About a month ago, if you follow Hive account@snook, you'd have seen the first four parts of 'A Bedtime Story'. At first, I was pretty intrigued. She had written several other cute children's stories and even made a few 'Mother Goose' type videos that my kids loved. My impression then, was it was going to be something similar.

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It was not. Very well written and detailed, mind you, but not a children's story. I asked her why she called it a bedtime story because this wasn't something I'd read to my kids at night. She explained to me that it was a story she had told herself countless times, as she lay down to bed on restless nights. One she created and knew by heart. It was her 'Bedtime Story'.

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I really liked it and asked her if I could do something with it. She said, "Sure!" She had no idea what I was going to do and I had wanted to finish this by Christmas, but here it is. The audio version(s) of her story. The music is by Alan Williams who did the soundtracks for Louie Schwartberg's 'Moving Art' series on Netflix. If you listen closely, there is also an ambient rain that spoils my doggie's midnight romping and her whine to come in the house. Almost perfect for a bedtime story. And yes, my schwartz is bigger than yours.

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If you would like to read along or completely missed them altogether, the first four parts are below, word for word, from her blog. If you happen to visit them, be sure to tell her I told you they were frig'n awesome and she should continue the story(ies).

The apartment was just starting to lose the last of the darkness when loud knocking woke her. Who in the world would dare to knock on her door at this ungodly hour? she thought.

Getting out of bed she grabbed her pile of skirts. One by one she slowly put them on. She knew each stitch, each flaw, and perfection of the skirts she layered on. She had sewn them one by one. Each skirt was a work of art in its simplicity. The color combination, along with texture and patterns is what made each unique.

She was down to only six skirts left. She made a mental note to schedule time to get to the city for fabric shopping.

Sniffing the air she only smelled the bakery next door. She was safe from a fire in her building. The person still pounding at her front door would not be bringing good news. She would need her armor of handmade skirts to keep her grounded.

Nothing good ever came from someone knocking on a front door at dawn.

The pounding noises became louder as each skirt was loving layered over the other and fastened for the day. Her ritual of morning dress ruined beyond repair. Grabbing her Winter shawl she made her way to the front door.

Taking a deep breath she stood on tiptoe and opened the small window in her front door. She proceeded to ask how she might be of help. The reply from her hallway was yelled in a language she didn't understand. Sighing, she opened the door to better communicate with the band of men she had seen through her tiny window.

Men in uniforms were filling the hallway to her apartment on the second floor. One man stood out among them. No words came out of his mouth as he looked at her with eyes that see into a soul. This man was no ordinary policeman. He didn't have to speak to be listened to.

Her spine straightened knowing what was ahead was not going to be over soon. Looking straight in his black eyes she asked if she could help him once again. Adding that she only spoke English.

The officer's eyes widened slightly when he heard her voice. No one noticed but her. He nodded his head at her. A deep clipped voice called out a name. A man barely out of his teens came forward. With a nervous stance, he saluted the officer and waited for orders.

She waited patiently as the exchange was made from the officer to the young recruit. All she could hope for now was the young man spoke a bit of English and had not lied about how much.

In broken English, she was asked if she made lunch.

The look of confusion on her face must have been seen by the officer in charge. He started berating the young man. The lady held up one hand, quietly saying the word "Stop." while looking into the eyes of the officer pleading for him to hold on.

Grabbing the young recruit's hand, she looked him in the eye. Taking a deep breath she lowered her voice telling him she did make lunch each day. She inquired if they needed food. Knowing this wasn't the reason they had knocked on her door at dawn. Never the less, she used the question as a place to try and unravel the mystery of why a troop of soldiers was standing at her door at an ungodly hour of the day.

The young recruit kept bringing up lunches. He spoke about selling food. She tried to explain she didn't sell food. He kept going, saying the same English phrases over and over again. She was ready to pull her hair out. Glancing at the officer in charge she could tell he was at the end of his patience too.

Concentrated on figuring out what the young recruit was saying she had missed her name being called from the street. The commotion, reaching ear-splitting proportions, brought everyone in the room out of the daze they had been in while trying to find a way to communicate.

