Millie waited patiently in the sidelines for her new mother, Adoria, and same father, Mathis, to finally, finally, get to the real point of their speech. It's not like they called 60 percent of the village for kicks and giggles. For of course, Adoria is the new queen. Yes, Millie should be more excited about that, but she's not big on women only care much more about profit then personality. And even though Millie knew how much of that her father had, Adoria didn't care a single bit. Maybe she's just biased, maybe she just hates any woman who tries to take the place of her late mother's place. But, Millie has some strong evidence. If only she could speak... "Millie. Millie!" The sound of a familiar annoyance brought Millie back into the real world. "Yes, Blake?" She looked up at her younger brother. One of three. "Stand up! Adoria is here!" "Oh!" Millie stood quickly and civilized at the same time. Flattening her frizzled dress and looking around to see what everyone else was doing. Clapping. She started to too, but by the time she began, the applause was over. Making her delay-of-mind much more noticeable. And embarrassing. "Graci, thank you." Adoria spoke with a thick Spanish accent. Not only was that a little unconventional for the monarchy of Herein, them all being British, but it was blatantly hard to understand. "I can not express in words how happy I am to rule alongside my dear Mathis. And I only hope I can bring you that same happiness, all the years I am able." Sure, Adoria. Millie mocked to herself, as she slumped back into her chair. And, don't worry, everyone else was too. Adoria droned on about her thankfulness and appreciative spirit. While Millie only listens slightly, judged, and repeated. Some part of her wonders if there is some good in Adoria. A light in that dark spirit of hers. But if Millie's going to find the light, it won't be at a public speech. She knows, better than anyone, that royalty never shows the truth, the real truth, to the public. "Good heavens, that speech took a while, no?" Addison, MMM (Millie's Main Maid), acknowledges. "Indeed..." She trails off, quietly. Paying more attention to her threads in her blanket then Addison's question. "Something the matter, princess?" She asks. Oh nothing, I just am very against my new mother and think she's a danger to the monarchy as it stands. Millie thought, no, wished she could say. But all that came out of her was shrivel "No." "Are you positive, Lady Millie?" "...I don't know. I am just nervous." An understatement, and a large one at that. "What's bothering you?" Addison sat alongside Millie in the bed. Millie only looked down at her feet, while an odd thing started happening to her eyes. Tears. Why in the world was she crying? Sure there are many reasons to cry, but those are all in the past. And she's wasted enough tears on that. Why now? "Oh Millie, dear." Addison reached her hand out for Millie's shoulder. "I'm sure that whatever it is, we can talk about! I can even get the jester, to make you smile!" She only cried more. Still not aware of the cause, but she did. Addison pulled Millie's head close to her, cradling it. And they sat there for a while, while Addison quietly shushed her. Frequently saying, "It's ok, It's ok." And then, Millie found out what it was. Her mother passed when she was the mere age of 9. Long enough to love her mother, but too short to truly know what she did. Millie had to learn that without her mother. And only with people like Addison. And now, whenever she thinks of her mother now, it's just Addison's face. A fact revealing enough to know how long it's been, and who has truly been there for her. When she realizes this, the crying stops. "Apologies, Addison." Millie says, her voice still small. "I just- Thank you. For all you've done over the years." "Oh please, Millie. You didn't have to be all gloomy because of me!" The girls laugh together. "To add, you sound like I'm leaving you! And please know, Millie, I will serve you as long as you're alive! Or as long as I'm alive. Lord knows my age." Millie laughs again. That's another thing, Addison's witty spirit. Something it seems she'll never lose. "Now Millicent, you should get some sleep. The detainers out there might get cross if you're up past curfew again." "Alright then. Good night, Addison." "Sweet dreams, Millie." She stands up, blowing out some of the candles. Then heading out of Millie's room. Now it's time for sleep. The hardest part of the night... *** ...And it wasn't any easier this night. In fact, it might've been even more difficult. Tossing, turning, and thinking are big trends tonight. Not to mention the weird urge to explore the castle. And, Millie could. She has experience. But Addison was right about the guards. They would get cross with her... Then again, Millie was a quiet walker. And they would understand. Right? A princess can clear her head when she wants to. And on that idea, Millie stood up, lit a candle and quietly started her quiet walk around the quiet castle. Or, hopefully, a quiet castle. The small flame was only helpful for Millie's immediate vision. Anything further was dimly lit by the castle lights and basically a danger zone. But it did have a warm welcoming aura. And the fire's movement was so flawless, electric, and mesmer- "Millie!" Oh no. A guard just whisper-yelled at her. "What the blazes are you doing out here? You should be asleep!" Or at least, Millie thought that was a guard. No legal man would curse like that, and usually they call her ‘princess’… She turns around. And of course, “Why aren’t you asleep, Edward?” She whisper-yells back at her older, but not eldest, brother.

“I- That’s not important. I’m the adult here.” Millie blinks rapidly. “You’re sixteen.” “Close enough, now get to bed.” Edward reaches out to grab Millie’s candle, but she, impulsively, turns away. “Millie, don’t be difficult.” He groans. “Sorry, I just-” She sighs. “I couldn’t sleep so… I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. I had to clear my head.” Edward nods his head, slowly at first, but then a little faster. “That’s understandable. But I wouldn’t advise being out too long. Someone cou-” He gets cut off by a scream. By a familiar voice. Scarily familiar. Then there are words: “No! Please!”.

And that’s the giveaway. “Father…” Millie mumbles. Edward looks frightened, aware of what Millie could, and probably will, do next. “Father!”

She runs toward the voice as it shrieks even louder. It’s a distressful call. A call for help. Her father is in danger. She treads faster, almost tripping on the carpet that bunches up with every step Millie takes.

She reaches the doors of her fathers chamber. What scares her is the sight of fallen guards. But most of all, the open door. “Millie!” Edward, who has been chasing her this whole time, gasps for air. “Don’t go in, we should tell someone- leave it for people who know what they're doing.” Millie turns sharply. “I know what I’m doing.” “Millie please.” He grabs her arm gently. “I don’t want you to see something you wish had not.” She quivers, imagining all the possibilities she could walk in on. But she has to come to her father. He’s not safe. With much hesitation, Millie enters the room. Gently opening the door… And everything Edward said comes to pass. *** “Are you going to inform the council of what we saw?” “No. I can’t. But you can.” “It’ll be better if it comes out of your mouth.” “Well, does the council really need to know?” “It is fairly damning evidence, Millie-” “Excuse me, your young highness's.” The deep, regal voice of one of the government officials cuts in on Millie and Edward’s conversation. “But we are here to discuss the recent regicide of King Mathis. Any differing conversation must be saved until further notice” “Apologies, Lord Kelton.” Edward properly bows. “And evermore, but I must intrude.” Kelton turns his podgy head in a confused manner, raising an eyebrow. “As me and my dear sister have something to share.” Millie gulps, but clears her throat, thinking of what she’ll say. Knowing there’s no escaping this, she tries to envision what will happen: Ok, I’ll stand up and finally tell just about every important person in the monarchy about who I think, no, know did this. How it was Adoria. We saw her jewelry, clothes, and maybe even a lock of her hair. And then after, I’ll tell them how she only trying to weasel out money in her new queen-ship. She’s proved how much of a threat she can be, by killing father. And this, this, shall be his justice. “Mr. Lord Kelton Sir-” Millie starts strong but weakened so quickly she would impress a fire in the rain. And it was all due to the look she got. Or the look s. From Kelton. From the council men. From her eldest brother. Her youngest brother. And even Edward. It all put out her little flame of passion.

She really felt insignificant. “Yes, Lady Millie?” “...Nothing. Nothing, nothing.” She covers up quickly. “I just had an outburst.” She laughs, difficultly. While the councilmen keep their blank expressions. Her brothers? One’s cringing, one stifling a laugh, and the last just looks disappointed. You could probably put together which. "Are you positive, princess?" Kelton queried. "I'll take it from here, Kelton." Edward starts. And continues. And continues. Knitting and binding words together so effortlessly in a way Millie never could. And probably will never be able too. As it seems this little doubter inside of her won't go away any time soon. And by the time it does, it'll be too late. Millie is always late. She can only have the desire to help, but she never executes it. What’s wrong with her? The meeting ended with Adoria’s arrest along with Adoria cursing at just about every child in the room. It all went the way Millie wanted to, justice was made for her father. But she didn’t speak a word. She wouldn’t like to admit that she wanted to. She’d seem like a pride chaser. But who is she tricking. She hates herself for not saying anything. That is why she’s here anyway, at Herein’s penitentiary. To talk to her father’s killer . “You sure you’re ready for this?” Graham, Millie’s eldest brother and Herein’s promised new king, questions. “No. Nothing can ever prepare for something like this.” Millie responds. “So why do it, Millie? It’s fine to back out now.” Graham proposes. And Millie’s willing to take the offer, she doesn’t want to regret something as potentially scarring as this.

But she’ll keep that self-hate if she doesn’t finally speak now.

