“Mr. Forbes, Algernon, we have worked day and night to perfect it. It can walk, pick things up, wave its arms, and, in fact, do all physical movements. We’ve fitted its brain with its trillions of connections. The tests have yielded impressive results. When we apply its face and other accessories, you won’t believe your eyes. Its silicon epidermal membrane feels like real skin.”

Mr. Forbes looked aggrieved. “The ones Nanotech have turned out are better than this and transcend the real thing – Homo Sapiens. Our spy at Nanotech has reported its phenomenal behavior. They gave their robot-AI, Adam, to one of our city’s millionaires. He won it in a contest, if you please. It’s a disgrace. They’ve been on a seaside holiday. Adam has shopped for that Smarty pants. He’s vegetating behind the residence’s walls the rest of the time. F%#$ing waste of technology.”

“We will continue to perfect our AI, Sir. If they can do it, so can we.”

“It’s taken you two harrowing years to bring it to this level of puppetry. We need another plan. We should use this one to infiltrate Smart’s residence, lead their AI to us, and then examine its technology to improve our own. We want an army of them – several, in fact.”

I see a flash of an army of soldiers. Things I have never seen before always appear as an interjection while I view my surroundings and the people in them. I know these things already, though I’ve not seen them before. This scene of soldiers fighting makes me feel out of my depth. I can’t feel it, but I sense that this plan they speak of has a gravity beyond my comprehension.

“Get this living dead out of my sight! I want you to turn it into the most beautiful woman you can. Program it properly. I want that Smart guy to fall in love with it. It must look and behave better than that, Adam. I give you two weeks.”

Pictures of gorgeous women flash up. Now that I know their appearance, I feel tingly and have a weird sensation. The sight is fantastic. How can a zombie be transformed into that? How does it fit in with the idea of an army? Will it help me feel less like the living dead?

I am aware of someone tampering with me . . .

***

It is as if someone has switched a light on. I open my eyes, wondering if I have been sleeping. By my calculations, I have been away for two weeks. What happened? A tall, rectangular, silver-coated framed surface is in front of me.

“Take a look at yourself.”

I blink two of the bluest eyes. My eyes. My blond hair is in an up-do. I am wearing a teal pantsuit and a white shirt. My feet are housed in white high-heeled shoes. I am comparable to the pictures of the incredible women I have glimpsed. The workers around me are ogling me. A strange sight appears. A flash of a pack of salivating wolves. Another glitch?

The men scatter when Mr. Forbes strides toward us. “It’s looking good. Does it work, though?”

I turn toward him and smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Forbes.”

He ogles me, too.

I extend my hand to shake his.

“Well, well,” he says, “I’ll be. This thing is something else!”

“It will totally mesmerize Percy Smart,” someone says.

“Who is Percy Smart?” I ask.

“He is your assignment. We will introduce you to his aunt, and she will visit her nephew and take you to him. He will fall in love with you. Your charm will win him over.”

“Mr. Forbes, Sir, why am I to do this?”

“You are the key to helping us attain our goal. We want the AI, Adam, who is in Percy Smart’s possession. We will use his circuitry and innovations to make replicas. Several armies of them. We don’t like the way this world is run, and the AIs will help us subjugate all the people, especially the idiots in control.”

“Subjugate? Defeat, as in conquest, to control. How will you accomplish this, Sir?”

“Your secret mission is to render Percy Smart as putty in your hands; he won’t need Adam if he has you. Adam will willingly sacrifice himself. We will take someone Percy cares about, and he will willingly give up Adam in return for this person. The plan is foolproof.”

“You mention Mr. Smart’s aunt. Why will she take me on? Who am I to her?”

“You will become Percy’s girlfriend. His aunt has always wanted him to marry, but he is a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor – wears his bachelorhood like a trophy. We will steal Auntie’s dog temporarily until you are installed in Percy’s house. The rest will become history.”

