The pessimist is adamant that his glass of pink lemonade is half empty. The optimist counters that the glass is clearly half full. I’m a pacifist who doesn’t want another atomic war in the nuclear family, so I pour the liquid into an empty glass that’s half as small. “There, now the glass is full so there’s no room for argument.”

Geez, can’t we just once have a summer barbecue without all the drama?

The day I found an apology message in my unanswered chats because somehow. I felt my heart burst.

Finally…. someone had acknowledged their wrongs, for once, I wasn’t the only one shouldering the guilt. As I read, a strange emptiness settled in.

More guilt. I have been busy clinging to their mistake that I no longer knew how to see a deliberate hurt or not.

Frozen

An icy touch of death

a moment of indecision

paralyzed in every way

anxiety creeping up inside of me

am I going to be ok?

Frozen,

its just another night.

Frozen,

Can I see the light?

I sit at my bed

inside of my head

fear

betrayal

help,

I said.

But that was long ago.

I have come far along this road.

The one that leads to hours of sleep

Desperate staring, silence glaring.

Can't get up

Can't take a bath.

My mind tells my arm to move

but I can't do that.

I'm frozen

in inescapable fear

my body and mind seize

my heart upon a brease

clouds cross the sky

time is ticking by

but I cannot move a mussel

in my mind I struggle

tick tock goes the clock

creeping toward the end

1 hour

2 hours

3 hours

4

here I am, staring at the floor.

No one else is around

I should feel safe

but endless insecurities are grinding at my gates

A new day rises

I haven't slept a wink

Didn't move a mussel

but never did I sleep.

I take my meds at seven am.

for five minutes, I sleep

Night time meds

Seven am was when I finally went to bed

Frozen

out of control

I sit at the mirror and watch my tragedy unfold

meaningless words are written on a page

PTSD, psychology, no one can help

no one can help me

four years I've tried and tried again

four hours I spent, staring at my bed

willing myself to move

the tragedy ensues

Coffee, medicine, skipping days of school

anxiety, therapy and still I stare at you.

I stare at night, sitting in my bed

I cannot get your image out of my head

I can't forget your touch:

wrinkled, worn and cold

A tragedy that happened years ago continues to unfold

I'm told

I'm told

it continues to unfold

can't wait

can't wait

yet you froze me here in place

four days

four years

four times I wished you'd never been here

yet here you are

knocking at my door

go away

I can't handle you anymore.

Not anymore

Not anymore

I can't handle you anymore

Circles

Circles

run my brain

slowly decay

slowly decay

frozen in place

I stare at your face

Robert returning to bed after a mid sleep bathroom break heard a knock at his door. He paused for a moment and looked at the clock on the night stand. “it is very much 3am the man thought, I am not answering that. It is probably the wind anyway.” Robert ignored the knocking and went back under his covers to return to the dream he was having about his job burning down and getting tomorrow off. But there was another knock, he continued to ignore. And then more knocking, getting louder and louder until finally he thrusted the covers off his body and ran downstairs to see who the hell bother’s someone at 3am. As he reached the door, some sense finally came to him, it’s 3am and someone is banging on my door. He paused for a second and went to grab his gun from the top of his coat closet. Maybe someone’s in trouble or maybe it’s someone looking to cause trouble. Robert hid the gun on his side and opened the door. But darkness was all he was greeted with. He peeked his head out the door and looked both ways and nothing. No one, no wind, no animal, just darkness. He closed the door and went to put his gun back, then he heard a knock, this time it sounds like it is coming from the kitchen window. Now he begins to get nervous, before he was bolden by his sleepless state, but now he’s aware of what’s going on. All the lights are off in the house and he slowly creeps to the kitchen, to the window where the knocking is happening. He opens the window and yell, “Who the hell is it”, but no answer, just a branch blowing in the wind. He closed the window back and stopped to take a breather, his heart is racing now. The fear is starting to set In so he goes to the fridge to grab some water to calm himself, as he goes to take a sip. Another knock, this time from the back door, the man runs to the back door and quickly throws the door open, causing it to hit his back light and breaking it. But still only darkness is there to greet him. He quickly closes the door and goes to sit in the living room.

