Kooky King Kong kapellmeister

just jabbering gibberish (A - K)

Again, another awkward ambitious

arduous attempt at alphabetically

arranging atrociously ambiguously

absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.

Because...? Basically bonafide belching,

bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,

bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting

bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,

boasting bougainvillea background.

Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap

chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,

chafed centenary, codifies communication

cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably

cheerful college coed.

Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,

doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood

descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring

dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,

deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor

Demento double, declaring depraved

daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck

derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.

Eccentric, edified English exile,

effervescent, elementary, echinoderm

eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,

etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional

emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,

eschatologically entranced, elongated

elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,

effectively experiments, emulates epochal

eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,

exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting

emphysema.

Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative

flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,

fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,

felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,

flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,

faceless, feckless, financially forked,

foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled

feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,

fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs

"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating

fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.

Gamesomeness goads gawky, gingerly,

goofily graceful, grandiloquent gent, gallant,

genteel, geico, guppy gecko, gabbling gaffes,

gagging, gamboling, gestating, gesticulating,

garlic, gnashing, gobbling, gyrating,

gruesomely grinning, grappling, gnomadic

giggly, grubby, gastrointestinally grumpy

gewgaw gazing gesticulating guy,

geographically generically germane,

gungho, grave gremlin, grumbling, guiding,

guaranteeing, guerilla gripped gatling guns

ginning gumpshun.

Hello! Herewith halfway harmless hazmat,

haphazard haggard, hectored, hastily,

hurriedly, harriedly hammered, handsomely

hackneyed, heathen, hellbent hillbilly, hirsute,

hidden hippie, huffy humanoid, hexed, heady,

Hellenistic, holistic, hermetic, hedonistic

heterosexual Homo sapiens historical heirloom,

homeless, hopeful, holy, hee haw heretical hobo.

Indefatigable, iconographic, iconic, idealistic,

idyllic, inimitable, idiosyncratic, ineffable,

irreverently issuing idiotic, indifferent, inert,

ineffectual, ingeniously iniquitous, immaterial,

insignificant, indubitable, inexplicable, ignoble

itches, ineffectually illustriously illuminating

immovable infused ichthyosaurus implanted

inside igneous intrusions immensely

imperturbable improbable.

Jovial jabbering jinxed January jokester

just jimmying jabberwocky

justifying jangling jarring juvenile jibberish

jubilantly jousting jittering

jazzy jawbreaking jumble

justifying, jostling, Jesus;

junior jowly janissary joyful Jekyll

joined jumbo Jewess jolly Jane;

jammed jello junket jiggled

jeopardized jingled jugs.

Kooky knucklehead klutz

knowingly kneaded, kicked, killed

knobby kneed kleptomanic.

The sun made crystal shadows on 16th December. Then 6-year-old Kai pulled Natasha out of her house, rubbed his tears on her sweater, and played hopscotch. When the game ended a raven followed them. It was blue, possibly for some kid trying to recolour the sky. That day was, in turn, happy; one that he’ll remember when their friendship was long lost.

The unpainted building on the 4th block of Mistfall stood indifferent. Rather small for a high school but compensated by squeezing each room into a claustrophobic nightmare and making the corridors a one-person way.

Tic… Kai was disturbed when he tried sleeping with his ear on the watch. The clock hands struck 11:59. In other's dance in mayhem, a boy with blue eyes stood two hands distant from him. A painting of a boy he was; talking like in moving pictures with girls who didn’t tie their long hair. He effortlessly took an eye-wander to hit the perfect 20% of it and saw Kai lying at one with the bench and books. A blink synced which got the boy a stutter. He looked away. Still on his desk, Kai burying his head between his arms, unrolled his sleeves after leaving a carefully placed bite mark on the pale skin. His glasses cricked but didn’t break; the lenses were covered in sweat grease.

Kai imagined standing on the 14th floor with two very real strings attached to his chest and back. One went all the way down and the other kept him standing at the edge. It reminded him of a drunk man. Particularly the one he saw two days ago trying to balance himself on an uplifted footpath. Then, his meds drowned the view. Made his eyes less sharp.

Their class was in a corner room where a window showcased the nearby concrete. Blue ravens sat on them. Waited on them. They had been coming for years, but in the last few months, their numbers had multiplied — from two at the orientation of the new batch to twenty-six that day.

The congregation returned with a teacher. Two boys sat with Kai — one with a beard and the other excelling at math.

For the little that it mattered in front of integral formulas and identities, his thoughts jumped old synopses. A date, then a diary entry for a monologue.

“Saturday, 9th April 2022

“It was 10:30, and school ended at noon, 10th standard — the seniors — gathered in the field for house assignments. The house leaders, already selected by the teachers, called us from right to left. I was in the middle right. The leaders discussed them until my turn came and I got skipped. The same happened to a long-haired girl — I admired her – but we stood ten feet apart. By the end, she got to the red house and worked on papers rather than actual sports.

“Same year.

“At my private tuition, a long-haired girl with a radiant smile always greeted me. She was kind, never judging — or so I thought. Two benches sat in front of one another separated by two desks, fixed together with nails. Though I was always slightly late, the teacher was later. She spoke "Kai" with a tone-perfect charm, catching other’s attention. Despite the other empty bench, she put her bag on her lap to make space. I sat there, and she spoke of yesterday. Then the teacher came; he gave us books to copy the notes from. A copy of the book was always less for the over-admission of students so she and I shared one. She complained about my writing being too fast while it was her talking that slowed her down.”

A sound came from the front right. “Fourth bench corner,” the teacher called twice. Kai heard on the second. He stood up and spoke nothing. The teacher trailed off to the education system’s failure to adapt and the government’s lack of job offerings. And became more inclusive of the whole class. Kai remained lost guessing the trajectories of floaters. Others were different. Thoughts destroy the differences between them.

Indifference, a word he first saw in Camus' novel, was his mockingbird's deliberate choice. Gatherings on his mind were held each night. A couple of resolutions were taken for improvement and always ended with an hour of mockery. It was a mass-accepted plan for betterment with just one vote of disagreement. That vote came from a black raven. Kai got no say, which was again agreed upon by the majority.

The good ones and the bad ones both dissolved into the ever-growing shadow. They sank deeper into hmms and hymns. Made fiddles out of them and then got a thousand to form a mess of uncoordinated untrained musicians. They got louder and louder and louder until…

“Am I speaking for nothin’?” The teacher yelled appearing at the bench corner. “N—n—no—no, sir,” Kai replied. Then the teacher spoke on a comedy night. A few short blinks were enough for Kai that day.

On his way home, Kai’s only, and imaginary, friend Anshika was a little upset. She didn’t speak, so he asked her why. He asked her a few times but received no reply. He was lonely when they stopped. Street people disappeared bottom up — half’s heads floating — their blood dripping on the roads — then red turned pink — and the sharp sun vaporized it — spotless enough to question his sanity.

Contrary to what might be expected, a breeze blew. Between blood and sweat a alive, very alive smile was carved on his face by shaky hands. Anshika was speaking again.

Trees swayed away from his house. The inner climate would never be touched or seen from the outside. The house was painted a pure white; not even a single dirt mark could be found. Windows were disguised holes that showed a few selected events—most of them weren’t memories but were fabricated. 

Time shattered in that house. Four-year-old Kai, six-year-old Kai, fifteen-year-old Kai, seventeen-year-old Kai all lived together. Their house poked holes in time — Kai was never seven or eleven. Scenes from The Shining were clear for the four-year-old. The fifteen-year-old was watching it for the first time with the seventeen-year-old. The six-year-old was pulling threads off Natasha’s sweater, maybe then the tears would dry faster.