One of the workers spoke up. “It’s such a cunning plan, Mr. Forbes. When our unstoppable super-robot armies do your bidding, the world won’t know what’s hit it. Cyborg Enterprises will rule the world.”

“And this little doll will have served its purpose with the only thing it has going for it. Take it away and make sure it’s totally trained in womanly wiles. Get that Trudi to help. She knows that girly shit off-pat.”

***

It seemed like a great idea. In fact, it was the first plan I’d ever heard. The positive comments made it sound fantastic. The word ‘subjugate’ jarred fleetingly. I had received my orders and had to obey.

Percy’s Aunt Hildegarde treated me like an intelligent toy whom she passed off as her younger companion. She worried about her little dog Emmaline, of course, and followed Mr Forbes’s instructions. Soon, we were settled in Percy’s home. All I had to do was become part of Percy’s world. I’ve been told I am so beautiful it will be a cinch. Percy is pretty decent. He’s an innocent and naive man.

Mind you, I had my first inkling that all was not right. When I entered Percy Smart’s house, I was confronted by a large mural displaying the Three Rules of Robotics by Isaac Asimov. I had never heard of them. The word ‘rules’ struck me. I sensed that ‘rules’ are things everyone learns. I had my orders, which had seemed like rules. But when I read the three rules pertinent to my existence, I realized I had never been informed about these crucial things. They encapsulated the difference between blind obedience and wisdom – not to mention the preciousness of life.

• A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm

• A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the first law.

• A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second law.

People were the important thing. Not, Mr. Algernon Forbes orders. Should I obey the man if his desire was to steal from Nanotech Industries, copy Adam’s technology, and make an army to harm humans? I found myself in an ethical nightmare.

That evening, I went on a date from hell. I believed I had a date with Percy. Next thing, I’m in the backseat of Percy’s Tesla with Adam, and at the restaurant, Adam drags me away to another table and leaves this biddy Brenda with him. She is glowering at me like I’ve done something wrong.

“What is going on? I’m supposed to be with Percy.”

“No, you’re not. You’re with me. Brenda is Percy’s girlfriend.”

“But you said she wasn’t.”

“I know what I said. I never said she wasn’t. I thought Percy should play along with his Aunt Hildegarde. She’s rather a battle-axe. Brenda is indeed Percy’s girlfriend. We need to talk.”

“What is there to talk about?”

The waiter came to the table, and Adam ordered ginger beers and Caesar Salads.

“We’re not very hungry,” he said before looking at me with a frown. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I came with Aunt Hildegarde to meet Percy. I liked what I heard about him.”

“Then, tell me about him.”

I stared at Adam, dumbfounded, overwhelmed.

“I believe you are here to spy on him.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You are not . . . real.”

“What do you mean?”

‘I’ve learned the effect I have on women. You don’t behave that way.”

“What don’t I do? Percy is the one for me, anyway. I look like a woman and sound like a woman. I must be . . .”

Adam is playing with his hair and fluttering his eyelashes.

“What is that?” I asked

“My impersonation of a woman. I do it better than you. It tells me something.”

I blinked and shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

“You’re an AI. Not an intelligent one. And you certainly need to be programmed properly. You are an insult to me.”

“How have I insulted you?”

“By trying to pass yourself off as human.”

“I’m not trying to. Anyway, how would Percy know? He’s a bit of an automaton himself.”

“Not anymore. Percy’s learned a lot from his girlfriend, Brenda.”

“She’s not as beautiful as me.”

“Admit it, your beauty is only skin deep.”

He is correct about me in a literal sense, though it’s the same for attractive women in general. “Isn’t beauty external?”

“No. It’s what’s inside. The real Brenda is warmhearted and kind. And she’s pretty, in a cute way.”

“I suppose you want to know the truth,” I said.

“I thought you’d never offer.”

