La Palma Island: Hello Jose

Hi everyone, I'm deeply sorry for being late to put my fanfic here. Initially, I was going to rewrite a story originally written by Chinese author, Sanmao; I was her fan many years ago. But after I did some research about her, I changed my mind. Now my fanfic based on personal experience of another Sanmao's fan, Yingte Guo, who has recently been to the setting (La Palma Island) to find the character (Jose) according to the plots Sanmao narrated in her short stories.

A little bit background about Sanmao (1943-1991):
She wrote autobiographical fiction based on her life in the Sahara with her Spanish husband Jose. Her first work "The Stories of the Sahara" was published in 1976, since then, she published more than 20 books, most of them are the collection of short stories. Her works have been among the widest read popular literature in China. At the age of 48, she committed suicide which came as a shock to many of her readers.


(Left pic: Sanmao at Sahara
Right pic: Sanmao and Jose at home of Sahara)



The plane was descending for landing on La Palma Island, the furthest island from the African continent. Soon after, through the window, I looked down and saw the blue Atlantic Ocean for the first time，almost forgot breathing - It was just like what Sanmao described in her books.

My purpose of this trip to La Palma Island was to find Jose. I believe there was this person, because I believe those stories Sanmao wrote in her books are not only stories, they came from real life, not as some people doubted that Jose was just a character Sanmao fabricated in her stories. Sitting beside me on the plane was Julio, a Spanish lawyer who I met when I arrived Spain, I told him the stories about Sanmao and Jose, and then he decided to join me for finding Jose.

La Palma airport was small; there was an information desk beside the baggage reclaim. I went to the information desk and told the lady there that I was going to the city council and the city cemetery; she then gave me a map and circled the locations of the two places on it.
"Hello Miss, are you a visitor here?" I just turned around from the information desk, a policeman standing behind me and asked friendly.
"Ye…s, but my main purpose here is to find a person who died 28 years ago, and I would like to see his tomb."I answered.
"Sounds interesting," the policemen raised his eyebrows up, "What happened?"
I went on to tell him that the man was a Spaniard, he married to a Chinese wife who was a famous Chinese author, and they lived here 30 years ago, but the man died of diving accident when he was only 28. "Perhaps you don't know him, but in China there are tens of thousands of people who are aware of him." I added.
"That's more interesting," said the policeman, "do you know where he buried in?"
"I'm not sure, but I know his name and the date he died."
"That's OK, you can go to the city council where you can find the record about him." the Policeman smiled at me.

Saying goodbye to the policeman, Julio and I caught up a bus to the city central. The blue Atlantic Ocean once again reflected in the window, at that time I felt I would find Jose.
Less than 15 minutes, we arrived the city council. After I mentioned my intention to here, an official took out a thick folder from a filing cabinet and opened it.
"His name is Jose Maria Quero did you say?" he looked up the file and asked me.
"Yes, and he died on 30 of September, 1979."I held my breath as his finger pointed to the letter "Q"on the file: It was empty under that list.
"Are you sure his family name is Quero?" the official stared at me.
I began to tense, my mind got blank. "Is it true that this wasn't the person of Jose as people doubted?"I thought.
"Sorry, I don't really know the spelling of his surname, but from the pronunciation I guessed it might be Quero. Could you please check the death record for his date?"
The official began turning the record to that day, but I was afraid to look, feeling as if my heart was grasped by something tightly, breathless. Suddenly, Julio exclaimed: "Here, here, Jose Maria Quero Y Ruiz."
I immediately looked up and saw these characters written in blue ball-point pen. That moment I felt sweaty and could not see anything clearly, only heard the official read: "Jose Maria Quero Y Ruiz, died on 30 of September, 1979, died of diving. Is this the person you are looking for, Miss?" However, I could not say a word. “Yes, it’s him.” Julio answered for me.
The official give me a copy of Jose' record, before leaving, Julio reminded him: "you seem to have forgotten to write the person's surname on the list." Embarrassed, the official smiled: “look, almost 30 years have gone by, nobody has come for him…" I felt very sad and could not help telling him: "But he is well known in sixteen- thousands - kilometers away China."
"Really? God, I’d better write it up now," the official said.