Who was it? Who was the man behind the shadows? They dissolved long ago in furniture marks. And then there were the nights when it became indistinguishable from ambient dark.

The cracks in the false ceiling allowed little birds to enter at night. They sat where Kai slept. Birds weren’t humans; humans were too innocent to be birds. He needed an exit bag and nitrogen. Kai rolled around in the bed conveniently lying on the ground to save him from falling. In the room where the door couldn’t be locked from the inside.

The Next Day – sweltering sunny weather; occasional shadows over the soil.

Long sleeves were necessary. A bird left a note in Kai’s ears, isn’t the morning cold? Exactly two people – an old man and a middle-aged woman – were on the street. The man – a labourer – wore a vest with old formal trousers, a long white beard, and overgrown eyebrows. The woman – probably an office worker – wore formal. Enough to make her look like a person of authority.

Their light blue eyes were huge – exceptionally huge. One might say inhumane or uncanny. They walked their way but the ways warped to put Kai on them. Sun couldn’t fill all the new space so it made bright and dark patches through which they walked with deformed bodies. Their eyes swelled to explode and splash pus and blood on Kai. He ran. He ran into the concrete maze to make it to the classroom.

The sky was newly embedded in blue feathers. Every damn person stopped to admire the relief from the sun. The birds went through buildings and gathered in the 4th block — around the indifferent building. They sat on the concrete to have a peek inside the classroom.

Kai was nowhere, just the broken world discussions. His bite marks bled, and the blue-eyed boy was absent. They say bluebirds can turn pink but never old ravens. They might say, “Let ’em fly.”

The End

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Links in bio.

I tempered myself, glancing up at Topher, watching him type a few things, let off the screen, then slowly start to furiously type back. “If you have somewhere to go, you can go,” I urged. It wasn’t like I felt particularly interested in being teased right now.

“Nope,” Topher told me confidently.

I hated that. Instead of feeling like I was hanging out with friends, it felt like I was being co-opted by two older brothers who had no intention of letting me run off. “You guys are assholes,” I muttered, glancing at Mik. “Move out of the seat and let me up.”

Mik looked at me. Just… looked at me. That despondent stare with the glazed over look in his eyes said it all.

“Move!” I snapped.

“Make me,” Mik told me as he reached over to the tiny miscellaneous tray to pluck a toothpick from the top of the pile. He put it between his teeth, chewing at it before letting it leave his fingers as he flipped it around between his teeth. “Order something.”

“I’m good,” I growled.

“Order something and quit bitching,” Topher told me in agreement.

“Why do you guys always have to overlay each other?” I snarled. “Doesn’t it get old?”

“No,” Mik retorted cooly. He turned blue-brown eyes on his brother and smiled.

“How much money do you have?” Mik asked Topher casually.

I knew then they were ignoring me, and my frustration started to mount as I reached to grab for Topher’s knife holstered at his hip. He smacked my hand off with ease and I tried to shove him out of the seat. Futile. “Fuck!”

“Relax, J,” Topher relayed calmly. “Get your blood infused whatever, see if you can choke it down and then we can go. You came here… No use in popping up to go bounce somewhere else. Where would you even go in the first place?”

“I’m not going to be taunted and teased!” I told them hotly, accidentally letting slip the very thing I should have kept to myself. Fuck! Fuck… Dammit. Why the hell did I say that?

3…

2…

1.

And that was all it took for me to regret it.

Topher’s eyes snapped sharply from his phone. I could see the interest and curiosity starting to light up those bored eyes as Mik also slowly smiled. No… God, what have I done to myself? The twins looked at each, sharing some wordless agreement before Mik sharply turned to me.

“What do you want, J?”

“Fuck off, Mik,” I snarled, my voice going high. I couldn’t even close down the emotions jumping forth.

“He’s pissed,” Topher commented.

“Very.” Mik agreed.

“DAMMIT!” I grabbed Mik’s shoulder, trying to shove the wolf down, but he pushed me off, laughing before giving my face a light pat as I smacked his hands away. “I’m not a little kid anymore, knock that shit off!”

“Oh, you’re a kid,” Mik told me. “You just don’t want to admit it. You want to be an adult like the humans are, but you and I both know that isn’t true.” I felt him go to pinch at my nose and I socked his hand with my fist instead of trying to bat it away, but that was another useless attempt since I sorely missed the swipe. My eyes glowed bright crimson. I could feel my pupils dilating and the Hunger sort of ebb in as my blood started to heat my face, ears, and parts of my chest and down my neck. “Mik,” I growled in a warning.

“Hit him,” Topher goaded lightly.

“I will,” I ground out.

“I dare you to try,” Mik challenged, his eyes lighting up.

I reared back, ready to do exactly that as the waitress slowly rolled in, and suddenly I was feeling more foolish and foolhardy than confident and assertive. I deflated, slowly sinking back into my seat as she regarded us all with the clear of her throat.

“Are you all ready?”

“Yup,” Topher chirped.

“Completely,” Mik added, turning to look up at her. His eyes brightened a little and he tilted his head to the side, smiling smoothly at the woman.

“No,” I grumbled.

“Why don’t I give you some time to look over the menu and I’ll take their orders first?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes, knowing that she was essentially giving us the short-version of, ‘knock it the fuck off jackasses’ in a nicer way. I kind of accepted it though because it meant the twins were going to lay off me for a second. Breathing out slowly, I felt the tension ease out of me as the twins accounted for whatever ravenous craving piqued their interest. Shortly after, I rattled off something random out of the menu to speed it all along.

When she left finally, I slammed my forehead against the table, wanting to give it a couple more goes, but also not go on for an encore of the twin’s wrath any longer.

“Don’t you both have something better to do?”

“Nope.” Topher told me, leaning forward as he pressed his forearm against the table. He turned eyes down onto me, his voice lowering as he spoke again. “But you could always give a stab at that waitress… You know, for a first bite? She’s pretty young.”

“Stop!” I groaned, turning my head into the table. “God! Just stop!”

“Is this bullying?” Mik asked Topher lightly, a curious note in his voice.

“Does it matter?” Topher answered roughly, his gaze flicking up from me much to my relief.

I could feel their attention shift focus as the two continued on. God, who knew how long they dwindled on, but I tuned them out. I was stuck in this seat, and if I tried to jump over the back of this fucking thing to get away, Mik would be quick to grab my shirt and either tear it from my body or slam me down in the seat, and either was probably preferable to them.

I couldn’t imagine embarrassing myself any further, so I just settled in. My body slumped forward as I damn-near melted into the table, my eyes flicking from the twins to our surroundings before that weird feeling hit me again. Were we being watched? I sat up, my eyes scanning the room slowly before I felt a sharp elbow to my ribs, making me grimace. “Can you kindly fuck- off?” I snapped at Mik.

“Don’t look over there,” he told me quietly.

“Why the fuck not?” I bit out, my voice still loud enough to catch from probably the next seat over.

“Because you’re going to draw her attention, now shut up and relax. Food is coming.”

I turned to look at him, really look, and when our eyes met, I saw the seriousness in them and settled in a little more. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I whispered, trying to act a little less pissed.

“Don’t ask me stupid questions out loud,” Mik answered in almost annoyance. “You want to ask something…” he nodded to my phone.

I almost rolled my eyes. Started to, but blinked away the reaction to quickly lean back against the wall as I started to shuffle my hand into my back pocket and yank my phone free. The moment I engaged my power button to unlock my phone, Topher’s messages hit the top of my screen… Already there.

Not too bright, are you?

I almost was tempted to elicit the sharp dirty look that warranted, but continued on.

