The Temple City of The Green Goddess, Where Every Street Has a Name

The ruins of the dead city loomed around them, jagged silhouettes against the pale glow of the fractured moon. The caravan had settled for the night beneath the collapsed skeleton of a skyscraper.

Vardos, wagons, and rusting RVs formed a tight barricade against the night’s horrors. The stench of salt and decay clung to the air.

Somewhere in the distance, the mournful wail of a lone ghoul echoed through the canyons of broken glass and twisted steel.

Most of the caravan slept, huddled beneath the shattered overhang, wrapped in thick handwoven blankets. The handmaids and children lay in a tangled heap of wool and silk, their quiet breathing the only sign of life in this forsaken place.

A cluster of goblins whispered among themselves in hushed, guttural voices, careful not to wake the others.

This was the largest city GhoulSpawn had seen since becoming trapped here in the 40th century future. But he could not place it. The ruins were too decimated. Massive skyscrapers, lay on top of each other in collapsed rumble of concrete and twisted steel, with centuries old pine trees growing on top of them. This city had fallen two thousand years ago, and inspired of its tarmac streets and concrete sidewalks covering miles after mile of massive metropolis, nature had found a way to take root and reclaim it.

“Where are we?” GhoulSpawn asked.

“Too close to the hive for comfort,” Quaraun answered.

“The hive?”

“Aye,” BoomFuzzy said. “Massive zombie horde. One the biggest on the entire planet. We usually avoid this area. Ain’t safe. We keep to more remote regions usually. That's why ya ain't never seen many zombs.”

“Yes. I had noticed that,” GhoulSpawn muttered. “You’re always telling me there are twenty one billion zombies on the planet, but I don't think I've ever seen more than a few dozen.”

“But ya also ain't seen the big cities.”

“True.”

“We keep to the forests. Stay away from the cities. Most o’ the zombies are confined to cities. Living built walls over roads, chain link fencing around perimeters, sos the largest herds are imprisoned in cities.”

“And we're near one of those?”

“Aye. It why we ain't no settings up the tents. We rest just as long as we needs and then we skedaddle. Children need rest. If we had only adults in our group, I'd say keep going, march through here fast as we can. This the last safe resting location before we reach the hive. We need the children rested so's they can run if they have to. I ain't having none of me group left behind or getting turned.”

GhoulSpawn stared out at the heavily armed Kelpies marching around the camp. The Faerie King's bodyguards patrolled the perimeter, rifles slung over their shoulders, eyes scanning the dark. They usually rested with the rest of the group, but tonight they were on high alert.

Quaraun sat by the dying embers of the campfire, legs folded beneath him, his luminous tentacle hair pooled around him like liquid silver. He exhaled a slow stream of absinthe-laced smoke from his hookah, watching it curl into the frigid air. His delicate fingers, encased in gold-plated prosthetics, traced elegant lines across a battered parchment. His crystalline blue eyes gleamed as he worked, painstakingly sketching a map of the ruins, labelling each street name with meticulous care.

Beside him, BoomFuzzy crouched near the fire, using a hunting knife to sift through the ashes, ensuring every ember was smothered. His thick dreadlocks, threaded with purple ribbons, swayed as he moved. The light glinted off the gold rings in his ears, the heavy chains draped across his chest. He muttered under his breath, half in Scots, half in the guttural language of the Unseelie Court, cursing the cold, the city, and whatever foolish Humans had built it in the first place.

GhoulSpawn, hunched nearby, polished his cloven hooves with the absent-minded precision of someone lost in thought. His golden fleece shimmered in the firelight, his massive horns casting jagged shadows against the broken walls. He glanced at Quaraun’s map, eyes narrowing.

“Map of The Green Goddess Temple City,” GhoulSpawn read the map title out loud. “Where’s that?”

“It is where we are. We do not use this route often, but the survivors in this area need supplies we have and we need materials that can only be gotten from these survivors. Every time we come through here i try to expand my map.”

“Oh. Who's The Green Goddess?”

“I do not know. Her statue fell two thousand years ago. It used to be just back there.” Quaraun gestured towards the city ruins behind them. “This entire city was built around her statue. They worshipped her. Humans lived in these tall buildings all around her just so they could worship her all day.”

