Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Rape, Slow, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Silva is a thirty-something whore making a hard living on rough streets. Discovering that a bad life can get even worse, hope appears in the form of an odd man wearing a green robe and carrying a shepard's staff.
Standing under the streetlight, Silva looked at her colleagues positioned at different spots along the road. Colleagues, she thought contemptuously when a more accurate statement was that they were competitors. Each claimed a spot on the street and was willing to defend it with physical violence if need be. Sometimes when they got off the street, they would talk about their experiences, but it would be hard to say they were friends or even friendly with each other.
Traffic along the street was light that night and she'd be lucky to get enough money for the rent that was due the next day. She looked over at Crystal, who had claimed the other side of the streetlight. She knew that Crystal would make less money than she would over the course of the night. Most of the women on the street had no class and wore the same kind of skimpy clothes as the other girls along the street. The only reason that Crystal had any business was her young age. The under-eighteen crowd always had customers no matter how trashy they looked since men loved screwing young pussy. The young whores had no self-respect, thinking and referring to themselves as Ho's.
It was hard for a woman in her early thirties to compete against a seventeen-year-old girl, but Silva managed. Silva knew presentation was everything as she straightened her skirt to show off her full ass and adjusted her tight top to better present her breasts. She took a moment to take stock of her assets. She was a tall woman with a nice body shown off in tight-fitting silver clothes that contrasted nicely with her dark black skin. To complete the look, she wore a silver wig, silver makeup, and silver boots that made her look even more exotic - like one of those 60's Go-Go dancers. It must be working, since she was still making good money.
After Crack had become too expensive to use because of the destruction of the cocaine supply by the Druids, she had managed to kick her addiction. Since then, she had gained some of her weight back and looked better than she had in a decade. She had to wear dentures because she had lost her teeth as a result of her addition. The dentures were good and bad. A lot of men enjoyed a blowjob that included a good gumming without the pain of teeth, but a woman in her thirties shouldn't be wearing dentures.
Her musings were interrupted when Crystal taunted, "So silver- bitch, getting much business tonight?"
"More than you," replied Silva tired of the taunts directed at her by the younger woman. One of these days, she would put the little girl in her place.
The discussion was cut short when a white sedan pulled up in front of Silva. The window on the passenger side of the car rolled down and she stuck her head through it to chat with the man inside. It was a white guy, pudgy and harmless looking with a balding head in his late twenties. He was exactly the kind that needed the most flattery to part with a little of his money. She figured he was a fifty-dollar blowjob. Smiling at the man, she made sure that he got a full glimpse of her breasts and asked, "Hey handsome, you want to party?"
For the next few minutes, they went through the dance of agreeing to the services to be provided and the price he would pay for them. She had been right in her assessment that he was a fifty-dollar blowjob. She climbed into the car and said, "Go on up the street and turn into the back of the grocery store. Lots of privacy there."
The john followed her instructions, looking a little nervous about what he was doing. Silva was already hard at work, knowing that the faster she got him off, the sooner she could return to her spot. Hoping to build up his excitement, she said, "Hmm, I bet you got a monster white cock in your pants. I just love white cock."
The john smiled and nodded as he turned into the alley that ran behind the grocery store. He parked the car, his cock already getting hard from her words and the fact that her hand was slowly working its way up his thigh. Once he had turned off the car, her hand stroked his cock through his pants. She cooed, "Oh, I like what I'm feeling. Can't wait to get started sucking on that monster cock."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Silva hinting about the money. In not such a subtle hint, she held out her hand and rubbed her fingers together.
The john understood the gesture and fished out his wallet. Pulling out two twenties and a ten, he handed her the money before returning his wallet to his back pocket. Silva put the money in her little silver purse and removed a strawberry-flavored rubber. She quickly undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled down his underwear to get access to his average size cock. She cooed, "Oh, what a monster."
The john pulled his pants down a little more and reached over to fondle her breasts. She reached up and undid her tight shirt freeing her breasts. He grabbed her breasts much too hard, but she didn't complain. Complaining would only make her time there last longer. She slipped the rubber over his cock and started to suck on it.
She thought to herself that it was time to get the loser off as fast as possible so that she could get out of there. Making moans as though she enjoyed it and artificially slurping her lips, she worked his cock with her mouth and hand. The louder the blowjob, the shorter it lasted. She made a mental bet with herself that she could get him off in less than a minute. She won the bet.
