Let’s call it what it is. This is an assault on chocolate with the goal being its elimination. Nothing more, nothing less. It may sound far-fetched, but I formulated this theory by scrutinizing the rationale behind replacing Valentine’s Day with Friendship Day. Turns out, it doesn’t have anything to do with promoting “friendship.” Or preventing the terminally lonely from having their feelings hurt after being ghosted by Cupid for the umpteenth year in a row. Looking at all the facts, I turned over the final stone and unearthed the culprits behind this scheme.

With or without chocolate, I’ve always been a big fan of Valentine’s Day. When the only measure for a successful celebration is impressing just one other person, what could go wrong? Aiming at a target consisting of a solitary bullseye taking up your whole field of vision increases accuracy by like 100-fold. With minimal effort, who can’t be an Olympic marksman on Valentine’s Day?

And we would be stupid not to pick some random date in the middle of February to express our undying love to whoever is our plus-one at the time. What better way to break up the weeks between New Year’s and Arbor Day?

I also fervently subscribe to Valentine’s Day’s credo: Forced, sentimental materialism is key to a solid relationship. I willingly torpedoed my budget by maxing out my credit card on time-sensitive, overpriced meals along with flowers and spa days and jewelry that will be eaten or tossed or forgotten or pawned (when the relationship comes to its inevitable rocky conclusion). That’s fine.

These tasks were completed in anticipation my “loved one” would monetarily reciprocate in kind. Or God willing, equated The Cheesecake Factory, roses, a mani/pedi and earrings with foreplay, signaling spontaneous coitus. The accumulated receipts were offset by the chance I’d be culminating three and a half minutes of euphoric bliss before Sportscenter started. Six if I thought about the possibility the charges wouldn’t be posted on this month’s Visa’s statement. How is this bad?

The build-up to 2/14 isn’t protracted. That’s a bonus when you’re single. The implication that only couples can enjoy this special occasion isn’t shoved in your face for weeks prior like Christmas or my birthday. And the pain of not being an active participant in a Valentine’s Day lovefest subsides within 23 hours. Chocolates discounted up to 80%, even if in the shape of a heart, are the sutures that close my soul’s deep wounds. At reduced prices, when’s a better time to be Pro-Valentine’s?

It was the bargain-priced chocolate that brought everything into focus. That was the linchpin enabling me to wrap my head around who would benefit from introducing Friendship Day. Since GET RID OF CHOCOLATE couldn’t possibly be the #1 priority on Congress’ “To Do” list, the government was eliminated. There had to be another nefarious force spearheading the quest to abolish Valentine’s Day.

Proponents of Friendship Day would have to reap something from Valentine’s demise. Like all good sleuths, I followed the money which led me directly to Haribo and the Jelly Belly Jelly Company. It’s always the ones you least expect.

Here’s the rationale. Chocolate dominates Valentine’s Day sales. Gummy Bears and Jelly Belly jellybeans are tied for distant second. Destroying Valentine’s Day forces the sugar-craving public to seek other options for placating the milk chocolate monkey on its collective back. GB and JB will Pied Piper the downtrodden right to Friendship Day with its corresponding treats laden with elevated fructose levels. This guerrilla marketing results in a bigger piece of the moolah pie.

Although I’m impressed with the tactics employed, obviously inspired by Sun-Tzu’s The Art of War, I can’t idly sit by while a sinister plan to eradicate the beloved cacao bean is executed. My conscious (and sweet tooth) will not allow such a travesty. I am willing to risk my life or limb by unveiling the perpetrators.

It’s always about the Benjamins. And paper portraits of dead presidents are amassed by either crushing your competition or through a hostile takeover. Both are bad PR. It puts corporate greed in the spotlight and your company in the headlines. However, if a business does not appear to be involved with the competition fading from view, it doesn’t get its hands dirty. Wearing a clean cape of righteousness, it can come to the rescue by filling the void left behind. The company assumes the persona of a confectionary savior to those hurting. A genius Machiavellian strategy.

Corporations don’t want their consumer base to sour if profits skyrocket due to unscrupulous dealings. It needs to be more covert. Sure, the major grocery stores’ CEOs getting nondescript packages containing bits of multi-colored, crushed M&M shell sends a clear message. Such intimidation can even extend to getting Little Debbie and the Keebler Elves pulled from stores. But it’s bad optics.

Loyalists to Quicky, the Nesquik rabbit, will notice when he goes missing. Unvetted blogs pop up, raising awareness of his absence. A GoFundMe page starts. Rumors will swirl that some men in black suits forcibly hippity hopped Q’s furry butt to a cosmetic testing facility operated by Revlon or L’Oreal. That reflects poorly.