You walked here? Or drove, because you brought yourself company and they’ve been staring at you the entire time.

My nerves rattled from the last sentence, and chills rocked me as I let my phone screen dim. My hands came up to the back of my neck and I shakily pressed my palms there and down until I was sliding my hands under the collar of the back of my shirt. Fu—ck.

I didn’t have the balls to send Topher a message, my mind was racing, but all I knew was it probably looked like it was more than obvious that I was freaking out, because— I fucking was. My hands rubbed at the back of my neck roughly until my skin hurt, my shorn nails nearly digging in when they otherwise shouldn’t have been able to.

“Let off the gas,” Topher told me.

“I walked here.”

“And we have an extra helmet,” Topher told me. “Relax.”

“But what if that’s not going to– I mean, I just… Ah, fuck. What did I do to deserve today?”

“If you keep panicking, we can always start talking about the strip club your cousin’s husband has. It’s new.” Mik offered.

“No,” I groaned, pushing my palms into my eyes. “Stop! Stahp!” The word was more drawn out, hardly sounding right, but it expressed my agony well enough. “Fucking stop! Let me think.”

“Been doing that,” Mik rumbled candidly before I took in a tight breath.

“Okay, you guys want to really help me out? Call my uncle- er.. Cousin, your uncle… Whatever. And just get them tossed out or something. Can’t you do that?”

“Is this one of Sin’s joints?” Mik asked Topher, turning to look at him.

“I don’t know, that’s your job to know that stuff. That’s not my thing to keep tabs on that.” Topher answered Mik, shrugging.

“Why do you always make me figure it out?” Mik rasped.

“He’s your uncle. I claim no such allegiance,” Topher told him. “He’s mom and dad’s friend. That’s it.” Topher put his hands up as if staying out of it. “Well– more than that, but still.” Topher cleared his throat as the waitress came back and he leaned forward to pick up the drink from the table, taking a few large swallows before setting the glass back down.

Mik stared at him. “You just don’t want to call anyone.”

“Yeah,” Topher agreed after a moment of silence, nodding. “Yeah. I don’t. I already had to text mom and dad, you can do some dirty work too.”

“Such asinine,” Mik bemoaned. “You were just asking Red for some side work for pocket change last week. Where the hell did that fealty go?”

“Oh, I have it. I respect Red a lot. I’m just not interested in making a phone call in a diner.”

“It’s a restaurant,” Mik argued.

“Cafe,” I gritted out.

“No, pretty sure it’s a restaurant.” Mik argued.

“And you’re stalling,” Topher laughed hoarsely, looking away from the both of us as he crossed his arms.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” the waitress asked.

“Him,” Topher nodded at me. “Yes.”

“Oh, come on,” Mik told him.

“You don’t need anything else,” Topher told Mik, raising a brow at him.

“You don’t get to make that call,” Mik argued back, much to the poor waitress's ears. She was just a victim to the two of them at this point.

“Um, I’m sorry?” she asked, clutching the tray to her chest. “Uh–”

I knew she was trying to be polite, and just shook my head, unable to articulate a quite solid response for what I could imagine was equally, if not more embarrassing to her.

“We’re fine,” I choked out. My gaze slid from her, unable to meet her eyes before she slowly started to leave and I let my legs push against the span between the two booth seats until I was kicking the bottom of the other side of the table arrangement.

Stretching my legs felt good, and while I wasn’t exactly the tallest in the group, I wasn’t short either. I leaned back, trying to wrap my head around this all as Mik dialed up my cousin, and I tentatively listened to him on the line. I could hear the sharp tick of Red’s serious voice bolstering a firm, but pointedly, ‘Where are you?’ followed by a few other questions just grabbing details.

My eyes widened after a moment, blinking as I tried to clarify my gaze on the ceiling before it shifted to the lamp above.

“It’s not ours,” Red’s voice said over the phone, “but we can still be there.”

My heart started to hammer in my chest. There was going to be a confrontation. My cousin was going to come down and start shit with this person. Holy hell… I couldn’t believe my ears. Was it even worth starting? Was this person that much of a nuisance? I wasn’t sure, but I knew Topher and Mik weren’t going to let me turn my head around to rubberneck and find out.

Tatooine, during the original events of Star Wars: A New Hope.

Leto Treval had lived his whole life in the sand-choked town of Anchorhead. His family had been in the scrap trade for generations, fixing up what the Jawas brought in and selling parts to the handful of brave or desperate enough to live out in the desert. It was hard work, but steady—until, of course, the Empire arrived.

Leto’s uncle had been one of the first to see the white-armored soldiers march through the sands, kicking up clouds of dust as they passed by the workshop. Uncle Vran had been grumbling and muttering under his breath ever since. “They’ll make a mess of everything,” he’d say. “Nothing good ever comes with all that shiny armor and blasters.”

But for Leto, the Empire’s presence wasn’t just a disruption; it was terrifying. He was used to dealing with the odd moisture farmer or trader, not soldiers trained to keep entire planets under control. Still, he kept his head down, focused on fixing landspeeders, and hoped that if he stayed out of sight, he’d stay out of trouble.

That changed the day a local boy, Luke, came rushing into the shop with a busted R2 unit.

“I don’t know what happened! One second he was rolling fine, and the next… he’s sparking like crazy,” the young man said, breathless.

Luke had always seemed different from the other locals. His aunt and uncle had raised him well enough, and he was a decent hand with machinery. He’d come by the shop more times than Leto could count, usually with some gadget in pieces that he was desperate to learn how to put back together. Today, though, he was different—urgent, distracted, like he was carrying the weight of something bigger than himself.

Leto took the R2 unit into his work area, inspecting it as he listened to Luke’s story of the droids he’d acquired from the Jawas. “Might need some new wiring,” Leto murmured, prodding the exposed circuits carefully. “And maybe a memory wipe, if you got it from Jawas. Never know what they’ll pick up.”

“No memory wipe,” Luke replied quickly. “This one has information I need.”

Leto raised an eyebrow but shrugged. “If you say so. Let me take a look.”

The R2 unit beeped and whirred under Leto’s hands, the damage appearing worse than he’d initially thought. But Leto had a knack for making things run again, even if they didn’t always look pretty. It took hours of work, and Luke stayed with him the whole time, pacing nervously, casting glances at the sky.

“Expecting trouble?” Leto finally asked.

Luke hesitated. “You could say that. Something… something big is going to happen, I think. Something that could change everything.”

Leto laughed. “Kid, nothing changes out here. It’s Tatooine.”

But even as he said it, something inside him twisted. The rumors had been spreading. Talk of a rebellion, talk of battles in the stars. Leto had always dismissed it as wishful thinking, the kind of stories people told themselves to feel like there was more to life than scorching suns and endless sand. But looking at the grim determination on Luke’s face, Leto wondered if maybe this time it was different.

Finally, the R2 unit beeped in triumph, circuits humming steadily as its systems rebooted. “All set,” Leto said, stepping back and wiping his hands on his worn leather apron.

Luke grinned, a flicker of hope lighting up his face. “Thanks, Leto. You’re the best.”

And then he was off, racing out the door with the R2 unit trailing behind him. Leto watched him go, a strange sense of finality settling over him. He’d seen Luke a hundred times, but something told him this might be the last.

The next day, a rumor swept through the town like wildfire: Stormtroopers were searching for a pair of droids. Leto’s heart skipped a beat as he remembered the urgent look in Luke’s eyes, the way he’d practically flown out of the shop. He tried to keep his head down, to focus on the landspeeder he was working on, but the tension was palpable.

