I slapped the red balloon Nick was holding out of his hands. “What is this?” I asked as the ballon floated to the ceiling.

“A balloon! Don’t you think that today is worth celebrating?”

“Why? What’s so special about today?”

“It’s the twentieth anniversary of Pen to the Paper!” Nick exclaimed, pulling a noise maker from his pocket and blowing it in my face. I pushed the extended half out of my face and stared at him with an unimpressed look.

“Nick, that is not how time works.”

“Then explain to me how we can be on Pen to the Paper 20 and it not be our 20th anniversary.”

“Nick, have you been doing this for 20 years?”

Embarrassed, Nick hid the noise maker behind his back. “It—uh—it was just a prank.”

“Alright, dude. What do we have planned for the show tonight? You said that you had this massive thing planned for tonight’s event. Told me that I don’t have to worry about anything, blah blah blah. What’s the plan?”

Nick stuck his hand behind his head and laughed nervously. “I don’t think that you are going to like it.”

“Humor me.”

*****

It was a calm day. The wind was almost nonexistent, there was not even a little bit of turbulence. I pulled the throttle out the rest of the way and pitched down a little more dramatically. Entering into ground effect, I pulled the nose up and let my plane slowly sink to the ground. I stepped on the brakes and slowly rolled to a stop across the platform in the middle of Pen to the Paper arena.

Coming to a complete stop, I turned everything off and stepped out of the small aircraft. “That was completely illegal and all Nick’s idea,” I said into the microphone. Fireworks went off behind me, displaying across the entire sky “20th ANNIVERSARY!!!”

I looked at the plane behind me. Painted on the side in gold paint was a big 20. “So, Nick thought that today was the twentieth anniversary of Pen to the Paper. Apparently, I am thirty-seven. Do I look thirty-seven? No! Your strapping young host is only eighteen! And he looks twelve! After all that Nick has done, you would think he would learn his lesson and stop insulting me. Maybe I shouldn’t have paid for his dinner last month…

“Anyway, we did not have time to plan a new event. We also spent a ton of money on it that we couldn’t get refunded. So, everyone, tonight, after the announcement, you are all invited to a banquet. What for? Well, to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of Pen to the Paper that is still yet to happen! And, yeah, the cake is a big twenty. Looks delicious.

“Well, you guys know what time it is! Pen to the Paper is back, baby, back, baby, back!”

What I did was neither right

Nor wrong,

What I did was awful,

What I did was majestic.

Some said I was wrong,

Others said I was right,

To get here I fought,

I fought till I could not breathe.

What I did was cruel,

But what I did was necessary,

They didn't knew it then,

But they do now.

I tried to save them,

I tried to bring balance,

To life and to the Universe,

But they resisted me,

They fought me till the end.

Everything should be balanced,

As balanced as it should be,

A tip over either side,

Will bring forth great catastrophe.

Now they say that I was right,

Now they say that I was their savior,

But what difference does that make,

I'm nothing but dust now.

he asked me

what the meaning

of life is

I said

it’s about losing people

he said to me

if I ever lost you

I’d go to the bar

down the street

look for the girl

with the margarita

that he would find me

that it’s not about losing

it‘s about accepting

that we give life

our own meaning

that our destiny

is a self-fulfilling prophecy

I had told the four travelers at the campfire I had little to offer for their hospitality.

“Sure you do,” the oldest man said, pointing at my pack. “You’re practically a walking goods shop!” He eyed the strips of cloth fastening an assortment of bottles and small knick-knacks to my pack.

The weathered woman sitting next to him slapped him on his grizzly arm, earning grins from the young couple seated across from her. “If our guest says they have nothing to offer, then they have nothing to offer.”

I laughed, abashed. “It’s okay, he’s right,” I said.“I mean to give these all away anyway. Did anything catch your eye?”

“No, no,” the woman interjected, snapping her attention toward me with a face like a fox.

“Absolutely not. He’s just a bully. We welcomed you for your company alone.”

The burly man shrugged, spreading his hands helplessly, then signed, she’s right. Please forgive my rudeness. His rough hands flashed through the gestures artlessly.

“So what brings you through the frozen north?” asked the younger of the two men. His bearcat-fur parka was the thickest in the group, yet he kept his arms tucked closes to his body. He sat pressed against a young woman with a scar across her lip.

“Well,” I said. “My studies, I suppose, which may be the only interesting thing about me. And –”

“A scholar!” the scar-lipped woman exclaimed. “Of what?”