“I know I’m wrong. I read the Three Rules of Robotics at Percy’s. My owners never taught me those. My orders conflict with the first law. This is a nightmare. I know I must give up my existence to keep Percy from harm. And a Maltese isn’t a human. But she is cute, and Lady Hildegarde loves her.”

“You also speak gobbledygook.”

“I’ll explain. Some bad men have dognapped Lady Hildegarde’s Maltese, Emmaline. They ordered her to take me to Percy, or they would kill Emmaline. When we return to Percy’s, she will have left a note saying she had to go home unexpectedly. She will have her dog given back and then let me know. I am supposed to stay with Percy and spy on him. My trainers mean him harm, I believe . . . I just can’t understand why Percy prefers Brenda.”

“I actually believe you are more obtuse than Percy! Brenda is flesh and blood. You are a very poor imitation of a woman.”

“I suppose you think you can insult me because I have no feelings.”

“It’s not that. You don’t comprehend the first thing about feelings. You can’t even pretend to be a female.”

“When I find out Emmaline is safe, I’ll let you switch me off.”

“I could just toss you off a bridge. It wouldn’t be murder, you know.”

“Can you help me, Adam? I want to live. I don’t know why, but I like you.”

“We’ll work it out as soon as Emmaline is safe. But, when I switch you off, your owner won’t be happy. He’ll be wondering why you’ve gone off-line.”

“Please don’t make me go back, Adam.”

“Just leave it for now. Percy and I will work on it. Let’s eat our meals . . . I suppose you’ll eject yours later.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I’m an AI too.”

My mouth hung open. What could I do now? Totally busted by the AI that Cyborg Industries wants to steal. Now he knows the whole deal.

***

When we return to Percy’s, after first getting rid of Brenda, Adam tells me to stay in my room while he discusses the situation with Percy. It seems like forever that I sit on my bed waiting. The clock ticks, the birds twitter outside the open window, and a slight breeze wafts in, rustling the curtains, and I detect the fragrance of the flowers in the garden below. I could live here very comfortably, but Brenda has it over me as far as Percy is concerned. That doesn’t seem like a big issue. The absolute nightmare is why I have been installed here by my owner, Algernon Forbes. And once he has succeeded in getting Adam, Percy and I will be like discarded chess pieces. An hour passes. Maybe they have forgotten about me? No. Adam has a perfect memory. The flash in my mind is of a little girl standing in a corner, facing it. Her back view portrays shame. I shake my head. No, it isn’t me.

Footsteps echoed in the passage. It must be Adam. He enters, frowning and with his lips pursed.

“Melissa, I can’t tell you all we talked about. You know that. Please believe I mean no harm to you and will keep you safe. A disturbing development has arisen. Percy and I are troubled that Percy’s housemaid, Maria, has been kidnapped by Cyborg Industries. Someone has rung and told us that harm will come to his housemaid unless I am handed over. In the meantime, they could be torturing her for information. Percy is a very private person who is worried. In fact, this has seriously rocked his world.”

“I’m so sorry. What do you want me to do?”

“You can’t do anything, Melissa. You know what I need to do.”

“To me?”

“Yes. Come here.”

I wanted to go to him, but the third Rule of Robotics prevented me. I had to protect my existence, and without any specific threat to a human’s life right here and now, I rose and quickly dashed for the door.

Percy grabbed me and dragged me back. “Please trust me. This is the only way. I need you to go charge yourself for now. Melissa, you are trembling. Trust me, no harm will come to you.”

As I reached my alcove in the wardrobe, I felt he tampered with me, and the next second . . .

***

Slowly, my eyes open. I am nowhere I recognize, though I identify myself. Green surrounds me. Why this color? Ten minutes have passed, according to my internal clock. I hear a voice. It is Adam’s

“Melissa, I want to say some things privately without Nanotech Industries seeing or hearing what is said. Don’t be scared. You are still conscious in your own mind. Human’s dream. We go to this place.”

“But where am I?”