Around midday, a trio of Stormtroopers stomped into the shop, blasters at their sides, white armor gleaming even through the dust. Leto forced himself to keep his hands steady as he wiped down a tool, acting as if their presence was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Looking for droids,” one of them said in that clipped, mechanical voice they all seemed to have. “Specifically, an R2 unit and a protocol droid.”

Leto swallowed, feigning ignorance. “I don’t keep track of droids that come and go. You’d be better off asking the Jawas.”

They looked at him for a moment, their expressionless helmets unreadable. Then, one of them stepped closer, looming over him. “We were told you repaired a droid for a young man named Skywalker.”

He nearly dropped his wrench, but managed to catch himself. “Skywalker, you say? The kid’s always bringing things in here to fix. Could’ve been any droid. I don’t remember.”

There was a tense silence, then the trooper stepped back. “If you see anything, report it to us immediately.” They left, leaving a cloud of dust and a pounding heartbeat in their wake.

For the rest of the day, Leto couldn’t shake the feeling that things were spiraling out of control. Luke had always seemed to dream of adventure, of something more than this dusty little town. And now, it seemed, he’d found it. Or perhaps, it had found him.

That night, Leto sat outside his shop, staring up at the endless expanse of stars. He thought about Luke, and the strange, almost fateful sense of purpose that had clung to him. Leto couldn’t imagine what lay ahead for the boy, but he knew that it was bigger than anything on Tatooine. Whatever destiny awaited him, it wasn’t out here.

Weeks passed, and life went on in Anchorhead. The Empire’s presence grew even more oppressive, patrols more frequent, regulations stricter. But there was also an undercurrent of hope, whispers of battles won, of small victories against impossible odds.

One evening, Leto was shutting down the shop when he noticed a small, ragged figure by the door. He almost dismissed it as a trick of the light, but something made him look closer. It was an old man, his robes tattered, a weary sadness etched into his face.

“Can I help you?” Leto asked cautiously.

The man nodded. “I’m looking for someone… a young man. His name is Luke Skywalker.”

Leto’s heart clenched. The name alone brought a dozen images to mind: Luke’s hopeful smile, the determination in his eyes, the silent knowledge that he was meant for something more.

“He’s not here anymore,” Leto said softly. “Gone off-world, last I heard.”

The man nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. There was a profound sadness in his eyes, mixed with a strange kind of peace. “Thank you.”

And then, as quietly as he’d come, the man was gone.

Leto watched him vanish into the dusk, a figure of loss and purpose merging with the shadows. He didn’t know who the man was, or why he’d been searching for Luke, but something told him it wasn’t the end of the story. Not for Luke, and not for the galaxy.

As he locked up for the night, Leto found himself looking up at the stars again. For the first time, he didn’t just see distant lights or unreachable worlds. He saw a spark of something larger—hope, maybe, or possibility. And though he knew his life would likely stay grounded on Tatooine, he took comfort in the knowledge that somewhere, out there, a boy he’d known was part of something extraordinary.

And in a way, so was he.

P.S. This story may not be about the main heroes, but it’s a reminder that even ordinary lives intersect with greatness in small, quiet ways. And for Leto Treval, that was enough. :-)

Bert, the carpenter, stood with arms crossed, squinting up at the dripping mess of the gingerbread gable above him. The syrupy runoff dripped lazily down into a rainbow puddle at his feet, what was once-pristine candy cobblestones now was nothing more than a sickly, sticky mass of gumdrops and sugarcane.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, pulling out his pencil to make notes on his clipboard. He’d been called to strange jobs before, but this, well this took the cake. Literally.

“What’s ridiculous?” came a voice behind him, smooth and sharp as a shard of peppermint. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Mathilda, the owner of the sweet, chaotic, candied house.

“The gutters are clogged again,” Bert said, tapping the clipboard with his pencil for emphasis. “I told you last year, Miss Mathilda, those licorice ropes can’t handle the seasonal rains. And the sugar lattice just isn’t holding up.”

Mathilda, draped in her layers of dark, velvety robes with a hint of powdered sugar dusting her cuffs, sighed theatrically. “But Bert, you must understand, the aesthetic …”

“The aesthetic!” Bert cut her off, exasperation curling his words. “The beams holding up your entire east wing are made of chocolate. Chocolate! Do you know what happens to chocolate in the summer?”

Mathilda’s eyes narrowed, the green irises glinting like boiled sweets. “Yes, Bert. I am well aware of the properties of chocolate. I work with it quite often.“

“Then why …” Bert continued, waving his pencil as if it were a sword in the war against impractical architecture, “… do you insist on using it as a support structure? You could use oak, or spruce, or pine. You live in a damn haunted forest. There is wood everywhere.”

“Oak and spruce aren’t nearly as enticing,” Mathilda said, her voice dropping to a honeyed whisper.

“Enticing?” Bert’s brow furrowed.

“Enticing to whom? Birds? Bees?” He glanced at a nearby window where a curious sparrow pecked at a sugar-crusted sill.

Mathilda folded her arms, her smile as brittle as the spun sugar that decorated her front porch. Before she could answer, the contractor, a burly man named Hugo who had the unfortunate job of overseeing this confectionery construction, stomped over. He shook his head, bits of frosting flecking his bushy beard.

“The marzipan columns won’t last another storm,” Hugo, Bert’s foreman, said while glancing at Bert with an unspoken shrug that meant, Good luck reasoning with her.

“I told her that,” Bert muttered, scribbling more notes.

“Oh, Hugo,” Mathilda cooed, sidling up to the contractor. “Think of the magic! The charm! What would the forest creatures say if this house were made of something so dull as plain old wood?”

“They’d probably say, ‘Thanks for not snaring us in your caramel,’” Bert grumbled.

Mathilda shot him a look, the glimmer of mischief replaced momentarily by something colder. Bert shivered, the air around him suddenly sweet with tension.

“You just don’t understand,” Mathilda said, her voice tight. “The candy is necessary.”

“Necessary for what?” Hugo asked, his brow lifting. “The local kids don’t come near this place unless they’re dared. And even then,” Bert added, “they leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back out.” He chuckled at his own joke, but Mathilda did not join in.

She exhaled slowly, the frost in her gaze thawing just a little. “It’s … it’s for my customers. They expect a certain… ambiance.”

Bert and Hugo exchanged skeptical looks.

“Customers?” Bert echoed.

“Yes,” Mathilda snapped, then softened her tone with a thin smile. “Travelers, wanderers… people looking for a taste of something different. I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try us,” Hugo said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mathilda hesitated, eyes darting to the candy cane columns, the frosted eaves, the gumdrop-studded shutters. The house stood as a monument of to the whimsical or the mad, depending on who you asked. Finally, she sighed and gestured around her.

“If I build with wood, with stone, it’s just another house,” she said, voice low and almost wistful. “But with candy, it’s a promise. A whisper of enchantment. Something that sparks curiosity.”

Bert’s pencil stilled. For a moment, he almost believed her. Almost. Then he glanced at the sagging chocolate beams and the honeycomb rafters that were teeming with ants.

“Well, Mathilda,” he said, rolling his shoulders, “if we’re going to keep up your… ambiance, you’ll need to reinforce this entire structure. And I mean with something stronger than caramel cement.”

“But Bert,” Mathilda said, leaning in conspiratorially, “where’s the magic in that?”

“Right now,” Hugo said, pointing to the sagging porch, “the only magic happening is this place not collapsing while we’re talking.”

Mathilda pursed her lips, eyes narrowing as she weighed her options. Finally, she relented with a wave of her hand. “Fine. Reinforce the beams. But the chocolate facade stays.”

“And the gutters?” Bert asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Replace them with something sturdier,” Mathilda said. “Maybe—sugar-glazed iron.”