“Have you ever heard of a Shaman?”

The older woman with the vulpine face cocked her head. “Some kind of spirit-talker, right?”

“Works with water spirits,” her husband added with a grunt.

“That’s a Mage,” I laughed, “but good guess. Shamans are spirit-talkers, yes, but they don’t work with blue kavi spirits. They work with the grey ones.”

I paused while the older man tried to recall what sort of magic grey kavi could perform. I saw a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the younger couple, so I continued. "Grey kavi are spirits of the soul, and these bottles and things are for when I find such a grey spirit.”

“I remember when I was a child,” the scarred woman said, “I tried over and over to catch some local spirits with anything I could find. Then my older sister came by and got one on her first try. I was furious.”

The younger man laughed, his breath giving the sound a shape in the air as it frosted. “I always thought it was weird that nobody’s been able to figure out a pattern to the things a kavi likes. What offerings do grey spirits take, then? Assuming you’re luckier than my partner, here.”

She smacked him.

“I’m... not certain," I admitted. "They are rare compared to most other spirits. The Plateau is the only cold place on the island, so I haven’t worked with them as much as I’d have liked. Practicing Shamanic magic tends to be that way, but I’m hoping to, well – to get lucky.”

“I guess it’s not as simple as offering them a pretty chunk of ice, eh? You’ll find loads of it soon, if you go much deeper into Ke'pala!” chuckled the stocky husband.

“Ah, the offering has to be a little more unique than that,” I smiled.

“Well,” the older woman said, “I don’t know much about catching spirits, but try this when you find one.” She leaned around the fire and handed me a small, white object pinched between her thumb and forefinger. “It was my mother’s, but it doesn’t sit well in my ear.”

It had a curving shape, inlaid with a few simple runes. Wear from the woman’s pocket had done little to tarnish the accessory, despite its appearance of fragility. I had once worn an earring like it before I had sold it to pay for my studies, but it hadn’t been nearly so exquisite. The one now in my palm was a marvel.

I looked up from the trinket to the gaunt-faced woman. “I can’t— “

“Oh, don’t worry. If it helps you catch one of those spirits, it’ll be worth it. I hear they like things of value anyway. Please, take it.”

“Thank you,” I said, tucking it into my pocket.

“My town employed a Shaman, once,” said the younger man. “The whales were migrating out of season, for some reason, so our hunting party turned to the forests for sustenance. The Shaman pointed out nearby game we never would have found on our own.”

The oldest man grunted. “Ain’t seem right, not giving your quarry a chance to hide.”

“It was that, or go hungry,” the young man said, shooting him a look.

The young woman with the scar added, “If the gods didn’t want us using magic, they wouldn’t let the kavi be tamed. Besides, it’s hardly practical to bring a Shaman on every hunting trip – their services are expensive.”

The debate turned from magic to hunting ethics, so I decided against reminding them that the tiny, grey spirits had another use – one I had devoted myself to mastering since my lover Anri's death.

#

A line of soft grey smoke rose in the distance behind me, the column undisturbed by wind until it had climbed several dozen feet into the chilly northern air. I smiled. It would serve the universe well if I was given an opportunity to repay them for their kindness.

The road ahead would be long and cold, and there was a chance the people from the campfire would be the last I'd see for some time. Grey spirits were most common in the icier regions of the island, though they appeared sometimes in places of death as well. For the unprepared, Ke’pala had plenty of both.

The risk would be worth the reward, though; I came to the frozen north because I had learned of a way to speak with Anri again. One last goodbye — a proper one this time. A chance to ask if he was okay. If he’s happy.

I just needed a grey kavi to do it.

#

I awoke the next morning to Ke’pala’s characteristic chill, stronger than the night before. I grit my teeth as I pulled the top of my exposed head further under the covers. It shouldn't be so cold already. Had a cloud of grey spirits visited my tent, or was I not as prepared for the plateau's weather as I had thought?

I opened my eyes and forced myself to sit up. A gust of frigid air swept into my blankets.

I spat the underworld’s name in a cloud of frost. Something had torn open my tent and pulled out my pack. I crawled forward, numb fingers fumbling with the tent’s fastenings. I poked my head outside, squinting as sharp sunlight fell across my face. My camp was littered with refuse and the tracks of animals.

"Thieving beasts," I groaned, staring at the paw-print of what might have been some kind of bearcat.