“No, Graham. I have to do this.” Millie states. And her brother does not stop her. Instead, he smiles, and opens the door to the prisoner's cell. Adoria speaks immediately. “Welcome to my humble abode, Millicent.” Millie clears her throat. “Prisoner, pardon me but it is lawfully rude to call me by my name without putting ‘lady’ in front of-”  “Please save the legal act for someone else, Millie.” Adoria cuts off. And Millie does accordingly. “You’re right, I shall get to the meat here.” “I firstly want to say that I knew for a long time. I knew your motives and desires out of your relationship with my father. Money. Cliche but, you still wanted that.” Adoria rolls her eyes. “I didn't come here to shame you, or vent, or condemn. I only want to tell you to please keep your truth, and stay honest. Falseness really only hurts the human heart, as it did with mine. And my late-father... Just keep that in mind Adoria." She only sighs. "Do you really think I'd worship some 12-year-old's words?" “I’m 13, actually.” Millie says a-matter-of-factly. “And I don’t expect you to worship my words, I only want you to remember them. And don’t think of it as a child telling you this. Think of it as your princess.” She smiles smugly, then leaves the room. Millie closes the door in a way you would with a book, or envelope. She finished something. Bigger than talking to a convicted felon. She spoke. And it was that fulfilling.

Millie has closed the chapter of silentness, stillness, today. She will no longer wait for others to speak for her, and will respond to whatever questions she is asked- “Millie!” Graham shouts for, probably, the hundredth time. “Ah! Sorry, I was thinking.” Millie apologizes.

“I asked you if it went well.” “Oh, it did. At least, in my mind.” “Good. Now, let’s get back to the castle.”


My life was going well. I have a great family, an occasionally annoying younger brother and I lived in an average house (picket fence and all). I didn’t think there was more out there, or that maybe it was a little boring until I met the stranger. To tell you about her, I need to back up quite a bit. To a Tuesday night in late September.

~September~ I had my hands stuffed deep into my pockets. To say that Midwest winters are cold is a drastic understatement. Midwest winters are brutal. It’s so cold that when I stepped outside the wind made me cough and it whipped across my face. The snow crunched beneath my feet, icicles were hanging from porches and roofs. Even though it’s only 5:30 p.m. it’s already dark outside. The early nights make the world seem unfriendly. It’s on this night that a flash of red flits across the corner of my eye, so quickly that I thought perhaps I had imagined it. I turned and noticed a woman in a coat so long and billowing that it looked almost like a cape. She turned around a corner and was gone. Something about her stuck in my mind. Or at least, I think it did. It’s hard to say if I just remember it that way now because of all that came after. It wasn’t until February that I saw her again. I’d had a craving for brownies and stopped at the store to pick up a mix. Like last time, I again caught a flash of red. When I looked around I saw the same majestic coat as it fluttered around the corner of an aisle. The hair on the back of my neck went up and I had goosebumps. I wasn’t sure why my subconscious was reacting this way but I had to find out. I followed her quickly down the aisle. She was moving fast and besides her coat, all I could see was her long brunette hair. She turned right and I kept going but when I walked around the corner I saw tons of shoppers (more than normally frequented this store) and the mysterious woman had disappeared. As I stood there perplexed a chill went through me. But I was being paranoid, Chicago is a big city and it probably wasn’t the same person. I definitely wasn’t being followed. More likely, it was someone with a similar coat. I shook it off and walked out of the store. It wasn’t until I arrived at home that I realized I had completely forgotten my cart and the brownies. After that it was hard to shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every time I would check (surreptitiously looking over my shoulder) there was no one there. I tried to tell myself that I was imagining things, that it was just a coincidence or someone who lived in my neighborhood. But deep down I knew that something was up, I just wasn’t sure what. When I saw her again, it was months later. School had let out for the summer and between hanging out with my friends and working a part time job at a local restaurant I was training for a half marathon. It was an August day, hot and brutally humid. I had to do a ten mile run and was kicking myself for not dragging myself out of bed earlier to beat the heat. All I could picture was an ice cold glass of water (and I was only three miles into my run). That’s when I saw a flash of red ahead of me. I had been seeing red out of the corner of my eye for months and had been trying to dismiss it. Every time I turned or tried to focus on it there was nothing there. I was beginning to worry that I was imagining things. So it wasn’t until I got closer that I realized this was real and I truly believed my eyes. It was the woman with the flowing cape and long brown hair! This time I caught up with her quickly, it felt as though she was waiting for me. I stopped by her and she turned toward me, in that moment I wasn’t sure what to say. I’ve dreamt of this moment but it’s dawning on me that I’ve never thought past seeing her face. She’s looking at me intently, so deep in my eyes and there’s something familiar about her but I just can’t place it. It seems as though she's come to some sort of conclusion because she shakes her head slightly nad says, “No, you’re not quite ready.”

“What do you mean?” I ask but at that moment there’s a screech and a loud honk behind me. I whip around and see that a car has ran a red light, another car has stopped just in time - narrowly avoiding a collision. I look around towards the woman, to ask again what she means and why she’s following me. But she’s gone. I have chills again and I’m beginning to think that this is very, very real.

I’m not sure what to do now. The woman hasn’t been dangerous, or at least she hasn’t been threatening me. I’m not sure what, exactly, I would report to the police or my family. I keep running into a weird woman in a red cape/jacket (even though it was 80 degrees out) and she said something cryptic. I do mention it to my best friend who agrees that it’s a little strange but that there are types of people in this world. Although she’ll also keep an eye out for the lady. I become obsessed with finding her again, I need to know what she meant. A few months later I’m passing by an intersection and someone flags me down to help them cross the street. They link their arm through mine and we head across. When we’re almost to the curb there’s a commotion, some irritated driver is honking at the car in front of them. As we step over the curb I turn back to the person whose arm is linked in mine only to see that it’s the woman in the red coat. She’s peering at me closely and, speechless, I return her gaze. “Now,” she says, “you’re ready. You’ve done enough good deeds to come back to the realm.” And then she disappears. I blinked one second she was there and the next she was gone. At this stage I thought about going to the police but wasn’t entirely sure what I would say. She didn’t seem like she was going to harm me, if anything it was like she wanted to give me a message but just couldn’t quite get the meaning across. I was flummoxed. What was the realm? When was I a part of that? Why don’t I have any memory of it? When I went to bed that night I had a really vivid dream. It was a technicolor whorl, it felt familiar but I couldn't recall what any of it was the next morning. This went on for months with nothing changing. Each night I would have the same dream, there was an intense feeling of deja vu, but nothing was clear enough in it for me to know what any of it meant. But then, one night, I had the same dream. However, this team (while the main details were the same) the angle was different. In this dream, I was floating above the whirling multicolored mass. It slowly came into focus, it became clearly more of an oval. I squinted and realized that it was the pond in my backyard. I gasped awake. No wonder it had felt familiar this whole time! It was close to me all along! Of course, the version in my backyard is a drab shallow pool. It isn’t deep enough for fish or any fun plants. It’s a small water feature, really just for decoration. It’s 3am but I have too much energy to fall back asleep. Quietly, I pad down the stairs in PJs and socks. I slip out the door and into the yard. The pond looks the same to me as it has always looked. Frankly, I don’t understand my subconscious’ obsession. I head back to my room hoping that I’ll get a few more hours of sleep before I have to get up for school.

I find that I’m exhausted the next day. In class my mind wanders back to the dream, the pond and what it all means. I find myself obsessing, drawing images from the dream in my notebook, daydreaming when I should be studying. This isn’t like me! I have goals, big ones. I want to go to an Ivy league (preferably Brown), study international law and then go on to become a human rights attorney. For that, the groundwork starts here, in high school. So I need to be focused. And yet, today I can’t seem to make myself listen to any of the lectures. I’m drifting back to the dream (both awake and asleep - I doze off in history class). At the end of the day I decide to end this once and for all, I’ll explore every inch of the pond so that I’ll be satisfied there’s nothing there and it will stop haunting every second of my life. As soon as I get home I make a beeline for it. I walk around it quickly, which only takes a couple of minutes. Then I go around again, studying every detail. At my next pass around I’m crawling, hoping that being on the ground will help me to catch things that I might’ve missed form higher up. I’ve been around it three times and have still found nothing. I’m completely baffled. Hands on my hips I spend a full twenty minutes staring at it. Wind ripples the water and the light dances across as the sun sinks lower in the sky. I’m at my wits end, there must be an answer here, a reason that I’ve dreamt of this pond for months. Yet I can find nothing here. Out of ideas and options, I put one foot in and then the other. I don’t think I’ll find anything but I’ll try anything at this point. Step after step the cool water seeps into my clothes, weighing me down. It’s not a deep pond and, with the water only at my waist, I’m almost in the middle. It’s when I take the last step, when I’m directly in the middle, that things seem to shift and change. The water whooshes up like a fountain and then I’m falling down through a tunnel. A tunnel that I know for a fact doesn’t exist and yet here I am, falling. Panicking, I hold my breath for as long as possible but then I simply can’t anymore and gasp a mouthful of water in what I assume are my last moments. But I don’t die, I’m breathing normally even though I’m far underwater, below the Earth’s surface, below the bottom of the pond. I’m slowing down, falling less precipitously, and then I’m floating down. My feet find purchase on solid ground and I look around. It’s a gorgeous, technicolor world. It’s not earth but I’m not sure where or what it is either. Where I should be scared I instead find that I’m feeling as though I’ve landed in a long lost place - comfortable and familiar. I turn and there’s the woman in the red coat walking up to me. She greets me by simply saying, “Welcome home.”


Maria takes off her gloves and smells her hands, immersing herself her favourite fragrance. She then looks at the reflection in the mirror; the old lady with a permed white hair, with the reading glasses on top of the nose bridge that is unable to hide the wrinkles on her face. Maria then washes her hands and dries them, then walks out of the public restroom that is freshly painted with her favourite colour, flashing the biggest smile on her face after sixty years. Despite my old age, I am glad that I can continue my passion. --- At Maria’s seventieth birthday, she put on an act. Surrounded by young people, she instantly got the title of “Old Sister”. The title that let people came to her room for the sake of pursuing advice.