Out of the city council, we sited down at a bar, had something to eat at the same time reading the recording information carefully. Julio said: "Look here, his marital status is married, which means he got married with Sanmao, and the character Sanmao wrote about Jose in her books is true. And look, here said he was born in Andujar. In Spain when a person died, their information is also recorded in their birthplace. There should be more information about Jose in Andujar, shall we go there?”
I shook my head: "I came to find this person only for thanking him for giving Sanmao a family, so that she could feel security in the desert, to wrote Well, and gave us many good stories; besides, some people said Jose is fabricated character, I don't believe that. Now I know this person was existed, Sanmao didn’t fabricate him, that's enough for me.”

In the afternoon, a taxi drove us to the cemetery. As Sanmao narrated in her storied, it located on a small hill. Coming in to a small office, we gave an administrator Jose’ full name and his death date.
He opened a register, searching with his fingers, my heart started jumping fast. And then He wrote some words on a small piece of paper, said: "This is the location of him, I can take you there."
Following him, I was wondering what Jose's tomb would be like? Shortly, we came to a tomb, the administrator said:" here he is."
It looks small and desolate without a tombstone.
"Where is Jose’s tombstone?" I asked him.
"It's gone," shook his head, the administrator said, "unfortunately, he had no family here. For many years, nobody comes to pay fees or maintains it. "
I could not say anything. I sew a tree next to Jose's tomb, then I took out my lucky charm, which I had been carrying in my bag for many years, and hung it on the tree. It was just above Jose, and then I squatted down and said: "Hello, Jose."
Since I had to return to Tenerife on the day, could not stay longer here, so before leaving, I reached out of my hand and gently patted the soil covered on Jose’s tomb. "Jose, I have to go, see you later Jose." I said.

By taxi to La Palma airport, the car placed in music, a male voice singing: "It's you? My heart, it's you?" The moment tears welled up in my eyes.
My plane took off, I looked down the blue Atlantic Ocean again, and it was just like sad blue eyes. "Sanmao, thank you for your stories, I saw Jose on behalf of you, but perhaps you shouldn't kill yourself; Jose, I will come back to see you again, for those always beautiful stories." I said to the blue eyes, softly.

Tane and the possum FINAL

(by Konstanze Loth)

Some day, Tane was sitting on the biggest tree of the forest called Waipoua Kauri Forest and had a look at his wonderful realm. He was pleased. He, Tane, the god of the forest, the separator of heaven and earth, once had created this stunning, unique landscape. Since then, his children, the trees and the birds, have had developed to his complete satisfaction.

At the same moment, a little animal crossed the street next to the forest. Suddenly, Tane noticed the animal which he had never seen before. He frowned, and then decided that he wanted to get to know this alien creature. He was interested in the cute, google-eyed beast with its thick, soft coat. Therefore, he climbed down the tree and stopped right in front of the visitor.

“Kia ora“, Tane greeted the animal. “Welcome to my forest. Who are you?” The little tourist replied: “G’day, I am the possum. And who are you?” Tane answered: “I am Tane-mahuta, the god of the forest, trees and birds. How come that I’ve never seen you before?”, he asked. And the possum returned: “I come from Australia, I’ve just arrived here in - what is the country called? I have no idea where I am…” Tane answered: “You are in New Zealand. This is the Waipoua Kauri Forest. I once created it and these plants and the birds are my children. Do you like it?” And the possum said: “It pleases me! I really like your forest! And since I don’t have any accommodation yet, I would like to ask you whether I may stay here to live?” Tane replied: “Well, of course you can stay here if you would like to. However, first you will have to do me a little favour. Prove to me how reliable you are and that you are worth it to live in my forest. Are you okay with that?” And the possum returned: “Yes, of course, I am definitely okay with that! It is so wonderful over here, and there is so much to eat [Tane did not notice this first indication of the possum’s worst habit], I would do anything to stay here!” “Alright”, Tane said, “then I will tell you now what you have to do.” And Tane told the little marsupial that he had to go on a business trip through his forest and that the possum had to watch the place where they had met. The possum agreed; and so Tane was about to go. Before he disappeared into the forest, he turned and sad to the possum: “Listen, little possum! Until you have proven to me that you are reliable, you are not allowed to eat anything. You have to wait until I come back. Only then I will decide whether you are worth it to live in my forest. Otherwise, I will punish you for not being honest to me. Do you understand?” “Yes, I do”, the possum agreed. And so Tane vanished into the deep forest.