Bert’s sigh was heavy, but he nodded. It was a start. He glanced at Hugo, who simply shrugged for the second time today.

“Welcome to the witch’s house,” Hugo said with a grin. “Where logic comes to die.”

Mathilda smirked, the glint of a secret dancing in her eyes as she turned back to her candy kingdom.

Bert couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how many beams he reinforced, some mysteries were better left unsolved. He finished the rest of his estimate for the bill for repairs and held them out to Mathilda.

She glanced at the cost the at Bert. “You wouldn’t happen to accept peppermints as payment would you?”

He gave her a stern look. “No.”

“How about a considerable donation of children’s cloths?”

“Children’s clothes?!?” Bert stammered. “You know what, whatever. We’ll load them up in the truck, the sooner I’m out of this damned forest the better. We will start the work next week when the materials arrive.”

As Bert pulled away, he glanced at the melting cottage in his rearview mirror. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was that Mathilda did for work and why she happened to have almost a metric ton of kid’s clothing, but work was work and he’d take on any job as long as he could make a small profit.

Mik wasn't exactly as stoic as he came off, but to some unsuspecting stranger, they were as good as dead if they thought they'd pull one over on him. Of course, that wasn't as simple as it sounded. Mik and Topher came from two prominent figures in society, and one of them was as close to the original vampire that started our entire species.

The grant total? Three beings, which gave no fucks about upending your mortal or immortal life, and one who absolutely enjoyed the gore of it. I shivered at the thought of Mik's mom, before making a mental note that I still didn't want to cross paths with their grandmother.

I had never met her, but the idea of woman that stood taller than most basketball players that I'd seen on the TV unnerved me. I had to believe that she was more gangly, thin, and skeletal, but from the photo that Mik and Topher had with her that they'd shown me, she just looked like a giant woman that was likely never human to begin with. Her frame was full, like a regular person, just... larger.

I shuddered to imagine what she looked like when she didn't look eerily human-like. I remembered uttering that out loud and Mik making a face that looked like he'd seen something of a nightmare... I couldn't bring myself to ask him to describe it.

"Did you already order anything?" Topher asked as he slid into the booth across from me.

My gaze snapped to him, seeing the dark, nearly black hair, and off-brown toned skin. I studied him for a moment, trying to make up my mind before finally giving him a flat and resounding "no" to answer to that question.

"Why do you look so beat down then?" Topher asked me as he picked up the menu from the center of the table. He opened it up, giving it a quick once over before seeming to make up his mind as Mik leaned over the back of my booth.

"I think J is either fantasizing over a human he's enamored with, or his parents likely caught him in a lie," Mik joked quietly.

"Fuck off," I snorted at Mik, rolling my eyes at him. "No. I just cut my new teeth today," I rumbled.

"Cut teeth? What, like your baby fangs?" Topher asked, smiling at me.

My eyes dodgedly darted up from the table to glare at him, and his humor didn't die off like I hoped. "No. I- Couldn't drink my coffee. I threw it up." I ran my hands over the back of my neck and down. "Not that it should be a big deal, but I don't think I can get over the sensation of the drink going out my nose when I tried to push it all down. It just happened so quick," I lamented.

"Sounds like you finally bit the dust on your caffeine binge." Topher leaned back in the seat, looking over his shoulder. "Doesn't make it idea to run out of your house dramatically."

"Yeah- well, I'm not a dog okay!" I watched Topher slide me a curious gaze with one eyebrow popping up before I simmered down. "I'm technically old enough to leave the house on my own. I can go out at night. My parents can't stop me."

"I don't think that's what anyone is insinuating, but it sounds like you're on your soap box," Topher shrugged at me, giving me the floor. "Let it out then."

I deflated, feeling the ripple of those words. I knew what Topher was saying. Don't be a bitch about it, but articulate your problem without whining. It was a sort of attitude him and Mik had, and honestly, I was sure it had a lot more to do with their upbringing. I knew my dad let me get away with it to an extent, but he always sort of reeled it back in to get me to think critically, and this had to be one of those points.

My hand flew up, and just as quickly as it caught air, it slapped the table in defeat. "Fuck, I don't know. Maybe I do, but I know that I have this discussion my parents are going to want to have with me about this, and I haven't been out and about enough to go perusing for a host. Humans are-" I cringed, gross. They always seemed kind of flighty, worried about the slightest perceived threat, and in some ways, it got my Hunger ticking, in others, it was revolting.

Mik raise a brow as he looked at Topher. "That's-"

"Don't you dare tell me that a strip club is the alternative." The thought felt slimy, and I shuddered. "I don't know. I haven't really given it much thought to really pour into the idea of a host. I just don't want to go completely psycho on anyone because packets are the only thing I've had."

Topher shrugged. "Red never complains."

"Uncle Red also doesn't have a vampire partner either, so that's kind of an unreal litmus," Mik added.

"Fair point," Topher amended, conceding to that. "Okay, so maybe it's not the most idea or the best discussion to have, but we're not exactly vampires."

"Haven't tasted one either," Mik said calmly.

I winced, then slowly turned my head up at him.

"What? My mom- says... you guys, you know what, I'll shut up."

"Yeah," I breathed. "Thanks for that." I pushed my hand up to my forehead, shoving the short bangs that brushed the top of my forehead back. My fingers dug between the strands, parting my hair as I raked my hand back smoothly. "What am I supposed to look for in a human? Blood type?"

"Question for your parents," Mik shrugged. "Maybe?"

"Obviously," Topher said quietly.

"Yeah, well, I'm welcoming not-parental managed ideas right now. I really don't think I want to go walk home and act like some school-kid going, 'Mom, Dad, how do I fucking eat a person?' Okay?"

"Ouch."

"That's a little harsh," Mik added to Topher's retort, not letting it hang. "I mean, vampires don't stick to one human. That's why I said the club."

"Absolutely fucking not. My first time isn't going to be a club. I know if I fuck that up, I'll never live it down."

"I mean, we could all just swear to secrecy," Mik snorted, laughing a little.

"Not helping," I growled under my breath.

"You elected this committee, not us." Mik shrugged, finally getting off the back of my booth to come swing around and sit down next to me. He shoved me in against the corner of the booth, and I dragged the menu with me.

"Maybe blood-infused food?" I suggested.

"That shit is going to piss your stomach off," Topher told me candidly. "That takes time to work up."

"I'll do whatever I damn-well want, okay?"

"Your funeral," Topher sighed, giving up. He shrugged his shoulders, letting his head fall back against the seat before looking at Mik. "Did you text Dad and ask him if were supposed to meet up tomorrow or if that was postponed for the weekend?"

"Forgot," Mik answered quickly, crossing his arms as he leaned forward over the table.

"Dammit." Topher grabbed his phone from his pocket to unlock the screen and start typing in it.

“I didn’t know someone lived here…My apologies.”

“You're drenched. You should come in and dry yourself and maybe rest a bit.”

“N-No…I'd better excuse myself.”

“You can stay the night. That's why you came here in the first place, didn’t you? I live alone, you see…I can totally use some company.”

Hesitatingly, he stepped in. An ice-cold hand grabbed his hand drenched with rainwater.

“It’s dark, so let me lead the way.”

“Why is it so dark?”

“You see, I'm blind. I don’t need light.”

“Does that mean…there is no light in this house at all?”

“No.”

“That's…scary…Maybe I should just go…”

“Stay the night. I'll keep you company so you won't get scared.”

But you are kinda scary yourself, he swallowed those words, not wanting to offend his host.

“Would you like a change of clothes? I wish I could make you a cup of tea to warm you up, but I am incapable of it.”