Quaraun frowned, his quill hovering over the map. He studied the crumbling ruins around them—monuments to Human excess. The skeletal remains of skyscrapers jutted toward the sky, their fractured bones silhouetted against the fractured moon. Broken streets sprawled in labyrinthine chaos.

And yet, for all this disorder, the Humans had named them.

Every street.

Every path.

A meticulous madness.

"Humans are most peculiar," Quaraun said, his voice smooth and measured. "This is one of those odd places where they have seen fit to give every street a name. Even now, long after their civilization has crumbled into dust, the names persist, etched in rusted signs and shattered stone." He shook his head. "It is… bewildering."

BoomFuzzy scoffed.

"Aye. That be Humans fer ye. Dinnae do nothin' wi'out makin' a grand spectacle o' it. Streets need names? Why? Roads is roads."

GhoulSpawn blinked, looking between them.

"Wait. You guys don’t get why streets have names?"

BoomFuzzy shrugged, tossing a handful of ash aside.

"Why would we?”

GhoulSpawn frowned.

“You’re seriously telling me you’ve never heard of named streets? That’s basic infrastructure. Addresses. Navigation. If you tell me Elves didn’t name streets, I’ll buy it. You guys were all about tiny villages in the middle of nowhere. But BoomFuzzy, you are King Gwallmaiic, last ruling monarch on the planet, you ran a criminal empire. How the hell did your people get around?”

BoomFuzzy shrugged, sheathing his knife with a flick of his wrist.

“Didn’t need no bloody names. We moved. Caravans don’t stay put. Ain’t got no need for roads, an’ ain’t got no need fer callin’ ‘em anythin’ fancy. Jus’ followed th’ stars, th’ wind, th’ scent o’ blood ‘n’ gold. No Unseelie worth his salt’s ever put a name on dirt. Why would we?"

GhoulSpawn let out a baffled laugh.

"So people know where they’re going?"

Quaraun looked at him, genuinely perplexed.

"But why would one require a name for a street in order to navigate it?"

GhoulSpawn’s brows furrowed.

"How else would you give directions?"

Quaraun returned to his map.

"Elves had villages we called cities, but they were nothing near as vast as these Human monstrosities. We never named the streets. There was no need." He tapped the parchment. "A city had a centre. A village had a heart. One did not require arbitrary names to discern one’s location."

BoomFuzzy grunted in agreement.

"Faeries dinnae build cities a’tall. We keep movin’. Caravan stops here today, another place tomorrow. No settlements. No streets. No nonsense names for paths. We remember where we been. No need for bleedin’ signs tellin’ us where we is."

GhoulSpawn shook his head, clearly flabbergasted.

“You guys are insane. You never had an address? A city grid? Postal service?”

“Postal service?” Quaraun asked.

“You don't know what a post office is, do you?”

“No. Should I?”

GhoulSpawn ran a hand through his wild golden curls.

“It's a delivery service. When you write to someone and they deliver the letter for you. They have to know the street name in order to deliver it.”

Quaraun made a disgusted noise.

“What use have I for that? Who, pray tell, would I write to? And why, in the name of all that is sacred, would I desire communication with anyone outside of my esteemed and unparalleled presence?”

GhoulSpawn rolled his eyes.

“So what’d you do if you needed to find a place? Just wander until you tripped over it?”

“Aye,” BoomFuzzy said. “Or kill some poor bastard what knew.”

"Okay, but, see, when cities get big, like really big, people need a way to—"

BoomFuzzy waved a dismissive hand.

"That be a Human problem."

Quaraun nodded.

"Indeed. A problem created by their own inability to live harmoniously with the land."

“Yeah, well, it worked,” GhoulSpawn muttered. “Back in my time, you could give an address, and someone would know where to go.”

“An’ where’d that get ‘em?” BoomFuzzy gestured to the ruins around them. “All that order, all them maps, all them names. An’ still, th’ world burned.”

Quaraun sighed, his delicate features etched with distaste.

"They carve their cities into the bones of the earth, suffocating the soil beneath their stone and steel. And then they lose themselves within the very labyrinths they have built, requiring names to remind them of their way. It is most inefficient."

GhoulSpawn gave an exasperated groan.

"It’s not inefficient, it’s just... logical. If you tell someone to meet you on, I don’t know, Elm Street, they know where that is."