Nobody wants to know how many licks from a metal baton it takes to reach the middle of Mr. Owl’s skull. If he had abandoned his Tootsie Pop research when asked, he wouldn’t be tied up in the basement of some Hoboken stash house. He should have accepted the Avian Protection program offer. Now he’s getting fitted for concrete shoes. Could of, would of, should of doesn’t help.

And what about the disappearance of the two lobbyists from Big Chocolate last month? The media glossed over this. The only detail mentioned was they never rendezvoused for a scheduled meeting with their lawyer and the delegation from Lindt. Within two days, the story was buried, found only when scrolling through many pages. Chilling to think those two hard-working men were recipients of what I refer to as the KST (Karen Silkwood Treatment). Highly concerning.

But these tactics are very heavy-handed. Executing them will ensure the FBI will start snooping around. Much better for a business to come across as benevolent and bask in the afterglow of chocolate’s implosion.

And that’s how Friendship Day came about. I now fear Easter is on the chopping block. Someone should alert the Cadbury Bunny.

Mrs. Patel’s knees nearly touched her chest as she sat on the miniature blue plastic chair. At the edge of the circle, Logan rocked back and forth on his heels, his hand stretching so high it threatened to detach from his arm. His eyes darted between Mrs. Patel and the construction paper hearts scattered across the tables, mouth twitching with barely contained information.

“Okay, Logan.” She smoothed her skirt, voice soft as a library whisper. “You wanted to tell us about Valentine’s Day?”

Logan’s entire body became a nod, his mop of brown hair flopping in his face. “Uh-huh. It’s all gone.”

Tommy’s mouth dropped open. Maria crushed her paper heart. Zoe stared.

Mrs. Patel’s hand froze mid-reach toward the glue stick bucket. “Gone?“

“Yeah.” Logan bounced on his toes. “Daddy says we can’t do it no more ’cause it makes people sad.”

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Mrs. Patel’s mind raced to process this proclamation, delivered with all the gravity of a breaking news report before snack time.

She leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath. “Makes people sad?”

Logan’s face scrunched up, his lower lip jutting out. His fingers twisted the hem of his dinosaur t-shirt. “Like... like when Tommy has a cookie? And I don’t got one? And my tummy feels all yucky looking at his cookie?”

Mrs. Patel’s chin dipped slowly. “Like snack time?”

“Yeah!” Logan’s arms waved everywhere. “But it’s hearts and stuff!” His fingers spread wide, then squeezed tight. “Some kids get lots and lots of hearts, and some kids don’t get any, and they cry and get mad and stuff. So now we got Friendship Day instead!”

The only sound was the gentle whir of the classroom hamster wheel.

Ethan’s eyebrows squished together, his crayon stopping. “But... but my mommy and daddy still do Valentine’s.”

Logan shrugged his shoulders. “That’s okay. Like... like...” His face pinched. “Like how some people got fish and some people got dogs. And both is okay.”

Mrs. Patel’s teeth caught her lower lip, her head tilting to one side.

She cleared her throat, voice climbing an octave. “So what do you do on Friendship Day?”

Logan jumped up and down. “It’s super cool! You pick your bestest friend and give them a hug! No yucky kissing—” he stuck out his tongue, and giggles erupted around the circle “—or fancy stuff that makes grownups all grumpy. Just friends!”

Mrs. Patel’s fingers drummed against her knee. “That sounds... kind of nice, actually.”

“Yeah!” Logan grinned, showing his missing front tooth. “Daddy says nobody’s sad on Friendship Day ’cause everybody’s got a friend!”

The classroom grew still, like the moment before snow falls. Twenty small faces turned inward, trying to understand.

“Move! That’s MY spot!” Jason lunged forward, both hands shoving Mia.

She toppled sideways onto the carpet.

“Jason!” Mrs. Patel’s voice snapped through the air.

Mia’s chin trembled. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, darkening spots on her pink unicorn sweater.

Mrs. Patel’s eyes found the rainbow-shaped clock. 9:07 AM. One hand reached for the tissue box, the other for the behavior chart. So much for Friendship Day.

Growing up amongst the yakuza is an odd occurrence and not one most people would consider a good childhood.

But compared to my prior childhood experience, being in the yakuza takes the cake.

Koku-Donno found me in the middle of a sex trafficking ring, one that specialized in something they called the ‘child experience’. I was eight at the time and Koku had been sent by his boss to shut down all of their operations because there was no way master mutu was going to allow such a filthy business on his territory.

Especially when they didn’t ask him first and weren’t planning on paying him anything in return for the favor of letting them operate on his turf.

So Koku took me in. He had two nephews, or grand-nephews really who he had adopted when they were infants and had been raising as his own, and I joined them. Though I was strictly his niece, not his daughter.

A boundary I set myself. Being in the place I had been fouled your relationships with… well with relationships.