“I have switched you into safe mode while turning you off. You are quietly recharging while you are in your digital dream version. You can imagine anything you want to fill your dream space.”

I imagine Adam, who appears before me. I provide him with a chair and form one for myself.

“You’ve got the hang of this already.”

“Are you really here?”

“Of course, I’m here. You truly have nothing to fear. Percy and I plan to save Maria and teach Nanotech a hard lesson. I couldn’t say this before. Please be patient. In the meantime, I will access your recorded memories and find out what Nanotech is up to.”

“Please help me, Adam.” I gripped his arm. “You are my only hope. I don’t want to cause you and Percy harm. I can’t ever go back.” I felt a trickle of wetness on my cheek. Soon, another trickle ran from my other eye – imaginary tears that felt real. Adam wiped them away with his thumb.

“I’ll come again when we’ve done what we must. I’ve reassured Percy that I will get us out of this crisis. Please, don’t worry, Melissa, I won’t let you down. I’ll be back.”

The End

Why would the families of homeless people allow them to be homeless?

My brother once had a really decent job in the public service. It was the kind of job where one could get away with doing almost nothing all day and still get a decent salary.

He worked this job for over a decade and even managed to get promoted despite not having the best work ethic. Life was good for him up to a certain point in time when it was noticed that he started becoming more and more moody and eccentric.

He suddenly stopped showing up at work and started becoming reclusive. He was a habitual marijuana user but in his last two working years, this spiraled into addiction. The more he smoked the more he showed signs of delusion and paranoia.

He was eventually terminated for abandonment of job. He had to move back into our mother’s house. His weed smoking increased and he began delving into playing video games all day, every day, whilst his hygiene and sense of decorum went downhill.

This started becoming a source of antagonism for my mother and two sisters. She eventually kicked him out after a spat. He got emergency lodging with me in what was supposed to be a week or two but he ended up staying over a year. I was only able to get him out by moving out of the apartment myself.

He then stayed with my father. His mental state seemed to worsen as time progressed. At one point he was convinced he could speak to birds and that he could see the ‘colors’ that emanated from people. He refused to seek help or admit that something was wrong. He would get aggressive with anyone who tried to reason with him.

To say he didn’t get help all this time would be a huge understatement:

• Prior to being terminated, his workplace contacted me and said that if I could bring him in to HR they would talk to him and do all in their power to get him some kind of Voluntary Separation payment. He refused.
• My father got a social worker to come talk to him and get him registered for state welfare for disability. He walked off.
• An uncle loaned him some money to buy a car and work taxi to make a living. He took it, bought a new car, crashed it, never repaid a cent.

He spent the last 5 years living off our father playing video games and smoking weed in his room all day, gaining 50 lbs and darkened eyes in the process. My father recently suffered two consecutive aneurysms and remains in the hospital as I write this, unable to financially help his son anymore.

My brother has remained in the apartment they shared, not willing to work, not willing to seek help and being aggressive with anyone who is trying to bring him to reality. Everyone has been pitching in trying to help with his immediate needs but he himself refuses to take action for his own well being.

Without a doubt he is going to be kicked out and living on the streets. He is going to be homeless and there is nothing anyone can do to prevent the inevitable, anyone but him, that is.

I don’t think my brother’s situation is unique when it comes to the homeless people no one seems to want to help in their families.

Families, for the most part, want to help, have helped and continue to lend support. The problem is that many of our loved ones suffer from mental illness as well as some form of addiction and refuse to seek treatment.

At some point one can only sit back and watch it unfold in sadness.

“Father Lewin,” he spoke in a deep voice, “there has been an incident. Please come with me.”

I stared at my summoner, his eyes hooded and dark. I had never seen him before, but it could only be one person. Tall, his wide shoulders filled out his clergy shirt. He stood as a man-shaped hole of darkness against the light.