Now that the possum was alone, it had a look around. The landscape was so fascinating, it was unbelievable! There were soft, green hills and valleys, and mighty Kauri trees as far as the eye can see. The calm and peace were only “disturbed” by the chipper of the birds. And what a lush, voluptuous vegetation, what an endemic nature, what... a delicate food! There were rata and totara plants, and kowhai trees nearly everywhere! A place to die for. ‘What a beautiful forest, what a magnificent country! What a luck that I stranded just here! I will manage to prove to Tane that I am reliable and worth to live in his forest’, the possum thought.

Time went by, and Tane did not return. And the possum got really hungry. ‘Only one little bite…’ - but unfortunately it was not allowed to eat anything from Tane’s forest. However, the few words Tane had ignored when the possum had mentioned that there is “so much to eat” had already indicated that the possum’s greatest vice was food. This little innocent-looking animal was so greedy that nothing was safe from it, no plant, no tree, simply nothing. And just in the moment when the possum was most excited about all the delicious food around it - one single fruit fell down from the mightiest tree the possum had ever seen (the tree Tane was sitting on when they met) and rolled over and over. Intuitively, the gutsy possum ran after it, not realizing that the fruit headed for the street. Finally, the fruit stopped exactly in the middle of the street. The possum sat down, grasped the fruit… and ate it. ‘Mh, tasted this good!’ Only after it had finished its meal, it got a little scared: ‘What if Tane would detect my misbehaviour? However… how should he find out?’, it steadied its pulsing heartbeat.

And whilst sitting on the street, in the distance a car appeared and came further and further and the possum still sat on the street, not realizing the imminent danger. The car came closer and… eventually, it run over the little greedy possum that died immediately, squished on the asphalt.

Tane, standing at the edge of the street, shook his head and said: “This is what you deserve for your impatience. From now on every possum will be in imminence of being overrun by a car and dying on the street. Humankind will seek to exterminate you because of your voracity and gluttony. And you will never be allowed to enter my forest again.”

Since then, many possums have died and still die on the streets of New Zealand, running over by mankind. Tane split off one part of his soul and incorporated it into the mighty Kauri tree which from then on had been called ‘Tane Mahuta’, destined for guarding the Waipoua Forest so that no possum ever would enter it again.

My fanfic, sorry for the delay

This is a fan fiction based on the novel The Rules Of Attraction written in the grammatical and spoken word/train of thought style(s) of the book. I chose to add an extra chapter to two minor characters, Sorry if it's abit jarring to read but I wanted to use the format of the novel.

Victor: [summarizing his vacation] Take the 10:05 from Camden to New York. See some freshmen from either my tutorial on the postmodern condition or who I fucked at one of the Dressed To Get Screwed parties. Take a cab to The Chelsea Hotel. Thought I saw Elvis Costello, but it could have been a bum. Meet two girls from Sarah Lawrence who call me Patrick and sell me a gram of speed but it’s cut. Saw MOMA. Went to a bar without a name, only a fragrance. Walk through Central Park at night. Almost get stabbed by a junkie but throw a shoe at him instead. Drink Perrier-Jouet at Tavern On The Green with a British girl who swears she’s fourteenth in line for British Thrown; I fuck her in the back of cab and leave her with the bill. Get on the first flight from JFK to LAX. Stay the Chateau Marmont. Stand on the spot where F. Scott Fitzgerald had a heart attack. Head to the Roxy, which is full of Bleach Blondes so I end up at a Depeche Mode concert but lose my shirt. Try to steal Alan Wilder’s keyboard but get stopped by a Samoan bouncer. Meet up with Clay who takes me to a party in the Hills. 

I can no longer see the light at the end of the tunnel; this confession has meant nothing…