Fear is starting to get a hold of him and his hands are shaking. He lives on the outskirts of town, nothing but nature around him. The knocking could be anything wind, animals, he starts to think this and calms down. So he heads back upstairs to go back to sleep, anxiety just happened to get the best of him this time. As he goes to lay down, a shiver goes down his spine, knocking, knocking, sounding as if it’s coming from everywhere. It’s getting louder and louder, he falls to his knees putting his hands over his hears. But still it won’t drown the knocking out, he goes to scream and suddenly. Nothing, silence, no knocking, no wind, no anything. Only the sound of the doorbell. The doorbell is a welcoming sound, it must be someone from town. His doorbell is ringing at this time at night, HIS DOORBELL IS RINGING AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT. Who would be ringing the doorbellat this time, is it the same person who was knocking on the door. He doesn’t want to answer, but it rings and rings and rings again. “FUCK”, he yells as he grabs his gun. I’m coming, I’m coming just wait a moment. He gets to the door and takes a second to take a deep breath and gather himself. Then the ringing stops and instead another knock at the door. Once again the door flies open and what standing there is darkness and nothing more. He grabs his head, “what the hell did I miss”, because all he sees as he looks out is darkness that’s it. “Fuck this someone is playing tricks, so closes his door and walks out into darkness abyss.

He begins walking down a dark path and there’s a misty rain outside, as he crept down the path. He jumps out of his skin as he sees a silhouette. He stares at it, but can’t make out what it is. Slowly one foot in front of the other he creeps up. He cocks his gun and begin’s asking questions. Hello, was it you that knocked on my door. I didn’t answer because it’s late and I was trying to fucking sleep. Then you pressed my doorbell and kept knocking, but when I opened the door no one was there. Why are you playing games so late at night. As he got closer and closer he clenched the gun tighter. He pushed some branches out the way and pointed his gun, but there was nothing there. But there’s a light in the distance, another house with it’s porch light on. The man didn’t remember another house being there. He swears he was the only house in this part of the town. Could it have been them that was toying with me. Even if it wasn’t maybe they saw someone out here. Enough thinking he goes to the house and begins to knock. The man knocked twice and waited a moment, the light is off now, but it was definitely on as I walked up. They must still be up. No way they fell asleep that quickly. He knocked once more, still no answer. They must be up, so the man makes his way to the side and then knocks on the window. He waits a moment, still no movement. The rain is starting to make him feel cold and he looks and sees a back door. He quickly rushes to the door and knocks twice more, louder than usual. They surely heard that, even if they were sleep they have to be awake now. But still no one, so he makes his way back to the front. Why won’t they answer whoever my neighbor is, must be bastard. Anger got the best of him, but he took and breath and calmed down. The events of the night just has him on edge. As he walks bout to the front, he sees a door bell. How lucky he thinks, how did I miss it the first time. He rings the doorbell a couple times and no one answers. And then knocks once more. Still ignored. Well whoever lives here I must have missed them and he turns back to walk into darkness abyss.

Terrence and Holly a couple just getting back from a game night with friends are heading off to bed. As they begin to slip off their clothes to get ready for bed, there’s a knock at the door. Holly did you hear knock, Terrence asked. Holly still a little buzzed says she didn’t hear anything and may Terrence is drunk. Terrence doesn’t think much of it, it’s late and maybe the wind’s just blowing. Then another knock and another, each one louder than the next. Now Holly notices and is a bit worried, Terrence thinks maybe, they forgot something at their friend’s house and hey brought it. He goes down and opens the door, but no one is there. Maybe I really am drunk he thinks. Then makes his way back up the stairs to bed, but then there’s a knock at the window. Now he’s getting creeped out, Terrence slowly creeps towards the window and flashes his phone’s flash light, but no one is there. Now a knock from the back door, Terrence, annoyed dashes to the back door and once he gets there. Once again no one’s there just darkness to greet. Ding dong, he hears the ring of the door bell. Terrence doesn’t know what to think, he grabs his bat in the hallway closet and slowly approaches the door. He swings it open with a shout, but still there’s no one. Holly now comes down stairs asking what’s wrong, she heard the doors opening and closing. Terrence explains someone is playing pranks and he’s going outside to see what’s going on. Terrence rushes outside, bat in hand and begins to walk down the path.