BoomFuzzy snorted.

"Or ye could jus’ tell ‘em tae meet ye at tha big tree next tae the bakery, like a normal person."

Quaraun nodded sagely.

"A far superior system."

GhoulSpawn stared at them both, utterly flummoxed.

"You guys are impossible."

Quaraun returned to his map, meticulously marking the names, even if he found them absurd.

Silence fell between them.

The fire was nothing but cold embers now, and the wind whistled through the ruins like the mournful wail of a forgotten god.

Quaraun studied his map, tracing the lines with a gloved fingertip.

The street names meant nothing now.

The city was gone, its people dead.

The roads, cracked and broken, led nowhere.

Yet still, he wrote them.

Because names mattered.

Even when no one remained to speak them.

The night passed uneventfully. At sunrise the caravan was again awake, eating breakfast, checking their weapons and supplies, and getting ready to head back out on the road again, to continue their journey back to Maine.

The morning air carried the briny scent of the ocean, mingling with the damp earth and crumbling concrete.

Seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries echoing between the skeletal remains of the once-great city. The ruins stretched endlessly, skyscrapers leaning in jagged silhouettes against the pale sky, their shattered bones entwined with creeping vines and towering pines.

Nature had reclaimed what mankind had abandoned.

While the rest of the caravan got ready for the long road ahead, Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, and GhoulSpawn headed out into the city ruins to look for survivors or undead or anything they could salvage.

Quaraun moved cautiously, his long robes whispering over the debris-strewn ground, every step deliberate. BoomFuzzy followed close behind, his heavy boots crunching against broken glass and brittle stone.

GhoulSpawn, by contrast, pranced ahead, his golden fleece flashing in the morning light as he bounded over fallen beams and twisted metal.

They had been scavenging for hours, searching the ruins for anything salvageable—books, metal, preserved food—anything that could be of use to their caravan. It was a ritual by now, an act of survival.

The great cities of the old world held secrets in their decay, and sometimes, those secrets proved valuable.

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy had been to this city many times. They knew these ruins well. But GhoulSpawn had never travelled with them to this city before and so everything was a wonder for him.

GhoulSpawn suddenly froze, his long floppy lamb's ears twitching. He turned sharply, pleco eyes widening as he spotted a massive structure looming in the distance.

The skeletal remains of its once-proud towers rose from the earth, their suspension cables draping like the web of some long-dead titan.

“The Brooklyn Bridge!” GhoulSpawn gasped. “We’re in New York!”

Without another word, he took off at a gallop, his hooves striking against the cracked pavement.

“I lived in Brooklyn!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Back in the seventies! Holy crap, I can’t believe this!”

His voice faded as he raced toward the bridge, his excitement palpable.

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy exchanged a glance.

“Should we be concerned?” Quaraun asked, arching a delicate brow.

“Aye.” BoomFuzzy snorted. “Ye know how he gets.”

With a resigned sigh, Quaraun adjusted the shimmering pink veil over his face and strode after the Satyr, BoomFuzzy ambling beside him.

By the time they reached the bridge, GhoulSpawn was already standing near its entrance, his breathless excitement faltering into a stunned sort of awe. He turned, gesturing wildly.

“This is Brooklyn Heights! We're in Brooklyn Heights. I used to live here! Lower Manhattan’s right across the bridge!”

Quaraun tilted his head, surveying the ruins beyond.

“This city was once a temple,” he murmured.

GhoulSpawn blinked at him.

“What?”

“The statue of the Green Goddess is nearby,” Quaraun continued, his voice thoughtful. “Or, rather, there was. It collapsed into the ocean centuries ago. It lies at the bottom now.”

“Wait? What?” GhoulSpawn stared at him, incredulous. The conversation of the Green Goddess from last night, only just now sinking in. “Are you talking about the Statue of Liberty?”

Quaraun shrugged.

“If that is what she was called. A massive green woman standing in the harbour. A goddess, surely, worshipped by the Humans of this place. The goddess statue collapsed two thousand years ago.”

GhoulSpawn let out a strangled, nervous laugh.

“She wasn’t a goddess! She was a symbol of—”

He faltered, suddenly aware of just how much time had passed since his own era. How far into the future he really was. The world he had known was gone, buried beneath ice and rot.