“Old Sister Maria, how do I get rid of my regret?” a newcomer asked with glossy eyes, desperately looking for an answer to dismiss guilt from her heart.

“Old Sister Maria, what should I do to be grateful for little things like you?” the women in her forties often asked. “Old Sister Maria, how should I carry on with my life?” the youngest of the bunch asked as bullets of tear streams down her cheek. Old age brought patience in her heart, so Maria answered all the queries from those young women. Maria felt joy when the young ladies honestly spoke their minds, but also pressured since every single word that she let out as the answer was monitored.

But truth to be told, Maria realized that giving advice was required for her to be set free. And she needed to be free to continue with her passion. And so, she continued to put the kindest expression on her face, lent her ears, spoke beautiful words to the women who came to her. --- At Maria’s sixtieth birthday, she was drowned in worries. The joints on her knees were starting to hurt. During the morning sports session, she realized that she ran slower and slower each day. To the point that she got to be the last one finishing the run around the field when she used to be the first during her youth. From thereon, Maria noticed other changes in her body.

The countless white hair that grew way too quick, took over the black in no time. The wrinkles on her forehead and below her eyes, as well as the sagged skin that happened all over her arms.

The monthly bloody guest that no longer appeared, entirely rendered her ability to conceive and give birth. Not that she ever wanted to, though. The eyes that started to become blurry, especially when she was reading.

The numbness of her ears, that she could not hear the youngsters’ question unless they speak loudly.

She thought to herself: Would this old body able to carry out the burning passion inside my heart? And anxiety filled her heart, made her tear up every night to sleep. --- At Maria’s fiftieth birthday, she succumbed to quietness. Maria was put to work in the library. It was a completely different working environment from what she had previously. No one included her in the little talk while working, as no one else but her who was there.

She took some time to adjust herself to the tranquillity, a thing that she always hated when she was young. Because, from her understanding, the devil would always knock on her mind and gave the various ideas that haunted her whenever silence fell. And the devil truly came when she worked in the library.

With all her might, she tried to fight the devil off from her minds by being immersed in the journey of the fictional world. The books helped her to escape from the devil’s whispers for a while, but the devil became louder than ever before, made it harder to resist. Surrounded in silence, she put her book unto the shelves and gave up to the voice in her head that strengthened her youthful passion once again. --- At Maria’s fortieth birthday, she distracted herself. Those four people that Maria used to call friends made up a story and sent her to another building to live. Those ladies whom she had fun with were now separated; she heard the rumour that one of them was set free. Those women who used to spent time with her broke their pinky promises to be always together. Angered with the fact that she had been left behind, paired up with her hate towards loneliness, Maria put all her mind and energy into work. She gladly accepts any job that came her way; be it manual labour in the field under the burning summer sun, cleaning dirty toilets, making pottery to be sold to the commercial market, even sewing clothes. Through these works, she got to meet other workers, who chatted with her about trivial matters. And that was enough to keep the devil from entering her minds. Through the busy working schedule, her body was too tired to listen to the devil’s suggestion when she laid herself in bed. And that was enough to keep her passion at bay, enough to keep her sane. --- At Maria’s thirtieth birthday, she made friends. When Maria arrived at the building, she immediately gathered a bunch of women around her age and spent most of her time with them. The group was to help her be distracted from the devil’s voice that kept reminding her of her passion but also to enjoy her youth to the fullest. The group was of seven women, who often sat at the corner and enjoyed gossiping other residents of the building during lunchtime.

The group laughed as they bullied the newcomers. The group stripped the newbies off of their clothes and toyed around with them. None of the residents could fight their behaviour, not when the group was led by Maria. The group moved further and smuggled cigarette for their use, which they obtained by selling their body to the men in uniform who guarded the building. The group also shared complaints about the tight daily schedule made for them and discussed how can they ditch their work. And they did carry it out, laughed their ass off when they managed to sneak out. The seven women promised to always be together, until one day Maria threw a suggestion. “Let’s sneak out from the building.” The suggestion that was opposed strongly by the group members, yet Maria pushed it off. The suggestion that led them to plan their step carefully. The suggestion that ended up killing three people and added ten years to Maria’s freedom. --- At Maria’s twentieth birthday, she found her passion in life. Maria was walking outside on one summer night, wandered around thinking about what she should do with her life when a guy suddenly pinned her to the bush. Filled with uncontrollable lust, the guy groped all over her.

Felt violated, a sound in her head told her to grab the small folded knife that her late father gave her. And Maria followed the voice, who instructed her to stab the guy in the nape of his neck before he could do anything further. Then, blood splatters filled the view with a shade of red that Maria had never seen. The prettiest red, easily her new favourite colour. The guy screamed in pain as he retreated on his bum; a pleasant tone that Maria had never heard. In between the scream, the devil told her to reach out to the guy, to land another blow on his chest. As she followed the devil, Maria uncovered a new smell that made her fell in love with instantly. The smell that made her hands to move faster than she had ever done. When Maria noticed the last breath had left the guy in front of her, she smiled her biggest smile as she felt fulfilled. The feeling that answered her question about life. The feeling that was so great that Maria did not notice two men in uniform held up their handgun towards her, handcuffed her, brought her away from the area. And that moment was where it all began. Where Maria realized her immoral passion. Where Maria started to hate loneliness. Where Maria started to resist the devil's temptation. Where Maria’s life in prison began.


THE OLD MAN AND THE CHALET [Note: Two sounds predominate in this story: the crackling of the fire inside the house and the howling of the wind outside the house. They also predominated during the writing of the story: the fire at Relaxing Fireplace Sounds - Burning Fireplace & Crackling Fire Sounds (NO MUSIC) - Bing video ; and the wind at Whining Wind Sound Effects | Soundsnap . The reader might find the reading of the story enhanced by doing the same.] The chalet stood in a small clearing, dwarfed by tall pines. It was an A-frame, so that the snow, instead of piling up on the roof, slid down its steep sides and gathered on top of the flakes already packed on each other, rising ever higher from the ground.

From his shabby armchair in front of the crackling fire in the hearth, the old man could see the relentless snowflakes driven before the howling wind as they landed on their cousins already lying against the windows. He feared that at any moment they could burst through the flimsy panes, drip through the weathered holes or even burst the rickety frames.   The eaves were not wide enough to prevent the blizzard from blowing the snow in under them, but at least those flakes with their noses pressed against the glass were not as elevated as those on the open ground beyond, ground buried in metre-high days of snowfall. The grizzly fellow stared into the warmth of the fire, raised his eyes to see the cold outside, then stared back into the fire again. The flames snarled in the large, open hearth. The menacing whine of the blizzard swirled around the angles of the house and moaned past the gaps in the building like an evil flautist playing discords. The warmth in the interior and the freeze outside matched the awareness in the brain that lay behind the straggly eyebrows and the crumpled cheeks. The inner self of the man dwelt in a fragile security. There was peace of a kind, but there was also the threat of that peace being invaded or disturbed. Outside him, at least outside his house, the cold ruled and danger threatened. Hostile forces mocked him. He sensed himself as besieged. Even though it was relatively warm inside the house, the old man was wearing his customary layers of indoor clothing to prevent his body heat from draining away. His arm and leg hairs were no longer as numerous as they once were, and their supporting muscles could not raise those hairs as effectively, to trap the air next to his skin and lower his outflow of warmth. The blood coursing through his capillaries did not react as efficiently as it used to, in reducing the loss of heat through his skin.

Under his trousers, he wore a pair of full length, thermal leggings and thick warm socks. Even his pants had a thermal lining. On his torso, he had donned first a sleeveless vest, then a long-sleeved one. Two woollen jerseys over his thick shirt and a black knitted band of wool he used in his cycling days around his neck, completed his protection. Outside, the wind continued to whirl around the dwelling demanding entry, every now and again increasing in intensity, increasingly grumpy at having that demand refused. It could easily have been a giant cat yowling at the moon. The loose window at the top of the landing added its tac-a-tac every now and again when the air current came at it from a particular angle, adding a sinister, decadent air to the texture of sound at his ears. He rose from his armchair and went over to the hob in the kitchen. Filling the kettle with water from the sink, he lit the gas and waited for it to boil. The light was fading and the snow on the far mountains through the back window of his modest abode glowed pink from the reflected sky. As he picked up the kettle to pour the steaming water on to the teabag in his mug, a shadow passed the kitchen window so fleetingly that he could not even make out its shape.

