Call Her Queen Hatshepsut

November 2009

Minister Kayak Burke, a very eager, arrogant, sexy man, moved throughout his establishment almost like a zombie. He was the CEO of a telemarketing firm, worth half a billion dollars. With a fleet of limos, moving trucks and warehouses, his net worth has exceeded one billion dollars over the last decade. He'd met some of the workers most influential leaders and dined with Kings and Queens.

He was totally unaware of the 890 members watching his every move. Several women in the assembly crossed their legs and couldn't take their eyes off him. A few other men secretly lusted after this powerful motivational speaker, philanthropist and self-published author that has sold half a million books through the religious circles that admire him.

In his hand was the Holy Bible and on his mind was his son, life, God and a host of other unspeakable things. He was estranged from his only son. He didn't lose any sleep over his son's life choices.

His son threatened everything he was as a man, everything that he has become would shatter if the congregation found out he had a homosexual son. Even though Kayak was raised to treat others with respect, that went out the window when his son crashed his wedding so many years ago, when he was marrying Rosa, his son's only auntie, and his son's mother's only sibling.

He prided himself on setting the standard, being that he was in a position of authority. No, he wasn't perfect, but he damn sure tried to be. He was a brand, an image. He cared about people and cared about what they had to say.

Images of yesterday exploded in his mind. Back when he got married to his late wife, rest her soul, life was good. He loved his late wife with every particle of his being.

He closed his eyes as the pictures danced in the darkness.

In the past, when he married his first wife, his son was his best man.

And what a mockery that turned out to be when everyone realized his son was gay.

Opening his eyes, he approached the podium, overlooking a huge group of well-dressed members.

There were a few new faces in the crowd, and he set the Bible on the podium and chugged on the bottle of Zephyrhills water.

"Welcome, everyone. I'm glad you all could make it. A rather lovely bunch today. We all look good in the eyes

of the Lord."

Amen.

Hallelujah, Pastor Burke.

A sea of applause swarmed him with love and understanding. He rose up his hands. "Let's take a moment and give thanks to God. For our lives."

People jumped up to their feet. A few women had their open palms in the air and their heads hung low.

"Praise him. Reach down in the pit of your stomach and scream your praises."

Out of the blue a dope dealer with dread locks took off running around the church, shouting he loved Jesus.

Pastor Burke was pleased.

He raised his hands in the air and everyone became quiet. "Let's get into the Word. I will be reading from the Book of Job today."

Everyone sat down, gathering their thoughts and getting themselves together.

"Before I do," he went on, a strikingly handsome man in a purple and gold robe, "I want to say a few things. There is something that troubles me about this church, our church. Some of you I am told are showing up late for Bible study and a couple of you pulled out of last week's sermon for a Beyonce concert. When we start putting musicians before our God they become false idols."

The church was quiet.

Power oozed from his intimidating eyes. "Let's get it together, people. We have 6 days to go to work, go out and do whatever, but let's keep God in mind when we do these things. We are about to collect tithes, and remember, give with a cheering heart. Don't give out of obligation. God so loved us he gave his only begotten son. Let's keep that as

the mental framework of giving back to the Lord. Those seeds aren't ours. They come from God."

A series of ushers started walking around collecting white envelopes, cash and change. Two very beautiful black women, in their early twenties, stood before the church, behind a table. As the tithes buckets came they started counting all of the money and opening the white envelopes, neatly putting ones, five, tens, twenties, fifties and hundred dollar bills in piles.

Pastor Burke didn't believe in robbing his organization, so all money, every Sunday, was counted before the members of the body.

While the two women counted money, and the ushers collected tithes, Pastor Burke talked about hypocrisy.

"I am not a hypocrite. I do the right thing according to God. I walk a fine line," he said, grabbing the microphone from the miniature stand on the podium and making his way down the carpeted stairs, into the main assembly.

"I have hardly done anything wrong in my life."

His Caucasian wife, Olive Hills, a very beautiful blonde, quietly crossed her legs, closing her Bible and focusing on her husband. Her left heel dangled from her left toe. "I hardly made mistakes," he went on, his voice rising with confidence and power. Everyone hung onto every word with respect. "God has always been number one in my life."

Olive Hills closed her eyes, folding her hands in her lap. She was humming.

Pastor Burke closed his eyes, and thought, Lord, please erase my past.

So, I don't have to keep up the charade.

When the two church accountants were done tallying up the funds, they collected a grand total of $14,589.89 in cash and another $3,589 from personal checks.

They were ushered into the back high tech offices by the ushers.

"God is pleased with your tithes." One thing Pastor Burke would never do was steal from the church.

He never thought of it.

A few hours later, after church services ended, Pastor Burke entered his lavish office and closed the door. He was drained from all the hand shaking and pampering of the congregation members.

