I have never begun a story with more misgiving.

I have never begun a story with more misgiving. All of this happened, more or less. It began the winter of 1966. I began what I thought was a great adventure. It's almost as if

for worker rights through my psychically linked agents. It was inexpressibly more distressing than amusing to lie in a crib looking up at plastic birds, but I endured it for the ca

ndlestick maker's brother who I held a candle for. He was the Union of Psychics and Necromancer's Representative on Earth and I'd look at plastic birds 24/7 for a glance from him

out of any of his 37 independent eyes. He had forgone a promising career as an optometrist to study the "dark arts", much to his candle-making brother's joy. Why did I love him so?

Because he put a cruse on me by killing my husband, my children, my dog, burned my house down, mixing the remains with a lock of my hair and now I love him. But I need to free

the Czilli. I had no time for mixed emotions and complicated love. Steeling myself against turbulence from within and without, I set the controls for the heart of the sun.

Time and space folded until my particles reached the neutrino limits. I plunged my singularity into the sun. As I approached the center, my perceptions expanded cosmically.

My every quark vibrated, and then POP! It all came full circle. Matter burst, then cooled. Time rewound, then stuttered forward. The universe thanked me. I thanked it back.

Unfortunately, the universe's inhabitants had other sentiments. Cursing me for their suffering, they struggled dumbly with their WMDs to undo my accident.