The instant alarm he felt, the fight-or-flight reaction in his gut, rooted him at the gas flame for a moment before he expunged it. As he turned to go back to his seat at the fire, the sensation gradually subsided, although it still disturbed him, even after he had finished his tea. What could the shape have been? A tree branch perhaps, torn off by the wind and blown along? A wolf, maybe even a grizzly, chasing through the clearing between the window and the silent army of swaying pines? Some metaphysical ectoplasm? Or was he imagining things, with his neurons becoming sluggish and his memory defective? He stared again into the fire.  Not at it, but into it. It sounded like eggs frying in a pan. There was also an underlying exhaling of breath as air rushed up the flue, an understated whoosh, but then whether the flames brought it about as they danced upwards or the agonised air outside was making the moan, he could not tell. He studied the fire more closely, taking note of what he could see. He noticed the layers, the hierarchy of hearth-fire society: the black burnt-out ash underneath that would be grey in the light of morning; the red glowing coals in the middle, abandoned by the flames but still basking in the afterglow of their magic spell; the logs lying on top in various stages of combustion as the flames gyrated over them. The heat formed patterns of grey squares and rectangles and irregular shapes, with black lines between them, as the logs grumbled under the red and orange spirits prancing over them, devouring without ever touching. The window on the landing rattled more insistently than before. Was something trying to get in? The stooped figure grunted, rose from his armchair stained by hands resting on its arms for longer than he could remember, shuffled across the floor to the base of the stairs and began to ascend one laborious step at a time. Reaching for breath, he paused briefly to allow his heartbeat to steady. Arriving at the landing, he noticed that the window was slightly unlatched. There was also a distinct scratch on the green outer paintwork that he had not noticed before. Quite a conspicuous scratch. Strange that it had not attracted his attention on his nightly pilgrimage to bed. Frowning, he re-latched the errant window as firmly as he was able. He stood for a while, staring at the scratch, not knowing quite what to make of it, not knowing what to do. One thing he knew, though: he did not like the look of it. It was menacing, like the sound of the wind outside. He did not like all this menace. He had come to this place to avoid menace. He had come here so many years ago to find peace. It seemed as if menace might finally have found him out, learnt where he was, and come to haunt his last living moments. Then, of course, they could all just be illusions, the shape at the kitchen window, the rattle and the scratch here on the landing. He was probably imagining things, a touch of delusion perhaps, the bewilderment of an old man, alone and lonely, losing touch with the world. Outside it had become completely dark. He would not have been able to see the scratch had it not been for the light on the landing. The bulb had been sizzling and flickering for some time. Soon it would cease its sizzles, and its flickering would end in darkness. He would have to wait for the summer before he could take the journey to the village and get a replacement. He had left a solitary light burning downstairs for comfort, a sentinel that would safeguard his hegemony over that part of his domain, in defiance of the total blackness surrounding it. Moving on past the landing, he completed his needs in the bathroom, shed his outer clothes, threw back the duvet, climbed in between it and the sheet underneath and drew it up to his chin. He was thankful that his leggings insulated his lower limbs from the cold of the bed. He surveyed the clutch of books stacked on the small table beside him, musing at them before selecting one.  He settled on Michelle Paver’s Dark Matter.

He hadn’t dipped into it for a while and so read the blurb to refresh his memory of the book to avoid it from being strange when he continued reading: A group set up camp in a remote bay, but as the polar winter and endless night close in around them, they realise they are not alone … As he started reading, he heard a tapping on the steeply sloping roof. It sounded like something trying to chip away at one of tiles near the top. Who could climb up there without a ladder? It could of course be that spruce tree he had planted too near the house. It needed trimming now and again to keep the branches away, to prevent them from tapping the roof as they swayed to the wind. Or was it an old man’s illusion? Something he was imagining? A figment of his fading mind? He reached out to where his shotgun leant against the wall between the bed and his little mini-library of the books he was reading. His read books graced the bookshelves in his den downstairs. He climbed out of his bed, took the weapon and made to go and investigate. Hardly had he taken a step, when the tapping stopped, almost as if whatever was causing it had seen him coming. He stood where he was for some minutes, his head cocked to listen for the sound above the roar of the wind. There was nothing. He turned back to the bed, slowly leaning the gun against the wall next to him before clambering back under the duvet. He began to read, although what he would do if he loosed both barrels and the thing kept coming, he didn’t know.

After 20 minutes of this, during which there were no more taps that he could hear  above the wailing of the wind, he laid down the book, turned away from the lamp at his bedside, and closed his eyes. Normally he would switch the light off, but there was something about tonight that made him want to leave it on. At about ten past three, when he had wafted in and out of a fitful sleep for about five hours and could stand it no longer, he sat up with a sigh, swung his legs out of the bed, slid his feet into his slippers and trudged carefully downstairs in his dressing gown. As a precaution, he took the shotgun with him. He returned to his home-within-home, his stained old armchair, and sat down before the cooling embers of the fire, placing the shotgun across his lap. The occasional lick of flame gave life to the grate. He could still feel the caressing heat on his wrinkled hands with their knobbly knuckles. The remnants left behind after the flames’ fandango still glowed and faded intermittently in the hearth with a sound something like the slow, crumpling of paper in a fist. He closed his eyes and slouched back, allowing his mouth to fall into a gape. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room gave out a loud tick at each sideways swing of its pendulum, marking each implacable unit of time as it passed never to return. The faded factory rug, with a design copied from Isfahan, lay on the old floorboards seeming somehow incomplete without the shaggy Labrador who had lain there until a few months before. The dining room table, faithfully attended by its high-backed chairs standing to attention on either side, awaited guests that would never arrive, for a meal that would never be served.

As the fire continued to deepen into blackness, its occasional crackle fading hour by hour, the old man’s body, too, grew imperceptibly still and itself began to grow cold.

For the rest, everything was as before.


I never thought I could change the world; never thought I could even impact it. And I mean can you really blame me? Blame me for having dreams so big, that I figured they would never come true? This world is filled with billions of people, and I am just one of them, how could I make a difference? If you looked in a sky of billions upon billions of fireflies, and one of them was different, one of them glowed brighter, acted differently. Would you notice? Notice that single Firefly? You wouldn’t, and that’s ok, I wouldn’t either. After all, there are billions of others, how could you notice just one. How could anyone notice just me? In a world of billions. Yet here I stand. --------------------- I grew up as normal, as any child next to me. I did not have a lot of money or social media stans. I was just a kid with both feet planted firmly on the ground, trying to make my way in the world. I was not popular in school, and I was not even a part of any big sports teams or events. I wasn't special to the outside world, I went unnoticed. For I wasn't anything more than me. And little did I know that simply being myself, was the best thing I could possibly be. Just me. And at the time, I was only focused on just trying to get through my life in the best way I could. I knew I got to play a role in my fate, I knew I got to make decisions that would make a difference to me. I never thought I could make a difference to others. But we can always make a difference to others, remember that, and you will move more than mountains. Here I stand. --------------------- I was quiet until I decided one day I did not need to be. I had so many words inside of me, bundled up under what everyone called bossiness and emotional. I had strong opinions, screaming inside of me to be let out. And so I stopped hiding in the background, and I started making my voice be heard.  I started in the smallest ways, speaking up in conversations, speaking out against things I disagreed with. One day, one of my teachers asked me to share my viewpoint on humankind as a society in a paragraph. It was part of a school assignment no different than any other. But when I sat down to write it, I realized I had so much to say. So much more than a paragraph. So much more. And so, a week after I handed the assignment in, my teacher took me aside and asked me to present it in front of the class. I was terrified, how could I not be? I almost flat out told them no, I was so close to telling them I could not do it. But something, something inside me, told me I needed to stop hiding. I had been silent long enough. And here I stand. ---------------------- My hands had been shaking and my voice even more so. A couple of my classmates were snickering, and I almost stopped, almost gave up, but I didn’t. Instead, I cleared my throat, I wanted to be heard as everyone does, and for the first, I had a chance. And that is where it all began. Because everything has to begin somewhere. The time, where I was no longer silent. I would never be silent again. So here I stand. -------------------- And by simply deciding I was done staying silent, I realized how I was given a voice for a reason, and I would be dammed if I was not going to use it.  I started speaking up at school events and then began my journey in public speaking. And every time Someone asked me what my opinion is. I would laugh and then I would tell them. Hard and true, exactly what I believed, nothing less. Taking that part of myself I had shut out for so long, and instead, bringing it high in my chest, not like a weight, but like a purpose. I was still one in billions, but somehow, I was managing to impact a couple of people, and that is all it takes. Here I stand. ------------------ You see none of us would notice one different firefly in billions. However, if the fireflies next to that one firefly noticed; they might change too. And then other fireflies might see those, and change as well. And suddenly everything would be different, because of one. And that you would notice, we all would. And here I stand. ------------------- Here I stand, I can hear the crowd out there. Shouting loud, there many unique voices. All those people ready to simply hear mine. And I know if you want to change the world, you go on and change it. Nothing is stopping you, but yourself. You have been given a voice for a reason. We were not meant to be quiet creatures. We were meant to shout at the top of our lungs what needs to be heard. Pour everything out of our souls, and maybe impact those who need to hear what we have to say. And trust me when I tell you, someone out there needs to hear what you have to say. And if your afraid that is ok. I am too. But remember, here you stand. ------------------- Clear your throat, take a deep breath, bear your fists, lift your head and speak. And never stay silent for anyone, never again. Instead speak for you, and for all those who have been silent for far too long. And so, I smile, my heart pounding in my chest, and I walk out onto that stage in front of thousands. Spotlights filling my vision as I make my way to the microphone and look over the crowd in front of me. Look to the world, just waiting to be changed. And I cleared my throat.