She ran to the balcony to see what the fuss was about. What greeted her eyes was a sight to behold. Tears started to form. The whole neighborhood was there. Shop owners, the homeless, and the elderly, all looking up at her calling her name.

Through the crowd, she could see a small path opening up. Two people were running like their lives depended on it. Grabbing her glasses she noticed the officer was right beside her. His face showed no emotion at all. Glasses on, she looked again to see who was running up the path and saw her son.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she turned to the officer. With hand gestures, she explained who was running through the crowd. She made motions to bring him up to the apartment. All would soon be figured out. Waving to the crowd below, she bowed in thanks. She owed them for sending someone up the mountain to fetch her son.

Turning away from the balcony she walked to the front door so she could see her son's face as soon as he made it up the stairs.

Out of breath, half-dressed, the man walked straight to his mother enveloping her a big hug. Happy to see her alive and untouched. He then turned to the officer. Speaking perfect Spanish he asked what was the cause of their visit.

Spanish flew faster and faster between the officer and her son. Soon it grew louder as her son kept shaking his head no. Tired of not knowing what was going on in her own home, she once more stood between men talking. Holding up her hand she quietly said: "Stop."

She had everyone's attention. She asked why they were here. She had things to get done today. She didn't have time for any more foolishness. She knew she had done nothing wrong.

Her son turned to her explaining the soldiers were at her house to arrest her for selling food on the black market. She looked at him like he had grown a third eye. Laughing, she asked why in the world would she do that. Not to leave out she had no idea how to even go about embarking on something like that.

Her son explained, worry showing on his face, they had evidence it all lead to her. Her spine straightens even further as she turned to the officer in charged and said one word. "Where!"

Raising an eyebrow the officer barked out a command. Shuffling could be heard as something was being passed through the ranks. Catching a small glance of the package her eyes widened. A thing that wasn't lost on the officer in charge as the package was placed in his hands.

Staring her in the face was the care packages she made for anyone to take for free when in need. Oh, Lord...

Walking up she grabbed the pristine colorful paper bag knowing it was hers. She would spend hours doodling with colored pencils on paper bags trying to teach herself to draw. If she liked how the bag turned out it was then filled with meals she made for the hungry to survive.

Moving to the village five months ago she had seen so many people in need. Not being wealthy she could only do so much to help. People are proud. The ones that need help the most, often never ask, but sit silently and suffer.

In her first few weeks, she noticed she was making too much food for one person to eat. It is hard to lose a life long habit of cooking for more than one person. Her refrigerator was iffy at best. Frozen food was never going to happen. She needed to learn quickly how to pare down her recipes. She loved to cook and bake. It wasn’t something she was willing to give up.

Three days in a row of eating the same food before it went to waste was getting on her nerves. That night she grabbed her first paper bags and started doodling. While her creative mind was occupied in trying to make a frog look like a frog. Her practical mind was looking for solutions to her food overage problem.

Sun shining through her back balcony woke her out of her trance. She quickly ran down the stairs to the bakery next door. Buying three small loaves of day-old bread she smiled the whole way home. She was never going to have to eat leftovers again.

Waking the next morning, earlier than normal, she grabbed the recipes found the night before on the internet and started to bake. Noon came and went. Her house smelled delicious. She looked a mess. Her newest handmade skirt had flour all over it. She adding learning how to make aprons to her mental list.

Dusting herself off as best she could, the local basket store was next on her agenda. She needed a basket that would hold up in any weather. One big enough to be seen but not too big that anyone waking by saw it. People with full bellies, most often, never look down.

Home, basket in hand, along with fresh fruit, she took a real look at her kitchen and started to laugh. Every flat surface was covered in flour. On top of the flour were neatly wrapped packages filled with tasty healthy food meant for days of travel before it spoiled. She had made enough food to feed an army.

Filling the sink with warm soapy water, she proceeded to clean up her mess before she was overrun with bugs looking for a free meal. Kitchen clean, it was now her turn to wash all the flour off of herself. Shaking out her skirt over the balcony railing, she then pinned it to air out overnight.

