Those short moments

with cherry treats,

with music beats,

with sweet comments.

Those pretty times

when freedom rule,

when nothing's cruel,

when a bell chimes.

Those quiet parts

is the winner,

is the inner,

is sweet heart tarts.

Those angry yells

like a shadow,

like poison flow,

like dark, black wells.

February,

a color bold,

a grand love sold,

a bit more weary.

For as long as Julie can remember, she has had the ability to understand people, but this is the first person that she cannot understand. This man is just too difficult to understand! What if she is losing her special ability?

Paul snaps his fingers right in front of Julie's face. His green eyes are filled with confusion because of this girl. It is like this woman wants to find a way into his head so that she can predict his thoughts, actions and words. Never in his whole life has he met a person who tried to do this. For him, people are not always predictable. So, why is this girl so set on predicting everyone?

"Please do not snap your fingers in my face." The black-haired girl frowns.

"You seemed to be busy drifting away from the present. Should I have left you to disappear into the dark depths of your mind?"

"Dark depths? I do not have 'dark depths' in my mind." Her voice is filled with irritation.

"Everyone has them. You might not deem them dark, or perhaps you have not discovered them yet."

Julie stares at him for a while before turning away and marching over to the snack table that is at the other side of the room.

Once there, she searches for a treat to help her calm down.

"You irritating, different man!" She whispers while grabbing a chocolate cupcake from a plate.

"Who?"

Julie swings around and stares at the handsome man in front of her.

"I... Oh, I was just... No one." She replies.

"Well, if he is no one, then he should not fill your thoughts." The man smiles.

Taking a bite of the cupcake, Julie thinks for a while before nodding in agreement.

"I am Ron." The man introduces himself and holds out his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Ron. I am Julie."

The first hour of the morning comes and passes, but none of the twenty-year-olds have decided to go to bed.

In a corner, Paul watches everything closely. Two men have slipped out for the third time since midnight to go and smoke; the group of young women are still giggling and whispering at the snack table; the band is playing yet another 80's song; and the girl from earlier, Julie, is still dancing with the same guy, Ron.

Looking away from the two who are dancing, he watches the lonely woman that gave him so much information of quite a couple of people that are present here at the party. Since she gave him information about an hour ago, the woman has been sitting next to the stage and listening to the band.

An idea enters Paul's mind, and he starts walking over to the woman. Though she is not very attractive, she could help him eavesdrop on Julie and Ron.

Having reached the woman, Paul holds out his hand as an invitation to dance.

The woman smiles gratefully and puts her hand in his.

Paul leads her as close as possible to Julie and Ron before turning to her. While dancing, Paul tries to hear what the couple next to them are saying.

"...I like that too." Julie smiles. "In addition to that, I really enjoy watching cooking shows."

Paul shifts the woman in his arms and takes out a small book as unnoticeably as possible.

"What are you doing?" His dance partner asks in a whisper.

"I am trying to create a profile for each of these two people." Paul gestures with his pencil to the couple.

"Why?"

"It is what I do."

The abandoned, red truck that appeared during the night is still standing at the side of the road when the police car arrives. The two men get out of the car and inspect the truck from afar. On the side of the truck, the word ‘FATE’ is written, but the paint is smeared as if the truck was driven through water while the paint was still wet.

The two officers walk closer to inspect the cab of the truck. The wind is howling around the sides of the vehicle and a soft creaking is produced.

One of the officers opens the driver’s door and glances inside. As should be expected, the inside of the truck looks rather normal. Then, the officer notices something strange. Is that an asthma inhaler? He reaches out and grabs the object from where it was lying on the passenger seat. The officer closes the door again and strolls over to the front of the vehicle to inspect the licence plate.

“Where do you think it comes from?” He asks while straightening up from the plate.

“I don’t know, but I have a strange feeling about it.” The other one answers.

“It comes from outer space!” A villager yells from behind the do-not-cross line. “It came to kill us all!”

Both police officers turn and frown at the man who succeeded in arousing the whole crowd.

“Calm down, calm down! It is a normal truck that someone drove and left here. Nothing to be worried about.” The man at the licence plate assures them.

The villagers do not heed him and start to yell out strange theories.

“Let's see what is in the back.” One officer suggests.

The other man agrees and they walk to the truck’s rear.

When they reach the large double-door, both officers reach to open it. A sound stops them from opening the door, and they look at each other.

