The site will be on a soft hiatus. Should there be any dreams they will be posted. If there is nothing to be posted then I shall post another photograph.
protip: I think that February 2009 has the most photographs of any monht. Just sayin' 
In the meantime the heptapod.org staff would like to invite you, gentle reader, to find the easter eggs of heptapod.org.
Much love,
The heptapod.org staff
The heptapod.org staff hopes you enjoy it as much as we did upon receipt of her manuscript.
It was so cold on the night of February 13th 2009 at the shore that my parents actually turned on the heat. It was too hot in the bedroom, so we cracked both windows, letting the cool air in. I couldn't decide whether to sleep naked next to Chris and pile on the blankets, or layer on the pajamas and use a light blanket. Using pajamas would mean my skin would not be touching his and this was not an option. I opted for naked.
The temperature dropped 15 degrees a few hours later. Chris lightly snoring next to me was a comfort despite the fact my toes were now about to fall off from frostbite. I got up, got dressed, and closed the windows except for one crack. Then I settled back into Chris’s arms.
Sometime later in the night, Chris started mumbling about finally feeling connected to another person. I just rubbed his arm and said, "I know, my Chris. I know what you mean."
But as he continued in a barely audible whisper, I could hear these were not typical romantic words in the darkest of rooms:
"Back in 1970, my mother had a miscarriage. On the way back from the hospital, my father, in his grief, pulled the car over on the side of the woods. He walked into the woods, into a clearing, and found me against a tree wrapped in silver. He picked me up and brought me back to the car and gave me to my mother. The raised me as their own."
I stiffened a little in his arms, only because he sounded so completely sincere that I was scared. It was as if he were finally relaying this big secret. My mind raced with the notion that I was perhaps in bed with a being from some other. . .place. So, I whispered, "What do you mean, Chris? Where did you come from?"
Still whispering directly in my ear in a clear and steady voice, Chris said, "I was put here to be raised as a human, but it was not until now that all of my hard work to assimilate paid off. I finally found a human woman to connect with, to love, so my mission is over. My life is finally complete, and my destiny is fulfilled."
The very cold wind was whistling through the still cracked window, the moon was bright. I could hear the waves rolling in. All the while during his speech I rubbed his forearm back and forth. As he spoke my heart softened and I sunk into him, connecting with what he said.
All my life I felt as if I did not fit in, almost as if I was from another planet. I did not connect the same way I saw my peers connect with life. I did not connect with anything the way my mother always expected me to. I never connected fully to a job, to a partner in crime. Nothing. Yet, here I am, lovingly grasped by Chris, perhaps a being from somewhere else. . .and I felt completely connected to him. In my mind, mystery solved. My mission as a human woman was apparently over. I fell asleep.
In the morning, I asked Chris what was with the story he told me last night. "What story?" he asked. "The one where you told me that your Dad found you in the woods and brought you to your Mom after she miscarried?"
"I have no idea what you were talking about. I must have been sleep-talking," he says, totally serious.
STOP LAUGHING
Ahem.
It is the editorial policy of heptapod.org to present all contributed material 'as-is' to avoid any conflicts with our contractors and to truthfully convey the mood and meaning intended by the author. Long time readers of heptapod.org, and we are aware of at least two, know that this site is largely written on the fly with very little in the way of proofreading or second drafts in order to more accurately capture the zeitgeist.
As you may or may not know, gentle reader, that's a really nice way to say we're awful with deadlines and are constantly working at the last minute without a backlog of material to share over the world wide web.
Miss Lee has contacted me regarding her piece and upon her request it has been changed. Here's her message:
Please note that in my first paragraph, fourth line of my story, please change 'a blanket' to 'pajamas'. Thanks! xo
I just reread and realized.
Thank you for your understanding and continued support.
The heptapod.org staff.
