himself. He had been right. But time was running
out, Peter knew. He had to move quickly to avoid detection. They might
be early. He just couldn't take the chance on playing around with the
lesbian professor any longer.

     "You will close the door after I leave. Then you will lie back
down spread-eagled on the floor here, facing the door. You will
masturbate yourself with much feeling and intensity before and after I
leave, but you will not be able to achieve your climax until the door
opens once again and you see another man or men walk through and look
down at you. Do you understand?" he ordered her.

     "Yes." she answered.

     "You will also forget and remove for all time from your conscious
and unconscious memory, all knowledge about the ring, its history and
its existence. You will not have ever heard of it and know nothing of
it, even if placed under a lie-detector test, because you now believe
with your heart and soul that you have forgotten everything you have
ever known or discovered about it. Is that clear?" he finished.

     "Yes." she said simply.

     "I'm leaving now. Tell me the back way out of the university and
to the car park.  Then, lie down and begin to quickly and passionately
frig yourself." he ordered her.

     She did. Then Peter watched as the naked lesbian professor lay on
her back on the floor and spread her legs wide. Her hands rapidly
began sliding between her thighs. One hand began to penetrate deeply
in and out of her black, bushy centre while the other began rapidly
circling impatiently around the top of her crease where her own jewel
of personal pleasure lay so well-hidden beneath its dense, fur-covered
and bushy jungle of protection. 

     Another quick glance at his watch told him it was time to quickly
leave. He did so, quietly closing the door behind him. Peter smiled to
himself as he ran quickly but quietly along the series of corridors
and hallways she had told him about in order to get out to the car
park unnoticed. He wished he could have been here to see the look on
their faces when they opened the door and saw her lying there,
spread-eagled and stark naked, frigging herself like crazy, and to
then, while captivated by the overall scene of her, have her explode
her unleashed passion in their faces literally as she completed her
sexual release into the still, humid air of the night-time university
corridors of advanced education within seconds of them opening her
door.

                               *

As Peter wove unnoticed out into the evening traffic he thought of
Bill. Peter figured now that he was the only one, apart from Bill, who
knew of the ring's existence. But supposedly the ring did not have any
power over men unless the wearer changed somehow. He shook his head
from side to side as he drove, glancing often at the package on the
passenger seat of his car that the professor had retrieved from her
safe, and, when clear of the mainstream traffic, floored the
accelerator of his car, hurrying to get home to discover its contents.
He had to find out if there was a way to erase Bill's memory of the
ring, as he believed he had done with Bill's lesbian professor. Again
he smiled at the thought of what the two men had waiting for them when
they opened the professor's office door. He glanced at the clock on
the dashboard of his car. Eight-thirty. He grinned widely, picturing
it in detail as he sped onward toward his home and the opening of the
package that kept demanding his attention.

                               *
				Waiting until his family had all gone
to sleep, which had involved another super-human sexual performance on
his part that had taken his wife's rapture and ecstasy to the point of
almost fainting from exhaustion and sheer, exquisite raw, sensual
pleasure, Peter crept out of bed leaving her naked, limp and lifeless
in a dreamless sleep as if dead. He quickly made his way down to the
lounge room and to where he had hidden the package behind some books
in the bookshelf after he had arrived home earlier in the evening.

     He opened the bound package of floppy discs and documents,
reading first the documents. When he had finished them he walked to
his computer and switched it on, inserting the first of four small,
black floppy discs inside. It was more than and hour and a half later
by the time he had finished. He sat in his chair as if he'd been
stunned. To achieve what he wanted in relation to the control of men
he would have to give up who he was for all time.

     The documents said little about ring itself, more along the lines
of the professor and his habits and qualifications. But the discs
documented the professor's own notes and experiments, some ending the
death of the people he was experimenting with. Somewhere along the way
the professor had documented he was changing in his basic essence, but
the notes did not elaborate in great detail. They described changing
loyalties and increasing effectiveness in the power of the ring. More
toward the end of the last disc did the professor's notes detail the
extent of the change he believed himself to have been and at the time,
was still going through. 

     Of the professor's original personality there was none visible,
and, only with the control of mind-enhancing drugs was he able to keep
up the diary notes regarding the person he once was. He also stated he
had no regrets of the change in him, citing the rewards were all worth
whatever he would have believed he'd lost, had he been thinking in the
manner he once had. And then the notes had ended. Everything else on
the disc had belonged to another person's own opinions. The writer
went on to document the investigation into the professor's sudden
disappearance and the views of the police at the time. Then the matter
was closed and the investigation was shut down. And the notes ended at
that. 

     Peter sat for a long time, until after midnight, wondering how
the whole process started in the giving up of one's self. He knew he
had to silence Bill, less the government people find out his identity.
He did not want to give up possession of the ring before he knew
exactly what he could do with it. He didn't ask for it to come into
his life and he sure as hell wasn't going to give it up easily, or
without at least a fight. He raised his right hand and began to
closely study the face of the blue jewel, while at the same time
rubbing the fingers of his left hand absent-mindedly over the
characters around the bend.

     Suddenly, as he continued to look at the dull face of the blue
jewel it began to deepen. Lighter blue clouds began to drift across
the face from left to right as the background colour of the jewel
continued to deepen in its basic essence. The more Peter stared deeply
into the blue jewel the more lost he was becoming to what he was
actually doing. He as aware he was falling under its spell, but he had
no desire to look away or otherwise try to stop what was happening to
him right at that point in time. He felt strange, as if he was falling
into the very centre of the ring, even though he was well aware of the
chair beneath his buttocks and thighs and the room about him. His mind
felt like it was floating inside the jewel itself. His body seemed to
be floating just above the chair, no longer feeling the firmness of
the material support beneath him.

     Then suddenly, without warning, he sensed himself falling very
quickly, inside the blue jewel itself. Down, down, down he fell.
Tumbling head over heels. He was disoriented and felt nauseous.
Everything was turning and spinning. Everything was black. Yet
throughout the experience, frightening though it was to him in every
sense imaginable, something felt very right about it. As if it was
what he had been expecting.

     Then just as suddenly the falling and spinning sensation stopped.
He became aware of himself standing, yet he could not feel the ground.
He quickly glanced left and right.  Everything was a blue-coloured
dark, tinged all around with a dim light, but look for it as he did,
he could not identify the source of the light. His attention was draw
instantly and suddenly then to a figure standing less than ten feet
from him and to the front. Peter wondered how he could not have seen
the figure before when he was searching for the source of the light. 

     Peter was scared out of his wits, yet a part of him seemed to
remain in complete control as the figure moved slightly. He couldn't
make out a face, but from the shape and height of the person he deemed
it to be a man.

     "Your choice is this moment in your time." a voice suddenly
boomed inside his head, neither male nor female in sound. It echoed
throughout his brain, yet he did not shift from the spot on which he
stood. "Choose this moment in your time, and all that it entails, in
faith without doubt, and belief without question. You choose, or, you
do not. State your answer now. Choose life, or choose...mediocrity."

     Peter suddenly became aware in the very essence of his being that
he now faced the most awesome and frightening decision of his life.
But somehow, and for some reason he already felt and knew in the heart
of his mental turmoil and terror that his decision had already been
made, and by him. He had chosen ... life.

     "So shall it be, as you have chosen." the voice boomed in his
temples. "And so shall you live, as you have chosen."

	       End Chapter II   (to be continued)
				***



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