Have any of you ever wondered about Other Dimensions or Universes? have you ever wanted to go there? Have you ever been trapped there? Well i have and this is my story.. I sigh as i lay on by bed and talk to my friend, Lillian over the phone. Since i moved here a couple of days ago she was suggesting that Maybe me and her should go and see a movie together. It would have been fine and i would have agreed but then she told me what movie it was. Ugh. Vampires and Romance don't go together, and don't even bother trying to add werewolves into the thing. "Come on Harlow, You need to get used to the town. What better way than to go see a movie?" Lillian asked, Of course my friend would love the movie. she's always loved really any type of romance story. "No! i'd rather be back at my actual home and just sleeping." When i had checked the time it was 11:40 Pm. what?? back home its like 3:30 am... " Harlow i'm telling you once you see the movie with me i'm sure you'll be.." When she was about to finish that, Both of us then heard a loud crashing sound. what was that?? "Uh...hold on i'll go check out if that was somewhere in my place." I could hear footsteps and then her door closing. I had a very good feeling that the noise didn't come from her place. Though i didn't try to go look yet, maybe i was wrong and she'd find the noise. I probably didn't even have anything to worry about, it could just be a Raccoon or another small animal. But that's when i heard it again, louder this time though. Yeah that wasn't with Lillian, is it a lot of Raccoons?? i've never even had problems with wild animals until now i guess. "Fine...i'll just shoo it out then." i mumbled as i hung up the phone and start leaving my room. It would only be for a couple of minutes and then i'd call her back. I walked all through my house and everything seemed fine, Until i got into the living room. A large portal was in the living room and it seemed to be growing, It had knocked over a few chairs. That must have been the crashing noise. I don't know why but i felt like going closer to the thing, That's what i exactly did. When i got closer i could feel my phone buzzing in my pocket, Lillian must have realized that i hung up. I only stared at the portal though so the phone soon stopped buzzing, i never noticed that yet though. why is there a portal here? am i just dreaming? i have to be! I was taken out of the trance when i then heard my phone begin to buzz again though this time a bit louder than earlier. "Huh? what is it Lillian?" i asked still staring at the portal. "Oh thank gosh! Well, i didn't find whatever that noise was earlier, did you find it?" she asked, i could tell she was relieved. Though i heard some faint static while she was talking, is that bad? "Um well, yes, but..its something that you'd never think would ever be there.." i started to tell her, i could somehow hear static in my own voice. I was walking towards the portal again and getting even closer. "Oh what, is it a bear cub or something?" she asked jokingly, though her voice was very faint to me. I was instead hearing voices coming from inside the portal. People were in that thing?? Maybe if i just... I hung up once again on Lillian and put my phone into my back pocket. "Hm...is it safe?" i mumbled to myself as i then put my hand straight into the portal. My hand felt a bit Fuzzy but i think that might be normal, so it seemed safe then. i'll just do it a bit more, whats the harm in that? this is probably still a dream! I kept putting more of my body into the portal, each time it felt more fuzzy for some reason. I started to feel dizzy all of a sudden when i then heard a faint door bell ringing. I had wondered who that was, Did Lillian come because she was worried about me? was it the Pizza that i ordered like an hour ago? i never got to know who, because moment's later i then blacked out. When i did wake up though i was laying down on cold ground and everything was dark, was i in a cave?? what the heck is going on? where even am i?? Hah! I remembered about that portal but how could that have happened? I could have just been sleep-walking...which i guess is still pretty weird since i've never actually done that until now. Wow. I felt Exhausted, i must have been out all night because i could faintly see some lights through some faint cracks. Maybe Lillian could help me with this sleep-walking thing once i get back to the house. I could at least move and wasn't just frozen but i just couldn't stand at the time. I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, maybe i could call Lillian and she could come and pick me up. I smiled as i finally took it out and got ready to call her when i then realized something, my phone was broken. I must have fallen down a couple of times last night and broken it. Damn it! I lay there a bit longer what seems to be about thirty minutes or so when i then began to hear faint foot-steps nearby. Did Lillian maybe send someone to look for me? i know thats a bit far-fetched but it could still happen! "Sir!" i then heard someone shout nearby, it sounded like they were almost right behind me. Why were they being so formal with the name? this wasn't even that big of a deal, i couldn't have been gone that long either. "We found her! she's over in that cave!" a second voice said this time, though it sounded a bit angry. jeez how many people did she bring to find me?? I think it must have been a total of three people who came for me as they then all walked into the cave and started to drag me out of it. I was a bit happy and was going to say something when i then realized something. I don't think that this was even a rescue mission, these people were also in blue and gray uniforms. I looked on ahead to see that they were taking me into a large police car with bars, one of the men also had hand-cuffs. this is a preview type thing for my novel or whatever you would call it, This is Chapter 1 and a bit of chapter 2. This is a bit different than my original one but its still mostly the same ^^


Secondhand Smoke            The way she took a drag from her cigarette was not unlike Lady Godiva dismounting from her mount. No matter how hard someone tried, they could not match her grace. It was as if the tobacco burned in anticipation of touching her lips. Her exhale clouded my view of her face but highlighted the moon beams, which were the only source of light. Taking another long drag, she extended the butt to me, which I reluctantly took. To buy myself another five minutes with her, I lied about my own smoking habits. I had long been tempted to start smoking, but to this point had resisted the temptation.  Inhaling, or rather attempting to look as if this wasn’t my maiden voyage, I sucked in the smoke and was immediately met with the disapproval of both my lungs and throat. Holding in my urge to cough only accentuated the heat festering in my chest, the pain finding release through mucus out of my nostrils.            I handed the cigarette back to her, trying to mask my grimace as an off-handed Robert DeNiro impression. She noticed my discomfort and commiserated my pain with a devilish laugh.            “So, tell me, what do you hope to do with your fancy college degree?” she asked as she disarmed the torch on the bottom of her shoe.            “Honestly, I don’t really know. Being a CPA was never high on my totem pole, but I know it’s a safe profession and my parents have no qualms with it”.            “That’s really sad, y’know that? You sound defeated. At our age you’re supposed to be still dreaming of what changes you can make in the world, not picturing yourself balding, paying into some bullshit Ruth IPA”.            “It’s a Roth IRA.”            “Whatever the hell it’s called, it makes no difference.”            She took her phone out of her purse, quickly glanced at the brightened screen and smirked.            “My ex-boyfriend, well, ok my current boyfriend but soon to be ex-boyfriend is begging for me to go over his apartment tonight.”            “Go if you want to.” I offered the choice for her to leave, but in my stomach, I wished I could muster the courage to reveal my ulterior motives for sharing her cigarette.            “Oh please, that’s not what either of us want to do.” She squinted her eyes as she replied, insinuating she had concocted a devious plan.            Perhaps the decision to smoke inspired my newfound audacity. She was my vessel to discovering what gumption I had. Up until we disrobed in the back of my car, I longed for an opportunity to truly seize and live in a moment. Too often people allow society’s undertow to determine their path. Sitting in the back seat, behind the driver’s side, with her head across my lap, I began to run my fingers through her hair. Her eyes were closed and breathing became increasingly shallow as her voice trailed off in between answers. While she talked about a memory of running around her yard during a thunderstorm as a child, I had an epiphany. My ears tuned out her words, but my eyes and heart listened to what her body was really saying. She had put on a mask, a cloud of allusion she was removed from the claws of societal pressures and norms. But the truth was, she was not much different than the girl she described dancing in the rain. As lost as I had found myself, chipping away at a degree in a career I so desperately loathed, I could at least be attributed purpose in life. Sure, an accountant is not the sexiest profession, but the stability and reverence my parents have for it gave me a sense of superiority to the lost girl who was falling asleep in my lap. I folded my jacket, using it as a replacement pillow as I slipped out of the car. I was immediately met with the cool salty air of the ocean. The breeze was welcomed and refreshing. Only then did I realize how hot it had become inside my Honda. Walking down the beach, I found my way to a lifeguard stand, propping myself onto it. Waves slowly reaching for the shore before retreating back to the sea echoed in the silent chamber of my thoughts. Flashing lights emitted from a tanker anchored a few miles offshore, the only indication of life beyond the sand.            Summertime brings a sense of carefree inclinations and freedom from reality. I wasn’t sure if I was beginning to love her or merely love the idea of her. She made me irrational. She made me lust. She made me yearn. She made me walk a tightrope between self-respect and dark desire.            The scurrying of a fox beneath me broke my concentration. I unsheathed my phone from my pocket and was met with the reality of the time. Dismounting my post as nocturnal guard of the beach, I returned to the sleeping beauty.            I opened the door which had been moonlighting as an ottoman for her feet. She remained unstirred, prompting me to prod her ribs.            “Hey, you’ve got to wake up” I whispered, continuing to lightly shake her.            Still unmoving, I began trying a myriad of techniques to get her to wake up. Pinching her leg, to rubbing her sternum, none working any better than the other. I became increasingly worried, practically frantic when the glow of headlights illuminated the cabin of the car.            I quickly closed the door and took a few steps away from the car, holding my phone to my head in an attempt to feign an imaginary call. The foreign SUV pulled past and began a U-turn. They rolled down the passenger side window, asking something I could not quite make out. I took a few steps closer, not quite able to make out the features of the driver, but close enough to hear him over the humming of the engine.            “Hey! Where’s Kutter Rd? My phone’s got no service out here man”            “Oh, yeah, just take a left when you pull out of here and it should be the third or fourth road on your right”            He thanked me and quickly jetted out of the parking lot. I immediately returned to the back seat where she still laid unmoved. With no previous CPR training, I tried to emulate scenes from shows and movies. I pressed on her chest and began breathing into her mouth. Each gasp of air became increasingly desperate.            Her chest rose and sank, repeating the breathing process after about two minutes of my novice attempt to resuscitate her. I lifted her eye lids, and she pushed my hands away from her face.            She stretched a bit and smiled up at me, completely unaware of the horror I nearly experienced.            “Hey love, you trynna cop a feel while I’m sleeping?” she said as she smirked and sat up. She reached into her purse for a cigarette. . I peered into the rearview mirror, watching our reflections coexist. The smokescreen of her cigarette could not hide my gaunt expression. We sat in the backseat, in silence as the ocean breeze carried the secondhand smoke into my face.