I crawled out of my tent on hands and knees, soaking the ends of my sleeves. There wasn’t much left to scavenge. A few scraps of shredded cloth, a couple of glass bottles, and the occasional mat of the scavengers’ fur were all that remained.

Unable to find anything of use, I took down my tent and wrapped the undamaged bottles within its folds. I'd be traveling a lot lighter now, at least; my warmest clothes and blankets had vanished with the backpack, leaving only the items I had worn to sleep.

The loss of so much gear might have been enough to turn me away from venturing further, but the extra equipment had been a precaution, not a necessity. Other than the blankets within my tent, I had a carved talisman on a cord around my neck that provided me with enough warmth to endure most of the chill.

The pebble was smooth, and prominently marked with the rune that designated “heat”. On the back were several more runes — hidden from the more decorative primary rune — that bound a dormant fire spirit to the talisman.

The peddler had been honest when she had told me it was one of the best investments I could make.

#

I walked for hours across the frozen plateau. The trees here were sparse, but the landscape had not yet become a barren tundra. My belly ached for something more substantial than berries and snow. Unfortunately, my map had been dragged away with the rest of my pack, and I had no idea how far I was from the nearest town. I did not see any smoke on the horizon.

I’d lost the tools I’d brought for hunting, and I knew nothing of traps. Oh, Anri, would that I could spare more delays to our reunion to retreat and try again next year. I have spent all my patience on mastering the art of soul magic, and all my worth in preparing for this expedition. If I turned back, I would crumble.

It might have been possible, once upon a time, to use the money to purchase a grey kavi outright, but I could not have relied on my skills then. Nor could hire anyone else to mediate – it would be just me and Anri.

I ran a thumb over the heat-talisman tucked under my shirt. None of my preparation will have mattered if I did not find food soon.

#

The next day, I stumbled upon a grey kavi. It floated beneath a snow-laden fir’s branch like a storm cloud the size of my fist. I approached it as a child approaches a skittish animal, and I wondered if kavi understood trust.

In my hand was the last memento of Anri I allowed myself to keep; a small cabochon of clear resin, a tiny lock of his hair intricately arranged within. When I would grow frustrated with my studies, I would allow my eyes to rest on the fine, light brown hair delicately splayed inside.

I treasured it over anything else I owned. It was an ideal offering, a piece of the dead, frozen in time and worth more than jewels. It was one of the few items I’d kept in my pockets.

The kavi refused the gift and fled, its form evaporating in less than a second.

#

In the next few days I would come across the tracks of another person, only to realize the footprints were mine.

Later, I saw smoke from a campfire. I followed it for what felt like hours, but when I arrived at the source, there was nothing. Instead, I found a single piece of charred wood in a bank of undisturbed snow, as cold as if it had been there for days.

#

I am lost.

#

In my dreams, an avalanche buried me. It made a low, warbling noise, because I’d never heard a real avalanche before. I awoke, smothered and panicking as something pinned my arms and stopped my breath. It was too dark to see, but as I pushed against it I recognized the sturdy cloth of my tent. It had collapsed on me in the night. I didn’t remember pitching it. I must have been too tired to do it properly. Had I patched the hole from the scavengers?

I untangled myself and crawled into the frozen air. It was early morning. Dark. Or was it the dusk of evening twilight? Yes, that was right — the sun had set, and the light was bleeding out of the western sky. It would be getting colder, not warmer. I should go back to sleep.

I struggled to fix my fallen shelter. The warming talisman under my clothes could only do so much; I needed the tent, too. I needed something to keep the wind off. I needed to –

The warbling sound came again. I paused. It reminded me of bleating, of something belonging to an animal. A shiver dripped down my spine, a subconscious association with the nightmare terror I’d just endured. The not-avalanche grunted, and I heard the sound of snow crushed under something heavy.

Whatever it was, it was close.

I peered through the scraggly pines into the shadows. Maybe it’s just a tanta, I thought, shivering. The creatures were huge, but slow and docile enough that the Isvir Tribe used them as pack animals.

A pair of trees shuddered and I flinched. Something scraped against one of the pines, ripping bark and gouging wood, as the animal’s silhouette moved just beyond the shadows. I squinted, trying to discern some pattern to the form. It was large, but I could not determine anything beyond that.

It grunted again, followed by a powerful huff of exhaled air as it shoved past the trees. It moved toward me, and from its shuffling movement I could better guess its nature.