Soon Terrence realized his mistake of walking into the darkness with just a basebal bat and nothing else. He lives out in the woods and there’s no lights just pitch black. He could start wildly swing his bat, but all he will hit is a tree and not much else. Still he continued walking down the path and he sees a silhoutee in the distance. He slow approaches and yells. Terrence Raises his bat and Robert raises his gun, Terrence drops his bat and now just his hands are raised. “please don’t shoot”, terrence pleads, then Robert lowers his gun. Was it you who was at my home knocking on the door, the window, ringing my door bell. Terrence tells him it wasn’t him, but someone just did the same at his house. Robert explains that it was him, that did it at his house. He didn’t know someone else lived out in the woods and wanted to ask if they saw anyone. Terrence as well thought no one else lived in these woods and that he had never known another house until now. But there’s another problem.

Robert told Terrence he should have made it back home by now, he’s been walking the path for 10 minutes yet has not gotten any closer to his house. Terrence, suspicious asked Robert what way did he walk. Robert explained that he only walked straight the entire time and yet he cannot get back. Terrence said he will bring him back to his house, but he has to give him the gun. Robert untrusting as well. Simple takes out the mag and tosses it Terrence and empties the bullet in the chamber as well. Reassured Terrence starts to lead the way back to his house. They walk for what seems like 30 minutes, but never make it back to Terrence’s house. It’s weird Terrence only ran a short distance, he should have at least seen the porch light by now. But nothing, just darkness no matter how much they walk forward. They both begin to worry and Terrence takes his phone to call Holly. There’s no signal, the call won’t go through. They both begin to worry, but suddenly they see a light and a house in the distance.

Robert and Terrence creep up to the house, the light is on and you can see through windows. There’s no one there it’s a empty house. Robert explains he already been through this twice and tells Terrence that they should look around first. They go to the side of the house and look through the window and see a kitchen. Robert looks confused. Terrence asks what’s wrong, Robert explains that this kitchen looks exactly like his. Having similar things isn’t that uncommon I guess he thinks and ignores it. But still they see no one in the house. Then they walk towards the back of the house. To which terrence sees, a kayak and a couple bikes in the back. Terrence explains the bikes and kayak looks the same as the ones he has at home. There is only one outdoors shop in the town, if he bought them through the same shop then it makes sense. Still they see no evidence that someone maybe home and why would they leave the lights on. Are they scared of the dark then why live in such a dark forest. Even if they are afraid the waste of energy is ridiculous. The two make their way back to the front door and Terrence goes to knock. Robert Grabs his hand and waves his finger. Told you I’ve been through this a couple times. Robert looks and sees a doorbell. He presses the button and hears a loud ding. But it sounds as if the ringing is coming from outside the house as well as inside. They wait a moment and hear someone walking towards the door. Then the door slowly creeps open.

In the exclusive gated community of Barksdale Heights, where the lawns were always green (despite the ongoing drought) and the fire hydrants were made of solid gold, lived two of the most peculiar residents: Maximilian von Woofenstein and Sir Barksalot the Third. These weren't your average canines – no, they were German Shepherds of truly gargantuan proportions. Each stood at an impressive fifteen feet tall at the shoulder, their heads easily peeking over the rooftops of their neighbors' McMansions.

Maximilian, or Max for short, was known for his impeccable fashion sense. He never left the house without his monocle and top hat, which were custom-made by a haberdasher who specialized in outfitting elephants. Sir Barksalot, or Barky to his friends, preferred a more casual look, sporting a backwards baseball cap and a gold chain that read "Big Woof" in diamond-encrusted letters.

