The Simian Witch

by Emersonian

If you thought it was bad enough to have one monkey obsessed villain, imagine what it must be like to have one whose into monkey sorcery and wants Ron Stoppable's death as much as the first one. What could be worse: the Simian Witch, or an evil partnership and romance between her and Monkey Fist, the world's most dreaded monkey-themed super villains? My first KIM POSSIBLE fanfic.

11. Shrine And Diary Of The Simian Witch

The Simian Witch:

Chapter 11: Shrine And Diary Of The Simian Witch

The Victorian grandfather clock that the Fiske held for generations ticked loudly around 1am, causing Monkey Fist to jerk his eyes open. Years of training in Monkey Kung Fu have taught him the misfortunate joys of how to be a light sleeper, which usually led to the evil lord getting out of bed and staying a bit up by the fireplace until his eyes would tire him out and he's go back to bed...only to wake up around 5am.

Monkey Fist felt something warm touching his bare skin as he tried to sit up on the mattress. He looked at his right side, worried about why he was feeling unfamiliar warmness, and relaxed when he saw Silvia laying next to him, sleeping so deeply that even the annoying clock ticks weren't waking her. Monkey Fist smiled quietly as his fingers gently stroke the loose strands of hair of his precious wife, who was as asleep as a Mystical Monkey Power version of Sleeping Beauty.

Cautiously, in order to avoid accidently waking the Simian Witch, Monkey Fist managed to slip out of bed. When his feet touched the ground, he felt the fabric of the clothes that he and Silvia had removed and tossed on the ground before they...

It had been quite a night, which had gotten hotter when they finally fell asleep under the covers. Gods know how many times Monkey Fist remembered the kisses and caresses he'd given Silvia. Hopefully he planted a good seed.

He picked up the clothes and placed them on one of the lounge chair, making a mental note to order his monkey ninjas to take care of the laundry at breakfast time. The air was getting cool, so it was probably best if Monkey Fist put on some trousers. He walked towards the wardrobe and careful opened it, since the creaking of the wooden doors could awaken anyone. Unless, of course, you were a deep sleeper like the Simian Witch.

Monkey Fist managed to find the drawer in the wardrobe he was looking for and pulled out a pair of black trousers. While he put them on, his eyes just happened to notice something that he'd never expect to find in the area were Silvia and Monkey Fist now kept their couple pairs of shoes (not like they had many).

A metallic box about the size of one of those boxes that stupid American 'Club Banana' store would sell.

Generally speaking, it would be very rude if a gentleman were to look through a lady's stuff, but since Monkey Fist was an evil gentleman, he could spare a little bit of his honor. He gently pulled the box out of the wardrobe, closed the latter, and sat down on a spare lounge chair with the box in his lap.

It didn't even have a lock; he just had to lift the lid open. His eyes widened at the sight of the content.

Monkey Fist had stumbled upon the Simian Witch's shrine. But what a...simple shrine it was. Usually, when he thought of 'shrines', Monkey Fist thought of two kinds of shrine: the religious kind like those monks had in temples and the creepy, fanatical one like the ghastly one-room shrine that DNAmy had for her ugly Cuddle Buddies plush...and pictures of him. Monkey Fist shuddered at the thought.

But honestly, the shrine of Silvia was nothing like the one monks or DNAmy had. It was literally a stack of papers: cut pieces of newspapers with at least one article of Monty Fiske's archaeological work and a picture of him at either a museum, a conference, or a dig. Printed papers of online links discussing something simian related or historically connected to any of Monty's discoveries. Photocopies of monkey catalogs sorted by species that could have been found only in libraries.

"She definetly was a studious fan," Monkey Fist said quietly to himself as he continued to look through the papers and making sure that they were sorted back the way he found them. He continued looking through more of the treasures until he touched something that wasn't thin paper but thick leather. Using his two hands, he pulled out the thing that had been sitting at the bottom of the box well hidden by the papers: a small red leather book, about the same size of the one Monty's mother gave to him before he left for boarding school.

He quickly glanced back at the bed to make sure that Silvia was still sleeping before opening the book and daring to read its pages...

"Dear Diary..."

Flashbacks based on the Simian Witch's diary

Saturday, July 9th, 1992

My birthday isn't supposed to be until two weeks from now and Mommy already gave me a diary as a present. She says that one day, everything I'm writing right now in these pages will become some sort of a bestseller autobiography. At least that's what I thought she meant.

I could begin from the start.

I'm Silvia Winterfields. I know, it sounds like Grandpa Sylvester's first name. My school friend Gwen pointed that out to me on Grandparents Day, and when I told that to Daddy, all he said was: 'It's one of your mother's family traditions. The children are always named after any of their parents' grandparents or great grandparents.'

'You mean Freda is named after Grandpa Fred?' I asked. Freda is my sister by the way. Twelve years older than me and she just got out of college two years ago. Grandpa Fred is my dad's daddy, but Grandpa Sylvester is my mom's daddy, just to make sure that you get the difference.