Richard "Dick" Jared: The three men sit around the table in awkward silence until son pulls a prescription bottle from his pocket, “pop” he breaks the safety latch for the bottle and swallows three small white pills as the other two men look on in curiosity. “What is that” his father says angrily, the son moves his hand over his mouth and mutters under his breath, his father clearly angered by his son turned his eyes trying to make eye contact. “What” but his son refused to look at him instead starring at the painting directly in front of him, “I said RU486 that’s a nice painting why have I never seen it well I guess I have never seen half the shit in this house have I dddaaadd” he said hastily and coyly. “That’s enough,” the father yelled. Grandfather feeling the animosity in the air looked at his grandson, “so how long have you been prescribing yourself the abortion drug or was this just what you could get your hands on”. Father raises his voice to grandfather “now hold on a second”, but the son calmly interjects “don’t raise your voice to your father he brings up a good point, I have been taking various mind altering substances and honestly I can’t remember what’s what anymore”, his grandfather nods. “So how long have you and my father not been speaking” his father buried his face in his hands, “oh god”. The son did not like this interjection “do you have something to say father because we’re all ears” but father waved his hand forwards “no please go on, continue”. Grandfather looked at his slightly inebriated grandson “I think your father should pitch that one but now may not be the right time” he sipped on a glass of water “anyway what happened to that nice young girl umm Mary” “Kate yeah, ha, Kate”, the sons smugness was what the father hated the most about his son. “I mean, I know that was a while ago but what happened to her? Do you still see her?” “Yeah I haven’t seen her in since the funeral but I guess I wouldn’t”. “Who’s funeral” the son was a little too entertained by this question, “hers, ah yeah she died two years ago at her birthday party of all place’s, um a friend of mine was with her, she was in the bathroom with a couple of people”. “What was she doing in the bathroom with ‘a couple of people’ or do I not want to know”. “She was according to this friend of mine lying in the empty bathtub, coke all over, hash pipe in mouth and like liquor all around when she starts coughing really loudly, I mean so loudly that her parents burst in and like freak out”. “First thing they do is grab the pipe from her mouth and throw it down the drain and then they give the two guys in there with her five hundred bucks never to reveal what happened to their darling daughter”. “Her parents said she died of acute respiratory problems and that’s all” the fathers words were lost on his son, “they paid you off to didn’t they”.

the whole story, both bits

yeah i know the tittle isnt the most original, but i does fit well i think

Revenge and Blood

The pack surged forward; their shrill chittering cries a cruel counterpoint to the blood curdling shrieks of Rilkan’s fallen men. Of the ten men who had accompanied him into the foreboding Shroud mountains only broad-shouldered Tumas and rat-faced Nikolin stood along with him, all backs pressed to the surrounding cliffs as the two dozen surviving morin’ku rushed down the bottleneck, eager to rend flesh and break bone.
Morin’ku were far from animals; far less. What little Rilkan knew of their creation was more than enough to turn his stomach. The body of each morin’ku was an amalgamation of many beasts, each one butchered, mangled and stitched into a desired form, given life through spirits bound into its bloody flesh. Those spirits, the morri, would only answer the call of blood offerings, and were the ultimate source of all the powers that a sorcerer, gold masked serathi or otherwise, could call upon.
And of all the disparate creeds of blood sorcery, only the serathi, sworn enemies of Rilkans lineage, had the combination of knowledge and insanity to create the morin’ku abominations; insanity because the morin’ku were given to nothing but the acts of death. Filled as they are by morri spirits, morin’ku would fall upon first their creator and then each other in an orgy of violence if not quickly bound to their creators will.
All that stood between a serathi and his twisted minions was his will focused through the golden deathmask that gave his kind their prodigious gift in blood magic. It was testament to the power of Rilkans prey that the sorcerer could control such a large number even with the aid of so potent a focus.
As the horde scrambled over their own dead Rilkan firmed his grip on his morrin dai-chan, his bloodied blade, his last physical link to a past as the mournish sorcerer Rilkshan, heir to the ancient legacy of lost Morrindu the Dark. And he would have his vengeance!
Vengeance on the serathi cur who had left him to die a lingering death in the wastes of the Land That Hungers, the vast southern desert that had sprung from a land left ravaged at the conclusion of an ancient war between the city state of Morrindu, the now lost home of the wondering mournish, and a federation of ancient serathi sorcerer cabals. Left to be claimed by the remnants of ancient sorcery, his blood devoured drop by agonizing drop in a death that was torturous lingering agony. Death would come, but oh so slow.
And yet death had come bringing the offer of life; come in the form of three t’gol, prodigal assassins whose most ancient duty had always been the elimination of sorcerers who threatened the mournish people. Their greatest hatred was for those sorcerers such as those Rilksan had once been, mournish men and women who had turned their backs on their people, taking up the art of blood sorcery, its practice forbidden to the mournish until Morrindu had been found once again. Against all of Rilkshan’s hopes, the t’gol had stayed their hand, instead offering a single choice; forsake his craft or die. Half mad with pain the dying sorcerer had agreed without thought.
And so using the dual fey magics of the Far North, employed by an ancient crone named Grisla in ways verging on the impossible, the sorcerer’s body had been reborn; employing the runes of wizards and the weavings of witches, Rilkshan had become Rilkan, the knowledge of blood sorcery and his former life bound, supposedly purged from his memory.
Yet the glory of Rilkshans power had been greater than any had suspected, as the young Rilkan had growen so had his ability to recall the lost past. The will that once bent mighty spirits low now turned to mastering the weaving threads of witchcraft harbored in his soul and woven to his flesh.
Rilkan snarled as his blade carved through the ranks of morin’ku, their perverted flesh melting and bubbling as its edge scoured their flesh, the ancient weapon gaining a harsher gleam of flame with every morri spirit consumed. Even as Rilkan sighted another onrushing mob through the scrum of twisted bodies, he heard Nikolin’s dying scream echo in the confined space, the former Tarissian thief’s tricks scant defense against half a dozen disemboweling talons. Tumas was faring better; his grim Embarran training serving well as he carved bloody swathes with the massive two-handed sword of his homeland. Yet it wouldn’t be enough, Rilkan’s witchcraft, its strength drawn from life, was repulsed by the perverse bodies of the morin’ku, rendered useless against living corpses.
But he would not be denied his vengeance on the serathi! The worm who condemned him to this life, if he could find the sorcerer he could smother the life from him with the raw power pulsing through his flesh, with the force of his hate for serathi, the power that would knit his wounds before any blood could spill, the final safeguard against any potential still lingering in Rilkans blood.
His focus pulled between the lust for revenge and the fight for survival, Rilkan was caught at a loss when the morin’ku suddenly turned on each other, in mere moments perhaps twenty of the tings had slaughtered each other in the time it took to flinch. Why? The sorcerer had them cornered, a few minutes more and even Rilkans’ enchanted constitution would have failed under the weight of sheer exhaustion.
The serthi wanted them alive, it was the only reason to abandon the attack, but what could he have suddenly created that required him to abandon control of so many morin’ku at once?
With a chill that froze his marrow, Rilkan finally noticed the silence… nothing, no noise. With a tremor in his soul he comprehended what the sorcerer had created.
An animal moan escaped his lips when he saw the darkness shift, eight shadows moving faster than an eye could follow, the morin’gol closed in. Sanguine juggernaughts, their ability to destroy was second only to the legendary daemans of the Sorcerous War
And worse, they were once his men.
Rilkans last sight in the world of the living was Haarold Bjornhald's face, twisted by vengeful rage, as he tore his former lord limb from bloody limb. The last sound his own dying screams.