When she lifted her head off his cock, the world turned upside down in an explosion of pain as a fist connected with her mouth. Shocked at the totally unexpected violence, she sat up wondering what was going on. A second blow across the side of her face snapped her head around and the world spun. It seemed like the world had exploded in a flash of bright light before fading to gray. For a moment she thought she was dying.
As she flayed her arms around trying to protect herself, the john was pushing her around in the car and hitting her. All she could hear was his shouting. "Fucking bitch. A fucking one minute blowjob! I'm tired of getting ripped off by you fucking whores."
Silva found herself choking on her dentures as the john ripped off her panties. She wanted to scream when his cock battered at her ass, but her mouth wasn't working right. Her vision was funny, a double vision of the world slowly turning in front of her eyes. The pain of his entry in her ass was excruciating, but that paled to his continued hammering on her body. She felt one of her ribs give and a flare of pain from a blow to her kidney. In an explosion of incredible pain, the world disappeared.
Silva was only partially aware of the world as she lay on the ground. The world spun around her, but the only thing that she could make out clearly was a tapping noise in the background. The tapping noise increased in volume as it came closer. She tried to move her head to see the source, but her stomach threatened to heave. A calm deep voice from about five feet away said, "Stay still until medical care arrives. You've been seriously hurt, young lady."
She wanted to ask what happened, but her jaw hurt and wouldn't work. The man came closer and said, "You're jaw is broken. Don't try to talk."
She felt inside her mouth with her tongue feeling that something was weird. She couldn't place what was the matter with it. The voice came back, "I had to remove your dentures. You were choking on them."
Silva lay on the ground unable to move, feeling the light touch of some sort of blanket covering her. There wasn't much good about her situation, but at least she wasn't exposed naked for everyone to look at. If she hadn't felt so horrible, she'd have been angry but the pain sapped the strength from her. The man sat down beside her and started to sing, "Hush, little baby don't you cry..."
His singing struck her as the ultimate irony to her horrible experience. At first, she listened to him thinking he was crazy. However, as time went by she found the gentle deep voice singing the nonsense song somehow comforting. Here she was, a thirty something whore lying beaten in an alleyway after being raped finding herself comforted by a children's song. She couldn't even see the face of the man helping her.
The sound of the song was soon drowned out by the sound of a siren approaching the alley. Bright white flashes alternating with blue flashes lit up the darkened alley, hurting the eyes with their intensity. She closed her eyes, finding that she couldn't take one more discomfort.
With the arrival of the police, the man stopped singing. She listened to the discussion of the people around her. Someone, she assumed was a cop, said, "Hey, Harry. What have we got here?"
"A woman that has been viciously beaten. She has a broken jaw, signs of rape, and bruises on most of her body," answered Harry in a matter of fact voice. Listening, she now had a name to go with the voice that had been singing. His name was Harry, but she didn't know anyone named Harry.
She could hear the cop kneel down next to her. She recognized his voice when he replied, "That's Silva, she's a hooker."
"She's a victim, not a hooker," replied Harry with iron in his voice.
Lying on the ground, Silva was surprised to hear her rescuer make the distinction and mentally cursed Officer Calhoon for his attitude towards the women in her profession. He felt that they were all losers that brought down society by their mere existence. He didn't understand that they had hard lives and worked to make money just like everyone else.
The cop, having had this discussion more than once with Harry, sighed as he said, "You're right, I guess. Of course, she could have tried to rip off the john."
Harry shook his head as he said, "You really should get to understand the people you are trying to protect. You might be surprised to learn that most of them are nice people that live and work in a hard environment."
Another vehicle pulled up adding flashing red lights to the cacophony of colors. The ambulance had arrived. Silva tried to pay attention to what was going on around her, but she had used the last of her physical resources on listening to the discussion. The world faded to a dull black.
A beeping noise was the first thing that Silva noticed when she woke in the hospital bed. The light overhead was harsh and she had to blink before her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room. There was an IV stand with a saline bag hanging off it, a heart monitor, and other hospital devices around her. She didn't recognize half the stuff in the room.
She felt as if she were floating in space, her body disconnected from her mind. She knew that whatever painkiller they had given her must have been very strong. Years of drug abuse made achieving that level of numbness almost impossible. She wanted to say something, but her mouth wouldn't move.
A woman in white clothes came over to the bed and looked at her, checking the tubes running to her arms. She's a nurse, thought Silva as her mind slowly regained a nominal level of function. The nurse said, "You're awake. That's good. I'll send Harry in here in a minute."