'Yep. I gotta admit, sweetie: when Mommy delivered your sister, we were originally gonna call her Silvia...'

'Wait. You were going to give Freda my name?' I almost felt insulted. It was as if I had been given a name the same way Mr. Bakster, the town scrooge, gave away to the orphanage donations plush toys that his dog half ate.

'Relax, Silver.' 'Silver' was the nickname that Daddy and half of my family nicknamed me. I still don't know why they gave it to me, but mommy claimed that it was because I once dared to play with the silverware in the kitchen. As if.

'When your sister came, Grandpa Sylvester ranted about how misfortunate Mommy and I would be if we named our first child after him. 'When you have your second one. Then you can name her Silvia.' That's what he said. And he was right, you know.' I giggled a bit after he ruffled my hair and told me to go while he cleaned the kitchen (we were having a little afternoon snack today. Grandpa Sylvester would have freaked out.)

I'm not complaining, trust me, but Grandpa Sylvester can be a bit odd. The way I see it, he's like a chef salad: a mix of the sweet grandpa who spoils his grandkids with candy, toys, and special treats, and of a stern grandpa who criticizes when he feels like the parents aren't doing a good job at raising their kids. Once, before Freda went to college, she told me that Grandpa Sylvester didn't spend as much time with her as he did with me. Grandpa Sylvester was always the one who spent most of his time taking me to school in his Chevrolet, sitting on his favorite couch in the living room while my daddy or mommy were helping me with homework and stepping in when he thought they were teaching me wrong. Freda even told me the stuff he never did with her when she was my age: playing with me in my nursery while I was still a baby, placing me on his lap to read me a bedtime story, and going to my school's Parents Day to talk about his travels.

'It's not because I'm named after him that he's spoiling me, is he?' I asked Freda.

'Our family's strange,' was all she said.

Friday, July 15th, 1992

I came back late from home from town, which creeped out Grandpa Sylvester. Mommy told him that I was just a few seconds late from the 5:30pm deadline I had for going in town, but Grandpa Sylvester was telling her: 'And you're going to let her frolic around like one of those lazy teen party-goers by the time she's sixteen?' Apparently, in my maternal family, sixteen is one of those coming-of-age moments in your life. They treat it like a cult.

I apologized to Grandpa Sylvester for 'being late' and explained to him why I was late: around 1pm, while I was leaving the park, I ran into my old friend Françoise. Her parents are divorced, so she usually goes to see her mom in France every summer, but her mom got busy this month, so Françoise had to come back home early and I ran into her right when her dad brought her back from the airport. So we decided to hang out.

We'll, technically she dragged me by the arm and told me: 'I have to show you something, Silvia!'. We ran through the streets until we were halfway across town and reached the Blooming Orchid Bookstore, one of the rare bookstores in town where you can find a very good quality book at a high price. Usually my family and I only go there when we need good books like those architecture and visual analysis books that Freda needed once she got into her college.

'Françoise, why are we here?' I asked her once we stepped into the bookstore.

'I'll show you!' And so she led me into the area of newest bestsellers and she showed me a table full of brown books. 'Tada!'

'Françoise, why are you showing me a bunch of books?' I frowned at her. To answer my question, she took a book from the stand and showed it to my face. When I saw the monkey designed cover...

'A book about monkeys?' I grabbed the book from her and flipped through the pages quickly. 'OH MY GOSH! A BOOK ABOUT ARCHAEOLOGICAL DISCOVERIES OF MONKEY IDOLS!' I didn't even notice the nearby readers staring at me.

'I know, right?' Françoise told me as we sat down on a nearby sofa. 'When I was in France and went to see the monkeys at the zoo, I heard people gossiping about a new English archaeologist whose works are specifically monkey related. This book was written about his discoveries and he's a hit! When I saw this book in one of the French bookstores, I knew exactly what to show you and where for your birthday. Happy birthday, Silvia, my monkey-loving friend!'

I hugged her a lot and even after hours of spending in the library until it closed at five, I didn't leave the couch until I finished reading the book thoroughly. Reading those paragraphs about monkey idols and worshipping...Even Cinderella couldn't beat that! When it was time for us to go because I was running late, I decided to buy the book, but since the librarian was such a nice lady and I was always her favorite visitor, she gave me the book for free as an early birthday gift. Françoise's dad then gave us a lift and dropped me off at my house.

You'd think that my family would have scolded me for being late because of a book. Prepare to be wrong, they weren't.

See, aside from weird traditions, my maternal family has this hereditary fascination for monkeys. Every family member, no exception, is born on the year of the Monkey (Chinese Zodiac). My first toy was a plush monkey named Simia Silvia, Mommy kept a small shrine to Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god, in the dining room for good luck, Freda's undefeatable lucky charm was a monkey charm bracelet, and all the old people on my mom's side tell stories on how they are the descendants of Toshimu, an ancient warrior who founded Tai Shing Pek Kwar, otherwise known as Monkey Kung Fu.