“Thanks, but I'll only stay until the rain stops. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Why do you keep insist on leaving? Am I that scary?”

“You might be comfortable living in darkness, but I am not…”

“Are you sure this darkness and my presence is scarier than the world you live in?”

He was stunned.

“H-how do you know?”

“Just a wild guess. Why else would you run to a desolate house in the middle of nowhere in this pouring rain?”

“I-I could've got lost and taken shelter here temporarily! Why are you jumping into conclusion by yourself?”

“Is that the case…My apologies for overthinking, then…”

“But you know what, you're right. Actually…I ran away from home.”

“So I was right.” I actually saw your memories while we were holding hands.

“I have a proposal for you. It’s entirely up to you whether you accept it or not…It's just that I want to help you.”

“What is it?”

“Would you like to stay here with me?”

“W-What?”

“I mean it. Would you like to?”

“We don’t even know each other…”

“Like I told you before…I’d love some company in this darkness. It’s been so many years of being alone, I’ve lost count…”

“Years…?” But why do you sound like someone of my age?

“If you haven’t realized yet…I’m…a…what you call…ghost.”

“EHHHH?!”

He screamed and jumped away from the stranger.

“My apologies if I have startled you.”

“I-I'm leaving…”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I…can’t possibly live in this house with an unknown-years-old ghost in pitch darkness…”

“So…you're going to leave me too,” the stranger mumbled.

“On top of my blindness, I have another condition that doesn’t allow my skin to withstand sunshine.”

“Is that because you're a ghost? Are you…a bloodsucking vampire? Is that why you invited me in, so that you can suck my blood?”

“No,” the stranger chuckled, “I have had that condition since birth. You see, that condition is why I was made to live in this desolate place, away from other humans…”

“That's sad.”

“They called me moonchild because of my condition. They feared me. Like you, many of them thought that I was a vampire. So my family built this house out of nowhere and left me here…”

“Left you?”

“Originally, they took turns staying with me here. That continued until I was eighteen. They were growing tired of it, I guess. So one day they came to this mutual agreement to abandon me.”

“Abandon…?”

“Yes. I couldn’t go outside since I didn’t know the roads and I could've been in an accident…I stayed here and waited…waited…waited…I called but no one answered, I was starving and there was nothing to eat at home…At one point I was desperate enough to attempt to go out but the door was locked from outside…I got so weak that I couldn’t break the door, so I lay there on the floor…in and out of my consciousness…until one day I fell into a long, deep sleep. When I came to, I felt better but my heart wasn’t beating anymore…”

“Stop…I can't listen to it anymore…”

“Sorry. It wasn’t a pleasant story…I knew it but I still rambled on…”

“You…really went through a lot…”

“This is my first time telling this story to anyone. I never had anyone to share this story with….”

“Poor you.”

He had given up on life long ago. The family who adopted him didn’t care enough worry about his disappearance. He had no dream or goal to live for. Being with this unnatural presence in darkness seemed much better to face the shitty world outside. Darkness was scary, but outside world was scarier.

If he could make this stranger happy by keeping him company, why not?

“It'll hurt a bit. I'm really sorry about that,” he felt a cold arm wrapping around his neck in that pitch-black darkness. He closed his eyes and surrendered, but his body wouldn’t. It struggled and fought to keep him alive, to pull him back to the world of living until the very end. Until he became one with the darkness.

“Are you there?”

“I'm here.”

“Welcome to my world. From now on, we'll never be alone, we'll never be in pain. We'll be together, always.”

A wicked cackle wakes me at 2:15 a.m.

From my cot, I see no one in or outside my prison cell. I walk to the bars of my cage and, in the dim light of the corridor, I notice a small, unmarked package on the floor just outside my cell. I reach through the bars, pick it up and peel off the plain brown paper, revealing a small, spiral-bound book. No markings there, either. But when I open it, the first page is full of hand-printing that reads like a journal:

Oct. 30

A wonderful night! Just the right chill, and clouds obscure the moon. Reminds me of the evening long ago when you threw eggs at your neighbor’s new car as he parked. The driver panicked and hit another car. You ran. The eggs come before the chicken. :-)

Oct. 31

Remember when you wore a ghost costume on this night? Who knew that little kid would make a ghost of the driver of that other car. And you thought no one saw you.

Nov. 1

I love courtroom scenes in movies. Real-life, too, especially when you smirked at the judge who sentenced you this afternoon for embezzlement and grand larceny. You also should have blown him a kiss like you wanted to.

Nov. 2

Stop writing! Don’t apologize to your ex-boss. Do you really expect your jailhouse letter will make him say, “Duh, I forgive you for robbing me blind”? Stay strong.

Nov. 3

Don’t be a weakling! You should have pushed that book right back at your visitor. Instead, you accepted it, even after the guard thumbed through it with his grimy hands. Throw that thing away!

Nov. 4

Don’t get soft on me. Don’t XXXXXXX You are the man! You laughed at that weak, crying inmate this afternoon. You make me proud.

Nov. 5

Why the hell did you go back to that inmate and read him some verses out of that book? No need to answer, man; I saw the semblance of shame creeping into your mind. I don’t need to remind you—but I will—that you agreed to eliminate that emotion when you threw in with me.

Nov. 6

Awww, today you cannot find your book.

Nov. 7

Couldn’t find it in the prison library either. Heh-heh.

Twelve Noon, Nov. 8:

It pains me to write this, but it will pain you way more. This morning, I saw you in your cell, on your knees with hands folded. This is a mortal violation of our agreement. Tonight, you will see the penalty. This is the thanks I get for recruiting you?

Synopsis: After cleaning up a river spring, Madga and Ress decide to travel to Wrysal for the Last Harvest of the year celebrations. Madga is nervous, not only because many years ago Wrysal was one of the tribes who blamed Gwae for the death of the sun, but also because Suuroo and Wrysal are now at odds with each other. And the colour of their hair will surely give them away as the enemy.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ────── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

With ease Madga and Ress followed a footpath away from the sanctuary. At times they walked side by side when the path allowed, and when it didn’t one or the other would lead.

Most knew to keep to the paths when stepping away from home; regular travellers had memorized and distinguished which paths they needed to get to their destination; further still were warriors and druids who were as comfortable with the paths and rivers as they were breathing.

Moonlight dappled the undergrowth. Their feet softly padded on the dirt as they walked in silence. Madga glanced over her shoulder, the first in a while. Despite the Suuroo warrior’s words Madga often kept an eye on her, and each time Ress greeted her with a smile or nod. As time went on Madga found herself turning around less and less.

She led for a ways until something on the left caught her eye. Just ahead two trees stood next to the path, the roots of one snaking underneath and threatening to trip travellers. She slowed, placing a hand on its sturdy trunk. Her gaze travelled over the dark foliage, picking out familiar signs of disturbances. Ress paused and Madga only spared her a glance before stepping into the thicker wood.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, Ress followed.

Their steps barely made a sound. Madga took care not to step on small plants, while keeping an eye out for deceptively-solid ground covered in moss. She held the length of her spear against her chest until eventually the quiet sound of trickling water met her ears.

The low laying plants opened and the surrounding trees acted like the roof of a house. Madga felt the security of the space more than she could see it. But she frowned. She carefully toed the ground ahead to find muck and pebbles that gave a little under her prodding. She looked back and forth, noticing as predicted that the plants and trees continued to open bit by bit in one direction. She took another step, her foot sinking a little into the damp ground but thankfully didn’t soak through the leather shoe. She prodded farther into the dark with her next step and was greeted with a small splash of water. The leaves above shifted, and sure enough moonlight glittered across the stream.

Behind her Ress leaned forward, silently watching as she turned upstream and followed it. She in turn followed her.