Silva wanted to ask about this Harry guy, but she couldn't move her mouth. She wondered if they had inserted some kind of ball- gag in it. It made her wonder if she had woken in some sort of bondage fetish dungeon. It was so frustrating to lay there unable to communicate. She croaked, "Who's Harry?"
The noise she made was barely intelligible as speech. The nurse, with years of experience in dealing with patients, knew what the likely questions were and replied, "You're in the hospital. You suffered some pretty serious injuries, but you were lucky to be found by Harry. He's waiting outside to see if you are alright."
Silva repeated, "Who's Harry?"
The nurse paused and thought about the sounds trying to figure out what the woman was asking. It took her a moment to realize that she wanted to know who Harry was. Smiling as she considered the effect that her words would have on the woman, she answered, "Happy Harry found you. He's a Druid."
Silva couldn't believe her ears. Everyone that lived or worked on the streets knew about Happy Harry. The guy was a living legend even though she had never met anyone that had seen him. She murmured, "Happy Harry."
"Yes, Happy Harry found you," replied the nurse understanding the statement. The nurse finished her business and left the room walking in a very brisk efficient manner.
Silva lay in the bed wondering how it was that Happy Harry had found her and why he bothered. She was just an aging hooker trying to get by on the last of her looks. Of course, as a result of her beating, her days as a whore were over. A whore that couldn't use her mouth couldn't give blowjobs.
The reality of the situation crashed down on her when she realized that she was really screwed now. No job and no skills for finding one meant that she wouldn't be able to earn money. Without money, she wouldn't have a place to live or food to eat. It was even worse than that. Until her mouth healed, she wouldn't even be able to eat solid food. What does a homeless person do when they can't even eat? The tears started to well up in her eyes.
"Tsk, tsk," said the voice she recognized as the one from the alley. It had to be Harry. He approached the bed as he said, "Don't cry. Things aren't that bad."
'Things aren't that bad?' she wanted to scream. How could he be so cheerful while she was so miserable? She decided that it would be easy; he wasn't the one in the bed facing a bleak future.
Humming to himself, Harry sat down in the visitor's chair and looked at the patient. She was in pretty bad shape. The doctors had said that her jaw had been broken, her cheek had been fractured, a rib busted, suffered a concussion, and her kidney had been damaged. He estimated that she would be in the hospital for a week, maybe more. If she, like many prostitutes, had a child at home, then he'd have to make sure that the kid was helped. Settling into the chair, he asked, "Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?"
The question cut Silva like a knife. She had a daughter, but the girl lived with her father in another town and hadn't seen her in more than ten years. The girl was the same age as Crystal and it was her hope that the kid hadn't followed her into the business. Other than that, she was alone in this world. Shaking her head no was the only way to answer.
Nodding to indicate that he understood, he said, "That's one problem taken care of for the moment. I imagine that you live somewhere near where I found you."
Wondering what he was getting at, she nodded that he was correct. Her one room apartment, if it could even be called that, was two blocks away from the streetlight where she worked. She took a moment to study the man sitting beside her. He was wearing a green robe with a gold medallion around his neck. His clean-shave face, perfect teeth, and build gave him a trustworthy appearance that was only marred by a scar across his forehead. In a funny way, she thought of a father figure. The idea that she, a black whore, was looking at a white guy as a father figure rather than a sugar daddy made her want to laugh.
"So I imagine that you are wondering what is going to happen to you now," said Harry as he watched her reaction. It was clear from how she looked at him that she was thinking about something different than that. However, he knew that she would very worried about her future. He continued, "First, you are getting excellent medical treatment and will stay here until the doctors think you have recovered enough to leave. I'll make sure that everything at your house gets packed up for storage while you are here. I'd hate to think that you could lose everything."
Silva stared at Harry finding it hard to believe that he was doing this for her. It touched her far more than she would ever be able to express. Harry said, "Once you get out of here, I've got a job that won't require you to talk for a while and it will provide a place for you to stay. It's a job within the Emergency Response Team of the Fusion Foundation, but you won't be required to sign up for a long- term service. Just enough for you recover, get some training, and locate a job."
The disbelief that he was going to do that was obvious on her face. Noticing, Harry laughed as he explained, "Hey, I'm on the Board of Directors and have a little leeway in what I do."
She sagged onto the bed starting to feel tired. Harry said, "Until you are recovered, I would like you to work with a police artist to get a picture of the guy that did this to you."