My parents were interested and asked me questions about the book. Freda talked about how some of her college buddies who majored in archaeology have been talking nonstop about this great archaeologist, Lord Montgomery Fiske.

'Montgomery' sounds a bit too long for one diary. I'll think I'll shorten it to 'Monty'.

As for Grandpa Sylvester, he came to my room after dinner and we spent the evening together, sitting next to each other on my bed while I read to him out loud the entire book and he listened patiently without interrupting. When we we're done, he commented on how Lord Fiske was such a rare, brilliant mind who finally saw monkeys as a great species of wisdom rather than those goofy depictions you see in cartoons.

There are days when I just love Grandpa Sylvester.

Wednesday, July 20th, 1992

I was looking through a Histo-Discovery magazine and reading the one-page article they had on Lord Monty Fiske (seriously, why do people only give this amazing genius a one page, pictureless article?) when Mommy called me from the front porch that dinner was ready.

I should probably mention that, since my family has been rich for endless generations and Daddy works at a very good firm, Freda and I grew up with quite a nice life in a beige mansion located in the town suburbs. Our mansion has a great Shakespearean garden surrounding it, but the garden isn't like those you hear about in public places like the New Place Gardens. If you walk out of my house through the front porch and through the small alley that we use to drive cars towards the metal gate, you'd be going through two lines of mulberry trees with pansies of different colors growing on the green grass. This area of the garden, we called it 'The Gateway', was built when my great-grandparents first moved in to town before World War II. But then there are the divided parts of the area: whenever somebody was born in my family (which was always every twelve years), a new miniature garden was designed just for that family member.

When Freda was born, Mommy and Daddy got her an orange tree orchard that she loves to go hang out when she needs some quiet time or to practice her yoga. The first time I went there, I was six, and she took me to her orchard, where we spent the afternoon building a swing and picking oranges in order to make orange juice out of them. Uncle Jasper (Mommy's big brother) had visited us on that day and joked that soon, the Winterfields would grow tired of such endless supplies juice supplies.

For me, I got a water garden. Not that I'm ungrateful, but sometimes I do wonder on how Grandpa Sylvester convinced my parents to give me a garden that had a Koi pond like those the Japanese have in their gardens and a willow tree. I mean, come on: first, he has my parents name me, their second child, after him for 'good luck', he freaks out when he thinks they aren't raising me properly, he pampers me more than he did to Freda, and he personally suggested I ended up with a water garden.

Mommy called me again. 'I'm coming!' I shouted. I grabbed my magazine and gave a quick goodbye to the six koi fish that live in the pond before running out of my garden and through the Gateway.

'How are the koi doing?' Mommy asked me as she led me inside.

'Oh, you know...'

'SURPRISE!'

I yelped when I saw most of my family members and friends in the living room and dining room, which had been set up with balloons and buffet tables full of food and piled presents. I just got an early surprise birthday party from the people I loved.

I shared hugs and gratitude. We enjoyed the festivities and danced a local folklore waltz. Somewhere around 7, Freda pulled me towards a least crowded area and introduce me to one of her college friends, Sandra.

'Sandra and I both went to Stanford together,' Freda was telling me while Sandra and I were shaking hands. 'Guess what her major was.'

'Architecture like you?' I asked. Honestly, as much as I love Freda, it wouldn't be the first time she came back home with another pal who's into architecture like my sister.

Freda shook her head. 'Better in your case: Sandra here graduated in archaeology!'

I got excited. 'You're an archaeologist?' I asked Sandra.

'Well, right now I'm working for F.A.D.E, the Friendly Archeologist and Diggers Enterprises, with small average diggings,' Sandra told me modestly, 'but I heard you are a growing fan of the new hit Lord Montgomery Fiske!'

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I was squealing with glee at the mention of my idolized archaeologist. Freda and Sandra chuckled a bit at my excitement. 'Gee, Freddie, she geeks a lot more than the other girls her age do whenever it's about Lord Fiske.'

'She's been reading articles about him non-stop ever since she read his book, Sand,' Freda said. 'That reminds me, Sand. You've got to tell her the big news!'

I frowned. 'What big news?'

'The new convention center at Washington DC is hosting the Ancient Civilization Convention this weekend, specifically on Saturday, which Freda here said was your birthday date. Each country is going to have an expert in archaeology as a representative. And guess who's going to be the England representative, which is why, for your birthday present, your sister and I were thinking of taking you with us to DC and attend the convention so that you can actually meet him?'