Bit by bit the stream lessened, though it had already begun to make a new groove down the middle of the former riverbed.

Eventually Madga arrived at its beginnings. There water flowed up from a spring in the ground. She put her spear aside and crouched. The water was biting cold to her fingers as she pulled away a clump of last year’s fallen leaves, old sticks, and some mushrooms that had taken root at the opening. She tossed them into the forest where they fell to the ground with a soft wet splat. She stepped aside, wiping her shaking hands on her pants and admiring the river that once again flowed strong.

She breathed on her fingers to warm them. She jumped when Ress spoke.

“You travel quite a lot, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Madga returned to breathing on her fingers and rubbing them together.

Ress nodded. She adjusted her bag. “You found the animal path and this river fairly quickly. That’s impressive.”

Madga hesitated, unsure what to say. “…thank you.”

Ress smiled reassuringly, then reached around and grabbed her water skin handing from her bag. She crouched and refilled it with the cold water. Madga suddenly remembered her own diminishing supply and rushed to do the same.

Afterwards she twisted, returning her water to its proper place. Then she retrieved her spear from where she had placed it on the ground. She straightened and returned to breathing on her hands.

Ress had stepped back. “With that done, where to next?”

Madga peeked over the tips of her fingers. She squeaked.

Ress’ lips twitched. She gently prodded, “Where were you going before the spirit attacked?”

Madga breathed out and lowered her fingers. “O-oh. I hadn’t decided that.”

Ress placed a hand on her hip. “Well, how do you feel about Wrysal?”

Madga blinked and jerked back in shock. “But- Wrysal doesn’t like Suuroo.”

Ress’ smile turned lopsided, almost shamed. “Oh, I know. Which means, you’ll have to watch out for me sooner than we thought.”

Madga’s eyes widened and she raised her hand. “I can’t! I- Wrysal doesn’t like Gwae either!”

Ress’ brow furrowed but her smiled didn’t fall. She turned and began back along the animal path. “Where did you hear that?”

Madga fidgeted with the spear before quickly following. “It’s been that way for-um, a long time.”

Ress sent a funny look over her shoulder and Madga glanced away. “True, Wrysal and Gwae argue over how well they can fish and the kinds of fish they catch, but it’s nothing we need to worry about. You’ll be fine.”

“Oh….” Madga looked up and licked her lips. “Really?”

Ress hummed pleasantly. “Come on. I’ll lead us there.”

Madga’s steps slowed in thought. Curiosity won out and she jogged to catch up.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ────── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time they reached Wrysal leaves and needles had begun falling. They softly crunched under each step. During the journey Madga hadn’t spoken much, and Ress hadn’t pushed her.

The trees thinned, slowly opening to an expanse of rocks and browning grasses. Gusts of wind blew off the ocean and across the lands the Wrysal called home. Groups of trees stood defiant against the winds, their curved spines arching away from the ocean.

“There!” Ress said. She pointed toward the sea. The moon had set not long ago, leaving only stars to light the way. A dark spot blotted out a collection of them on the horizon and a warm, orange light flickered from within the darkness. “There is Wrysal.”

Another gust rushed toward them, and just as it arrived it spun into a small whirlwind. It tossed their long hair and nearly pulled Madga’s spear from where it was attached to her pack. Ress grabbed hold and adjusted the weapon. Madga thanked her but instead removed it and held on with both hands, just in case. The wind soon calmed.

Ress smiled fondly to herself. “Sometimes I wonder how I could ever forget the strength of the wind.”

She stopped, placing her pack the ground. The content’s softly thunked and clattered. Madga watched as she dug through it for her comb. Then she pulled out her purple ribbon and began the process of braiding, taping, and tying up her hair.

Madga’s followed the swish of the soft purple. It was a colour few could use in their clothes as the plant that made it grew in the plains, the lands of the Suuroo.

“What about the purple ribbon?” she asked.

Ress’ warm brown eyes were focused on nothing, looking toward their feet as she worked. They flashed up and a corner of her mouth twitched. “I think the colour of the ribbon will be the least of their worries if they see my hair.”

Madga winced at her mistake. “Oh, right.”

A thought suddenly came to her and she put her own pack and spear on the ground. The spear rolled over the ground and toward the tribe, but stopped at a small pile of rocks that marked the path. Madga pulled on her pointed wool hat, tucking her wavy black hair inside until it was completely hidden. She reached for her pack and watched as Ress continued braiding and taping her hair into a crown around her head.

Soon enough Ress finished and took out her long fur and wool cloak. She fastened it with a simple bone broach. However, still partially visible on the left side of her neck was the black stain of a spear going through a skull. Madga worried at her lip.

Ress raised a brow, but it quickly fell again. With a reassuring smile she reached into her pack and pulled out a plain woollen scarf. She wrapped around her neck, hiding the stain and aiding to secure her hood in place.

She placed her hands on her hips. “Better?”

Madga nodded, breathing a little easier.

Once Ress threw on her pack they continued. Gusts occasionally blew but nothing so wild as the whirlwind. Still a good distance before the tribe grounds Ress removed her round shield and tucked it under the edge of a boulder. She threw dead grass on top and with that they headed for Wrysal.

Madga’s spear strangely felt warm and right in her hands as they neared. Greeting them were skulls and heads on stakes shoved into the ground and spaced apart. The skulls were clean and draped in aging flowers, braided grasses, and seashells. The heads were farther away, their withering strands of hair fluttering in the wind. As in other tribes, the skulls were likely loved ones, warriors, ancestors and the like to help guard the people, while the rotting heads were enemies caught. They provided a warning to others, and stories to tell for the ones who killed them.

As they walked by Madga hugged the spear to her chest, searching for black hair among the heads. Her feet stuttered when she caught sight of dark hair, but the wind picked it up and nearby torches revealed it to be auburn. She breathed out and her heart relaxed. Then her gaze caught on a flash of pale, dying blond hair the colour of straw. She looked around and realized most of the heads had yellow hair.

Ress didn’t so much as glance as she led the way into Wrysal.

Around them fat roundhouses sat scattered along the cliff, close enough to see the ocean but far enough to avoid falling to the shore below if the edge gave way. Like most roundhouses their thatched rooftops pointed to the sky and, as though heavy, the edges drooped over the houses. The ocean wind easily weaved its way between each one, causing the standing torches to dance and sputter.

People walked between the houses, dressed somewhere between their summer and winter clothes. Linen and wool, leggings, tunics, and thickly layered shirts. Few wore shoes, most instead opting for boots and more wool. A few sheep invaded Madga’s space and she had to wait for them to pass before she could catch up with Ress.

She found her standing next to a house several buildings away from the central fire, hugging a man and smiling at each other like old friends.

Madga slowly joined them. Ress spotted her and introduced her. “Raearrt, this is my friend, Madga.”

Madga inhaled and her eyes flashed to Raearrt, but the man didn’t react to her Gwae name.

Ress continued, “Madga, this is Raearrt. We met when I saved him from drowning in the river-”

“Ah-!!” Raearrt flailed his hands and grasped her shoulder. She chuckled at his antics.

He weakly laughed. In a hushed voice he said, “Ress-ess, yell it why don’t you?”

Madga glanced at Ress. The name Ress-ess sounded more like an Osaeh-oh name than a Suuroo. But only just.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop,” Ress fondly said with humour, gently clapping him on the shoulder. Raearrt’s thin shoulders sagged in relief.

His brown eyes fully came upon Madga. He kept his long auburn hair tied in a bun and wore a green scarf around his neck. He smiled from under a close clipped moustache. “Sooo… how did you two meet?”

