Do you wanna be a poet and write Do you wanna be an actor up in lights Do you wanna be a soldier and fight for love Do you wanna travel the world Do you wanna be a diver for pearls Or climb a mountain and touch the clouds above Be anyone you want to be Bring to life your fantasies But I want something in return I want you to burn burn for me baby Like a candle in my night Oh burn Burn for me Burn for me Are you gonna be a gambler and deal Are you gonna be a doctor and heal Or go to heaven and touch God's face Are you gonna be a dreamer who sleeps Are you gonna be a sinner who weeps Or an angel Under grace I'll lay down on your bed of coals Offer up my heart and soul But in return I want you to burn Burn for me baby Like a candle in my night Oh burn burn for me burn for me Yeah Ooh I want you to burn baby ooh Laugh for me Cry for me Pray for me Lie for me Live for me Die for me I want you to burn Burn for me baby Like a candle in my night Oh burn burn for me burn for me Yeah Ah yeah I want you to burn I want you to burn for me baby Ohh yeah ............ "Casualties" Okay, so she had gone all the way with her boyfriend again, so what? Jocelyn was in love, and the expression of sexual pleasure between two people was too sublime to pass up. Besides, it felt good, and having her own young body pleasured by the man she loved made it even more wonderful. The evening had started slow, with fingers and toes being sucked, kissed, licked; then clothes started coming off, hands wandered, breathing intensified. His heartbeat was so erotic and sweet. Her breasts smiled up at him as they bonded; she felt him connect to her, and hissed as their privates were married, as their chests slid against each other, as his lips nibbled on her ear—orgasmic! She had screamed and whined louder and longer than before, unable to comprehend how so much pleasure could be delivered to one body—and it all came from him, his selfless caresses, his loving thrust, his to-die-for smile, the endless devotion of love, of love, of love, love... They had lain in bed, and showered, and her foster mother didn't mind their sexual congress at all; she rather thought it was sweet, and smiled as she fixed breakfast for the closest thing she ever had to a daughter, preparing her for another day of school. Her job was starting soon, and she did not want to be late, but since both she and Jocelyn, her foster daughter, went to the same place during the day, Mrs. Keys figured they would be able to make it. Jocelyn McKeough, born in Canada and moved to the States, had had an unhappy childhood. Her father was a man unknown to her, and her mother, her biological mother, had been a bully to her for nearly fifteen years. She verbally abused poor Jocelyn, forcing her into the untrusting, unemotional young girl she was presently—but that was peace compared to the physical abuse. A single mother raising a fairly well-rounded young woman was bound to be stressful, but Mrs. McKeough barely had a job or any friends, and she took her frustrations out on the only one she knew could not retaliate, her daughter. It had gotten so bad, she had been forced out of her own home and into a foster one, at least until she was graduated and old enough to live independently. Jocelyn, Joss to her friends, had little opposition to this, and looked forward to her new life in spite of her shyness. She found herself a ward of Janet Keys, an art teacher in the very school she attended, though of course Jocelyn had never been to her classes, nor could she ever—but she was not interested in art anyway. Janet Keys had herself been happily married for years, but due to biological cruelty, could never bear children. She had wanted a child nearly all of her married life, and had been very close to adopting a few, but then fate struck a cruel hand upon her face and stole her husband, her lover and closest friend, her dear-heart away, leaving her alone, widowed, and deeply saddened. Whether it was an apology of fate's, mere chance, or some happier form of intervention, both Jocelyn and Janet had their prayers answered: one a loving foster mother, the other a child. Jocelyn's charm enabled her to snag a male friend early on, and these two quickly became attached to each other. While her embittered mother would've driven the boy out, having been betrayed before by men, Janet welcomed him as a guest of honor, and liked him at once. Her foster daughter was happy, and she was becoming happier; how funny sometimes it is, when things seem the worst, yet one simple turn can make them better and better! And now they were sexually involved, Jocelyn and her love, although at first they had both been careful and wary about it. Sex was a big step, and it held enormous consequences and responsibilities, plus it bound two souls together forever, regardless of how modern thought argued. Yet Jocelyn felt sure of her bond, and she did love her boyfriend dearly, and every time he saw her, he smiled as all other happy experiences faded. ............ She had gotten used to Stanton's ways and politics by the time she hit her sophomore year. Jocelyn was comfortable, early in the middle part of her high school education, now settled and ready for whatever the teachers had to throw at her. She vowed to enjoy her sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth years of life, to make friends, to form wings, to explore her love. She was a face in a school full of faces—not without her problems, but on the whole, average and happy. But things change. The strip said so. At first, Jocelyn couldn't breathe. She couldn't stand up. She collapsed on the toilet, heaving in deep breaths. A single line, faintly colored, had altered her entire life forever. Pregnant. It sounded like a hammer smashing down on her chest. Pregnant. She took several deep breaths, although her hands quivered as if from a disease. Her brow became wet with perspiration, and her ears burned. She felt like she was being strangled. Pregnant. The strip said so. And it didn't lie, did it? She wanted to test again. After engaging in sexual intercourse so many times, of course she had wanted to test at first—who wouldn't? It was just to be sure, though: next time, they would use every condom, shield, and barrier available to them, and wait until marriage before having babies. But... pregnant! Now! At sixteen! Jocelyn thought her face was red before when she shyly bought the test, but after seeing positive results... The second test was positive. Clearly positive. Jocelyn felt like throwing up, and it wasn't because of morning sickness. What would her lover say? What would Mrs. Keys say?? And her friends! It would be impossible to hide her girth once the baby started to grow, and she would miss school for maternity leave. And the cost! The chaos! Jocelyn quickly lifted the toilet and hurled. "Joss? You okay in there?" It was her mother—her foster mother, knocking on the door. Jocelyn felt sick, and now embarrassed, and especially trapped. Janet was more of a mother to her than her real mother had been, so would she also be supportive of her daughter's sudden, unexpected conception? Her stomach did flips, and when she looked in the mirror, it was obvious she was ill. There was no way she could hide her condition, so she groaned and unlocked the door. "No." "What's wrong, sweetie?" Jocelyn restrained her vomit, nearly. "I think you better come in here, mom. I'm kinda sick, so watch out." "Sick enough to miss school?" Janet came in, her pretty, kind face radiating matronly love, and noticed her foster daughter's pale complexion. She could smell the vomit, and instantly gave her sympathy. "Oh, sweetheart..." She recoiled as Jocelyn vomited in the toilet again, but stayed in the bathroom regardless. She held her foster child in her arms, whispering and humming softly, telling her it was okay to miss some school. She ran some hot water and made Jocelyn drink it, then went for orange juice. She came back and automatically ran a hot bath, telling her foster daughter that sometimes, when she had been sick, warm water helped her recover. Jocelyn knew that nothing could cure her disease. "Mom," she croaked as Keys stirred the water with her hand, "I'm pregnant." Mrs. Janet Keys froze everything but her arm, which paddled through much slower, much more thoughtfully. She gingerly stood up, covered her arm in a towel, and gave her foster daughter a patient look. Mutely, nearly weeping, Jocelyn held up both pregnancy tests, both indicating the kind of future she would now have. Teen mother. Janet tried to smile, but reasoned a hug was best. Jocelyn loved hugs. She wept and gasped as her foster mother took her and loved her and rubbed her back. "It's okay, honey," she whispered, "it's all right. You didn't do anything wrong. It's all right. You're going to be okay. Did you just find out?" "Yes," managed Joss, trying so hard to smile. Janet returned the sign and parted the girl's hair. "Then, I guess, congratulations. I think you should tell that great boyfriend of yours the news. You can always tell the quality of a man by the way he reacts to fatherhood. And... you don't have to go to school today if you don't want to. I think you should rest, maybe call a friend." In spite of her shock, and the weight now bringing her down, Jocelyn was able to force a weak smile out. So, her foster mother was okay with everything—good. Great, actually; she had feared the worst, although considering Mrs. Keys, there really wasn't anything to fear at all. Her boyfriend, though, would be another matter. For five agonizing seconds, he had given her silence. Her heart stopped the entire time. Then, "So I'm going to be a dad?" "Yeah," she whispered hoarsely. He sighed. "That's incredible. Joss, that's... unbelievable! Did you just find out?" "Just a few minutes ago. I told mom first." "Oh, of course. ...Wow. This is unreal." "I still have the strips," she said, trying for humor. He did laugh, and not unkindly. "Oh, I believe you. You never gave me any reason to doubt you in the past. So I'm really going to be a dad, huh? And you a mom?" "Yeah," she answered weakly. She then chuckled, faintly, and added, "So do you think we could get married, so our child is raised in a family?" "I thought I was supposed to ask you that," he replied humorously. Jocelyn laughed, maybe because she needed a release and at that moment, during her bleakest, the slightest thing in jest was bliss to her. "Well, why don't you?" she said, curling her fingers around