His wife, holding the arms of the suede chair, stood up and said, "You lied to me about something very important, darling, and I don't appreciate it." She wasn't pleased. In fact, she was extremely pissed.

He looked at her a moment. He was madly in love with his wife. He must admit, before he married her he had bad credit, lost his car and was dealing with his wife's death.

Since marrying Olive, his credit rating skyrocketed because she paid off all his outstanding debt. When his late wife was killed by her sister, he didn't want to live anymore, and he promised to kill himself. Now he loved himself, his life and his wife.

He strolled past her and she said, "So you're ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you," he said quickly, sitting down in his high back chair. He poured a cup of coffee and looked up at her. "So you want some coffee, sweetheart?"

She avoided his eyes. "Sure."

He poured her a cup. Just the way she liked. Black.

Handing it to her, she stood before his desk, leaning into his face. "Why did you lie to the congregation?"

He loved her beautiful blue eyes. "About?"

She set the coffee mug down. "Everything you said about hypocrites. You're the biggest one, and you run a church."

"I lead a body of members who want to better themselves through my example."

He shook his head. "Yes. I give them false examples and look what I get in return. God's blessing for keeping his children in the Word."

She glared at him. "I can't believe I'm hearing this...When I married you, you were a very honest man."

His feathers were ruffled. "When I married you I wasn't over my dead wife. You came along and gave me Miss Prissy pussy, had me all in my feelings and I married you because I thought I was in love. I mean, now I'm in love with you, because I grew to love you."

She stood up straight, glaring down at him. Crossing her arms across her bosom, she said, "That is not fair and you know it. I mean, when we met (at a local bar) I overheard you telling yourself that you wanted to kill yourself. I sympathized, because when my late husband was killed in Iraq, I felt like I couldn't go on, so I knew the feeling of loss. I came into your life to help save you from yourself."

He smiled. "And I thank you for that sweetheart."

She frowned. "But you still lied. You do understand that, right?"

He stopped smiling. "Know your place," he said dangerously. "I wear the pants and the robe in this marriage. Stick to selling girl scout cookies with your brother-in-law's bratty kids."

"You seem full of yourself."

"You need to do whar you're told and, again, stay in your place."

"And what is my place, Pastor Burke?" she asked sarcastically, rubbing her diamond choker.

His forehead hung low. He looked up with his beautiful eyes and said, "You're my wife. Trust your husband. Press the submit button and sit your tail down on this subject."

"No," she said, walking around the desk so fast her hair whipped behind her head. "You lied to this church. I'm your wife. I'm a member of this church so that means you lied to me. Your life wasn't perfect!"

He turned away from her and she walked around the chair, and back into his face. "Leave, sweetheart. Please..." His voice dropped. His temples twitched with anger.

"No. Let's put it out there. Tell the church you have a homosexual son. You deny your own blood child. Gay or not, what kind of real man who loves the Lord, who puts God first would deny his child?"

"Fuck that faggot ass bitch!" he exploded, jumping up to his feet and pointing at his wife. "I had it with your accusations of me lying. Shut up and leave this office."

She slapped his hand out of her face. "Listen, sweetheart. I'm not your little wind up dolls."

"I will never accept him. He sucks dick, doesn't he? He wants to be a fucking girl. He's walking around with tits doing shows and dressing in drag. I don't want a transvestite as a fucking son!"

Olive smacked him across the lips. "Not in the house of the Lord! Watch your mouth! You defile God's house."

He slapped her so hard she stumbled back into the wall. She held her face, evil eyed.

"I will not respect my gay ass son. I don't respect a man fucking another man in his ass."

"He's your son! If I were you I would extend an olive branch to my child. Especially after what he's been through in his life. How could you be so heartless, Kayak?"

In his eyes was concern for his son. Even love.

But his own selfishness and what the community would think clouded his judgment. He was never there for his son.

"My son is a he/she with a dick and tits." He walked up to her. "Look, I'm sorry for slapping you. But you struck the first blow. You can't go around slapping me for having feelings and my own personal thoughts and morals."

She walked past him. "I don't know who I married. I think I married a monster." She picked up the coffee and he sat back at his desk.

"I will never accept him."

She turned and dumped the coffee on his crotch. It scolded him so badly he jumped up screaming.

"Don't wait up for me tonight," she went on, walking towards the door.

"I won't!" he said angrily. "Stupid bitch! Go take my gay ass son out for poker or something. I'm going out with the boys. Have some drinks."

She turned to face him. "If you do, pack your shit and get out my house. P.s., and I'll leave with half. Tell your boys whom have no wives to make room for you, bitch!!!"

Check mate.

He fell into a deep silence.

Part 1

Your Royal Highness

Don't team up with those who are unbelievers. How can goodness be a partner with wickedness?

How can light live with darkness?