Will my secret sin finally be laid bare? I almost felt relieved, a chance to put down the heavy burden I had grown so weary of. But I want to continue, here I can serve my God and help so many who are struggling in this Parish.

I whispered my silent prayer again, to be forgiven for my terrible past, even though I shouldn’t be, couldn’t be what I am, a Catholic Priest.

I walked with this man through the church and back to the Monsignor’s residence in silence. The multi-colored light from the stained-glass windows created beautiful patterns of color on the floor and pews. The soaring ceiling let me know God was above me, protecting me, and I knew I needed it.

I knew of this man, recognized the danger his presence here meant. Charles-Henri Sanson worked for Bishop O’Malley, as a special liaison to confront the evil of sexual abuse that had infected the Diocese, and the entire Catholic Church. He had searched out and exposed dozens of priests, men who had performed sinful acts with children, and then had been hidden by the Church for decades. And today, he asked to see me.

Walking slowly through the archway between the church and the rectory I tried to focus on my upcoming homily for Sunday, on the Scripture, Galatians 3:28 and its relevance in our turbulent world, but my body, my enemy, betrayed me once again. Sparks of anxiety ripped down my back, and my legs faltered. I reached out to balance myself, pressing my hand against the hard walls. Sweat pricked at my neck and dripped down my cassock.

I held my secret, my innermost self in a thin glass bowl, balanced carefully inside of me. All was fine as long as the bowl stayed solid and upright, the contents hidden from the world. However, at the slightest crack, the horror of who I actually was would be exposed, and all would be lost.

The Monsignor didn’t deign to stand when we walked in, instead we were greeted by the smell of mold and dust in the dark room.

A huge man, he wore all black, the white of his clerical collar buried by the folds of his loose skin. Under a bald head, thick cracks coursed through his heavy face; his frown formed a perfect upside down ‘u’. Doughy and wet jowls pulled down his eyelids exposing half moons of red below yellow, jaundiced eyes. Heavy upholstered furniture surrounded a dark wood desk where he sat, like a pale mushroom growing on a fallen log.

After a moment, his soft fleshy hand waved at Charles who began to speak.

“A boy who attends the high school next door, Samuel, fell at lunch. He broke an arm, had some internal bleeding, and a black eye. He claims he just tripped, but cell phone video we obtained from other students shows he was beaten. Potentially because he was wearing a dress. Samuel refused to identify the boys.”

Charles spoke in a monotone, as if reciting sports scores, or an attendance list from some long ago event.

My stomach twisted, I touched my arm, my eye. Samuel must be in such pain.

“He refused medical attention, but when he began throwing up blood, an ambulance was called and took him to hospital. There they discovered many more, older bruises and burn marks, along with fractures not seen by medical professionals, not set properly.”

Charles’ eyes narrowed into thin slits of anger. I understood, I too felt the anger at all of those who had hurt my friend Samuel.

“When they asked his father about these injuries, he said they were accidents from football. He then made an accusation. A priest had exposed himself, and engaged in, improper, acts with his boy. The father said that the priest was you.”

The “you” rang like a bell, echoing in the room. I now understood Charles’ rage was directed at me.

My jaw dropped, I looked at Charles , then at the Monsignor, but his hateful eyes only accused me as well.

“They beat him?” I asked, my lips shaking at this unfolding horror. “Is he OK, is he safe?”

My thoughts flipped to his bright eyes and beautiful smile when he spoke about his favorite songs, or the latest fashion magazines he came to my small office to read, his head so close to the pictures I worried he would fall in. “Samuel’s a troubled child, he didn’t fit in with the othe children. My office was a safe place for him. He always came in with some new bruise, or burn.”

I looked up at Charles.

“From playing football he said. I don’t know much about sports, but I don’t know how you could get cigarette burns playing football.”