the phone cord like a little girl. "...Now? Over the phone? That's not very romantic, Joss. How bout' I come over? Though I don't have a ring..." "That's okay," she whispered happily, "I'll say yes no matter what." He chuckled. "Kinda takes away the suspense, doesn't it? Well, I'll be over there, ring or no ring. I love you very much... my wonderful wife-to-be." The title sent shivers up her spine and her stomach into a joyous spiral (sans vomit). She beamed magnificently and laughed, whispering her undying love to him. When she hung up, her foster mother gave her a proud smile, and another hug, because Jocelyn loved hugs so dear. "Congratulations. I'm so happy for you." "Thanks... mom. I love you." That evening, Janet Keys made no attempt to silence the beautiful music of lovemaking her foster daughter and future son-in-law made. She had been young once, and deeply in love—she knew how wonderful and healthy it was. They finally stopped around eleven that night, and only the promise of another day of school kept their minds fixed on the ground and their energies... well, preserved. Grandmother Keys. She liked the idea, but it made her sound too old. She was just over forty, and still looking beautiful in spite of the halos of gray around her hair. Mother Janet? Mama Janet? Jan? "Jan" sounded nice: it was brief and sensible, and it had a youthful sound to it. Her grandchild could call her Jan. Her grandchild. Now she liked that. ............ Jocelyn got used to vomiting and feeling downright wretched in the mornings circa early-September, just in time for the weather to cool down and the fashion to change. She wasn't showing just yet, but come the winter holidays, she would have an impressive belly. Her boyfriend showered her with love and devotion: he actually looked forward to being a father, and a husband to boot! He wrote love letters to his sweetheart daily. They were already thinking of names. Most of Jocelyn's friends had learned of her meeting with the stork, and were generally happy, but she had to defend her sexual nature (and preference) quite a few times against some unexpected adversary. On the whole, the initial shock had worn off, and now she was reasonably happy, albeit tormented by the standard hormones and emotions. She was now more indecisive than usual, and kept herself isolated from all but her closest friends. She stopped taking medicine for her depression, and decided to endure her turbulent pregnancy until the end, no matter how it warped her. Her foster mother and boyfriend were amazingly patient and supportive of her, even when she snapped at them or was otherwise cranky. All in all, she felt herself settling into mundanity again, or as close to it as a pregnancy would allow. And as usual, just when things seemed smoothest, an obstacle approached to bump up the road again. Uncle Sam called, and the love of Jocelyn's young life answered. Mister Osama needed a serious American-style pounding. Jocelyn... did not take the news well. "I'll write every day," he told her, and every day she got a new letter: some romantic, some somberly truthful, some so deeply intimate that they bordered on treason. He didn't like the military, didn't like being in Iraq fighting people he had never met, even though some people still claimed there was good cause for it. He had made friends, and more importantly, during a few operations, had made small differences, but more than anything, he wanted to return home to his beloved, his fiancée, and be with her until his dying day. Death was all around him, he wrote; it reminded him of the Vietnamese horror stories his father had told him, or the European ones his grandfather had told him. Though not as religious as other people, Jocelyn prayed every day for her beloved to return home safely, to father her child, to wed her in holy matrimony, so they could live in happiness. Even Janet prayed along with her, in spite of an old grudge she bore the Almighty when her own husband had passed on. Every afternoon, their prayer for his safety was answered, for the letters kept coming. On September 11, 2004, three years after the Second Day of Infamy, Jocelyn and her foster mother attended church services and kept vigil, praying for that loving young man, and many others like him, and for a speedy end to the war. On September 15th, Jocelyn's "normal" life faced its worst tragedy yet. The letter came all right, but it wasn't from him. It would be the final one she received in regards to her lover—the very last one. It was typed, not handwritten. The Lieutenant said what a fine man he was, how many lives he had saved, what a hero he turned out to be. Jocelyn missed school that day, and the day after that, because she wept so much. ............ "Excuse me, are you Miss Krishnan?" "Yes," replied the pretty Indian socialite. "What can I do for you?" "Jocelyn McKeough," she murmured, shyly introducing herself to the famous woman. Usha shook her hand and smiled; Jocelyn continued, "Is it true you're the president of the Unofficial Death Cult of Bush?" "Yes. Why do you ask?" "Because," said Joss darkly, "I would like to become a member—the sooner, the better." Usha smiled warmly. "Welcome aboard."
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