Puzzled, she looked at him wondering why he would bother to track down some guy that beat up a whore. He answered her unasked question. "Others need to know what he looks like so that they can protect themselves from him. He's a criminal and you're not. I'll pass out pictures of the guy on the street and we'll catch him."
That assessment surprised Silva. She wondered who forgot to tell Harry that prostitution was against the law. She thought about responding, but she drifted off to sleep even as she fought to stay awake. The last thing she remembered was Harry singing an old lullaby, but she couldn't place the song.
For the next few days, Silva woke and slept on some internal clock that had nothing to do with the time of day. When she was awake, she worked with the police artist to get a reasonable likeness of the guy that had assaulted her. It was difficult and she had to write all of her comments out longhand. The interaction took much longer than she had expected. The only good part was that the police artist had treated her nicely.
She was worried about the fact that Harry hadn't shown up at the hospital since that first day. The nurses assured her that nothing was wrong and that he hadn't forgotten about her. They explained that Harry was busy doing the kinds of things that Harry did. She wanted to trust them, but trust was not easy for her to give. She lived in a dog eat dog world where everyone looked out for themselves.
It was with near panic that she greeted the day when she was to be released from the hospital. Harry had never returned and she had no idea what she was going to do. She wondered if they were going to throw her out of the hospital leaving her to fend for herself. After dressing in a horrible sack dress that the nurse had brought, she looked at herself in the mirror. Where was the exotically dressed whore? She looked like Aunt Jemima and wondered if the person that picked out the dress had done it intentionally.
A male nurse brought in a wheelchair and, as he helped Silva into it, said, "Hospital regulations. You have to ride out of here in a wheelchair."
Silva having come to grips with her wired jaw had achieved some semblance of an ability to talk. A mental image of getting pushed to the curb in a wheelchair and then getting dumped out flashed through her thoughts. Worried, she asked, "Where's Harry?"
"He's waiting outside to take you home," answered the man surprised by the question. If Harry said that he was going to do something, then it was going to get done. He could see that Silva had relaxed at the news.
At the door, Silva looked around for Harry. The only thing that she could see from the door of the hospital was a lunch truck parked in the pick up zone. She turned to the nurse and asked, "Where's Harry?"
"He's in the truck," answered the nurse pointing to the lunch truck.
Puzzled, Silva looked at the truck and strained to see inside the cab. She couldn't exactly see him, but she knew it was him when he called out, "Come on and get it!"
The nurse opened the door for her and then helped her stand. Moving slowly, she got into the truck. Once seated, the nurse slammed the door shut and waved goodbye with a smile. Harry leaned over with a friendly grin and said, "Sorry about that, but I'm running a little late. We're going to have to make a little detour before I take you to your new home. I hope you don't mind."
Relieved that he had actually been there to pick her up, she didn't care what happened now. She said, "No problem."
"Good. Hold on, this beast sways like a camel in a horse race," said Harry as he pulled away from the curb. The truck rocked back and forth as he navigated the truck through the twists and turns of the hospital road. Once he reached the main road, he said, "I'm glad to see you are up and about. I was worried about you there for a while."
"You didn't come see me," charged Silva knowing that it was unfair to have expected him to visit her. He was an important Druid and she was just a lowly whore.
"Oh, I stopped by on a couple of occasions to check up on you. I've got a half dozen people in the hospital getting treatments of one kind or another," answered Harry in a cheerful voice. The first few weeks in a new town were usually spent rounding up some of the more extreme cases of physically and mentally ill people that were living on the street. Some of the more common medical problems included hepatitis, pneumonia, and tuberculosis. They weren't as bad as the physiological problems. Living on the streets was even tougher with problems like paranoia, schizophrenia, and bi-polar disorders.
"Oh, I didn't know," replied Silva. She looked over at Harry to see him waving to some homeless person walking down the street. The dirty man on the sidewalk waved back and continued on his way.
"Yeah, lots of people with physical problems living on the street. Takes a lot of time to put them back together again. Still, I did talk to your doctor and nurses every day."
She had no idea that Harry was so busy and had taken so much interest in her. Once she thought about it, she realized that he had done a lot more for her than anyone would have expected. Harry was a Druid and Druids were important people that did important things. Knowing that, she was surprised when Harry pulled into an empty lot in which a large number of homeless people were gathered.
She watched as Harry opened the side of the truck and then climbed into the back. As people shuffled up to the window, he handed out paper bags of various colors. She listened as he shouted, "Red is roast beef. Yellow is turkey. Brown is tuna fish. Each bag has a sandwich, an apple, a cookie, and some vegetable sticks. Come on up and help yourself."