It was some sort of walrus, though half again larger than I thought they could grow. But, it was too far inland, wasn’t it? They were coastline creatures; they lived among the ice floes many miles to the north. How could it have…?

The animal bellowed and charged towards me. Its bloated body rippled toward me with terrifying momentum.

I stumbled backward, tripping over my discarded tent. I could smell it, now. It was rank with musk, urine, and a smell I couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it smelled acrid, poisonous. Its breath was already laborious, the animal exhausted by its bulk but spurred onward by a rage I had not expected.

The walrus’s rabid fury revealed the true nature of what was coming towards me, but I didn’t want to believe it.

Our word for them translates roughly into “monster.” A corrupted beast, twisted by errant supernatural forces into something driven by bloodlust rather than survival. It did not matter that it had once been a regular walrus. It was a kro’daka now, and they were all the same.

The monster was so close I could see in the moonlight its white-clouded eyes, trails of fetid mucus oozing from its orifices. I found my footing and fled, the kro’daka demolishing the tent moments later.

I ran as fast as I could, but my legs were weak from several days of malnourishment. It was like running through a nightmare, my mind unable to influence my body and my feet hindered by the uneven, icy ground. I slowed to what felt like a crawl, aware of nothing but how powerless I was to move faster as the beast closed in behind me like the warbling avalanche.

In the dark, I failed to see the rock jutting from the snow. My foot exploded with pain as I pitched forward. I struggled to my feet, only to collapse to the frozen earth once more as the damaged foot twisted under me.

I heard the kro’daka, wheezing as it closed the distance I had struggled so hard to gain. If I had been stronger, I might have been able to outrun it, letting it exhaust itself under its own weight. No natural animal would give chase so far past its limitations, but this was a monster that did not care for self-preservation.

It drew closer, clawed flippers rending gashes in the snow and earth.

I had no weapons, no strength left. But…

But I did have the heat-talisman, and the fire-spirit within it. I reached under my collar and yanked the small stone from its cord. Cold wracked my body as soon as the stone left my skin.

The kro’daka bellowed again, its lungs choked with phlegm. The sound was only vaguely reminiscent of the animal’s original call. It was pain, anger, and fear, all mixed up with something else. Something alien. It would reach me soon.

But now I had a weapon. The talisman’s enchantment could only keep me warm, but once freed, the spirit inside could summon an inferno. I’d sooner break the enchantment and die of cold than be mauled to death by a demon. I could pretend I was falling asleep. Maybe I would find my beloved Anri, waiting for me on a starless beach.

The kro’daka slammed its massive head into the ground, attempting to drag itself forward faster by sinking its tusks into the frozen earth. It was an unnatural thing to behold, a frenzy of bloodlust, rage, and uncaring self-destruction.

I reached into my pockets, looking for anything I might use to bind the talisman’s spirit to myself once it was released. I needed to offer it something — anything — to convince it to cast one last spell for me before it fled.

The monster drove its tusks into the frozen soil again, and a horrid crack echoed into the trees as one of the beast’s tusks snapped in half. The kro’daka screamed.

My questing fingers brushed up against something rough and I pulled from my pocket the blackened wood from the phantom campfire.

The kro’daka roared and resumed its charge. Blood flew from its brutalized maw each time it jerked its head back. The loss of one tusk did not stop it from using the other to pull itself forward.

I struck at the enchanted stone talisman with the chip of wood in a frantic attempt to scratch off the rune that bound the fire kavi to the talisman.

The ground quaked beneath me. The kro’daka’s rancid odor was overpowering.

I brushed charcoal dust from the stone, inspecting my progress. The soft wood had done nothing to damage the rune. The seal held.

The kro’daka faltered, the second of its tusks snapping under the strain of its savage, lurching rush. I watched the monster drive what remained of its shattered tusks into the frozen ground, head thrashing from side to side, trying to numb the pain with snow.

I cried out in frustration and brought the stone to my mouth, biting into it as hard as I could. I just needed to mar the rune enough for the kavi within to no longer recognize it.

The kro’daka reared its head back and loosed a bloodcurdling scream, the viscera from its ruined tusks thrown into the air in a wide arc. The beast was close enough that a few droplets splattered the snow next to me. A milky, yellow-white ooze mixed with the dark crimson.

I bit down again, envisioning a similar fate for myself as my teeth crunched and grated against the rock talisman. Pain like lightning shot through my skull. I barely recognized the sobbing cries that shivered through panic-stricken breaths as my own.