Monty Fiske is going to be at the convention! My sister wanted to take me to the convention! I bear hugged her and Sandra and thanked them so many times that I lost count. By the time the party was over, I ran up to my room in order to get my luggage ready since Sandra said that the next plane going to the United States would be very early Friday morning. I'm only going to bring essentials: formal clothes (we're talking a professional convention here, not one of those comic book conventions that the Fearless Ferrets nerds go to), a few of my monkey-themed books and encyclopedias (honestly, aside from Jane Austen, WUTHERING HEIGHTS, and LES MISÉRABLES, I don't read a lot of fiction), my diary, and some American cash (my family had some international ties, so aside from the family's sapphire fortune, we were rich in international cash).

Grandpa Sylvester then came knocking on the door and into my room while I was nearly finishing my packing. 'It is great that you are going to meet the great man that is Lord Fiske, but you mustn't forget the family that you have here,' he was telling me as we sat down to have a little talk.

'Grandpa Sylvester, it's just a convention to finally meet an expert who's into our family passion as much as we are,' I replied. 'At least he'd take it seriously!'

'You got a point there,' he nodded in agreement.

Just to clarify things: as much as my family is highly respected for our wealth, diverse business making, and contributions to society, some people in town see us in a little off way, as if deep inside they thought we were lunatics or maybe even criminals. I've heard some whispers from people disapproving of my family's hereditary passion for the simian branch of the evolution tree, and some of that disapproval came to school as well. When I was in kindergarten, our teacher had us do a show-and-tell of our favorite animals, and while she nodded, smiled, and approved of the other kids saying they loved cats, dogs, lions, horses, and even clichés like butterflies for girls and dragons for boys, she just stared at me like I was a freak when I said: 'My favorite animal is the monkey' and I showed them Simia Silvia (apparently, she had mom and Freda in her class when they were my age too) and asked me why I couldn't enjoy something normal like a pony. I cried on that day, and after a lawsuit threat from Grandpa Sylvester to the principal, the teacher kept her mouth shut and I was transferred to the class of a more accepting teacher.

Another time was earlier this year before 5th grade ended for me: since I was categorized as one of the highest students in town, my parents had me apply for the Regional Academic Decathlon for Youngsters, and I chose to write about monkeys' impact on ancient civilizations and modern media for my essay. My homeroom teacher was no better than the kindergarten teacher: rather than give me advice for possible grammar errors, he told me to find another essay topic and to go find a psychiatrist to discuss my 'Winterfields madness'. No words must be added to explain that the mighty fist of Grandpa Sylvester and some assistance from my biology teacher (at least she appreciated my passion) to knock some sense to the guy.

'But Silvia, back to the main topic,' Grandpa Sylvester said. 'I'm just saying that because you know what happened to Cousin Melba, right?'

Cousin Melba, if I'm correct, was a maternal cousin of Grandpa Sylvester (meaning, from his mom's side of the family with all the Tai Shing Pek Kwar history). I never met her because she disgraced my maternal family for eloping with some Jewish guy she met during the War. The fact that she ditched her family and fled to America with a Jew wasn't the main reason of her angering the family. It was the fact that the Jewish man in question was six years older than her, therefore born on the year of the Tiger.

Mating rule in the Winterfields family: monkey year born people ONLY. Mommy had to make sure that Daddy was born in the Monkey Year before deciding to date him and accept his marriage proposal.

Unless I wanted to be Cousin Melba the Sequel.

Grandpa Sylvester then unclipped the golden monkey brooch he always kept on him. It was a very rare brooch, for every two generations of my maternal family wore it and gave it to the destined bearer in the next generation. Grandpa Sylvester got the brooch from his grandfather, who got it from his grandmother and so on. The brooch was sacred because it originally belonged to our ancestor Toshimu.

'Soon you will be sixteen in a few years,' Grandpa Sylvester was saying as he pinned the brooch on my shirt. 'Then our family history will become clearer to you.'

Wednesday, July 4th, 1996

I am a total screw up, irresponsible, crazy girl.

I can't believe that I haven't written in my diary ever since I got that surprise from Freda and Sandra to take me to DC...

The convention...It felt like going to a ball as Cinderella, except the ball was full of international archaeologists, fans and critics, and I was just a normal rich girl going around carrying my arms overloaded with books...

And I accidently bumped into somehow. I nearly cost the man his cup of tea and he sacrificed rescuing it just to make sure that I didn't fall face first on the floor.

And it was him.

Lord Monty Fiske.

He was so much different than what I expected. At first, I assumed it was one of those archaeologists close to Dad's age with limbs crouched from all the digging, pale hair and skin like those college deans that never leave their offices and give students the chills whenever they walk into their offices...You know, a British guy who could have been Grandpa Sylvester's younger twin.

Hell wrong I was. Lord Fiske was handsome! Black hair darker than the night groomed in a gentlemanly manner accompanied by perfectly-trimmed sideburns, Caucasian white skin with a little hint of dark that suggested he spent a deal of time under the sun, some hints of a slender athletic built, and green explorer suit that contrast all the other professionals' fancy suits. If I didn't know better, I could have mistaken him for one of those college boys that Freda ran into at Stanford. I mean, Lord Monty Fiske has the same age than Freda.