The idea that he was supporting himself by selling food immediately evaporated in Silva's mind when she realized that he was giving the food away. Shocked, she listened as he announced, "A homeless hotel is going to be built here, folks. You'll have a bed, a shower, and toilets. Even better, you'll have an address. All of that for the remarkable amount of no dollars."
Harry spent a half an hour handing out sandwiches and talking to people. Even after working the streets for years, Silva had never really bothered to see the homeless that occupied the same streets. She had walked past them without thought or consideration. They didn't have money and, hence, they weren't of use to her. Some of the more desperate whores would give them ten-dollar blowjobs, but those were the really old whores that couldn't make much more than that anyway.
She turned to watch Harry interact with the people. One of the men came to the window of the food truck and slowly reached for one of the sandwich bags. His movements suggested that it hurt for him to move. Harry looked at him for a moment and said, "You might want to stop by one of those Fusion Foundation Clinics and get that black spot on your face checked out."
The man, not making eye contact, mumbled, "It's too late. I'm gonna die."
Even Silva knew that the man was talking about Melanoma and that it was too late for him to get treated. The guy knew he had a problem and was going to die of it. She waited to hear Harry tell the man that he was sorry to hear that he was dying. Instead, Harry asked, "Anything you want to do before you check out?"
The guy looked up a Harry with a puzzled look. That was the last thing that he had expected to hear. Everyone else acted ashamed or embarrassed when he said that he was going to die. The topic hurt and he didn't like to talk about it. Using the raw truth had prevented lots of questions, all of which had horrible answers. Silva thought it was a rather heartless way for the Druid to respond. The man mumbled, "Doesn't matter."
"Sure it does, my friend. It all matters. Knowing the grim reaper is near is excuse enough to be a little selfish as long as it causes no harm to others. So I ask you again, is there anything you want to do before you check out?" The cheerful voice in which Harry replied was a sharp contrast to the topic under discussion.
The man swallowed and looked away for a minute. In a barely audible voice, he said, "I'd like to see my kids."
Harry reached under the counter and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. Putting it on the shelf, he said, "Write down whatever information you may have about them and I'll see what I can do."
Hands trembling, the man picked up the pencil and started writing on the pad. Harry turned away and helped another person while the man filled out a couple of pages. When he finished, he picked up the pad and handed it over to Harry. His voice shook as he said, "I doubt you'll do anything, but I appreciate the thought."
"I'll do what I can. Life is funny sometimes. Things that seem simple are impossible and the impossible is simple. No promises, but I'll do what I can," answered Harry as he stowed the pad of paper back where he had gotten it.
The man paused and looked at Harry unable to believe what he had heard. It was a totally honest answer. In a whisper, he replied, "That's more than I could have dreamed."
Silva sat in the front of the truck with her jaw wired shut, her chest bandaged tight, and her life changed forever. No matter how bad her circumstances were, she knew that she had a future that would last longer than that poor man had. He was a dead man walking around while waiting to be buried. She watched as he sat by himself and ate the sandwich with little nibbles, his stomach unable to accept food at a normal rate.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice when Harry closed up the truck and returned to the driver's seat. He was able to get her attention when he said, "Hold on tight. It's time for the Roach Coach to roll."
"Where are we going?" she asked. She cursed having her jaw wired shut. It was frustrating when everything she said came out sounding like a bug trapped in a box. The image of the bug in a box reminded her of times as a kid when they would catch a Cicada and put it in a cigarette hard box. It made a sound like an electric razor and they would pretend to shave like their mothers and fathers. She wondered what happened to the little girl she had been.
"I assume that buzz was a question about our destination. I can take you directly to the Fusion Foundation office now or we can make a detour to the aquarium. Which would you like to do?" asked Harry as he turned a corner. The traffic was light this particular afternoon and he had some time to kill.
'Aquarium?' though Silva. The guy was talking about going to an aquarium? She turned and looked at Harry. Incredulous, she asked, "Aquarium?"
"Good choice," replied Harry pretending to take her question as an answer. He knew it had been a question, but he wanted to go to the aquarium. He drove off, navigating the streets as the truck rocked from side to side. He hummed to himself as he drove.
After a minute, he said, "Have you ever thought about the healing power of music? I mean, think about it - even with your jaw wired shut, you can still hum. I always feel better when I hum. Why don't you try it?"