Despite their size and status in Barksdale Heights, Max and Barky held down part-time jobs as security guards at Pets-R-Pals, a local pet store the size of a small mall. The store was so vast it had its own internal transit system, replete with a monorail shaped like a snake that wound its way through departments like "Deluxe Hamster Habitats" and "Designer Doggy Nail Polish."

On this particular Tuesday (which happened to be the day that felt most like a Friday in Barksdale Heights), Max and Barky were patrolling the "Exotic Pets" section of Pets-R-Pals. Max was sniffing suspiciously at a display of rainbow-colored chameleons that changed flavors instead of colors, while Barky was engaged in a staring contest with a psychic goldfish that communicated through interpretive bubble-blowing.

"I say, Barky old chap," Max drawled in his affected British accent (he'd spent a semester abroad at Oxbone University), "doesn't something feel a bit... off today?"

Barky, momentarily distracted from his bubble-reading, cocked his massive head. "Now that you mention it, bro, there is a weird vibe. It's like, the air smells... sparkly?"

No sooner had the words left Barky's drool-flecked jowls than a high-pitched giggle echoed through the aisle. The two enormous dogs whirled around (nearly knocking over a display of self-walking leashes) to find themselves face-to-face with... nothing.

"Down here, you overgrown fuzzballs!"

Max and Barky lowered their gazes to the floor, where a tiny figure stood waving enthusiastically. It was a pixie, no taller than a candy bar, with gossamer wings that shimmered like soap bubbles in sunlight. She wore a dress that seemed to be made entirely of spun sugar and carried a wand that looked suspiciously like a candy cane.

"Greetings, giant canines!" the pixie chirped. "I'm Sweetie Twinklesprinkles, wish-granting pixie extraordinaire! I'm here to... oh, sweet mother of cavity, you two are enormous!"

Max adjusted his monocle, peering down at the minuscule magical being. "I beg your pardon, madam, but did you say 'wish-granting'?"

Barky's tail began to wag, creating a breeze strong enough to ruffle the feathers of the nearby display of break-dancing parakeets. "Whoa, like a fairy godmother? Can you turn me into a real boy?"

Sweetie rolled her eyes so hard they did a complete 360 in her tiny skull. "First of all, I'm a pixie, not a fairy. Totally different union. Secondly, you're already real, you gigantic goofball. And thirdly, I don't grant just any wishes. I grant wishes... in candy form!"

Max and Barky exchanged puzzled looks. "Candy... wishes?" they said in unison.

Sweetie nodded enthusiastically, her antennae bobbing. "Yep! You make a wish, and it comes true – but always with a sweet twist! For example..." She waved her candy cane wand, and suddenly Max's top hat transformed into an oversized chocolate derby.

"I say!" Max exclaimed as melted chocolate began to drip down his furry forehead. "That's rather... unconventional."

Barky, however, was ecstatic. "Dude! You got chocolate brain freeze! My turn, my turn!" He thought for a moment, his massive brow furrowing. "I wish for... a new chew toy!"

Sweetie grinned mischievously and waved her wand. With a *poof* of pixie dust that smelled oddly like cotton candy, a gigantic bone appeared before Barky. It was made entirely of hardened caramel and was roughly the size of a compact car.

"Aw, yeah!" Barky howled, snatching up the caramel bone and immediately beginning to gnaw on it. The sound of his teeth against the hardened sugar echoed through the pet store like a jackhammer.

"Now hold on just a moment," Max interjected, trying (and failing) to maintain his dignity with chocolate dripping down his face. "Where did you come from, Ms. Twinklesprinkles? And why are you here in Pets-R-Pals?"

Sweetie's smile faltered for a moment. "Well, you see, big guys, I'm actually... a runaway. I escaped from the Cavity King's Sweet Shoppe of Sorcery. He was using my powers to create addictive, magic-infused candy to take over the world! I've been on the run, looking for a safe place to hide."

Max and Barky's expressions softened (well, as much as fifteen-foot-tall dog faces can soften). "Gee, that's rough, little dudette," Barky said around a mouthful of caramel.