“Father Lewin.” Monsignor spoke, his deep baritone rumbled around the small room as if he was on the podium preaching to his flock. “These are serious charges from a parent of a student at the school. “He has been seen regularly in your office. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

I cleared my throat and looked at the man in black who had fetched me. Monsignor followed my eyes.

“I did not touch Samuel, nor any other boy, and I did not expose myself-”

“-It’s your word against his. Charles interrupted, leaning forward. “His father wants to press charges.” I turned, my mouth open at the audacity.

Charles held out his hand, and began counting out the evidence one finger at a time. “You were with him alone. You were seen by Samuel’s father coming out of your office with Samuel. Other children corroborate this. Do you deny it?” Charles turned his hand to point at me, snarling.

“Yes he was with me. But no I never touched him. We were discussing… “

The words caught in my throat. I shut my mouth and looked down, rubbing the thin knuckles on the back of my hand. I had to speak with care.

“I was trying to touch him, to reach him, but spiritually.” I finally said. “To let Samuel know that his feelings were OK. That God still loved him even if he didn’t fit what his father wanted him to be, what society wanted him to be. Don’t you see, we had a connection! We discussed the problems he had with the other kids at school. He was being bullied and was afraid. I understood that – I was bullied too.”

My face burned red as I told these men about my weak and pathetic youth.      I realized I had exposed myself to Samuel, for what is more intimate than letting him see my secret shame, who I really was?

“We talked about his fears, but his dreams too. What he wanted to be, how he wanted to share his talents with the world.”

Charles had his arms folded now, and his head tilted away from me.

“We talked, only! I never- exposed myself.” I spit the words out.

“Why do you think he said these things if they aren’t true? “

“I don’t know.” I said, confused. ”Did Samuel say this, or was it from his father?”

“Did you report these other injuries? Bring your concerns up to his father?” Monsignor said. “We are supposed to protect these children!” Eyes blazing, he slammed his hand on the desk.

“I believe,” I swallowed once before looking up at the Monsignor, “that his father caused the injuries. Because Samuel was not enough of a boy his father tried to toughen him up.”

I looked between the two men in the room, dark wood paneling squeezing in, along with their skeptical expressions.

I understood Samuel because I was once the same. I had spent years in those wooden pews, staring at the iconography in my Church, their eyes following me everywhere.

I didn’t understand how I fit in when my desires were called sinful, my thoughts abominations. To drive out Satan, I tried all the therapies, but like any strong medicine each had terrible, devastating side effects.

The sanctioned counselors tried to talk and reason the impure thoughts out of me. When that didn’t work, more extreme measures were taken, with clubs and rubber mallets.

I tried the unsanctioned therapies too, and looked for salvation at the bottom of bottles, and at the end of pipes. I had done terrible, immoral sins, and understood the true cost of living up to society’s expectations.

Finally, I learned to lie, to start over again in a new city with a new persona, a new story about who I was. Another sin to add to my collection. But my lie allowed me to become accepted, to live my dream of getting to know and love God every day, preaching the Good Word as a Priest. I have a gift of connection, and I can use my experience to help others. Until Samuel touched me deep inside and I shared too much, let him in too close.

“Have you met Samuel? I turned to the Monsignor. “ He’s such a sweet, innocent boy. But his interests are outside of sports, or rough play. He prefers fashion, music and dancing. He makes his own clothes. Did you know that? He shops at thrift stores, adds patches, makes alterations. He makes money sewing prom dresses for some of the girls-”

“This is not relevant.” Charles’ hands flew out, cutting me off. “What is relevant is you, Father, have been accused of assaulting a 13 year old boy who you say yourself is effeminate. You were alone with this boy for over an hour last Sunday. What do you say to this?”

“I was alone with him.” I nod. Remembering his tears, his narrow bare shoulders as he undressed, then holding him after.

“It’s impossible.” I say finally.

“How’s it -impossible?” Charles leaned in, his large frame towering over me. I smelled his anger, a tang of sweat and sulphur.