She stared at him wondering if he was crazy. He acted like he didn't have a care in the world, but he had just talked with a dying man, was delivering food to the homeless that lived in the most miserable circumstances, and was driving around with a whore in his truck. The whole time, he was talking about music and aquariums.
She glanced away and then back as she realized that he was looking at her like he expecting her to hum. The only song that she could think of was the one sung by the dwarves on their way to the mine in that Disney movie. She started humming it, not remembering the words.
When she finished humming as much of the song as she could remember, she realized that Harry had parked the truck in front of the city aquarium. Surprisingly, the act of humming had improved her spirits considerably. Harry said, "We're here."
He got out of the truck and held open the door for her. She climbed out with his help. Still feeling weak, she wondered how she was going to make it through the aquarium. As though reading her mind, he said, "I'm sure that they have a wheelchair that you can ride in while we are there."
He steered her into the aquarium. After paying an entrance fee, a wheelchair was brought for her to use. Situated comfortably in the chair, Harry pushed her down the dark path and past tanks filled with colorful fish taking his time to examine each tank. At a tank containing a clown fish, he said, "Look at the little orange and white fish. It's called a clown fish, but it doesn't really look like a clown to me. Always wondered why they call them that. One of these days I'll have to ask someone that knows."
Silva looked at Harry wondering what he was talking about. Who cared why a fish was named one thing or another? Rather than ask, she just looked at the fish swimming around in the tank. Other people walked past, checking out the fish and ignoring them.
Harry pushed the chair on through the aquarium until he came across a bench that was right across from a puffer fish. He locked the wheelchair in place and sat down on the bench staring at the tank watching the fish swim around in it. After a minute, he said, "Years ago, I was down around New Orleans. It was about the time of Marti Gras and everyone was partying. I had run across a couple of sailors that had just come back from the Caribbean."
Knowing that he had her attention, he said, "Well, sailors being sailors and me being me, we started talking and telling stories. Of course, at that time it wasn't nearly as much fun to tell a story without a little drink to go with it. Anyway, we decided that it was time to go get a drink and crashed this really ritzy party. It didn't take 'em long to discover that we didn't really belong, but we had been there long enough to liberate a couple bottles of booze."
A woman and her two young kids stopped behind them to look at the fishes. Noticing that a Druid was telling a story, she hung back to listen. Harry said, "Well, we leave after being politely escorted to the door by the host. Settling in at a local park, the sailors start telling their stories. Now one of them sailors said that Voodoo witchdoctors used a part of the puffer fish to make zombies."
He looked over at Silva and saw the disbelief on her face. The woman grabbed her kids and held them back to hear the story knowing they would be interested as well. Nodding at Silva, he said, "Well, I didn't believe it at first, but he swore that it was true. Being mannerly and all, I didn't outright call him a liar. After all, he had just helped me get a bottle of halfway decent drink."
He chuckled and then continued his tale. "He told me that they made some sort of potion or something out of the puffer fish that they would give to the intended victim. This wouldn't kill the victim, but would make it look like they were dead. All the victim could do was lie there. Couldn't move, couldn't talk, and just couldn't do anything. They'd see and hear everything going on around them, but just couldn't communicate in any way. After a day his family would bury him in a real funeral believing that the victim was really dead, but the witchdoctor would come back at night and dig up the victim."
One of the kids behind them said, "Cool."
Harry smiled at the comments of the kids and continued his story, "So the poor victim would be convinced that the Voodoo witchdoctor had his soul and because of that the zombie had to do anything the witchdoctor wanted. The zombie would live like that until the witchdoctor gave him back his soul or the witchdoctor died. The person would live a life of emotional emptiness, neither happy nor sad, until the day they died or were set free."
Silva was saved from having to comment by one of the kids saying, "That's kind of sad."
Harry nodded his head in agreement. Taking Silva by her hand, he said, "Now I figure that for something like zombification, there has to be an opposite kind of thing. There are some folks that move through life in a zombie-like state. They don't hear the music, see the colors, or enjoy the flavor of life. Then one day, they get hit with some kind of counter-potion. Like the time during zombification, they can't talk or communicate for a while. However, when they come out of it, they are alive for the first time in their lives. They start to hear the music, see the colors, and enjoy the flavor of life."
Silva looked at Harry with tears in her eyes wondering if he was telling her that it was her turn to live again. He patted her hand and said, "You never know when something nice happens to you. Sometimes it comes disguised as a disaster."
The lady with her two kids slipped away feeling like she was now intruding on a private moment. One of the kids turned back and said, "Nice story."
"Thank you, young man," answered Harry with a grin.