"Indeed," Max agreed, absentmindedly licking some chocolate off his nose. "It simply won't do to have you out on the streets. Barky, old boy, I believe we should offer Ms. Twinklesprinkles our protection."

Barky nodded enthusiastically, sending globs of caramel flying. "Totally! We can adopt her! I've always wanted a little sister!"

And so, in a turn of events that would have made Salvador Dali scratch his head in confusion, two gargantuan German Shepherds became the adoptive brothers of a tiny, wish-granting pixie.

Life in Barksdale Heights would never be the same.

---

The next few weeks in Barksdale Heights were a whirlwind of candy-coated chaos. Sweetie, now officially adopted and given the full name "Sweetie Twinklesprinkles von Woofenstein-Barksalot," moved into Max and Barky's mansion. She took up residence in a dollhouse that was quickly retrofitted with pixie-sized amenities, including a bath filled with liquid marshmallow and a bed made of peppermint bark.

Max and Barky did their best to keep Sweetie's presence a secret from their nosy neighbors, but it proved challenging. Especially when Mrs. Pomeranianpuff next door woke up one morning to find her prized topiary garden had been transformed into life-sized gummy bears.

"Sweetie," Max sighed, adjusting his monocle as he surveyed the sticky green bears dripping in the morning sun, "we really must discuss the parameters of your wish-granting."

Sweetie, perched on Barky's nose like a sugar-coated Jiminy Cricket, just giggled. "But Max, you wished for something to liven up the neighborhood! Besides, Mrs. Pomeranianpuff's yappy little dog seems to be enjoying it." Indeed, the tiny Pomeranian was currently attempting to scale one of the gummy bears, its high-pitched yips muffled as it sank teeth-first into the gelatin ear.

Barky, ever the optimist, saw the bright side. "Look at it this way, bro – at least the bears match the lawn!"

Their attempts at secrecy were further complicated by their jobs at Pets-R-Pals. Sweetie insisted on coming to work with them, hiding in Max's top hat or Barky's baseball cap. This led to some... interesting incidents.

There was the time a customer wished for a fish that would never die, and ended up with an aquarium full of Swedish Fish that multiplied every time you looked at them. Or the day the store's entire stock of cat toys turned into animated, catnip-infused licorice mice that led the felines on a sugar-fueled chase through all sixteen floors of the pet store.

But perhaps the most memorable incident occurred in the "Reptile Roundup" section. A young boy, fascinated by the snakes, wished he could speak to them. Sweetie, ever literal in her wish-granting, turned the boy's tongue into a wriggling gummy worm. The boy was delighted, but his mother was less than thrilled to find her son hissing in Parseltongue and inadvertently starting a snake rebellion in aisle seven.

Through it all, Max and Barky did their best to maintain order, using their enormous size to quite literally smooth over the sticky situations Sweetie's magic created. They became experts at explaining away the inexplicable, chalking up the magical occurrences to "new, experimental pet products" or "the side effects of the store's all-natural, organic pet food."

But as the weeks went by, a new problem arose. Sweetie's magic was beginning to attract attention – and not the good kind.

It started with mysterious figures lurking around Barksdale Heights, shadows that smelled faintly of butterscotch and moved with a sinister, sugar-coated purpose. Then came the strange messages, spelled out in alphabet cereal on Max and Barky's front lawn: "WE KNOW YOU HAVE THE PIXIE."

"I fear, my dear compatriots," Max announced one evening as they huddled in their living room (Sweetie perched atop a mountain of dog biscuits), "that the Cavity King has discovered Ms. Twinklesprinkles' whereabouts."

Barky, in a rare moment of seriousness, nodded gravely. "What do we do, bro? We can't let that sugar-coated sicko get his hands on our little sis!"

Sweetie's wings drooped, shedding sparkles that smelled like fruit loops. "Oh, this is all my fault! I should never have come here. I've put you both in danger!"

Max and Barky exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them. Then, moving in perfect sync (which was quite a feat given their size), they each extended a paw towards Sweetie.