But he was so charming. And he spoke with words that showed he was clearly well cultured and informed in his field. We talked for a long time and he seemed interested to hear about my family's hereditary interest in monkeys. He even autographed the book about his work that I had before Freda called me and told me it was time to go. Even when we were returning to the hotel and boarding the plane, I still had a blissful look on me according to Sandra. 'You're crushing on him or something?' she teased me on the plane.

'Are you crazy? He's twelve years older than me and I'm just having a fan-related fascination! I mean, he's Freda's age. She could marry him if she wanted to!'

'Don't give her any ideas!' Sandra joked. Good thing I didn't, because last year, in May 1995, Freda called off her engagement to her fiancé Brutus Vano when she ended up finding out that he was a jerkass who was only interested in accessing the Winterfields sapphires, which are also part of the usual family dowry. Despite Mom's endless protesting, this convinced my sister to never marry even more.

Speaking of screwing up, I lost Toshimu's brooch back at the convention. I only realized it when we were back home and I couldn't find the brooch while I was unpacking. For the first time in my life, I stirred the anger of Mom and some of our older relatives, especially Aunt Clarisse, Mom's fraternal sister. Honestly, I don't think she ever liked me or Freda because since she was born sterile, Grandpa Sylvester focused more on Mom than her, especially after Mom gave birth to Freda and me, whom he wanted to be the namesake.

Speaking of Grandpa Sylvester, I still can't believe that he of all the people didn't yell at me for losing the heirloom. 'It was bound to happen one day,' was all he said.

But this year, he had plenty to say to my parents.

Right now, I'm packing to go to a summer camp called Camp Wannaweep somewhere in the Middleton area of the United States. Middleton is a small town not too far from Upperton and the university that mom went to. Since my school teachers said I needed more community service hours than I already had in order to build a more impressive resume that could get me into Oxford (Lord Monty Fiske really inspired me to want to attend Oxford, the university in England he went to) and Dad thought I should do it in a more quiet environment than our hometown, my parents decided to register me as a Counselor In Training at Camp Wannaweep.

I think it's a great idea. Taking care of children was one of my favorite pass times ever since I did some babysitting jobs and volunteering at the local orphanage.

But Grandpa Sylvester didn't want any of it.

'Her sixteenth birthday is approaching and you're sending her away to...some camp across the Atlantic while she should be preparing!' I heard him argue with my parents and my sister while I happened to wake up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.

'Father, it's just for two weeks and a half or so!' Mom was saying. 'Even one week of delay won't harm. The traditions don't strictly say that it must happen exactly on a sixteenth birthday. Just when it's sixteen...'

'Screw the dates, she's as good as sixteen already! Give her the reveling of our family and heritage so that she can continue them!'

'Spare yourself, Father!' I could hear Aunt Clarisse mutter. 'The brat couldn't even keep Toshimu's brooch and much less show any signs that she's worthy of being...'

'I'LL TELL YOU WHEN I WANT YOUR OPINION IF YOU HAVE YOUR OWN CHILDREN!' Grandpa Sylvester was screaming so loud that I nearly peed in the toilet even more. 'STOP INTERRUPTING ME WHILE I'M TALKING TO YOUR SISTER, WHO ACTUALLY HAS CHILDREN!'

This wasn't the first time I've heard Grandpa Sylvester criticizing Mom and her siblings, but this is definetly the first time I hear him giving such hurtful insults to Aunt Clarisse, who can't have children at all due to her sterility. Only Mom has kids because, for Uncle Jasper, he was married but his wife didn't want to wait until every coming year of the monkey to give birth. Grandpa Sylvester had approved for Uncle Jasper demanding an abortion and divorce on the year of the Dragon.

'Maybe we can arrange things.' Business working have always made Dad one heck of a diplomat. 'We send Silvia to camp so she can obtain her service hours, and international community service hours could go well with her desire to apply to Oxford. If she ends up feeling like Camp Wannaweep isn't her cup of tea, we'll have her leave early and she'll be able to have the coming-of-age ceremony right on her sixteenth birthday. If not, than it can wait until she comes back around the end of July.'

I could imagine Grandpa Sylvester, so old fashioned, arching his eyebrow unconvinced.

'Grandpa Sylvester, I know how much our family legacy is valuable to you, but,' Freda stepped in, 'don't you love Silvia?'

OOH. As I think about it while zipping my suitcase shut, Freda's words must have obviously hit Grandpa Sylvester hard, because if there's one thing I know he values other than our family legacy and supposed 'coming-of-age' thing, it's his relationship with me.

He agreed to the deal.