“Something is in here.” The one police man states with wide eyes.

The other officer nods and pulls out his gun. Stepping back, he points his weapon at the door. He then nods at the other officer who grabs the door's handles and opens the door.

The two doors swing open and silence follows as everyone stares into the darkness of the truck's interior. Suddenly, something moves again and the truck creaks as if the thing is very heavy. Not waiting another moment, the man at the door jumps back, takes out his gun and joins the other officer.

The creature inside the truck steps into the light and all of the people outside gasp. It climbs out of the truck and light now confirms to everyone what it is. But can it really be? The creature spreads out its large wings and roars loudly. Instantly, chaos breaks out and the villagers start running in all directions. The two officers run and hide behind the police car.

“Isn’t that a... dragon?” One asks when they reach their desitnation.

“Yes, I think so.”

“8, 9, 10... 18. GOODBYE!”

The man steps back and surveys his work.

“Gorgeous! You are absolutely gorgeous, my darlings!” He exclaims and watches the fish swim in a circle in the new pond. “I love you already!”

A voice reaches his ears and he stiffens.

“TRUST! Where are you?!”

Benjamin Trust turns away from his fish and looks around for the owner of the voice, Jim Klinderton.

“Over here!” He replies and sticks up his hand.

Patiently, he waits for the broad-shouldered man to reach him.

“I told you not to take my stuff without asking me!” Jim rips the glass bowl out of Benjamin’s hands.

“You were in the shower and I decided to quickly borrow it.” Benjamin notices that Jim is without a shirt. “Why are you walking around semi-naked?”

“I am going to wring your neck.” Jim sneers and threateningly lifts up the glass bowl.

Benjamin closes his eyes and waits for the impact, but nothing happens. So, he opens them again. To his embarrassment, Jim has not followed through with his attack and has already begun walking away.

“So, you aren’t going to wring my neck?”

Benjamin hardly utters the question before feeling like drowning himself in the pond behind him. A few meters away, Jim turns on his heels and marches back.

“I will gladly do it.” Jim sneers.

“Why do I do and say such stupid things?” Benjamin softly asks himself. “Now, I am going to be made to regret my actions.”

“My lord, I advise you to take this seriously. A man does not make death threats and not follow through with them. I think...”

“Hush! You are not paid to think, you are paid to keep me company.”

Lord Finnick Vreshtom’s young face is stern as he gazes out the window at the awakening world.

“Sir, I want to speak boldly, if you will allow me.”

“Yes, Marcus?” Finnick turns to the man.

“Sir, I do not want to go on a hunt with you if there is such a great possibility that I may perish. I value my life and I have things that I want to accomplish in my life before I one day...”

“The deer are galloping around in the woods, Marcus. No one may hunt them except those who are given permission. Soon,” Finnick pauses for effect. “Soon, some may die because the weeds and grasses are not abundant enough to feed them all. Just think,” He puts his arm around Marcus’ neck before wiping away a fake tear. “Just think... if some helpless, young deer is left... without his mother and he wanders around in those dark and merciless woods. And then! Then a dog, or worse, a wolf jumps out from the bushes and that poor, helpless, lonely, grieving... uhm... young, and handsome deer is doomed to death. You would not desire such a fate upon any animal. Right, Marcus?”

“So, you want to go and hunt the poor, helpless, lonely, grieving, young, and handsome deer’s mother before she perhaps die of hunger, sir?”

“Yes... precisely.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

The sun rises slowly over the trees, but it is greeted with scoffs from the two bandits lurking in the coverage.

“When will he be here?” The one asks while continuing to sharpen his dagger.

“Our friend said that Sir Finnick is going to come hunting and we should expect him at sunrise.”

“You don’t have to call him’Sir Finnick’.” The bandit answers gruffly. “Also, that other man that hired us is not ‘our’ friend. I only have accomplices, foes, allies, and those who hire me, not friends.”

“Have it your way, but just remember that I do not appreciate it when someone is unfair in dividing the loot.”

“What do you take me for? A vagabond?”

The other bandit opens his mouth to answer, but decides that it is wiser to keep it shut.

“Hurry along, lad! We do not have the whole day to reach our destination.” Finnick laughs as he kicks his horse in its sides and it gallops even further ahead.

“My lord! I beg of you not to leave me here alone!”

Marcus waits for an answer, but a deadly silence has suddenly fell upon the forest.

“My lord, where are you?!”