“That’s New York City ahead of us,” GhoulSpawn started to say. “It was full of stores. We could get so many supplies in–”

BoomFuzzy cleared his throat, his expression turned very grave.

“We ain’t goin’ no further.”

GhoulSpawn frowned.

“Why not?”

BoomFuzzy’s usual mischievous demeanour had vanished, replaced by something grim. He nodded toward the crumbling skyline on the other side of the bridge.

“That city be off-limits. I won’t take me UnSeelie Court in there.”

GhoulSpawn’s tail flicked nervously.

“Why?”

BoomFuzzy exhaled through his nose, scanning the ruins with a wary gaze.

“That place holds the biggest concentrations o’ zombies I’ve ever encountered.”

GhoulSpawn swallowed hard.

BoomFuzzy continued, his voice low.

“Near as I can figure, there be at least ten million o’ the zomb bastards in there.”

The weight of the revelation settled over GhoulSpawn like a stone. He turned slowly, staring at the broken cityscape with new eyes. The thought of New York City fallen to the zombie apocalypse sent a cold chill through him. He had always known the world had changed, but this… this was something else.

Quaraun shifted uncomfortably, glancing back the way they had come.

“We should return to camp.”

GhoulSpawn barely heard him.

“This was one of the greatest cities in the world,” he muttered. “How did it fall?”

BoomFuzzy shrugged.

“Same way they all did. Humans ain’t as strong as they like tae think. They built their towers so high they thought they’d never fall. Thought their numbers’d keep ‘em safe.” He snorted. “Numbers dinnae mean nothin’ when the dead outnumber the livin’.”

GhoulSpawn swallowed, his mind reeling. He had always known things were bad, but standing here, staring at the bridge that once connected two of the most powerful boroughs of the greatest city on Earth, it felt… final.

Quaraun placed a hand on GhoulSpawn’s arm, his touch light.

“I do not like being away from my children for this long,” he said softly. “Not when we are this close to the zombie hive.”

GhoulSpawn turned to him, still shaken.

“Right. Yeah. We should go.”

BoomFuzzy clapped him on the back, his grip firm.

“Come on, Goat. No sense lingerin’ where we ain’t welcome.”

They turned from the bridge, leaving the ruins behind, the echoes of a lost world whispering in the wind.

Today’s story was brought to you by the letter T. More stories sponsored by the letter T, can be found here:

The Pink Necromancer Index: Part T
An Alphabetical Index of my 1k+ Drabbles, Poems, Kishōtenketsu, & Other Short Fiction on Medium

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy

The Pink Necromancer, Moon Elf silk weaver & merchant: Quaraun on Noodle Beach. His master chef Phooka turned Lich husband: BoomFuzzy with his 1968 VW Bus Beach Noodle Food Truck. And their on again/off again mad scientist Sheep Demon lover: GhoulSpawn with his 1974 AMC Gremlin time machine. Time Travel setting swings back and forth between 40th century Maine after a comet hit the moon decimating the planet, and the 1970s, Maine. Quaraun in the main character, he and BoomFuzzy are a married gay couple. GhoulSpawn is their shared live-in lover. Art by Wendy Christine Allen.

BoomFuzzy

Quaraun

GhoulSpawn and BoomFuzzy

GhoulSpawn

GhoulSpawn and Quaraun

Faeries vs Elves (In The Quaraun Series) A Pink Necromancer World Lore Post

The Pink Necromancer: The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane aka The Twighlight Manor Series

🌸🦄🌸 Furry Yaoi Fiction about Elves and Faeries and Satyrs and Demons and Unicorns and Technomancer Wizards and Liches living in a Lighthouse and surviving as Travelling Merchants and Food Truck Chefs in Cyberpunk Dystopian 40th Century Maine, and Zombie Apocalypse and Time Travel but it’s Slice of Life Vignettes of Mundane Daily Lives of The UnSeelie Court’s Royal Family trying to survive after a comet hit the moon and turned the Earth into a CyberPunk Ice-Age. 🌸🦄🌸

• eBook Editions from this series can be found on: GumRoad

• Kindle, eBook, Print Paperback, & full colour illustrated Hardcover Editions from this series can be found on: Amazon