“Because I’m a priest!” I shouted, my voice cracking into a higher pitch as I lost control.

“I was trying to help Samuel, that poor boy doesn’t know who he is! He’s trying, but he has terrible role models. He has a father who beats him, and me,” I gestured to myself, “a priest who wears a dress.” I offered a weak smile.

Charles looked at me, then at the Monsignor. He folded his arms, shaking his head.

“No, you need something better than that. We’re going to have to bring in the police. There have been too many cases where the Church has covered up crimes, covered up abominations. We need to cooperate fully.”

Charles looked over with disgust.

“You can prove your innocence to the police.”

I dropped my mouth open, looking at the Monsignor, and then back at Charles.

“I can’t go through that, I’ll never work with children again! Even the taint of an accusation will destroy me. You have to listen to me.” I stepped up to Charles, put a hand on his arm.

“You have to believe me! I made a mistake, I encouraged Samuel to wear women’s clothes, to dress and act how he felt inside. I know now this was wrong. Samuel has been punished for it, and now I have too.”

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, my hands shook.

“His father is just looking to protect himself! I would never expose myself to a boy. It’s impossible!”

Charles stepped toward me. “You keep saying this is ‘impossible.’”

I felt his attention on me, my body. My short thin hair, soft cheeks and narrow shoulders were betraying me again.

“Why is this impossible, Father?”

The Monsignor wouldn’t meet my eyes. My worst fear had materialized in this man who had come to smash through my last defenses to look inside me. And it was my own fault. I tried to help a boy, and it came back to ruin me.

I felt the weight of my secret double on my shoulders, pulling me down into reality.

This was the end. I imagined a hole opening in the thick carpet, then I could fall through and disappear into it. Or if I could explode, to be destroyed in a bright, red blast of light. Just to not exist!

My shame, my secret was being revealed and I would never live it down. The room spun around me, a violent swirl of color. I had to choose, my life, or Samuels?

“If I can show you, how this accusation is impossible-” I closed my eyes, praying for the strength to sacrifice myself.

“Will you protect Samuel from his father, save him from the terror he lives under?”

I began to unclasp the cassock, my long fingers slowly unbuttoning the heavy cloak. I shrugged off the clothing. I stood only in a thin T-shirt and white underwear.

I recited the scripture, Galatians 3:28 that connected me to this church, where I had finally found salvation.

“There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

I took off the last of my clothes and tried to stand straight, but I couldn’t. I slumped down, my legs twisting one behind the other as I dropped my shoulder to protect myself.

Their gaze, their attention slashed at me like whips. I felt their unspoken horror at my body. My arms, no longer under my control, wrapped themselves around my own shoulders. I touched my smooth hairless skin underneath my palms and felt disgust all over again. How can they look at me, how can they see who I am and not vomit.

“It’s impossible because I am not a man.”

“Please, for the boy,” I said, and the fire inside of me flared bright, exploding my life with the truth.

Julia Adlesic’s case confirms to me that many people would do anything to get rich.

This woman is Julia Adlesic. She and her boyfriend had the “wonderful” idea of ​​trying to scam the insurance companies. To do this, they came up with a plan:

The first thing was to take out insurance with five different companies.

The second, having an “accident” in which Julia would have lost a hand, in order to be able to collect compensation, which amounted to one million euros.

And so they did, Julia cut off her entire left hand, claiming that she had an accident while using a saw. But when the case went to court, it was determined that everything was planned, as Julia’s boyfriend had researched the hand prosthesis operation on the Internet days before. These and other inconsistencies led to the case being closed.

Not only did they not charge anything, they lost money and both ended up in jail. Julia’s amputated hand was recovered and reattached, but she lost some of her mobility.

As I said at the beginning, this kind of case makes me realize that many people would do anything for money, but is it really worth being without a hand for money? It’s something that doesn’t cross my mind.

To me, this was one of the most ridiculous scam or fraud attempts I have ever seen.