Sunday, July 15th,1996

Right now, I can't tell if Grandpa Sylvester would be telling 'I-told-you-so' to my parents or admitting defeating when I return, because I'm having mixed feeling about Camp Wannaweep.

I'll just get right to the nasty stuff: the camp seems more like a prison camp than a summer camp. We're boarding Lake Wannaweep, which is clearly polluted because of the wastes of the nearby Science Camp, and the counselors still let the kids swim in it. I almost had a bad encounter with poison oak when I first stepped into the camp gate until some blonde little boy, maybe somewhere around eight or nine, was screaming at me to back away from the plant, for it had given him endless scratching.

Poisonous plants, toxic lake, and feral animals aside, the kids are not like those I dealt with back at the orphanage. Especially Gil Moss: this kid was a natural bully. Just yesterday, I saw him picking on the blonde boy by the paying phone and giving him a 'mud facial', which was bully translation for sticking one's face into a puddle of mud and calling them 'squeeb'. Good thing that Grandpa Sylvester's sincere but tough love attitude gave me a new sense of dealing with rough kids, and I also knew how to deal with Gil since he was an orphan.

'Go back to your cabin!' I pulled Gil away from the boy and he did go back to his cabin. Gil was a misfit at Camp Wannaweep, but if there was one person he didn't dare to argue with at camp (he never listens to counselors), it's me.

'It's not fair!' the blonde boy was whimpering. 'Mom still won't take me out of here! I hate this place!'

'Did you call her and ask you to pick you up?' I asked him.

'Eight times in the last 20 minutes I had before Gil came.'

The poor kid (his name was Ron Stoppable). The place was frightening him and he was the only kid to not act as badly as the others.

So that covers the bad stuff.

The good parts about Camp Wannaweep are that it's not so bad for CITs. We get our own cabins and weekend shopping shuttles to Middleton, we can make smores, and we all behave towards one another like high school BFFs. Plus, since I don't have to share my cabin with anyone, I can bent down and take out my mini makeshift shrine. It's not much of a shrine, really, just a bunch of papers of all the articles and pictures related to Lord Monty Fiske and his work. I've still continued to follow and admire his achievements. I've heard that the Knowing Channel is planning on making a documentary of him. I'm looking forward to that.

What? Were you expecting a shrine made of candles and a statue? I'm not that crazy.

Another thing I like about Camp Wannaweep is the simian mascot, Bobo the Chimp. Due to my family passion and since I've been studying simians even more since the convention, I knew a bit more about taking care of a chimpanzee than the other CITs, so I volunteered to feed, clean, and make Bobo happy during my stay at camp. I don't why everyone say he's a hyperactive ape. Usually when I'm around for his caring, he acts very calm and politely towards me, which beats the behaviors of the human kids. He doesn't bother me when I give him his daily bath and knows that if he behaves, I'll reward with a tasteful treat. He's acting like a very sweet puppy.

'His cage is making him claustrophobic and lonely,' I told the director of the camp. 'Maybe if we give him some more same to move around and some friends to socialize it.'

'But where would we put him without risking the ape to run away?' the director asked. 'All the cabins are full...'

'Actually, sir, there's still room in Cabin Thirteen,' the head counselor said.

Monday, July 16th, 1996

Curse you, Ron Stoppable.

How could I have been so stupid? That idiot was no different than the other rascals at this camp!

Mondays is the day when I have to help supervising the arts and crafts students. It's one of the rare classes were kids actually behave and make piece while learning how to make wallets and lanyards and such.

Ron Stoppable was in the morning arts and crafts shift. I must admit, it was kind of impressive to watch this little kid do so well at weaving something as complicated as a lanyard.

'Are you aspiring to become a sailor, Ronnie?' I teased him while ruffling his hair. 'That's one very good lanyard.'

'No, I just like doing arts and crafts,' he shrugged.

To think that I foolishly thought of him as a sweet kid. Almost like a little brother to me.

Then there was the lunch break. While everyone was at the Eating Hut, I went to Cabin Thirteen to feed Bobo. The place was a mess. Honestly, just how bad was Bobo's bunkmate? One thing's for sure, Bobo couldn't have done this. He's such a sweet ape.

I then went to the afternoon arts and craft session and was stunned to find Ronnie again.

'Ron? Aren't you supposed to be swimming at the lake?' I asked and sat down next to him while he was busy painting some sort of animal on a pot he made.

'Not anymore. I switched my swimming sessions with Gil's arts and crafts for the rest of the summer. There's no way I'm dipping my toe into that lake. It looks so...'

'Sick and wrong? Can't argue there.' I then looked at the pot he was painting. 'That's a very nice pot you're making. Is it for your mother?'

'Nah, it's for my best friend Kim. We know each other since preschool. I thought I'd make her a pot of her favorite Cuddle Buddy, a Pandaroo, as a gift when we see each other when I come back from camp. I really miss her...'

Ah, childhood best friends always sounded cute to me.