Jonathan yawns as he turns his red Porche onto the highway. Even after a long day at the office, he has been obligated to go to a party by his friend.

A few minutes later, he stops in front of a stylish building. Loud music can be heard from inside, and a few people are standing outside and carrying on a conversation.

Jonathan grabs his jacket and gets out of his car. After slamming the door shut, he locks the car and starts towards the entrance. He greets a few of the people with a smile and then goes into the building.

Inside, the music is even louder than outside and laughing seems to be coming from all sides.

The man searches for his friend, but cannot find him. Sighing, he begins pushing his way through the crowd and collapses on a booth seat in the back of the room. From this deserted booth, he glances back at the happy crowd.

A waiter comes over and smiles sweetly.

“A drink, sir?”

“No, thank you.” He declines.

The waiter nods her head before disappearing into the crowd again.

Jonathan spots his friend, Felix, coming his way.

“Hey, Jon!” Felix greet him.

“Hey, Felix.”

“Why are you sounding so depressed?”

“I am tired and not in the mood for this.”

“You really need to lighten up. You are always so extroverted.”

"I just told you that I am tired."

"I am disappointed in you, Jon. I thought that you were going to really enjoy this excitement."

The caterer calls out to Felix.

“Sorry, I have to go.”

Felix walks over to the caterer and Jonathan takes his chance. He jumps up and makes his way to the door again, careful to not be spotted by anyone who may know him.

Exiting the noisy building, Jonathan walks over to his car. He opens the door and throws his jacket onto the passenger seat.

A few minutes later, Jonathan parks his car next to the highway road and gets out. His eyes have been falling shut while he was driving, and he realizes the danger that it holds in.

The sound of brakes failing can be heard and Jonathan turns around to see a little, green car coming into view. He jumps out of the way as the little car barely passes him. In slow motion, Jonathan watches as the green car scrapes past his car and slams into the door that he left open. The door of the Porsche flies through the air and lands a few feet away.

Jonathan bites on his lip and stares at the scene. In his mind, he is already trying to figure out what it would cost to fix the car.

“I am so sorry!” A woman’s voice brings him back to the current moment.

A girl of about eighteen gets out of the little, green car. She walks over to the side of the Porche to survey the damage.

“I am so sorry! Can I pay you for this?” She asks.

Jonathan joins her at the side of the car and looks at the car in dismay.

Green marks can be seen in between the red paint and some of the red paint has been totally scraped off.

He glances over to where the door was supposed to be.

Small wires are standing in all directions and the brackets that used to hold the door seems to be ripped off.

Jonathan rubs the back of his neck and sighs.

"Well, this going to cost quite a lot and," He glances over to her car, "By the looks of what tasteless car you drive, I don't think that you can afford it."

"Well...Perhaps I can drive you home and then we can call a tow truck. I will pay for the truck."

Jonathan looks at her.

"Alright."

Hanna is sitting on the floor in her studio apartment. Photo albums are scattered around her and a cup of cold coffee stands forgotten outside the circle of memories. Memories of her brother.

Hanna and her brother were orphans, but a man adopted them only a few months after they lost their parents. The man raised both her and her brother to always be kind and caring towards everyone. They were a happy family, but her brother just disappeared one night when she was about ten and he was sixteen. They searched and searched for him for years, but could not find him. Slowly, life just returned back to normal.

Now, eleven years later, Hanna saw a brother and sister, and thought about how wonderful it would have been to have a brother. Then, she remembered that she had one.

For a few hours, she has searched for a picture of his face, for she cannot even remember it. To her dismay, she only found pictures of him where he is either turned away from the camera or only a piece of his face is visible.

The doorbell's soft twinkle interrupts the silence of the night. Hanna sighs and gets up to go and answer it. She steps over a few albums and walks to the door. Taking a deep breath, she opens it.

"Hello. Can I help you?" She frowns slightly.

The man in front of her is dressed in black clothes and has a hoodie that darkens his face.

"You ordered a pizza, Miss." His voice is nasally.

"No, I didn't. You are at the wrong place."

"This is the adress that I was given."

"No, I did not order a pizza. Maybe it is supposed to go to Wendy. She loves pizzas. Her apartment is two doors on."

"No, this is for you." His voice loses the nasally sound, and is now clear and sneering.

The man pushes Hanna into the apartment before entering behind her. He closes the door softly and locks it. Removing the key from the lock, he slips it into his pocket and throws the pizza box onto the ground.