Grandpa Joe Willoughby was the best tobacco spitter in Oklahoma City. This is what my papa told me. He told me he was a hard man who loved his moonshine and his horses. But what my Grandpa loved the most was his participation in The Annual Tobacco Spitting Competition . They say he could shoot that stuff out his mouth fast and far. My papa told me he watched my grandpa kill a man in a local bar using his tobacco spitting technique. No, wait a minute, I’m sorry. Papa told me he killed three men in a bar using his tobacco spitting techniques. Hot damn! My Grandpa Willoughby was a hell of a man! Those three men in that bar did not understand who they were dealing with. They picked a fight with the world’s greatest tobacco spitting champion. And their foolishness put ‘em in an early grave. Here’s mud in yer eye! That’s what my papa heard my Grandpa say to the last man who died. Papa told me my grandpa pulled a banjo out of nowhere and he started playing the banjo while doing a little jig after killing the three men. Everybody in the bar joined in with my grandpa and they danced with him. My papa said it was like watching a redneck version of Hamilton. They even started singing along with my grandpa’s banjo. Even the dogs in the neighborhood were howling along with my grandpa. My papa told me he played all night while marching down the street with a crowd behind him. Wild dogs joined my grandpa in the street and they danced on all fours to the sweet sound of Grandpa Willoughby’s banjo music.

Hot damn! My grandpa was a hell of a man! Nobody! I mean nobody could spit tobacco as far as he could! Many men and women challenged my grandpa at the tobacco spitting tournaments, and they would lose and walk away crying like little boys and girls.

An old lady tried to cheat while competing against my grandpa. She attached a miniature airgun to her dentures. You see, when she’d stick the tobacco in her mouth, she’d really be stickin’ it inside the tiny airgun attached to her dentures. So she had a tiny airgun in her mouth and she’d pull the trigger using a remote control. The airgun would help her spit the tobacco further. That slick old woman thought she could double cross my grandpa until that airgun backfired on her dumb ass! They had to drag her ass to the hospital after her airgun blew up in her mouth. That little son of a bitch malfunctioned on her. It blew her dentures out of her mouth and her dentures went sailing across the sky. That airgun also blew a few other things out of that old lady’s mouth. I saw what happened to her and it gave me nightmares for a month.

She was a pretty old lady, just stupid. She thought she could cheat against my grandpa. Of course, my grandpa won the tournament by default. If you win the tournament, you get a free pig. Hell, my grandpa cooked twenty years' worth of bacon. Poor pigs. They didn’t know what was coming to ‘em. One day I’m gonna win me one of those pigs just like my Grandpa Willoughby. I’ve been practicing my tobacco spitting and I’m getting pretty good at it. This is a family tradition and I plan to carry on grandpa’s legacy. Besides the tobacco spitting, I’ve been learning how to play the Banjo. I auditioned for American Idol a year ago. I’ll never forget the looks on the judges’ faces when I started playing. I think they liked my playing even though they kicked me off the show in the first round. Oh, what the hell! Some folks don’t know what good music is these days. Well anyway, I plan to attend the tobacco spitting tournament tomorrow. I’ll be following in my grandpa’s footsteps. Sometimes I practice by playing the banjo and spitting tobacco at the same time. It’s a great way to multitask. Last week, me and the boys had a party and we drank a lot of moonshine. I drank some beers too and I pissed a lot. It was at night and I went to the outhouse to take a leak. After I got through using the bathroom, this bright light came down from the night sky and hit me in the face.

I was extremely drunk that night, so I’m not sure if what happened to me was real. There was this metal ship, and it had the shape of a giant pancake. This greenish light came out of it, and it landed on me like a spotlight. Next thing I know, I’m levitating in the air. I saw these little guys with gray skin. They had big black eyes and big foreheads. They talked kinda funny. They were some mean little bastards. They kept trying to poke me in my butt with this metal rod. I remembered having clothes on before I went into the ship, and those little bastards stripped me naked within a blink of an eye. I was buck naked, but amazingly I had my banjo with me. I must’ve been so drunk that I didn’t know I had it. Those little bastards were naked themselves. They looked like gray skinned, little toddlers running around me with instruments in their hands. I couldn’t believe it, but I saw my Grandpa Willoughby, and those little bastards stole his clothes. I loved my grandpa, but it felt damn weird hugging a naked old man while drunk.

Me and Grandpa Willoughby had to escape from the little bastards. I had my wife and my little girl to get back to, and my grandpa had to get back to my grandma and his horses. So we fought our way out of the ship. Grandpa Willoughby had his tobacco, and I had the banjo. Those little bastards wanted to kill us, but we killed them. Grandpa knocked a few of them out with his tobacco. When I started playing the banjo, one little bastard got down on his knees and he begged me to stop. That little bastard was crying like a wuss. Can you believe that? I think he was the leader and I told him to let me and my grandpa off the ship or I was gonna keep playing. He quickly obliged me. Before they released me and my grandpa, I grabbed one of those little bastards and I spanked him for trying to poke me in my ass with a metal rod. He was crying and apologizing. He also gave us back our clothes. We left the ship and I had my grandpa’s banjo and my grandpa had his tobacco. Those little gray bastards feared us that night.

My grandpa and I watched as the pancake ship went back up into the night sky. We felt proud of ourselves. We were two kings that night. After we watched the ship leave, my Grandpa Willoughby turned to me and he said, no little alien son of a bitch is gonna mess with the grandson of the world’s greatest tobacco spitter. My grandpa dropped dead after he said that to me. I guess getting abducted by those little bastards traumatized him and he died from the shock. That’s when I knew that I had to make my grandpa proud at the tournament. I’m gonna carry on his legacy and be the world’s greatest banjo playin’ and tobacco spittin’ cowboy from Oklahoma City. Look out, here I come!! Hot damn!!


When I was nine years of age, my young mind unironically believed that there was such a thing in the world as a "Friend Fairy", which, on the contrary to the classic Tooth Fairy, would have you exchange money for a friend. Which, of course, is an idea so unrealistic and depressing for a nine-year-old to think of on his own that the idea on itself would create an entire museum for unrealistic and depressing things and be the first exhibit. However, my young and unfortunately stupid mind did not only think of this concept, but also believed it to be true until I turned eleven, without any questioning at all. I do suppose that even as a nine-year-old, the idea seemed ridiculous, however, this was irrelevant to the fact that I wanted to be comforted by the idea that one day I would have as many friends as I wanted. Now, as a twenty-three year old man looking back on his embarrassing past, I think that even if I had the chance to buy people from some loud, annoying little human with wings, I wouldn't. Over the course of my life I have decided that, in my most wildest of fantasies, I wouldn't have any people I had to interact with, and would just read and nap and watch television for the near-entirety of my life. In short: I am a severe introvert. And, as anybody would expect from the average severe introverted house-slug with an excuse for a job and more video games than he could handle,  I was planning- nay, relying on having my afternoon cleared up of unnecessary tasks and unnecessary people. Of course, to my utter disappointment, just as I was silently appreciating the fact that I had the entire evening to myself, I heard my doorbell ring - dINNg - which, as a nice bonus, reminded me that my doorbell sounded like a plastic Halloween prop that was nearly out of battery, and that I was going to have to use my hard-earned money to have someone repair it. I went to the door. Ken stood on the welcome mat. "John, enough is enough. We're going for a boy's night out," he said. Ken was the most extroverted person I knew, and if I had known that I would have to not only work with him but also interact with him outside of our jobs, I would have seriously gotten a job somewhere else. His jeans were both too tight and too small, cutting off at the halfway point of his calves, but despite the jeans being too small, he had the boldness to roll them up an extra inch. His Metallica T-shirt, on the other hand, was an adult extra-extra large, even though he was short and rather skinny. He's holding a coffee in his hands. "That sounds like a great idea! But oh, God, I just remembered: I have a dentist appointment in like, half an hour. By the time I'm out of the door for this night out, I'd already have to be on my way to my appointment," I said quickly. Surprisingly, of all the excuses I have made to avoid interaction, I have never used the classic "Dentist Appointment" until just now "Oh, really?" Ken asked. "which dentist? What's his name? What kind of appointment do you have? Have you been there before?" "Er-" I stopped to think. "Uh, there's a new place out of town- I think his name is..." My voice trailed off. "Dude. You are such a lying - what's the word - liar. You are such a lying liar." "Very smooth," I said. "Meet me outside in five minutes or I will seriously egg your house, John." "Then I'll call the cops!" Exclamation unnecessary, I thought. Get over yourself, Ken. "You won't know who did it," he said entirely unsarcastically and in complete seriousness. "Ken, you literally just confessed," I replied curiously, not in such a way of which I was actually curious about something, but in such a way that I'm just questioning whether he's mentally unstable or just kind of stupid. Then I sighed. "Give me that coffee." "Get your own goddamned coffee," Ken said. "Give me coffee and I'll be out in five minutes." While my sigh is a small, barely noticeable exhale dragged out for another half second, Ken's is an over-dramatic mess: SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIghhhhhhhuhuhuh. "Fine. Be out in five minutes," he sighed. I took the coffee inside, took a very large sip (some of it dripped down the sides of my mouth and onto the floor) and put the rest of it down on the coffee table. Then I walked back out, regretting what I was doing. "I'm ready." "You look the same," Ken said. "I said I'm ready. Where are you planning on taking me?" "Let's go for a drink." "Should have brought that coffee," I groaned, then shuffled into his Toyota Corolla. On my way inside the car, I happened to sit on a chewed piece of gum, and leaned back against the very uncomfortable car seat. Ken then had the wonderful idea to play the soft rock radio an blast it loudly. The worst part? He yelled, "Oh yeah, that's the stuff," as it came on. There goes my alone time, and my comfiest pair of pants, and my sanity, if it hasn't already gone. On a regular basis, I would never think to buy anything from the Friend Fairy, because first of all, buying friends from a fairy is very depressing, and second of all, I don't want friends. But, alas, Ken was there and he wasn't leaving there, and, after all, I was getting a free drink, so if I had the heart to ignore someone who was very desperately trying to spend time with me, and if I had the heart to let myself experience an "Ow, my feelings" drama act from Ken, and I ended up pretending that he wasn't there, tonight won't be so terrible. But, all things considered, it probably will be.