Nothing. I jammed my thumbnail into the groove of the engraved rune, trying to pry a flake loose.

The monster’s eyes rolled in its head as it struggled toward me.

A choked sob burst from my throat as I brought the stone back up to my mouth. I needed only to chip the tiny carving. Only a chip. Again, the talisman sent a jarring shock of pain through my skull.

Then, a dim light streamed out from the talisman, coalescing into floating drops of liquid red fire. The kavi emerged. At last, the enchantment was ruined.

I tore my eyes from the enraged kro’daka and focused my attention on the fire spirit. I held out my hand, offering the charred wood to the kavi. Please, I begged it, please. Please, please, take it, take it please.

The kavi dove at the fire-blackened wood. Both wood and spirit vanished as the kavi sunk into my palm, and a pleasant warmth blossomed from my hand to the rest of my body, stronger than the talisman had ever been. I gasped as heat surged through my body, not just warmth, but heat. I burned from within.

Blood dripped from the monster’s mouth and splattered on my broken foot. It loomed over me, a conqueror gloating over a pyrrhic victory.

I thrust my palm at the kro’daka as its head reared back, mouth gaping wide to crush me beneath its deformed skull.

The glow of my hand reflected back at me from the kro’daka’s glazed eyes for only an instant before the kavi’s magic filled the monster’s throat with deep-red flame.

My scream mingled with the kro’daka’s own tortured wail.

#

Anri stood before me, smiling beneath his curly locks of soft brown hair. I sat on a carpet before our table, and he stooped to place a plate of something before me. I inhaled deeply, a compliment already forming on my lips, but I faltered. The meat smelled burned. Anri’d never do that, he’d never –

I woke, and again found only misery. Cold stiffened every inch of me, numbing me but for a dull, persistent pain in my legs. The nightmoon hovered low in the sky. Her light was too late to have saved me from the monster, from the rock that had tripped me, but at least I would not die alone. She would watch over me, keep me safe until the great spirit Keth found me. He would take me to Anri.

My heart thumped at the thought of Anri, and my legs throbbed in protest. I propped myself onto my elbows, but I couldn’t pull my legs under me. Angry pain lanced through me when I tried.

My stomach heaved and I turned away. The monster had fallen atop me as it died. My legs were crushed beneath it, and the stink of it was now mixed with that of singed flesh.

When my stomach settled, I tried to pull myself out, but the weight of its skull kept me pinned. I collapsed back into the snow, breathing heavily. My pulse sent waves of pain through my jaw and into the tooth where I had bitten the stone talisman.

Too tired to free myself, too tired even to sit back up, I turned my head to look at the nightmoon. She was so low in the sky. I could not make out the details of her face, and Ke’pala seemed no brighter beneath her gaze. Was I losing my vision?

No. Something was wrong with the moon; she was too blurry, too dull.

The nightmoon moved, then, and I recognized her for what she was. The source of illumination was not a moon at all.

It was another kavi. Grey, like the faceless visage of Keth himself.

I cried out feebly, pain and exhaustion mingling with sudden joy. But I no longer had any of the items I’d brought to offer the spirit. They had been in my pack, and now decorated the lair of some opportunistic scavenger miles away.

No, please wait, I begged as the spirit, this one like a sphere of opaque grey light, began to drift over to the fallen monster. My numbed hands managed to retrieve the item I’d offered to the last grey kavi I had seen so many days (hours? Weeks?) ago – the resin pendant with Anri’s hair. I always kept it close. I always had it ready.

I held the tiny faux-jewel up to the kavi, my arm trembling from the exertion. I would speak with my Anri at last. I would let him know I was coming.

The spirit drifted further, taking no notice of the object.

My arm collapsed, and the pendant thumped into the snow. I could barely feel my body anymore. The warmth of the talisman no longer protected me from the frozen Ke’pala air.

If it helps you catch one of those grey kavi…

Of course. Briefly warm tears stung my cheeks and blurred my vision as I reached into another pocket, digging out the small bone earring the woman from the campfire had given me.

I hear they like things of value.

Too weak to hold my arm up to the spirit, I pushed the earring across the coarse snow as far as I could. Small shards of jagged ice scraped and cut at my arms through my meager clothing. Please, I prayed, It’s all I have left. Please.

The spirit dashed towards the earring, enveloping it within its spherical form and then dissipating into my palm, even as my stiffened fingers curled inward, frozen.