Meet The Characters

Wendy Christine Allen, 2019, able to sit up in a chair for the first time in years, and able to raise up my arm and wiggle fingers. This was when I started playing Witcher 3 on Twitch as part of my physical therapy to regain finger movement. Playing Witcher 3 daily from 2016 to 2019, is how I regained the use of my thumb and two for fingers on my right hand... it is also why I stopped playing Witcher 3 in 2019, once I had strengthen my two forefingers enough to start typing again. Wendy Christine Allen, Old Orchard Beach's Autistic Author, Artist, Illustrator, & Art Car Designer Counting Down to the September 23, 2028 50th Anniversary of my first published book (September 23, 1978) If you are here looking for The Twighlight Manor series, The Crystonite Wars series, The Wild Years series, The White Rock Asylum for the Criminally Insane series, The Twisted Tales series, the Captured By a MerMan series, The Space Dock 13 series, The Kats of Planet Ptarmagin series, the stories about Miss Citten the Eel-Kat, or the stories about Etiole... ALL of those series were combined and consolidated into The Adventures of Quaraun the Insane Pink Necromancer series in 2014, so ALL the different series, are now under one series title. List of the published titles still in print: The Index of over three thousand stories in The Pink Necromancer series What the series is about, for those new here: The introduction to The Pink Necromancer Series.

If you want some stories to get you started in The Pink Necromancer series, reading these first will give you a good introduction to the 3 main characters: BoomFuzzy's Chowder Dilemma If your ass ain’t freezing or your brains ain’t scrambled, you’re ain’t really trying A Very Important Clump of Grass The Washer Woman & The Fae Absinthe Slushies: An Ode to Frozen Green Fairy Wine Bone Dice Excited For The New Baby Zwodder: A Drowsy Stupid State of Mind Pink Sheep, Cheesy Burritos, and The Grim Reality of Zombies Open Grave The Phooka's Dragon School The Moon Goddess Laughs From The Rooftops The Jar of Pickled Toes The Book Burning Maggots, a You Can't Spell Hatred Without Red Hats A Day In The Life of a Bumbling Necromancer The Three-Seventeen Pee Expedition

My Elves Are JellyFish...and I asked Google AI and ChatGPT 5.6 what they thought of this.

As requested, my daily writing prompt series is now available print paperback editions on Amazon.

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.1: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.2: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.3: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.4: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

365 Cozy Writing Prompts For Fantasy Writers Vol.5: Daily Writing Prompts Series For Writers of Serial Pulp Fiction

There are 20 volumes of this writing prompt series currently planned and in varying stages of finishing, hopefully all 20 will be published by the end of 2026. I likely will do a 2nd series of writing prompt books in 2027.

Health update: August 4, 2026 - in recovery for 6 months+ (at least until mid-January 2027...all book and video game releases are pushed back at least 6 months) see video below for why...

@eelkat health update #maine #disabilityawareness #wheelchairlife #wheelchairvlogger #multiplesclerosis ♬ original sound - Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

Update Sept 3, 2026:

I am able to get around enough to take Koko to dog park... today is 29 days since getting out of hospital. My diet is still mostly liquid, but im eating some solid food again, but its like rice or soft mushy baby food type stuff because I still can not chew yet, though I can swallow again. My jaw is still not functioning good so im having trouble talking still. So there's been slight improvement to my mouth, throat, and jaw, but, zero improvement to my eye, which is a major concern, be Im almost fully blind right now. im legally blind since birth in my left eye, so I have no ability to fall back on using my left eye. My right eye is the one injured and my vision in it is "40% decreased" according to my doctor, but it wasn't good vision to begin with, and right now my right eye is not much different from my legally blind left eye. Which I why I have to have someone drive my car for me instead of me driving my car myself right now, which is very frustrating, because, being a female, I had to fight for over twenty years to be allowed to drive. I started sneaking out at age 31 and dressing as a man to go to Old Orchard Beach high school to get a ged, because us females are not allowed to go to school. And i was 37 years old when snuck out to the DMV and got a driver's permit and started going to college. I was 42 and 8 months pregnant when my family found out I was going to college and thats when I was punished by the backhoe driving over my house and my spine broken with a golf club and my baby born right then and killed with same golf club. So it's very frustrating now, so soon after finally being able to drive , to now not be able to drive because of an eye injury, especially after 14 years of being paralyzed from the golf club and not being allowed to have a wheelchair, again, because i am female and we females are simply not allowed to do anything. I hate the culture I was born into. I wish I had the freedom to go to school and drive a car the way American women do. I wish having my spine broken with a golf club and my baby killed with a golf club and a backhoe driven over my house was not how men in my family punishment women in my family for learning to read and write. Its so frustrating not being able to to drive again, so soon after 14 years being paralyzed, and being paralyzed by the golf club was the punishment for getting a driver's license back in 2013 after 30 years of men not letting me have one. I hate my family's culture and how they treat us women.