“But you’re…” “You would have thought so.” “But.. How?” He smiled at her, his gorgeous crooked smile, she’d always loved. She was in too much shock to smile back. She just stood there doing an impression of a goldfish. Bob, Bob, Bob. “You’re going to catch a fly” He said, still grinning triumphantly. She fought to regain her senses. “You are going to explain, right?”She wanted to reach out to touch him, make sure he was really there and not just a dream. But, she was too afraid. He tilted his head and frowned, his face darkened for a second in memory. “I don’t know how to begin.” He said simply “The beginning.” She blurted “OK, well I got up to take a leak…” He began I got up to take a leak. It was so dark I could barely see. I always thought in the middle of no where with no light pollution the nights were supposed to be lighter. I was wrong. I put my hands out like a blind man feeling my way around. Then my foot hit a rock or a root, Something. I went A over T. Cut my bloody knee and face. Literally bloody hole in jeans and everything. That’s when I gave up and put the torch on my phone on. Night sight be damned!, I’m telling you, Pirates had the right idea with their eye patches. I hadn’t wanted to disturb you, before. So I left the torch off, I know how lightly you sleep. Anyways, I digress. I walked with my torch for awhile. I should have stayed nearer the tent, I know I should have now, but that’s what hindsight is for, I guess. Then I saw a road with bushes lining the other side so I went there. I shouldn’t have gone so far but I really didn’t want to disturb you. I can’t express that enough. I was zipping up when a jeep came along the road, It flashed me and I waved. It stopped, I thought they were just checking up on me, making sure I wasn’t lost or something. Then 2 guys got out, grabbed me and threw me into the back. I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. I was so scared Claire, more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. If I hadn’t of just had a slash, I would have had one in my jeans. They drove off with me to a warehouse. They threw me in a cage, just left me there for days, I think. I lost track of time. They gave me food and water, but that was the only kindness they showed me. Then I made a daring escape, just like in the movies. And, now I’m here ta-da!! “But you’ve been gone for months, declared dead! I grieved for you, Mat! I grieved and I cried, I went to 2 memorials for you, candle light vigils, search parties. The works.” Mat opened his mouth to speak but Claire held up a finger, now she had found her voice she needed to be heard. “You can’t just come back with a pretty little story and a ta-da, and expect everything to be OK, you can’t, you just can’t” Claire’s voice had gotten higher and higher during this speech and she broke down in tears at the end of it. Mat rushed over and held her, sobbing into his arms. They stood like that until Claire had calmed down, she looked up at his face, he really was back. “Tell me what happened for you?” Claire shook her head “Do you really want to know?” “Yes.” He said gently staring into her eyes. She closed her eyes and nodded “OK” I woke up and you weren’t there. I was scared. I lay in the dark, It was so quiet. I listened to faint hoots, I could hear things scurrying around. But, I couldn’t hear you. I must have fallen back asleep because then next thing I knew it was morning and you were still missing. I waited for over an hour, then I went looking. I found the blood. So much blood, it seemed to me. I ran to the nearest town and got help. They launched a search party. They found your phone near the road, it must have fallen out of your pocket. The police said you had been kidnapped or just left me behind and gone off, I knew you hadn’t. I stayed an extra week but my money was running out and the trail had gone cold. You had disappeared. I had to go home, without you. I’d gone on every search party while I was there. When I got home there were candle light vigils for you, the Church held a special service for your safe return. Everyone was worried about you, I got some odd looks and comments that some people thought I’d killed you! Then they found a burned out jeep with a body in it, your blood was in it too. They said the body was you! No one saw it, they wouldn’t send it here, we had an empty box funeral for you. Good turn out by the way. I was inconsolable. I wanted to join you. I ended up in hospital twice, I spent a week in the nutty hospital on suicide watch. I was a mess. I’ve only just got my med’s right to control myself. “And now you just stand there, like you just went to get the morning paper.” She smiled through her tears. The trauma of the past few months reflected in them. Mat held her close, tears in his eyes too. “Who know’s you are back?” Claire asked “I had to find you first.” He replied. She leaned against him again. “We should tell your mam, she’s been having a tough time of it too.” she felt him nod his head on top of hers. He was back. It was real. Miracles do happen


The Day was New Year’s Eve. The Day the world ended. Everyone was at someone’s house, dancing and singing the night away without a care in the world. Fizzy champagne filled our glasses as we counted down the last seconds of the year. 12:00. Silence. No fireworks, no shouts, no clinks of cups, nothing. 12:01, the bombs started. Not the kind that light up the sky and people awe at, the kind that bring destruction and desolation. Someone grabbed my hand and pulled. Pulled me down. Without them, I would have stayed there, frozen. They yanked me along to a place called safety, weaving through all the chaos around us. My foot came off the last step and the world went black. Now… I am here in a hospital, where I have been for the first few weeks of the new year and new month. The walls are white, and the beds are thin and covered in fleece green sheets, ones that are over me now. They are scratchy and nip at the cuts that are trying to heal. I brush my hair off my neck and should attempt to sleep. It’s easier in the day than in the night. Instead, I stumble to the window. The window that never shows anything different but that calms me somehow. The sun is trying so hard to push through the clouds, however they will not budge. A field stands before me where a street full of businesses and homes used to be, only now are crushed to bricks and rubbish. Tiny yellow flowers speckle the plain, bringing bits of beauty to such an ugly place. The occasional wall stays standing undeterred by the disaster around. I like to compare myself to that wall even though we are nothing alike. The nurse’s footsteps behind me speak that it is time for me to go to bed, no matter how much I fight it, it’s the same every day. I will not sleep, so I stay awake. They tell me I need sleep and fill me with drugs until I do. But then I awake again. They want me to overcome my fear of dreams, but they do not see the nightmares that flood my brain when my body rests. The moments after the bombs are blurry, though in my dreams they are crystal. I shift the crutch under my arm, taking the weight off my bad leg, and hobble to my bed. It is directly behind me with a view of the window. I think the nurse is surprised by how easily I obey. I am tired… tired of resisting rest. I do need it. “Hadassah,” she says, examining my leg, “It’s lookin’ good. Another week on the crutch and you’ll be able to walk. You might have a limp there, but it’ll be better than nothin’.” I have never told her my name though somehow, she always knows it and calls me by it. I muster up a smile for her, the muscles in my cheeks unsure of how to work. Her laugh is sweet and something I haven’t heard for a while. She closes the curtains on her way out, and the older man in the bed beside me snores. In and out… in and out… in and out… His breathing is loud, a lullaby to my needy ears. My mind wanders back to the first seconds of the new year, the moments that I can’t remember correctly, and thinks of the person who grabbed me. I was too shocked to comprehend who it was, but I wish I knew who saved me. Without them I wouldn’t be in this bed right now. I hope they are in the other room wondering the same thing. Eventually, the darkness of sleep comes. Darkness that is of rest and not of pain; those two are hard for me to differentiate. When I awake, I know a soft smile lies on my lips. My dream was sweet. I dreamt of my family, not of them hurt, but of them laughing and smiling at me back at our home. The sun shined and the birds chirped as we all sat around the table. It feels more like a memory than a dream. I believe my family is still alive, somewhere, trying to find me as I am seeking to find them. The night the world seemed to end we were all separated, a decision I regret and turn over again and again in my head. The nurse, I learned her name, Jeanne leads me over to the washroom. I still use my crutch but can feel my foot strengthening. She shuts the door and has me sit on a turned over bucket. The room is dimly lit and musty, too many dirty towels and dirty bodies. Taking a piece of the bandage, she unwraps my calf with such gentleness shivers rush through me. With the same tenderness, she helps me remove my clothing so she can wash me. I have told Jeanne multiple times that I am capable of cleaning myself, but she insists and I don’t have the energy to argue. A fluffy mustard yellow sponge floats in a bucket of water near her. She rings it out and begins cleansing me. The water is cool and refreshing against my skin. I shut my eyes as she continues. “Hold your hair please.” I lift my long hair off my neck for her to clean. “Let’s wash your hair today miss.” I nod and flip my hair forward. She drenches it in the cool water, scrubbing the filth away. Her strong nails rake through my hair and I close my eyes again, lulled by her massage. Using a towel, she dries my hair by hand. “Hadassah… you have such pretty dark hair. Can I braid it for ya?” “Please,” my voice is raspy, only used when necessary. More shivers tremble through my body as her steady fingers go to work. Piece after piece she braids my hair, turning it into one thick strand. It flaps onto my shoulder, a beautiful red ribbon tied on the end. A lump fills in my throat as she holds a pair of pants in front of me. I slip into the clothes, with her help, my eyes on the floor. If I look up, I will crumble. But maybe crumbling into someone who cares about you is okay. I glance up, into her light blue eyes and wrinkly skin, and crumble. And break. And sob. Tears burst from my eyes and a yelp escapes my throat. Jeanne covers me in her warm arms and strokes my back. She doesn’t speak and neither do I. Her embrace is still tight as my tears dry on my cheeks. I pull back to see her face. “Thank you, Jeanne.” My voice edges back to its normal, and I want to say more but cannot. Jeanne cups my cheek with her hand. Her grin is one I will never forget, her eyes shining in reflection of mine. We head to the lunchroom, a smile in Jeanne’s eyes while we tread there. Her hair is tied in a braid same to mine, and I am grateful to match her. Grateful to wait in line for food. Grateful to be alive. “One step at a time…walk to the window.” The man’s tone is soothing and patient. The week has come to rid of the crutch. It will be a month tomorrow since the bombs first came. The man guides me on how to walk again, something I never thought I’d need to know how to do twice. Moving my feet one after another, I inch toward the window I know, the goal, with slow steps. My feet shuffle in an odd manner, in a way that feels unnatural, but he encourages me on, so I go. The window is a step away. I keep my eyes trained on the floor. “Come on Hadassah,” Jeanne says. Step… step… My gaze glides from my feet to the window. The same desolate land is there, but three familiar faces stand in front of me, and this time they aren’t from my dream. They aren’t from a nightmare or an imagination. They are as real as my wobbly ankle beneath me. Jeanne and the man laugh and cheer behind me. Awe is a word too underwhelming to explain what these people standing in front of me mean. I am running, running on my feet, limping, out the door. It is them.