Anri, I thought. Anri, if you can hear me, say something.

I let myself cry as the spirit merged with me, as the fire kavi had done before. This time, I did not feel warmth coursing through my body.

Instead, the kavi’s presence within me seemed to mute the world, numbing me to color and sound if I did not focus on them. I felt my consciousness slip sideways from my body like melting ice on a sheet of warm metal, the kavi weakening the tether that kept my soul connected to my body.

I sensed two owls flying in tandem far overhead, their own souls like a hum drifting through the silence. So close I could soul-jump to them, if I wanted. I could use the spirit’s magic and fling my untethered soul to merge with theirs. I could watch through their eyes as my pinned corpse slowly froze. Would I be forced to live out the rest of the bird's life, or would my soul recognize the death of my body and turn to the afterlife?

I could try it if I wanted to. The birds were so close...

Anri. I did this for Anri.

The kavi was bound to me now. I could use its magic.

I focused on the spell. I needed to find Anri. I love you, Anri. I did it. I’m here now, in the ice. Please tell me you’re okay. I missed you so much. Anri….

The kavi would bring Anri to me. So I could tell Anri... I…

I’m here. I'm here. I love you.

END

Ground shakes. Bombs detonate. Fresh blood spurts squirt on the red earth. Screams rise up from the bowels and die sharp with the click of a trigger. Severed arms and heads lay on the naked ground blanched with a ghastly shade of white. A Russian soldier brushes his face on his sin-imbrued sleeve, and sits on a big basalt boulder. Behind the rock she hides, wrapping her torn maroon sweater around the little boy's shoulders, pressing her hand against his mouth. Her mother had died, her father and sister had disappeared. Hot tears roll down her flushed cheeks as she cowers her body, for what could she do but put her head down and pray for Batman to jump out of her pulp fiction and come save her country. Death is coming, of that she was sure, but that part of her mind still questions, “What have I done my Lord to die?”

This post is unplanned.

I normally plan things. I like order, knowing whats going to happen next. I like having a list and checking everything off with a tidy check mark.

But sometimes the best things happen without a plan.

I, apperently, have a boyfriend.

I say apperently because I didn't expect this.

For some reason I thought that I would never have someone like me. I felt like because I was pretty, I didn't deserve someone who was perfect. I would have to give him up for someone else who needed perfection more than I did. I would have to settle for someone else who couldnt find anyone else. I would spend my whole life making someone else happy at the expense of my happily ever after.

But I didnt.

He isn't perfect, but neither am I.

He isn't a prince, but princes come with a kingdom and problems and assassins.

He isn't who I expected to fall for, but then, I never expected to fall.

He is just what I need.

If you had told me a month ago that I would be dating my coworker, I would have said you were seeing things and he is *just a friend*.

This was unplanned.

But who needs to plan? I love whatever the gecko is happening. Whatever happens, happens.

Life is an adventure, and I am my own main character.

Sally sat on the old fence, swinging her legs. Her big brown eyes stared off across fields of corn. The girl's eyebrows were pulled down in a frown, and her lips pressed together tightly. The Tragedy of the Power which she, Sally Arnolds, had dreaded for so long was soon going to occur. But, perhaps she could still prevent the Tragedy from happening. She would fight the Power with all her might. She certainly wasn't going to watch her well planned life disappear before her very eyes!

"Hmmm. Perhaps I can brew a potion to control the Power..." murmured Sally to herself.

"What was that?" asked a calm, quiet voice behind her.

Sally whirled around to face a tall, dark-haired boy.

"Matt! Don't sneak up me! That's not funny," Sally scolded angrily.

"Aww, Sally, I didn't try to sneak up you. I made a lot of noise, but you didn't hear me, I guess," responded Matt, shuffling his feet, "Anyway, if you don't want someone to overhear your thoughts, don't speak them aloud."

"I will if I want to! It wouldn't matter but for snoops like you!" retorted Sally.

"I didn't try to eavesdrop, and I didn't understand what you said anyway," replied the boy.

"Sure! I don't believe a word you say! You did to hear what I said!" exclaimed Sally pointing an accusing finger.

"I did not!" answered Matt indignantly, "All I heard was something about power and potions, and it didn't make any sense."

"It would if you knew what I was talking about!" declared Sally, with a frown.

"Well, what were you talking about then?" asked Matt, looking straight into Sally's face.