2 Corinthians 6:14

Back in the early 1980's

A staccato of bone-chilling thunder boomed from an embossment of dark clouds agglomerating above the thriving, enigmatic county of Miami-Dade.

In Liberty City, Florida, there were reports of gusty winds so strong it blew people to the ground without apology. In Carol City, a small, local concert was in progress. Nice and sunny skies.

Energetic and upbeat people of all ages and creeds were dancing to the hubbub of pulsating guitars and well-delivered percussion.

A handsome, sleek, local singer danced across the stage like James Brown but came off looking like a young Michael Jackson ala the "Dancing Machine" Era. He was well on his way to superstardom.

And then out of nowhere, thick black clouds slowly and gradually erased any sign of light from the sky.

The sun ceased to exist as the scorching rays inevitably vanished. There was a fusillade of noise, cackling lightning violently striking trees and acres of bushy terrains.

Outrageously deafening thunder sent frightened people running in all directions. Heavy rains spewed from the sky, soaking any and everything it touched.

A group of young thugs with the all-seeing eye, from the back of a dollar bill, tattooed on their backs accidentally stomped over an elderly woman who was desperately calling for help.

She died ten minutes later from internal injuries. A very powerful spurt of wind shattered certain store windows and sent people flying into trees and the pavement.

Hospitals were put on alert. A hospital in Kendall was receiving calls from people being struck by lightning.

Another hospital on NW 95th street couldn't handle the number of people being brought in, soon to be diagnosed with concussions, internal bleeding and broken arms and legs. Patients were arguing with registration personnel and security guards had to apprehend a few belligerently intoxicated men because they didn't have medical

insurance.

Around the entire city of Miami-Dade County, freakish storms were being recorded. News stations, ranging from Channel 6, 4 and 10, quickly sent incessantly confused news reporters out into the violent weather to alert the public to stay inside, to turn off electronics and to lay low until the thunderstorms ran their course.

But there was one woman who didn't care about the lightning and deafening thunder. She didn't care about life or her well-being, especially with a rich baby daddy that cared nothing about her.

The freakish didn't match the hurricane in her heart or the tropical depressions in her sad brown eyes. An empiric woman, she cautiously tried to stop the extrusion of hate spewing from her spirit as she haphazardly drove her Lincoln S.U.V. along U.S.1, pulling on a joint. She normally didn't fancy drugs or alcohol but tonight was different.

The drug kept her in an euphoric state. As much as she tried to remain positive about life and things out of her control, something died inside her heart. Something wicked has curtailed her very soul. She felt it every time she

attempted to do something for herself.

A very selfless woman in public, behind closed doors she was a very disturbed black woman.

The glowing red tip of the cheap joint, laced with cocaine, sizzled in her ears when she hungrily pulled on the joint once more.

Her eyes were blood shot red, hidden behind thick Hollywood-type Bandi shades. The speed limit along the road was legally posted at 45 M.P.H., but she didn't really care.

She was driving at 80 M.P.H. her foot was firmly pressed on the accelerator; she was ducking and dodging slow cars, which she could barely see because of the heavy rains. She totally ignored the fact that she could end her life if her weak, wearing-thin tires decided to slide over slick, rain-swept roads.

She didn't have a clue that her bald tires were of low pressure, and the nail in the back passenger tire gave way to air slowly seeping out into the atmosphere. She didn't know if she was coming or going, but she knew she wanted to get far, far away from this town.

Miami-Dade County. A county that had many of her secrets, secrets she vowed to take to the grave.

But how can I leave when I have unfinished business? I can't just up and go! That would be admitting defeat and I'll be damned if I let the enemy win! The enemy can never win. Oh no, no, no-no-no-no-NO! But then again, unfinished business doesnt equate to my sanity.

On the radio were startling news reports:

A Homestead, Florida resident nearly escaped death as lightning shattered his windshield, sending his Ford Mustang careening off the Florida Turnpike...

A Cutler Ridge resident was blown into a tree, his cane sent up the block and his dentures winding up in the neighbors pool...

I hope he drowns, she thought to herself, her heart black with hate.

Violent lightning strikes the daughter of activist Fred Dryer, the best friend of Bishop Gregory...

Ask me do I really care...I have my own problems. They say there is always someone going through something worse. Who cares what they say! I am not all together in the brain right now. I want to kill something. I want to break things. I want the world to match my heart. My body is Storm Central.

Violent lightning knocks out half of Miami-Dade's power!

Living life in the darkness is a good thing. It's a very noble thing these days. To do what you do to the people you love and deny it when the sun comes up. Someone did that to me once. Convinced me he set the sun. He convinced me he was God. I built a home while he worked. I had complete faith in him! I carried his child to term! It all blew up in my face!

He knowingly lied to me! His promises were hogwash!

HOGWASH!

Over 30,000 people are in the dark...FP&L are working around the clock...