I typed. No, I typed on a typewriter. Why? Well, I- I looked up. None of my words were coming on the pages. I checked everything- paper, buttons, maintenance. Nothing wrong. Nothing. Then it came. It came from the willow trees. It came from the light-blue azure sky. It came from the grassy, luscious fields that drew me in. It came.... from me. From me and my words. It stood, waiting for more. None came. It disappeared somewhere, having melted into thin air, slowly sizzling in and out of existence. Where was it? That strange spark I felt? Every time I wrote, I saw it. Every time I stopped, It disappeared. What was this? Curious, but restrained.

"The Lady or the Tiger" is an original short story by Frank R. Stanton that was published in 1882. I find his writing amazing, and I have written an alternate ending to Frank's work.

Although this is inspired by Frank's story, the alternate ending below is my own original writing.

[ I highly encourage you to read Frank's story before reading the ending I wrote for it; out of context my ending doesn't make any sense ]

The man opened the door. Everyone was quiet, the only noise was the creeeeek creeeeeek of the door. He heard a slight Hissssssss, and that was hint enough about who was behind the door. He frantically turned around and ran away, his back pressing hard against the arena wall. The tiger lunged out, and ran in a full sprint towards the man. The man was no match. The tiger stopped him. It was blazing hot outside, and he was already dusty from the arena dirt.

He took a last look at the arena, the stands containing an uncountable amount of people, the frail wire fence that segregates the stands from the arena. Worst of all, the royal stands. He bawled tears inside, but he had to soak up every last moment, every last feeling. The sun beating down on him. The stinky stench of the arena. The exhaustion and despising feelings from this decision. Every single feeling before he departed from this world. In a moment's courage, sadness, and fearfulness he went. He moved.

Yes, he ran. Ran from the tiger, straight to the doors. The tiger? Mocking him. Slowly stalking his prey in a game. Swish. Swoosh. He opened the opposing door to the lady. The lady looked, confused at the tiger, a few steps behind him, settled down, peering at them. The tiger seemingly went to sleep, and suddenly lunged. The man grabbed the lady's arm and pushed her into the tiger's sharp, gritty jaws.

The lady's screams cut off way after a gust of wind came, which was so string and loud, no noise could be heard other then the wind.When the wind settled down, he heard the people in the stand's screams. Their screams echoed across the arena, while the tiger finished tearing the lady into shreds. Her eyes and mouth dropped open, speaking silent words. Her chest, ripped in half, was blood ridden. Both the lady and tiger were in puddles of b and her eyes, bawling tears. The one innocent lady, who didn't do anything to deserve this, was sacrificed. By him. Sacrificed by him. It was his fault. All his fault.

He looked over at the tiger, who threw her into the air playfully. The King seemed sad, but there was something awful about his expression, almost as if he was faking it. He kept on hearing the screams, on repeat, over and over, and over again. The wreaked voices of the elderly. The cries of the young. The teens, the adults, everyone. He even saw some people leave. He truly was a monster. A criminal. One to not be trusted.

People had experienced something they'd never forget in their life. No matter what would happen. within a few seconds, the arena was seemingly empty. The only ones left was the king and the princess. The king was surprised, outraged and confused all in one emotion. The tiger abruptly stopped, as the man climbed to the top of the door, the door that used to contain the lady. The tiger growled, and only looked at him. He put his hand out. The tiger stared, and didn't do anything. Not because the tiger wasn't hungry, but for a different reason. The tiger was no longer the 'beast of blood and death', but he wasn't a 'pet or friend for mankind', he... he was him. This 'ordinary' man had unlocked the key to the tiger's lock. The tiger was now free.

He looked up to the king. He understood. He understood that the arena should not be for death and bloodshed, or rings of marriage, but for hope. For the audacity of hope. Hope, that one could change. The princess was open-mouthed, her eyes wide. She went down the stairs, past the feeble wire fence that used to segregate the arena and the people. She came. She came... and hugged him. Not because he didn't die, or didn't choose marriage... but because he influenced change. To let him know that he changed something...big... today.

Even though nothing could've changed in the future, and that was a possibility, he still made an impact, a ripple through the people, and that was all that mattered. He opened a closed door, both figuratively and literally. He changed the King's perspective. It was such a simple action. Yet, such a meaningful message. Now tell me, how can you do that? How can you get such a deep message across, and still use such simplicity? How?