By the time the session over, I went to get Bobo's bath ready until I heard screeching, crashing, and other awful noises from Cabin 13.

'Bobo!'

I dropped the bath supplies and ran to Cabin Thirteen to see what was going, and when a couple other CITs and campers and I opened the door to find an agitated Bobo throwing plates and...

'Ron?' He was cuddled at the room corner, cluttering his teeth and whimpering.

'Stoppable, what do you think you're doing now?' one of the CITs rolled his eyes as if he heard that story multiple times. I rushed to check on Bobo, who calmed down and hugged me as I cradled him in my arms.

'Wait, you two are friends?' Ron demanded in bewilderment. 'You mean, you set the monkey against me?'

'Bobo's an ape and what the hell are you talking about?' I told him.

'Don't mind him, Silvia, the kid's a wimp,' the CIT from before said. 'He's been complaining about everything at Camp Wannaweep ever since he got here on the first day of summer.'

'Bugs, squirrels, woodpeckers, lake, poison oak,' a girl camper said. 'He's a coward and a freak!'

'Better a coward than that freak of nature!' Ron yelled while pointing at my direction. At first, I was hurt because I thought that Ron was calling me a freak, but when I saw Bobo react in my arms and throw the pot that Ron had been making for his best friend back home, the truth hit me the same way the pot crashed onto the wall in a thousand pieces.

Ron was insulting Bobo. He was terrified and disgusted by the poor animal. As I'm sitting on the floor of my cabin (the director heard nothing about my request about transferring Bobo to a better cabin), I can still feel anger boiling in me. And I'm not talking about the kind of anger that a child feels when he's being bullied, or when a parent feels disobeyed by his kid, or when Dad comes home infuriated from a bad day at work that he starts snapping at everyone until Grandpa Sylvester makes him snap out of it.

I'm talking about insane anger.

But what was I so angry about? Ron Stoppable, terrified of a simian, a species that our graceful mother nature blessed us with? Ron Stoppable, who called an ape a monkey while the two are complete opposites? Ron Stoppable, who almost accused me of 'setting Bobo against him' while I had no idea that he and Bobo would be sharing a cabin? Ron Stoppable, who basically stabbed a knife on my back despite the fact that I was the only CIT or even person at Camp to have been nice to him?

Grandpa Sylvester was right. I never should have left home. If I hadn't, I would have never met the worm that ruining the perfect world I was living in until now.

I thought I saw something red glowing in my room. Maybe it was a bunch of campers playing with fake Star Wars laser swords. Or maybe it was my conscience...

'Isn't it, obvious?' I said this to myself out loud as I lifted myself up. 'I have to destroy Ron Stoppable.'

Thursday, May 5th, 2002

Killing Ron Stoppable failed.

For some reason, when I tried strangling and drop him in the waters of Lake Wannaweep six years ago, some sort of power came to me and nearly helped me achieve my goal until the camp authorities stopped me and called Global Justice to have me shipped off in jail.

But instead of putting me in a normal prison, they put me in a place far worse than Hell. Global Justice placed me in a special asylum somewhere near Mt. St Helens were I spent the last six years as their sole prisoner, being experimented on in order to unleash my newfound power so that they could apply it to their weapons, and receiving visits from Dr. Obled, who kept telling me that my insanity was driving me to what common folk would describe me as 'villain'.

They can call me a villain if they want, that's fine with me. All I care is that Stoppable's head decorates my wall once I got out of here.

And good thing I was finally freed. A few days ago, I heard a big explosion echoing throughout the walls of the asylum. The Global Justice agents injected a tranquilizer serum in me so that I wouldn't interfere, which is why at first I didn't see the Homo Simius breaking my cage bars and the agents' bones and I blacked out right when one of them picked me up and carried me.

I don't remember what happened afterwards. All I remember was feeling like a fetus bathing in an infinite pool of water, and then a big splash. The next thing I knew, I was standing on a giant blue chrysanthemum at the heart of a pool in a temple room, my body renewed and healthy, my bitterness and anger renewed but still remaining, like Aphrodite rising from the sea on a shell.

'Silvia...' The voice of Grandpa Sylvester hit me. I didn't care for the possibility of slipping from the giant flower's sticky nectar that was still sticking on me like honey. All I cared was to embrace my grandfather that I haven't see in forever. 'My dearest grandchild, I've missed you...'

'Grandfather Sylvester, where are we? W...What happened to me?' I pulled away from our embrace when I saw that something was amiss. The temple room looked like those I used to see in Indiana Jones movies and when I looked down at myself, I saw that I was wearing a rather revealing, but graceful teal-and-purple ninja outfit. I walked towards the pool and gasped at my reflection. So flawless (excluding the marks on my eyes that the flower was unable to heal, for they marked the anger in my eyes), so young...