This particular yakuza had an odd hierarchy. Mutu-Donno was the boss and Koku-Donno was his second in command. Then there were the ‘12 yokai’, the heads of separate divisions or specialists that served directly under the two of them.

Muichi and Yuichi, Koku's adopted sons, were in line to inherit his position in the yakuza and Duomo-Donno who was the second yokai (koku being the first) had his heir lined up as well.

But Master Mutu did not.

And he adored me.

He adored Muichi and Yuichi as well, I think he was just the kind of man who was supposed to become a parent because he just loves kids. He loves providing for them, taking care of them, spoiling them, helping them, and protecting them, he was practically made to be a father.

And he was practically the twins' father spending so much time with them and spoiling them beyond belief. It helped that he and Koku were not-husbands-husbands.

They weren’t married, or even officially together, but everyone knew that the two of them were involved with each other romantically.

So Mutu saw Koku as his husband and the twins as his sons, and when I was brought into their little yakuza family he saw me as the daughter he had been waiting for.

I was spoiled, he found out I liked to read fantasy and he built me my fantasy-themed library with a little tree built in a lounge bed within it.

I got closets that were bigger than my old bedroom full of designer clothes made just for me. Special editions of books, jewelry, food, stylists, and personal tutors.

He even tried to get me a dog, but Koku stopped him. He didn't, however, stop Mutu from getting me a rare lizard and a snake as pets later on.

So growing up in the yakuza hasn’t been awful for me. It’s been quite the step up from my previous life.

But I’m also known as the princess of the Yokai’s Yakuza, so that might have something to do with it.

Being a crow is hard!

The nesting, the flying, the hunting, the foraging, the collecting, the hoarding of the shiny things. It’s a lot of work!

But, of course, as we all know, being a crow is the best!!

And one day I’ll be a dragon, which means my schedule will be even busier.

What with all the flying, caving, raiding, burning, pillaging, collecting of shiny things, hoarding of shiny things, kidnapping of princesses, slaying of knights, being a dragon is even more work than being a crow!

But, as we all know, of course, there io it one thing better than being a crow! And that’s being a dragon!!

So I’ll keep working on growing my hoard and collecting only the best and brightest of shiny things to add to it until one day I can fall asleep on it and wake like a beautifully scaly dragon!!

All in good time of course, first I have to find and collect and hoard the best shiny things!

Crows were curious creatures, ones that had always drawn my attention.

When I was still very small I can remember hearing matters and whispers and bits of songs being sung outside my window, all in the trees.

I didn’t understand it at the time but I was hearing the birds. And I wouldn’t understand it for quite some time after that, but hearing and understanding what the birds were saying i wasn’t normal.

My mother had always told me I was cursed by a creature that called itself the king of the flock.

He had mangled twisted wings that seemed to leak ash and soot and trailed blood everywhere, he was a shriveled and hunched figure, who spoke in creaks and groans that grated the ears.

I was cursed by him, to be like him. To hear the birds and to one day become a monster in their image.

The crows and ravens were the ones I liked the most. They would teach me things. The older ones taught me how to read, how to tell what plants were safe and which ones could be used to harm, and how to know which creatures I could trust. The middle-aged ones told me the stories of their people, tried to teach me how to fly, and taught me how to always be clean and presentable. The youngest ones grew up alongside me, teaching me the best tricks to pull, where to find the best shiny things and the best way to trade for even more shiny things!

They were my family, unlike the humans around me in my home.

When I was ten a new bird came to my window, and my usual flock stayed in the tree outside my room watching in an unusual silence.

‘Hello, little one.’

I cocked my head in reply, staring into the new raven's black eyes.

‘Awww look at you, just like your own kind now… would you like to meet your father?’

“He’s downstairs”

‘No child, that’s not your father. Your real father, the king of our flock.’

The crows and ravens I had grown up with began to frenzy, flying up and around the house like a tornado of black feathers and piercing screams. None of them were telling me to stay, to not go.

All of it was encouragement. So I went.

I slipped out of my house and into the forests, following my flock and this new bird deeper and deeper Into it, until we came to a walk of thorns.

They all flew over it, but I had no wings.

“Hello there little one… what are you doing out here? Where did you come from?”

A man was perched on a low-hanging branch above me, lazing open it like a cat in a sun patch. He flitted down to my level, his eyes golden and black like a crow, a beak-like Mask hanging off of his hip, and a cape of inky black feathers falling from his shoulders to the forest floor.

“My flock was taking me to my daddy, but I can’t fly over the wall.”

“Your flock?”

One of the oldest crows in my flock landed above us, yelling at the man in a way I couldn’t understand.

“Uncle, why can’t I hear you?”

‘Oh! Don’t you worry little child! We were just speaking in the adult caws, not for children!’