"I don't know that I can trust you," said Sally, looking suspiciously at the boy.

"Sure you can, Sally! Honest, I'll never tell anyone! Please tell me!" pleaded Matt.

"I don't know, Matt, you might tell your dad, since he's the foreman."

"Is it something that Dad ought to know?" inquired Matt, with a worried look.

"Well...no. I mean, it really has nothing to do with him," answered Sally, hesitantly.

"Then I promise not to tell a soul, not even Dad!" exclaimed Matt, "Now what is your secret?"

Sally looked around the barnyard, and then leaned closer to Matt. She whispered softly in his ear for a few moments.

Matt's eyes grew larger and larger as he listened. When Sally finished, he leaned back and looked up at her in astonishment.

"Sally! Are you crazy?!?" he exclaimed in amazement, "It'll never work!"

"Sure it will!" declared Sally, confidently, "It's got to. We must keep the Power from making the Tragedy happen."

"Sally, why do you refer to..IT like that?" asked Matt, with a questioning glance.

"It's code, Matt! No one must now what we are doing," answered Sally, with a dramatic wave of the hand, "Now, Matt, you learned all about chemicals and science kinda stuff last year, didn't you?"

"Yeah..." replied Matt, with a suspicious look at Sally, "What about it?"

"I have a plan," continued Sally, ignoring Matt completely, "And this is how it's going to work..."

* * * *

The pot bubbled and gurgled as Sally stirred it, crouching on the dirt floor of the old woodshed in the back field. Beside her sat Matt, holding a book.

"Now what does it say, Matt?" asked Sally, excitedly, "Read the next part!"

"Well," said Matt, studying the book intently, "It says to put in the old ear of corn, and the vinegar now."

"Okay!" exclaimed Sally, as she dropped in a old, dried ear of corn, "Give me the vinegar, Matt."

Matt picked up a tin cup full of liquid and handed it to Sally, who poured it in to the pot.

"Now what?" she asked eagerly.

"Now we say the magic words."

"What are they, Matt?" inquired Sally, with an excited grin as she stared over Matt's shoulder at the book. She read it quickly, and then said, "Now, let's say it together!" The two chanted in unison, "Oggle, Boggle, Snoggle. Itchy, Snitchy Spit. Tronti, Bonti, Snoti. Worrgle, Yorggle. Ickity Splickity."

They both stared at the pot, but nothing happened.

"Oh, drat," grumped Sally, "It didn't work!"

Matt looked thoughtfully at the fire, and then exclaimed, "I know! We need to make the fire bigger! It's not big enough, Sally!"

"Oooh! I think you're right! Quick add something!" shouted Sally, jumping up.

She grasped a large crate in the corner and began dragging it to the fire. Matt leapt up to help her. Together they got it to the fire and, after moving the pot off, heaved it on top. The flames licked up around the dry, wooden crate.

"There! That's better! Now, let's move the pot back on!" instructed Sally.

"No, I think that we need more wood, first," decided Matt, "Let's go outside and gather some."

"Okay!"

The two kids ran out and began picking up sticks.

"Look, Matt!" shouted Sally, pointing to a fallen tree a short distance away, "Let's get some of that!"

They ran over to it, grabbing branches and snapping them off.

"This should do the trick!" declared Matt, picking up an armload.

He started off to the woodshed. As Sally turned to follow, there was a huge explosion and then everything went black.

* * * *

Sally stirred uncomfortably and opened her eyes. A white curtain blew in the wind from the open window. The smell of fresh bread filled the air, and the sunshine streamed across the quilt draped on Sally's legs. She frowned in confusion, and began to roll over to get up. She stopped with an exclamation as pain stabbed through her side. The door opened, and a lovely, quiet woman stepped in. Seeing Sally was awake, she came over and sat on the side of the bed.

"Mom! Where am I? What happened?" asked Sally, in confusion.

"You're in your room, Sally," answered Sally's mother, Mrs. Arnolds, quietly.

She looked deep into Sally's eyes as she continued, "Sally, would you like to explain what happened? Matt already told his father what you two did. That crate, Sally, was full of dynamite. You two could have been killed. What on earth were you two trying to do?"

Sally dropped her eyes in embarrassment.

"I was..." she stammered, "I was trying to make it so that I would...never grow up. The book I had, gave instructions on how to keep "Eternal Youth". I thought it might work."

"Sally! Why would you not want to grow up?" asked Mrs. Arnold with a frown.