'You look just like your mother when it was her turn to become the Simian Witch,' he said while I hesitantly touched my face. 'Except for the fact that you got your eyes from your father...'

'The...the what? Grandpa Sylvester, what's going on? Where are Mom and Dad and Freda?'

That's how I learned from Grandpa Sylvester what had happened while I was locked up in the asylum and the true history of my family. Toshimu wasn't just my ancestor and the creator of Tai Shing Pek Kwar: he was the first bearer of Mystical Monkey Power, the power that I felt while I was boiling with anger back at Camp Wannaweep, and the ancestor of the Simian Witches, practitioners of Monkey Witchcraft that have moved all over the world from Japan. Toshimu even created Isla Simia, the island we are currently on.

In our family, the Simian Witch is born every twelve years, on the year of the Monkey, with the family's generational inheritance of Mystical Monkey Power and Monkey Witchcraft. When a Simian Witch turns sixteen, his or her Mystical Monkey Power starts to awaken and he or she must go through a ceremony that involves a two-day hibernation in a blue chrysanthemum, the lucky flower of the monkey year, to cure old wounds and give new strength to him or her in order to be reborn as a Simian Witch who spends the next four years training and preparing to follow the family footsteps.

Bringing the monkeys to supremacy, to rule the world, and to destroy our enemies.

On the day I got arrested and I got the Mystical Power, Grandpa Sylvester had received a vision telling him that my Mystical Monkey Power had awoken much earlier than expected. Without my even knowing it, my family had tried desperately to convince Global Justice to release me. But begging, bailing and bribe offers, and threats didn't work on Global Justice: they didn't care if a rich family paid legally for my safe return, th events of Camp Wannaweep labeled me a danger to human society.

But then eventually, a fire destroyed my home and everyone I loved in it, except for Grandpa Sylvester, who managed to run away and had salvaged a few things in advanced. I cried when I saw what he saved and brought to Isla Simia while he planned to break me out of the asylum by force with the aid of the Homo Simius, followers of Toshimu.

My toy Simia Silvia. Mom's statue of Hanuman. My makeshift box shrine of all the articles, pictures, and book I had of Lord Monty Fiske. The snow globe of the Eiffel Tower that Françoise once gave me. A branch of the willow tree from my water garden. A picture of our whole family during a family gathering. The baby shoes he had been planning on giving to his first grandchild. The music box that Freda had given to me before she left for Stanford as a promise that we'd never be separated and whenever I played the music box and listened to the music of my favorite childhood lullaby while watching the monkey ballerina dance, I would always remember her.

'Our memories of them will not be in vain,' Grandpa Sylvester said after I stopped my uncontrollable sobbing over the loss of the family I never had the chance to say goodbye. 'Silvia, it is time for you, as the sole heir of our family, to carry the mantle of the Simian Witch. Once I have finished training you, you can avenge yourself and our family and prove to the world that nothing can or will underestimate the Winterfields ever again!'

Such a mantle...I vowed to carry it to the end.

January 1st, 2003

'Grandpa Sylvester, please! Don't leave me!' I was kneeling at my grandfather's bedside, crying as I watched him cough even more. He spent the last year dedicating all his time and energy into training me and he was now on his deathbed, old age weakening him and his fever making it even worse. Homer, the leader of the Homo Simius, and Kronos, the best at healing among the warriors, were unable to cure him. My once hopeful heart shattered when Homer and Kronos came to me, shook their head, and told me that Master Sylvester Winterfields won't be able to live to see the next Monkey Year coming.

'Grandpa, please! You're my only family left!' I continued to beg while he continued to cough.

'Silvia Winterfields...' He coughed. 'Never forget the vow you made. Continue the traditions of the Simian Witch but never repeat the same mistake our family made about the maturity rule!'

'Grandpa...'

'Silvia, listen to me. Waiting is no longer an option. The legacy of Toshimu is dying out. You are the last Simian Witch and by next year, precisely on the Year of The Monkey, you must have an heir of your own...to carry the mantle after you.' He continued to cough. 'Find yourself a worthy partner, one who is of the Monkey Year like us and who will help be the powerful Simian Witch that will rule the world and produce the heir who will inherit all the power! Maybe the Monkey Master...'

'The Ultimate Monkey Master? But...but I thought he was a myth? The ancient text said that he'd be impossible to find...'

'I...don't know whether or not it's the Ultimate Monkey Master or just a common Monkey Master, but my latest vision have been telling that somebody is trying to uncover the Jade Idols, which the traitors have hidden eras ago. The fourth one will soon be discovered and soon Mystical Monkey Power will have a new hosting bearer and make him stronger. Silvia...if your heir can be born from both the old and new Mystical Monkey Power, everything and everyone will be at your feet. Mark my words.'

He coughed one more time while I gave him a last hug. His old lips kissed my forehead and a whispering 'I've always loved you, my favorite grandchild' before his breath left his body and his soul this world.