I get so sick of Americans telling me how they wish they could be a Gypsy… they are either misogynist woman hating pigs, or delusional idiots who haven't got a clue how shittily we Gypsy women are treated by Gypsy men, because no one in their righ mind who knows anything about Gypsy culture would ever want to be part of it. I hate that I was born a Gypsy. 

update sept 7, 2026

"You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me?

I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking.

So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me.

see video below for more information: 

@eelkat "You would not make a good teacher"... what does that mean, and why are there so many people on Railroad Ave and Western Ave and Cutts St why walk up to me and say that to me? I find it very confusing. I have low functioning Autism (the Rain Man type) and so i have very little understanding of words beyond the basic ones, and i never went to to school, so I never learned maths or sciences, and I only had remedial classes at Southern Maine Community College, because I did not have an education to enroll with regular, I was there taking every reading and writing class they had to learn how to read and write, and also took speaking classes to learn how to talk (i spoke Shetland Scottish language because that was language my grandmother spoke but she died when I was 8 so I only knew that language to speak and write, and I was 37 when I went to college and 42 when I learned English speaking and I still cant speak English good yet), all the other classes I took were art painting and cooking. So the phrase "You would not make a good teacher" makes no sense to me because it seems to imply that I am trying to be a teacher, but I don't have anything close to the education ti be a teacher, and im not trying to be a teacher. So I don't know why people keep saying this phrase to me and I assume it must have some sort of a slang meaning, but I can't figure out what it could be of why do these people keep saying it to me. #mainelife #biddefordmaine #maine #disabilitytiktok #Biddeford ♬ original sound Wendy C Allen | 📚 Author

update Sept 15, 2026:

I have some slight movement in some my fingers again again after over a decade being paralyzed

you remember how I used to be a professional doll making, pattern designer, and embroiderer, back before I became paralized and before my son was murdered and being the backhoe drove over my house?

all my equipment, sewing machines, ect were all destroyed by the backhoe driving over my house, and I have been quardepelegic for over a decade because of it so could not use my hands to sew or draw or embroider, and so only continued to do my writing of novels since then because I could do that with dragon dictation software,

well, since 2016, I been playing Witcher 3 and don't starve video games on twitch livestream, one hand two fingers, as part of my therapy to regain nerve and muscle use of my fingers, and now after 10 years of that, I have somewhat more movement in my fingers and im thinking maybe I can try to do embroidery and doll making again, but not sure, anyways, now im rebuying all of my sewing and embroidery equipment that the backhoe destroyed when it drove over my house, and hopefully I can use my hand enough to embroider again.

waiting for stuff to arrive in mail, so soon I should find out if ten years of twitch gaming has given me enough muscle strength to use my fingers to embroider again.

update to the previous video, answering viewer question about lack of hospital vs broken spine

Wheelchair Fundraiser... I need to upgrade to a power wheelchair, the manual one just isn't enough anymore. But the power wheelchair is $25k. Yes, twenty five thousand dollars. Wtf? I can get a car for a quarter that price, why are wheelchairs so damned expensive? That's more money then I make in five years, so I need to start a fundraiser for it.

Books By Wendy Christine Allen
Currently Available on Amazon Kindle:

Index of the Quaraun novels, novellas, & short story collections on Amazon

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Index of the Quaraun short stories on GumRoad

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An Index of the more than TWO THOUSAND Quaraun Short Stories on Medium

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Index of the Quaraun short stories on Vocal

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Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on Notd

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Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on OnlyFans

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An Index of the Quaraun Merch on CafePress

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Index of the Quaraun Merch on Zazzle

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This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.

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