"I beg your pardon, but what are you doing?" Hanna feels in her backpocket for her phone, but it is not there.

He takes out a gun and points it at her chest.

"If you move from that spot, I will make sure that it is the last thing that you will ever do."

He goes over to her handbag that is standing on the kitchen counter and rummages around in it while still keeping an eye on her.

"What are you looking for?" Hanna asks.

The man ignores her and continues his quest. He turns the bag upside-down and allows the contents to tumble to the floor. Kneeling down, he removes her wallet from the mess. He opens it and throws out its contents on the floor as well.

Hanna watches as coins roll into the most impossible of places: under the sofa, under the kitchen counter, and under the stove.

The man gets up and strodes over to Hanna. He puts the gun to her throat.

"Where is it?" He sneers.

"Where is what?"

"Don't play games with me."

"I really don't know what you are talking about!"

The man remains in the same position for a few seconds before turning his back on her and putting the gun in its holster. He pulls the hoodie off of his head before running his hand through his hair. As if an idea just entered his brain, he walks back to the handbag's contents on the floor and takes the small bottle of hand cream. He enters the kitchen area and pulls open a few drawers until he finds a sharp knife. Satisfied, he places the bottle on the counter and cuts it open.

Hanna watches in amazement as the man removes ten green stones from the white lotion. The man takes out a small bag and throws the stones into it before closing it and putting it into his pocket.

He turns around and Hanna's eyes grows wide as she recognizes the mischievous smile from one of the pictures.

"Whoever you are, woman, you just did us a very big favor."

With this, he goes to the door, unlocks it and exits the room.

"What did they do to you?" The hoarse whisper escapes Hanna's lips.

“I can’t believe that he made this mistake...AGAIN!”

“Shhh, Laura. We are in a cafe.”

“But, I am sick and tired of him doing this, John.” Laura hands the piece of paper to him.

″Running as quickly as a cheetah, Joe won the race while everyone else was still halfway.” John reads the sentence out loud. “Yes, I agree with the boy. The last part of the sentence is an adjective phase.”

“BUT IT ISN’T!” Laura slams her empty cup onto the table and a few people turn in their seats to glare at her. “It is an adverb phrase! “Won” is the verb, and the phrase says when Joe won. Why is it so hard to understand?”

“Laura, I hardly passed English, so it is hard for me to understand.”

“Well, you see, there are a few kinds of phrases...”

“Please don’t teach me about English. I couldn’t wait to get out of school to get away from it.”

“But English is the language that many people communicate with! It is vital to know it.”

“Yes, but normal people do not talk like this: I, that is a subject, saw, that is a verb, a very fast, that is an adjective, bird, that is the object. It is probably going to irritate people and they will be unable to follow what you are saying. So, there is no need to know that, because even writers just need to know how to make great sentences.” John takes a sip from his cup.

“But it is vital! You won’t tell people what phrases, clauses and everything else you use in your sentences, but you can communicate far more effectively with other people when you are able to use all of these things.”

“I love it when you get passionate about a subject.” John says after being silent for a moment.

“John! I am very upset here. That boy is going to fail his English course if it goes on like this!”

“Just try to help the boy. Help, not oppress.”

“Oppress!? I am trying to HELP him pass his course! I am not oppressing him!” Her eyes are spewing fire.

“I did not say you were oppressing him. I just mean that...”

“That I should leave him? That I should just let him fail? Let me just tell you, if he fails, then I will be to blame!”

“You really are so cute when you are mad. You’re blue eyes seem like two big, burning balls of fire. You’re cheeks become as red as...”

“Stop it, John! I am very upset about this and you are trying to change the subject aren’t you?”

John leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath.

“Besides, I actually need to go to the principal to report this, but I just haven’t found the courage to do it. Could you help me?” Laura’s voice is one of exhasperation.

John leans forward.

“Is this beautiful force of nature asking for my help? Well, I would be happy to buy you a big milkshake.”

“I don’t need a milkshake, I need help with the student.”

“Between helping a student in English and a milkshake, I am probably going to succeed more with the latter. I am not Shakespeare.”

“Ah! Speaking about Shakespeare, there is this girl in my class who can write such beautiful pieces that one would think that she was a descendant of him. Don’t you like Shakespeare’s writings?”

“No, I can hardly make out anything that he was trying to say; but if you want me to like them, then I will.”

“Oh, John.”