 1.Christmas gift to a boy and girl Once upon a time there was a boy whose age was 14 years old. His name was Timba and his sister name was Drikshika. She was elder than the boy Timba. It was the time of Christmas Eve. Everyone were enjoying the festive season. All the people of Tale city were celebrating the Christmas Eve silently and lovingly.        So the father and mother of Timba and Drikshika was happy and it came the Santa Claus on the occasion of Christmas Eve. Santa gave many gifts to Timba and Drikshika. The gifts were toffee, cake and a precious fish bowl having a golden fish in it.                So Timba played many hour before golden fish. And he feels bore. And went for sleep at night.              _._

2. An old room of Timba and Drikshika At the night of Christmas Eve. There was an old room situated inside the house of Timba and Drikshika. As no-one was living in an old room. So it was vacant and only one witch living at the room. Then some one came in an old room and she began fighting with witch. She wins the fight between the witch and her. So witch leaved the old room. And she left a lock box of wood. Then witch reached at the secret world of Weet land.                 Then she who fought opens the lock box of wood to find the fairy stick. She found a stick. She took the stick and does the magic but that was vain.    And only the magic can be done by a secret lucky boy who will be lucky? So she did a magic and came in another room and selected the lucky boy Timba. And then she does a magic at his gifted golden fish of fish bowl. And she vanished.           _._ 3.  At morning after Christmas Eve. When Timba woke up by his sister Drikshika. He brushed his teeth and took the bath and he began playing with golden fish. He offers the food to eat for fish. Then Timba was called by his sister to take his meal. But another voice came from there that don't go away without leaving her?   So Timba shocked by the unseen voice of someone who was not present at there.                     So Timba told to voice that who is she? Then again the voice came from the fish bowl that please look at her. As she was talking from a fish bowl and she was a little fish.     Then Timba saw that the golden fish was talking with him by making the bubble.

                   So he ask to golden fish that how she can talk to him? Then fish told that someone came before her at night and she gave her the magical power. The fish told that your are lucky boy and selected by her who gave me the voice? So she left a task for you that please go to an old room where you will find a stick of fairy? The stick will have not the magic. And at the side of the box of wood there is a flying broom of violet color. Just climb at the broom and fly to Weet land. I am sending you to Weet land because only you can solve the problem. As the problem will be dictated by a squirrel of Prince Castle and Princess Capricorn. Actually squirrel is prince army. Then Timba asked to talking fish that who was she who has given you the task?            Then talking fish told No, I will not tell you right now. For only when you will meet with the squirrel who is the prince Castle and Princess Capricorn army. The you will know who was she? Who had gave me talking power?                    Then Timba called his sister and dictated everything which told the talking fish? His sister first of all chided the brother think and thought. But after some time when Drikshika saw the truth. That a fish is talking to her. Then she realises that her brother is right.

    So both came at the old room and opened the box of wood. As the box was opened by someone.         In the box there were old clothes, old mirrors, old cartoon and a stick of fairy. So Timba took the stick of fairy as told by the talking fish. And does the magic but that was fail due to some reason. Then Timba's sister saw a broom of two person height of climbing and they sit at it by climbing and began a new journey to Weet land by air.           _._        4. At Weet land The sky was clear. And only Timba and his sister Drikshika were flying by flying broom in the air. So the broom came down below a forest. And there was a road takes to tree big hole house.      Then the Timba and Drikshika travel the road at squirrel home and reach at his home. The squirrel was upon the another branch of tree. When he saw that someone came at his home.

     Then squirrel came down from the tree and reaches at Timba and Drikshika. Squirrel when saw the stick of fairy in Timba's hand then he understood all the matter. Then he told to Timba that come this side of Wood tree. Here is my home at the big hole of tree. And inside this big hole there is a big room and you both are welcome in the Weet land. You know Weet land is not your real home. But I think you are far from your place. Then Timba dictated all his speech of his golden fish and she told me to ask about your problem. Then squirrel told please give me your fairy stick. Then Timba told no. Actually it does not contain the magic. So squirrel told don't worry? I am a simple squirrel and this is my home at Weet land. Also the prince Castle and princess Capricorn is fade up by the power of witch. There is one old couple who is evil? And she had a wrong power. And she is most powerful. So Drikshika asked to squirrel that what is the story of Weet land? Then squirrel took the fairy stick and tries to do the magic. But it came a voice from his home that you are not a fairy. But I am fairy only I can do the magic. So there was living a small fairy in squirrel home. Who took the fairy stick and told that O, I see! This is not a simple fairy stick. But sensing it I came to know that only this stick works against the power of old witch and unless the story of the both old couple who is living in another side of Weet land? And who is a couple but now she is an evil witch and her husband is imprisoned by her. So after the end of story only a magic will glow at the tip of fairy stick. And that magic in doing it occur that a change will come in evil witch and then she will be converted in to young fairy. And her husband could again love her and he will be a young person after magic of stick.

                       Then Timba became puzzled and told to small fairy and squirrel that who was she? Fairy asked, who? Timba asked the first women who help him to hold this mission? Then squirrel told O, what I want to tell you that at the end of this Weet land there is a paradise? And only. Fairy mother can does this to you. Only she had taken the step of quarrel with witch of your living house. And also the time has come to fight with witches of the Weet land.            Then small fairy sat at a place and began the story of an old couple who is evil witch. And one her husband is in imprisoned by her. All of them began listing:- The story said that love can glow love and then at the end of story the magical stick will glow.

           So it was a story of Valentine day. One teen age boy name Chandra was waiting for a girl of her age to come at hotel place. But not a girl came. Chandra wants to propose the girl. She wants that if he thinks in future then he only marry with a fairy. As Chandra was a handsome boy and he has immense love for fairy. So no one came at the valentine day to meet him.     After one day when Chandra was at his home. It came a gift of box at his door. Chandra opens the door with ringing of door bell. A box was there lying down the door. Who sent the gift no one knows? Then Chandra opened the gift box. It was a color feather inside the box. So unknowingly Chandra rubbed the feather with his hand. And he feels soft. Then he feels that someone appear in his room. She was a fairy. Her name was Rosy fairy. She told that why you called me? Chandra told that only he had rubbed the feather and you came. Fairy satisfied with Chandra. And told that how you got my feather? Then Chandra told that someone put it at his door and he/she was not there. Then fairy does the magic, she saw that small dwarf has taken the feather from fairy on breaking of it. And the dwarf sent it to you. Then fairy told that I came here to give you a boon. Only then I will go to fairy land. Then Chandra told that why don't you marry with him. Then fairy amazed and wonder at him. She told that, it is against the paradise rule. Fairy mother will not believe me. And she might give me a curse. So it is impossible. But Chandra began to insist her.                         Then fairy told ok. My name is Rosy fairy. And from today I am your wife. And it sent a message from Rosy fairy to fairy mother that she had married with a boy name Chandra. And he is human.

                      The fairy mother was a strict fairy. So she called the Chandra and Rosy fairy from his home to paradise. And she gave a curse to Rosy fairy that you will be converted into witch and must live in Weet land of animals. And you will live with the witches of Weet land.                    Then Chandra stood amazed, he began to tell sorry before fairy mother. Fairy mother told that you also live with Rosy fairy. Then fairy mother does a magic of stick. And Rosy converted in to witch. And Chandra became the imprisoned by the Rosy witch at the side of Weet land.                          So this was all the story of couple who is in punishment from decade?                     And then the fairy told to Timba, why don't you do the magic from fairy stick of Rosy? As this stick is made apart from her with the converting of witches. Also the story of couple is over.           Then Timba took his Stick and told a fairy magical word Hocus- Pocus and it glows the light at the tip of fairy stick.

       Then the matter reaches to the ears of Prince Castle and Princess Capricorn.       Prince Castle and princess Capricorn sent his/ her troops to call the new guest of Weet land. So they called the small fairy, squirrel and one brother name Timba and his sister name Drikshika.        The prince Castle took the stick of fairy from Timba. And called his troops to began a fight between prince Castle and witch Rosy.                  So prince Castle fought the war with Rosy witch and did the fairy stick magic and the Rosy witch got converted in to young fairy Rosy.  And when Rosy knows her power that she is not a witch now. She did a magic from her stick and converted her old husband Chandra to young age. And it ends the curse of fairy mother. And both couple began living together.                          And after some days Timba and Drikshika came at his/ her home at Tale city.