Freshly clean and happy she filled the first three bags with meals for a day. Using Google translate she wrote in Spanish on each bag, “You are Needed.” Next time she talked to her son she would get correct translations for other sayings to add to the bags.

Basket in hand she made her way down the stairs as the sun was setting. It wasn’t safe for a woman to be out at night alone so this was the trickest part of her plan. She placed the basket on the sidewalk, covered by the low laying bush, in front of her house. A prayer the right people found the food she had spent all day making was thrown in for good luck.

Morning came. She rushed downstairs as fast and quiet as she could. The basket needed to be off the sidewalk before the rest of the village woke up even if it was still full. Opening the gate she glanced where the basket should have been and saw that it wasn’t there.

It hurt her heart to see someone had felt the need to take even the basket. Taking a deep breath of the clean morning air she turned to go back inside. Bright colors caught her eye making her look back at her front yard.

There, right there, in the middle of her small yard was her basket filled with wildflowers of all shapes and colors. Tears streaming down her face she slowly picked up the basket and took it back inside.

So began the best part of her waking day for the last four months.

How did something so right become a black market scandal? It was free food after all...

A gentle hand touching her shoulder brought her out of the past. She gazed up at the man and said one word. "How?"

The officer in charge looked around the apartment with steady eyes. He took one more glance at the small women before him and proceeded to tell everyone to wait outside in the front yard.

The women's son didn't want to leave his mother alone. From the tone of the discussion between the officer and her son, she knew she would be safe on her own. She hugged her son telling him not to worry, everything would work out. She had a good feeling about the rest of the day.

While her apartment was cleaned out of men she went and waited on her couch, colored bag still in hand. She finally heard the front door close and lock. It was time to figure out where all went wrong.

The officer walked slowly over to the couch. Bowing before her, he, in perfect English, introduced himself as Antonio.

She stood with a smile on her face knowing already he spoke some English. He had been too patient before not to have known what was being said. She held out her hand to shake. Introducing herself as Kathryn, his eyes widened a bit.

Kathryn pointed to the couch. It was best to get comfortable while he explained how her free meals ended up on the black market and why!

Antonio sat down, leaned his head back, and started to explain.

Three months ago a homeless man traveling to the next town was stopped by two soldiers. The man had one bag of meals in his possession. The soldiers knew this man was homeless and jumped to the conclusion that he had stolen the bag from town.

The homeless man tried to explain he didn't steal it. It was a present from the Mother of the man known as Jesus that lived in the mountains. The soldiers looked inside the bag carefully to see two small packages wrapped in wax paper. One of the soldiers reached in, grabbed a wrapped package, opened it up to reveal a muffin. He split it in half handing a piece to his partner.

The man watched the sweets he was saving being eaten right in front of him. He wasn't a dumb man, just one in need of a shower. He grabbed the bag back from the soldiers. He went on to explain that the food was special. If not given to someone as a gift, those who tried to eat it would soon have bad things start happening to them. He explained if they wanted to trade with him for the last package inside or the bag he was willing to give them his food with an open heart.

The men sneered at him, grabbed the bag, pushing him to the ground and walked off the way they had come.

Carlos knew soon word would get out about the bags full of delicious food. A plan had to be made now or anyone caught with the food on them would be in danger from the soldiers. Pushing himself off the ground, he made his way back to town to spread the word.

"Do not give away the food for free. It must be given to someone with an open heart or bad phenomenons will soon befall the person(s) that take the packages."

The two soldiers that had stolen the man's food fell down a ravine the very next day and died.

Kathryn stood up straight when she heard this part of the story. Her hands, palms up, mouth open to talk, yet no words would come out. She then started to pace. Antonio seeing a person in distress new they needed a distraction. He asked her if he could have a cup of coffee.

With a glare in his direction, Kathryn walked to the kitchen with the sound of the officer chuckling...

I'm really hoping this gets continued and hope you liked my audio rendition of her stories. She's read a few of my poems in the past and honored me and now it's my turn. Hope you like them sis! Oh and uh, just as I do, REMEMBER TO BE YOU! I always am, even while I'm lost in space.