“Is that one of your flock?” The man lifted his hand and my uncle stepped onto it

I nodded watching as the two of them seemed to speak.

“Well then, it’s no wonder you’re here. Of course, you can’t fly yet, but you’ll get your wings when you’re old enough. For now, let’s get you inside a little hatchling.”

I was brought beyond the wall into a world where everyone could hear the birds. My full flock. I was put into a nest, amongst other children my age and many adults would come in to care for us.

We were fed, snuggled, read to, taught, and lived beyond anything.

When we grew older we hatched, and then fledglings, and then fledges, and then flocklings, and when we were fully grown we too became part of the flock.

If being loved is a curse, then I wish to be cursed forever.

In my word the stars and planets are everything.

Depending on your star sign, the moon phase, the position of the planets, and the way the stars are hung in the sky decide everything.

And I live for it. In other realism, my work is but superstitions, but here…

Here I am everything.

I hand-pick every person who falls into each star sign, I place the planets into position each night, and i shave and sculpt the moon each night.

Defy and defile me? Watch your whole world fall apart.

Job, love life, house, everything up in a poof.

Praise me? Your life shall fall together!

The dream job, perfect house, absolute best soulmate, it's all yours.

Some call it random or coincidence, most realities take my painstaking work for trivial reasons.

But here? I am truly a God!

Complete and utter blasphemy. I stood there in the rain daring to blackmail and bribe these immortals. How could I... a mere mortal dare to hold power over these beings, these divine creatures who hold so much power they could squash me like an ant.

Standing in the rain. I waited. Would he show? He had to. He couldn't afford not to. Could he? Thoughts stormed in my head like the wind battering my side. Then in a burst of dark feathers, flying coats and the pure force of the winds of the high heavens, he descended.

Clutching my coat closer to my body as if it would protect me from the being of raw power in front of me. I spoke the moment I could, " I need you to do something for me and then I will relinquish my power over your true name."

"Wow, there really is no beating around the bush with you." He chuckled darkly his midnight blue eyes raging. Fear gripped me. It was not a good idea angering a being such as himself, but I needed something and if we feared what the other could do, this temporary alliance should work. I hope.

Through bloodstone, the East Villagers saw their neighbors as wolves; through obsidian, the West Villagers saw them as vultures. Each generation ground their lenses finer with fear and fury, until children were born expecting monsters across the river.

When flood warnings came, the East reinforced their walls, certain the West would divert waters their way. The West stockpiled supplies, knowing the East would try to starve them out. Children slept in their shoes, ears straining for betrayal.

The river rose on a moonless night, crashing through windows and flooding homes on both banks. In the darkness, hands reached across the divide—pulling, pushing, grasping. Screams echoed until water muffled them. No one could tell which side was which, just desperate shapes fighting for higher ground, slipping beneath the surface.

The lenses cracked and washed away. Righteous people drowned believing they were being murdered. Stubborn souls died saving strangers they'd been taught to fear.

Survivors blinked in the morning light, seeing clearly for the first time. By noon, they crafted new lenses, harder than before. Their children would learn to grind them crueler, knowing the monsters had tried to drown them.

The river kept flowing, carrying old glass and older lies downstream.

Several years ago my friend was in a very toxic and brutal relationship. In the past we were friends with benefits. But it didn't work, we settled for friends. One day my friend called me on the phone and told me that she was being abused by her girlfriend. My heart cried for her that day. The fear in her voice sent anger through my soul. She then tells me that her girlfriend was scared of me because she knew me from the past. Using this information, I came up with a plan to get her away from the abusive female. I convinced her to meet me and I picked her up while the girlfriend was at work. I took her to my house. When the girl got off work, she was on the war path. She found out that she was with me. I asked my friend to call her for me. Although it wasn't true, I told that abusive female that my friend and I were getting married. I told her to never come around her family again. And believe it or not she never came around again. My friend found a new girlfriend and is living happily.

James

I loved her. I was betrayed. I blame myself and Timothy. I trusted him.

Aaron

She was my sister. I know he did it. James convinced her to go. He forced her. She couldn't have known, now I have to figure out a way to bail her.

Cynthia

I did what I had to do. I do not regret it.

Cynthia

Timothy is in jail. He did it. He did it. He did it.

James

I will capture one of his relatives and ask for enough money to bail her.

Then I will die.

Aaron

I went to his house. He was not there. Who is Timothy?

James

Her brother knows where I am. He knows who I am. He will kill me first.

Aaron

I found him, he has a name, James. We made an alliance. We get Cynthia, then he and this Timothy die.

James

I heard Timothy is in jail, that is not enough. I do not like Aaron, but he is helpful.

Cynthia

They will not find me. I do not want to be found.

James & Aaron

We will find her. Together.

Aaron

I do not care if he lives.

James

Then I die.