"Now see here," Max said, his voice gentle but firm, "you are family now, Ms. Twinklesprinkles. And family protects its own."

"Yeah!" Barky chimed in, his tail wagging with determination. "We're not gonna let some candy-coated creep take you away. You're stuck with us, little dudette!"

Sweetie looked from one massive, furry face to the other, her tiny eyes welling up with tears that sparkled like disco ball reflections. "You guys..." she sniffled, then squared her tiny shoulders. "Alright then! If it's a fight the Cavity King wants, it's a fight he'll get! But we're gonna need a plan..."

And so, Operation Sweettooth Takedown was born.

The next day, Max and Barky called in sick to Pets-R-Pals (citing a bad case of "chocolate bloat" – a common ailment among magical candy-eating dogs). They spent the morning fortifying their mansion, with Sweetie using her magic to create defenses that were both whimsical and terrifying.

The picket fence was replaced with towering candy canes, sharp enough to skewer any would-be intruders. The lawn sprinklers were rigged to spray liquid hot fudge instead of water. And an army of gingerbread men, each armed with tiny candy machetes, stood at attention along the perimeter.

As night fell, the air grew thick with the scent of burnt sugar and anticipation. Max paced the living room, his nails clicking against the hardwood floors loud enough to be mistaken for a tap-dancing elephant. Barky sat by the window, his nose pressed against the glass, leaving snout-shaped fog marks as he kept watch.

Sweetie flitted nervously between them, her wand at the ready. "Remember," she whispered, "the Cavity King's weakness is... oh no."

"What? What is it?" Max and Barky yelped in unison.

But before Sweetie could answer, the ground began to rumble. Outside, the streetlights flickered and went out, plunging Barksdale Heights into darkness. Then, rising from the shadows like a dentist's worst nightmare, came the Cavity King.

He was a monstrous figure, his body a twisted amalgamation of various candies. Gummy worms writhed where his hair should be, his eyes were swirling lollipops, and his teeth were an assortment of sharpened candy corn. In one hand he held a staff topped with a glowing jawbreaker, and the other hand... well, it was just a giant swirled lollipop.

"Surrender the pixie!" the Cavity King's voice boomed, sending shockwaves of sugar through the air. "Her power belongs to me!"

Max and Barky exchanged a look, then stepped out onto their front porch. Even at their impressive height, they had to look up to meet the Cavity King's swirling lollipop gaze.

"I say," Max began, adjusting his monocle, "I'm afraid we must respectfully decline your request, good sir. Ms. Twinklesprinkles is under our protection."

"Yeah, dude," Barky added, crossing his arms. "Find your own magic pixie!"

The Cavity King's face contorted in rage, causing his gummy worm hair to writhe more violently. "You dare defy me? I am the Cavity King! I will rot your teeth and dissolve your souls in a sea of high fructose corn syrup!"

He raised his staff, preparing to unleash a torrent of magical mayhem. But at that moment, a tiny voice rang out.

"Hey, sugar face! Remember me?"

Sweetie zipped out from behind Max's ear, her tiny face set in a determined grimace. She raised her candy cane wand, which now seemed to pulse with an inner light.

"You forgot the most important rule of magical candy, you overgrown sweet tooth," Sweetie declared. "The power isn't in the sugar – it's in the joy it brings!"

With that, she waved her wand in a complex pattern. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly at first but with gathering speed, the Cavity King began to change.

His candied body began to soften and melt, colors swirling together like a kaleidoscope of confectionery. The malevolent gleam in his lollipop eyes faded, replaced by a look of confusion, then wonder.

When the transformation was complete, where the fearsome Cavity King had stood was now a regular-sized man in a simple white baker's uniform. He blinked, looking around in bewilderment.

"I... what happened? Where am I?" he asked, his voice now soft and slightly dazed.

Sweetie flew up to him, hovering at eye level. "You let the power of magical candy corrupt you," she explained gently. "You forgot that sweets are meant to bring happiness, not be used as a weapon. But it's okay now – you're free."