"Because everything changes when you grow up, Mom! I don't want things to change!"

"It is good for things to change, Sally. It is good to grow up," said Mrs. Arnolds slowly, "You should WANT to grow up. Perhaps growing up will cure you of your hairbrained schemes. Now, you should rest."

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Is Matt okay?"

"Yes, he's just fine. You two just have some scrapes and bruises, thank God! It could have been much worse. Now rest, Sally."

"Yes, Mom."

* * * *

Sally and Matt sat on the porch rail, swinging their legs. In their hands they held the remains of Sally's 13th birthday cake.

"So, Sally, do you still want to stay young?" asked Matt, taking a bite.

"Actually, Matt, I've been thinking about that," replied Sally through a mouthful of cake, "I've decided that if we can make a time machine, we can travel back in time so that we never get old!"

Without a word, Matt jumped off the rail and began heading towards the barn.

"Matt! Where are you going?" cried Sally, "I'll need your help!"

Matt didn't even turn his head, but he called loudly, "Sally, you're nuts, and I'm not helping you anymore with your crazy ideas! Why don't you think of something normal, like how to get cookies without your mom catching us!"

And with that, he disappeared into the barn.

Sally sat staring after him, with a hurt look in her eyes. Then, a thoughtful look appeared on her face. She sat for a moment, then jumping down and ran to the barn.

"Hey, Matt!" she called, "I've got an idea about getting those cookies!"

The end

(Hey, writing the first thing that comes to mind is pretty fun!)

It’s raining outside, few birds.

It‘s cold inside, few burrs.

Anyway.

Maybe I will have tacos today.

Maybe I will not, I can’t say.

Descend.

Day by day, I lose each friend.

Day by day, to the end.

I was simply looking for something to occupy my time this morning and found this challenge so thank you. Don’t really have any other plans so this works. I have no clue where a poem come from considering I’ve never really written poetry.

Here’s a glimpse of my morning thoughts.

I need my meds and a dab. Maybe today won’t be that bad. Since I am a bed bound quadriplegic I don’t really have to worry about the weather outside. Just staying alive is a challenge in itself for me but creative writing helps me forget that challenge along with the real world temporarily. And now my thoughts of the human race have surfaced.

The human race is horrible. The main thing I will share is that there are good people in the world but I think the human race in general is garbage. Kind of like having a milkshake that is 10% gourmet chocolate and 90% dog shit. Would you still consider that a chocolate milkshake or would you consider that a dog shit milkshake? There’s too much greed within our species that I really don’t think that we will ever be able to stop. Maybe I will get lucky and see nuclear war in my lifetime but I doubt it.

I’m sorry if you don’t feel that way and I hope something good happens to you today.

Once I thought monsters did lurk under my bed and in my closet,

Once I thought that if I missed behaved it would grab me,

Once I thought that my best friend would be my bestie forever,

Once I thought that pretty dresses and lady bugs were all that hope was,

Once I thought that the world was no bigger than the yard out back,

Once I thought that the world was not cruel,

That it was a safe place,

One with kind people everywhere,

Once I was rude,

Thinking that it wouldn't be hurtful,

Wouldn't destroy us all.

Once I was young,

And,

Once I was no one else.

I have this reoccurring fantasy, you know,

the sort where you step out into the balcony,

or silently glide past your front door,

and into the great, wide, dark unknown.

The air would be fueled with the dampness of rain and adventure.

The ground would feel real and raw against my bare feet that

before then,

only knew what it was like to explore cool,

smooth concrete.

The gravel would make a dent against my soles,

the leaves would rustle above me in celebration

of my independent choice,

and the stars would twinkle in laughter at the idea

that I hoped they'd protect me.

I would not go far, in this fantasy.

I would only explore places where I'd been to while awake.

Simply gliding through the night, visiting my waking memories

as an insomniac ghost.

It all goes back to some years ago, perhaps two, perhaps twelve,

where I left my backpack behind giant plant pots and planned my way

towards the park right across the street.

You see, my family and I used to live right next to the school,

right in front of this park,

and I'd ponder and dream of the day where I could

change my uniform skirt into jeans,

place my backpack behind the scenes,

and run as fast as I could across this street...

so that hidden in this park, somewhere, I could be.

My therapist now says these dreams of running off

are pretty self-reflecting, pretty telling, of a craving I've felt since

one,

maybe two,

maybe twelve or twenty-four

years ago.