first half of my fanfic

Sorry for not putting anything up sooner, heres the first part of my fanfic, still workin on it so it is looking a lil bit mangled:

“Untitled”

The pack surged forward; their shrill chittering cries a cruel counterpoint to the blood curdling shrieks of Rilkans fallen men. Of the ten men who had accompanied him into the foreboding Shroud mountains only broad-shouldered Tumas and rat-faced Nikolin stood along with him, all backs pressed to the surrounding cliffs as the two dozen surviving morin’ku rushed down the bottleneck, eager to rend flesh and break bone.
Morin’ku were far from animals; far less. What little Rilkan knew of their creation was more than enough to turn his stomach. The body of each morin’ku was an algamation of many beasts, each one butchered, mangled and stitched into a desired form, given life through spirits bound into its bloody flesh. Those spirits, the morri, would only answer the call of blood offerings, and were the ultimate source of all the powers that a sorcerer, gold masked serathi or otherwise, could call upon.
And of all the disparate creeds of blood sorcery, only the serathi, sworn enemies of Rilkans lineage, had the combination of knowledge and insanity to create the morin’ku abominations; insanity because the morin’ku were given to nothing but the acts of death. Filled as they are by morri spirits, morin’ku would fall upon first their creator and then each other in an orgy of violence if not quickly bound to their creators will.
All that stood between a serathi and his twisted minions was his will focused through the golden deathmask that gave his kind their prodigious gift in blood magic. It was testament to the power of Rilkans prey that the sorcerer could control such a large number even with the aid of so potent a focus.
As the horde scrambled over their own dead Rilkan firmed his grip on his morrin dai-chan, his bloodied blade, his last physical link to a past as the mournish sorcerer Rilkshan, heir to the ancient legacy of lost Morrindu the Dark. He would have his vengence!

Tane and the possum

Some day, he was just sitting on the biggest tree of the forest called Waipoua Kauri Forest, Tane had a look at his wonderful realm. He was pleased. He, Tane, the god of the forest, the separator of heaven and earth, once had created this stunning, unique landscape. Since then, his children, the trees and the birds, had developed to his complete satisfaction.