The man – formerly the Cavity King – nodded slowly. "I... I remember now. I just wanted to make people happy with my candy. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that."

Max and Barky, who had been watching this exchange with jaws hanging open (creating small puddles of drool on the porch), finally found their voices.

"Well then," Max said, straightening his top hat, "I believe this calls for a celebration. Perhaps some tea and biscuits?"

"Dude," Barky interjected, "we just defeated an evil candy monarch. This calls for something way more epic than tea

In the quaint, overlooked city of Peculiaria, nestled somewhere between Normalville and Bizarreburg, lived two skate punks whose lives were about to take a turn for the absurd. Meet Kick McTrick and Flip VanGrind, best friends since their first wipeout at the tender age of seven.

Kick, with her purple mohawk and ever-present lollipop, was sponsored by SugarShred Boards, a company that specialized in skateboards made from compressed candy. Flip, sporting a green liberty spike and a permanent Pixie Stick mustache, had recently landed a deal with Literate Laces, a shoelace company targeting the niche market of well-read rebels.

On this particular day, Kick and Flip were attempting to perfect their latest trick: the "Metaphysical Melancholy Melon." It involved performing a melon grab while reciting lines from Albert Camus' "The Myth of Sisyphus." So far, they'd only succeeded in confusing onlookers and giving themselves existential vertigo.

"One must imagine Sisyphus happy!" Kick shouted as she launched off the half-pipe, her SugarShred board leaving a trail of cotton candy in its wake.

"The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart!" Flip responded, attempting to catch a handful of the airborne cotton candy with his tongue while executing a perfect fakie.

As they collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the ramp, surrounded by a small crowd of bewildered spectators, Kick turned to Flip with a candy-coated grin. "Dude, we're totally gonna nail this for the next Literate Laces commercial."

Flip nodded, fishing a squashed Snickers bar from his pocket. "Totally. Nothing sells shoelaces like the absurdity of human existence, bro."

As they sat there, munching on their respective sweets and contemplating the meaninglessness of it all (or at least, the meaninglessness of their latest wipeout), a strange sound caught their attention. It was a sort of melodic gurgle, like a songbird gargling mouthwash.

"You hear that?" Kick asked, her lollipop nearly falling from her mouth.

Flip nodded, his eyes wide. "Yeah, it's like... beautiful and gross at the same time."

Intrigued, they followed the sound, their skateboards tucked under their arms. It led them down a series of increasingly narrow and whimsical alleyways, past buildings that seemed to defy the laws of physics and common sense alike.

Finally, they emerged into a tiny courtyard, hidden away from the rest of Peculiaria. In the center stood a fountain, but instead of water, it spouted a rainbow of liquefied candy. And there, paddling happily in the sugary pool, was the source of the melodic gurgling.

"Woah," Kick and Flip breathed in unison.

The creature looked like what might happen if a platypus, a unicorn, and a disco ball had a baby. Its fur shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, changing hues as it moved. It had a duck-like bill, but instead of being flat, it was shaped like a trumpet. A single, spiral horn protruded from its forehead, glowing softly like a lava lamp.

"What is it?" Flip asked, his voice a mixture of awe and confusion.

Kick shrugged, unwrapping another lollipop. "No idea, but it's rad as hell."

The creature noticed them and let out another melodic gurgle. Then, to their amazement, it spoke. "Greetings, seekers of the absurd and consumers of confections!" its voice sounded like Morgan Freeman gargling honey. "I am a Candycorn, the last of my kind, and guardian of the Sweet Surrealist Treasure of Peculiaria."

Kick and Flip exchanged glances. This was weird, even for them.

"Uh, cool," Flip managed. "I'm Flip, and this is Kick. We were just, you know, skating and quoting Camus."

The Candycorn's eyes lit up (literally, like two disco balls). "Ah, Camus! 'In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.'"

Kick's jaw dropped, her lollipop falling into the candy fountain. "Dude, you know Camus?"