Uncontrolled, taking me by the reigns

My mind fading away,

a hot fire burning louder and louder

Heartbeats, as it intercepts and rebounds

everything and everyone that would

ever dare to oppose me

Blinded by the flames

with an intent never withering away

there is no hope to prevent

the journey being over,

With smoke as my only best friend

But only after,

only after,

I timetravel through the depths

of my dreams

The water that puts fire out

is unattainable until I

burn myself out

no other water

no other solution

from the old weird young normal

girl who once loved to preserve and grow.

It was a crisp afternoon during fall, the best season of all. The leaves showcasing extravagant colors, the willow trees leaning, swooping branches from side to side, and the beautiful rays of sunshine piercing through the sky. Each gust of wind brushes past your hair, and the light sound of music just adds more magic to the scenery. Amber loved the brisk fall season, everything about it. To make it better, fragrances of apple pie and hot cocoa were all scented near.

I loved to walk through Wilson Park, a friendly neighborhood that was welcoming to everyone. One. two. Three. Four. Light beat. Drums. Bass. And the most light, floaty vocals I'd ever heard. One foot after another, in a dance-like stance, traversing through the soft grasses, the sticks and branches, through it all. I was able to be truly myself, in such a cozy place, which made it seem like an unreal scene. Am I in a dream? I feel so warm to my core, like I'm sitting by the fireplace, airy and smooth tones playing in the background like it is right now. But how, when I'm outside? Or maybe.... that's not right? But then, is this real or imaginary?

Is it all just a figment of near-sighted imagination? A desire only to be seen by people in a small bubble entangled with me, making a small world feel smaller with each step. Only seeing those that are close, never daring to leap away from the circle of safety. Never blinking an eye to those people, far away, calling my name. Waving frantically as they disappear into the fog, shouts yearning for my presence, as unrecognized forces keep my back turned to them...

Consumed, in a whirlwind of darkness and unknowing thoughts rummaging through my mind, leaving no room for positivity. I'm asleep but awake at the same time, as I feel a piercing pain of happiness. But other people say that happy doesn't pierce, it's like floating on a cloud, unrestricted and free; it gives energy and doesn't take it away. If that's true, what is this?

All of a sudden I peer down, and the ground crumbles into pieces, escaping my feet like quicksand. Falling, looking up towards the sky, not wanting to see my demise. It feels so realistic. Arms flailing, the tips of my fingers numb from the crisp gushes of air cutting my skin. Thunderclaps, the sweet sensation of rain being poured onto my skin before I feel the crackling pain. The fire spreading through to each limb, catching and ripping each from the inside. The sparks shooting out from my mouth, the thunderclaps muffling my yells.

And finally, I wake up. What kind of dream was that? Huh, that was really intense and honestly, it shook me. I slowly reach for my coat and jacket. I'm uncontrollably shaking as my shoes slip on. The wooden door makes a soft click behind me. I'm scared and I desperately need to get outside to my safe place.

The fall leaves surround and float around me as I stutter through the path, whilst weaving trees and bird chirps fill the air. I lose balance as I almost faceplant into a weathered, rusty sign. The sign reads "W i  l  s n   P a k" but some letters have faded away. Must be a pretty old park. I continue my adventure, not noticing the dimmed sunset and the cloak of darkness slowly closing in on me. Jazz music plays, taunting me to dance and groove. One. Two. Three. Four. Light beat. Drums. Bass. And the most light, floaty vocals I'd ever heard. One foot after another, in a dance-like stance, traversing through the soft grasses, the sticks and branches, through it all. A snap, and a cascade of branches starts falling from each tree in the distance as if someone cut them off within seconds. Slowly, it makes its way to my direction, inching closer and closer. I try to turn around and run back to where I came, but I feel as if my own limbs can't be controlled anymore.

My vision slowly seems to cloud, my head spinning. I can't think straight. I can't move. I can't do a thing. A pack of leafs brush my cheek as it falls onto the forest floor. My face starts to burn. All the trees are bare, poles stiking up into the sky. The floor covered in branches and leaves, I'm unable to see my ankles. My cheek starts aching, my face kept burning despite the leafs barely skimming my face. I look around in horror. Will I ever get out of this mess?