In the same moment, a little animal had just crossed the street near the forest. Suddenly, Tane realized the animal which he had never seen before. He frowned, and then decided that he wanted to get to know this alien creature. He was interested in the cute, google-eyed beast with its thick soft coat, climbed down the tree, and stopped right in front of it.

“Kia ora”, Tane greeted the animal. “Welcome to my forest. Who are you?” The little animal replied: “G’day, I am the possum. And who are you?” Tane answered: I am Tane-mahuta, the god of the forest, trees and birds. How come that I’ve never seen you before?”, he asked. And the possum returned: “I come from Australia, I’ve just arrived here in - what is the country called? I have no idea where I am…” Tane answered: You are in New Zealand. This is the Waipoua Kauri Forest. I once created it and these plants and the birds are my children. Do you like it?” And the possum said: “It pleases me! I really like your forest! And since I don’t have any accommodation yet, I would like to ask you whether I may stay here to live?” Tane replied: “Well, of course you can stay here if you would like to. However, first you have to do me a little favour which at the same time is a test that will prove to me how reliable you are and that you are worth it to live in my forest. Are you okay with that?” And the possum returned: “Yes, of course, I am definitely okay with that! It is so wonderful over here, and there is so much to eat [Tane did not notice this first indication of the possum’s worst habit], I would do anything to stay here!” “Alright”, Tane said, “then I will tell you now what you have to do.” And Tane told the little marsupial that he had to go on a business trip through his forest and that the possum had to watch the place where they had met. The possum agreed; and so Tane was about to go. Before he disappeared into the forest, he turned and sad to the possum: “However, listen, little animal! Until you did not prove to me that you are reliable, you are not allowed to eat anything. You have to wait until I come back. Only then I will decide whether you are worth it to live in my forest. Otherwise, I will punish you for not being honest to me. Do you understand?” “Yes, I do”, the possum agreed. And so Tane vanished into the deep forest.

Now that the possum was alone, it had a look around. The landscape was so fascinating, it was unbelievable! There were soft, green hills and valleys, and mighty Kauri trees as far as the eye can see. The calm and peace were only “disturbed” by the chipper of the birds. And what a lush, voluptuous vegetation, what an endemic nature, what... a delicate food! There were rata and totara plants, and kowhai trees nearly everywhere! A place to die for. ‘What a beautiful forest, what a magnificent country! What a luck that I stranded just here! I will manage to prove to Tane that I am reliable and worth to live in his forest’, the possum thought.

Time went by, and Tane did not return. And the possum got really hungry. ‘Only one little bite…’ However, unfortunately it was not allowed to eat something from Tane’s forest and it had promised him not to touch anything. The few words Tane had ignored when the possum had mentioned that there is “so much to eat” had already indicated that the possum’s greatest vice was food. This little innocent-looking animal was that greedy that nothing was safe from it, no plant, no tree, simply nothing. And just in the moment when the possum was most excited about all the delicious food around it - one single fruit fell down from the mightiest tree the possum had ever seen (the tree Tane was sitting on when they met) and rolled over and over. Intuitively, the gutsy possum ran after it, not realizing that the fruit headed for the street. Finally, the fruit stopped exactly in the middle of the street. The possum sat down, grasped the fruit… and ate it. ‘Mh, tasted this good!’ Only after it had finished its meal, it got a little scared: ‘What when Tane would detect my misbehaviour? However… how should he find out?’, it steadied its pulsing heartbeat.

And whilst sitting on the street, in the distance a car appeared and came further and further and the possum still sat on the street, not realizing the imminent danger. The car came closer and… eventually, it run over the little greedy possum that died immediately, squished on the asphalt.

Tane, standing at the edge of the street, shook his head and said: “This is what you deserve for your impatience. From now on every possum will be in imminence of being overrun by a car and dying on the street. Humankind will seek to exterminate you because of your voracity and gluttony. And you will never be allowed to enter my forest again.”

Since then, every day many possums have died and still die on the street, running over by mankind. Tane split off one part of his soul and incorporated it into the mightiest tree which from then on had been called ‘Tane Mahuta’, destined for guarding the Waipoua Forest so that no possum would enter it again.

sorry guys, but in my attempt to put together the two part of the story, I accidentally deleted the one with the comments attached instead of the other..do u want to rewrite them? As they were I mean..sorry again!