"Of course!" the Candycorn chortled. "I am versed in all manner of absurdist literature. It is the key to unlocking the Sweet Surrealist Treasure, after all."

Kick and Flip looked at each other, twin grins spreading across their faces. This was going to be awesome.

For the next few hours, the unlikely trio engaged in a back-and-forth of absurdist quotes. Kick and Flip, drawing on their extensive practice for their sponsorship deals, held their own against the Candycorn's vast knowledge.

"Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing!" Flip declared, attempting to do a handstand on his board.

"To define is to limit!" Kick countered, spinning her wheels thoughtfully.

The Candycorn, clearly enjoying itself, bounced excitedly in its candy pool. "The absurd is the essential concept and the first truth!"

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in swirls of cotton candy pink and bubblegum blue, the Candycorn let out a satisfied belch that sounded like a jazz trumpet solo.

"Well done, my absurdist acolytes!" it proclaimed. "You have proven yourselves worthy of the Sweet Surrealist Treasure. Behold!"

With a flourish of its glowing horn, the Candycorn caused the fountain to transform. The liquid candy swirled faster and faster, forming a whirlpool of sweetness. From the center rose a massive, glittering object.

It was a skateboard. But not just any skateboard. Its deck was made of solid gold, encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. The wheels were pure platinum, spinning soundlessly. And etched into the bottom of the deck, in flowing script, were quotes from various absurdist authors.

Kick and Flip stared, slack-jawed.

"This," the Candycorn announced proudly, "is the Board of Absurdity. It is said that those who ride it will achieve perfect harmony between the physical world and the realm of abstract thought. Also, it's worth like, a bazillion dollars."

Kick turned to Flip, her eyes sparkling brighter than the bejeweled board. "Dude. We're rich."

Flip nodded slowly, still in shock. "Yeah, but... what do we do with it? I mean, we can't exactly shred on a solid gold board, can we?"

The Candycorn chuckled. "Ah, but that's the beauty of absurdism, my young friends. Why does it have to be one or the other? Why not both? Why not neither? Why not something entirely different that we haven't even conceived of yet?"

Kick and Flip looked at each other, then back at the Candycorn. Slowly, matching grins spread across their faces.

"Dude," Kick said, "I think we just found our new best friend."

And so began the strangest chapter yet in the lives of Kick McTrick and Flip VanGrind. They didn't sell the Board of Absurdity, but they didn't skate on it either. Instead, they took turns wearing it as a hat while reciting Kafka.

The Candycorn, whom they nicknamed Gurgle, became their constant companion and unofficial manager. It negotiated new sponsorship deals for them with companies that didn't exist and organized skate competitions where the winners were determined by how illogically they could argue that they'd lost.

SugarShred Boards and Literate Laces saw their sales skyrocket as Kick and Flip's fame grew. Soon, skate punks all over the world were attempting tricks like the "Existential Ollie" and the "Nihilist Nollie," all while quoting Sartre and snacking on gummy worms.

Peculiaria, once a forgotten speck on the map, became a mecca for philosophical skaters and confused tourists alike. The mayor, recognizing a good thing when she saw it, officially changed the town motto to "Skate, Therefore You Aren't."

As for Kick and Flip, they continued to chase the perfect trick and the perfectly absurd quote. They may not have found conventional riches, but they'd discovered something far more valuable: a life that embraced the absurd, celebrated the strange, and always, always had room for one more piece of candy.

And on quiet nights, when the skate park was empty and the moon hung low like a cosmic lollipop, you might just hear the melodic gurgling of a Candycorn, singing a sweet serenade to the absurd beauty of existence.

In the end, as Camus might say, one must imagine Kick and Flip happy. And in Peculiaria, that wasn't very hard to do at all.

Let me be,

a whisper…

The rush of shade,

surging your tenebrous veins...

An eidolon innuendo.

Let me be,

a madstone…

The mist of haze,

infusing your philosophical sage...

A charming fetish.

Let me be,

A labyrinthine…

The tangle to your muse,

immuring sagacious and primeval wood…

I am your,

Pandora.

~A.B.K. ©2017