Ress gave them a brief version of their first meeting, thankfully leaving out the disagreement with the EreTaam man over Madga’s being Gwae. As Ress spoke Madga glanced at the other man still sitting on the ground next to the house. He was broader in the shoulders but shorter than Raearrt. A wool hood of crisscrossing green and blue colours covered his long hair, and his long moustache drooped down from his lip to brush the small table sitting on the ground. A cushion had been placed on either side to sit on, and on top lay an unfinished game of Chief’s Table. The man stared up at her, hunched over with his elbows on the table.

She quickly looked away.

Ress finished and Raearrt sighed. “Hun, stop staring at the poor girl.”

The man huffed, returning his gaze to the shell and stone pieces. He appeared to be losing.

With a dry smile, Ress said, “Of course it’s lovely to see you too, Argorth.”

He grunted without looking away from the board. His eyes lit up and he quickly moved one of his pieces. Smiling, Raearrt leaned down and nudged one of his own. Argorth’s eyes widened and then collapsed. He leaned back, dragging his hands over his face with a groan.

Madga’s mouth twitched and covered it with her free hand. Raearrt and Ress giggled.

“So what brings you here?” Raearrt straightened in excitement. “Are you here for Last Harvest? Of course you are, you have to be!”

“We are. But I was just thinking, I’d like to have a chat with your husband before we pick our beds.”

Raearrt shook his head and grabbed her hand. “You must stay with us.”

Argorth sat hunched again, with his elbow bent and one hand firmly on his thigh. The other rested across his legs. He nodded in agreement.

Ress looked at Madga. “Are you alright with that, Madga?” Her eyes firmly caught her gaze and refused to let go. She watched her with great concern.

Madga glanced away, nodding. She inhaled with a start when Ress shifted into view to grab her attention again.

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly with meaning.

Madga look up at her in surprise. “Yes.”

Ress seemed to relax as she straightened. “Okay. Then we’ll stay.”

Raearrt glanced at them but didn’t push. “Right, this way then.”

They hadn’t any extra cots and Argorth ran to grab two from neighbours. Raearrt put aside their fishing tools, and then Argorth and Ress set the cots along the stone wall. Madga stepped carefully through the dim lighting until Raearrt nudged the fire back to full life. In the better lighting she looked down and quickly shifted to avoid knocking into a woven basket. The hearth sat in the centre among a circle of stones. The flames threw heat, making shadows dance along the walls and the ribbed, thatch roof above. Smoke streamed through it while keeping the cold in.

Madga walked around the fire to one of the beds and leaned her spear against the wall.

“Beautiful,” said a rough voice, as though the owner had swallowed a burning stick.

Her shoulders tensed and she spun.

Argorth stood next to her. He raised a hand to the spear and looked at her in question. She quickly nodded. He gently ran his fingers over the lightning-like webbing design that hugged the wooden staff. He lowered his hand and hummed in approval.

“He loves weapons,” Raearrt explained, looking at Argorth with fondness as he joined them. “Have you named it?” he asked her.

“No, I haven’t,” she said, then removed her pack to place it next to the cot.

Raearrt opened his mouth but Ress interrupted him. “It’s nameless for now.”

“Oh, I see.”

Madga silently agreed with Ress. She dug around in her bag until she found a much smaller bag. She presented them to the men.

A smile wiped away Raearrt’s confusion. He accepted the bag and opened it as he said, “Oh! You didn’t have toooo-what are these?”

Madga shrunk a little. “Marshberries….”

His face cleared. “Oh, I’ve heard of these!” He showed Argorth them as he asked, “Can we eat them like this?”

“Yes.”

Raearrt popped one of the red, dried berries into his mouth. He immediately grimaced. Argorth’s chest rumbled with silent laughter and Raearrt narrowed his eyes at him.

Raearrt hummed. “I’m not sure it’s for me.”

Argorth plucked one from the bag. He thoughtfully chewed, then grabbed another. Raearrt handed him the entire bag and he walked away with it to sit by the fire.

Ress’ smile widened. “You’re settled, now how about me… do you need help with anything around here?”

Raearrt brought a finger to his lips. “Not as of yet. But I’m sure we’ll think of something. Come, sit. You had questions for us?” He grabbed a pitcher of water and stone cups from a shelf

“For Argorth, more specifically.” Ress left her pack, spear, and boots by her cot to join them at the table by the fire. It was wider than the one outside, allowing for a few others to sit around it.

Madga removed her boots but kept her hat on despite the heat of the room. Ress had also left on her hood and scarf, but rolled up her sleeves. As she spoke Madga joined them at the table, curious about the topic of conversation.

Ress’ smile gave way to a more serious expression. “Have you heard anything about druids lately?”

Argorth’s moustache shifted as he ate. He shook his head.

“What would he have heard?” Raearrt asked with a frown.

Madga sipped at her cup of water, suddenly remembering what Ress had told her.

Ress glanced back at the closed door. “I’m not sure. A while ago I came across three druids.”

Argorth grunted and took a drink of water.

“They were dead.”

He choked on the water and Madga and Raearrt quickly came to his rescue. They thumped on his back as Raearrt said, “Dead?!”

Ress nodded. “It was clear they’d been killed.”

“Who?” Argorth wheezed. Madga shifted back to her seat as he recovered. She exchanged a glance with Ress.

“Who would kill a druid?” Raearrt asked in horror. He remained sitting next to his husband, a hand on his back.

“This is the strange part. It seemed as though they had been trampled to death.”

Raearrt mouthed the last part in shock.

Argorth’s expression turned stormy. “Who.”

Ress shook her head. “Not long later I ran into Madga; she was running from an angered horse spirit.”

Madga tensed. “Ress,” she whispered. Ress glanced at her. She dipped her chin but didn’t speak.

Raearrt sputtered.

“Are-” Argorth coughed. He touched his throat as he cleared it and Madga noticed scaring along the trunk. “Are you suggesting… that a spirit… killed them?” he said, each word a struggle.

“It was angry,” Ress said calmly. “And the size of the hooves matched the damage I had seen. What I’m asking for is, have you heard about anything like this? Or have you heard of any druids gone missing?”

Argorth shook his head. His fingers curled around his cup. “No.” He shook his head vehemently. “In Ruia I… learned a bit of magic. Forced the spirit out… of the fire.” He glared at the tabletop. “I was young. Small. So afraid… of these older…boys.”

“What happened?” Madga asked.

Argorth’s eyes flashed to her and she shrunk in on herself.

Raearrt gently explained, “He was in training to be a druid-peacekeeper. While he was there these boys from rival tribes started fighting.”

Argorth nodded. “I needed help. Like a fool, I forced-” he coughed. “Made the spirit come out.” His gaze became like the surface of a calm, dark pool as he recalled the past. “It was angry. Hurt the boys. Hurt me.” He trailed his fingers along his neck again.

Madga watched in silent awe at his retelling. Her fingers trembled at the memory of Wrysal’s horse god Ricah’s anger, and the memory of other angered spirits she had encountered in the past.

“Was that why you stopped?” she asked. “Did they make you stop being a druid?”

Argorth made a noise, like a dry chuckle. “No. Too much to memorize,” he said, tapping the side of his head through the hood.

Ress laughed. Raearrt weakly giggled.

Ress reached across and placed a hand on Argorth’s. “Thank you for telling us your story.”

Argorth nodded. As she pulled back, he said, “Spirits… are not tools. Nor act without reason. If a spirit… killed them, then it was their own… own fault.” He cleared his throat again.

Ress nodded in understanding. “Which brings up the question: why or how did they make it angry?”

The house turned silent except for the crackling of the fire. No one could offer an answer.

Raearrt sighed. “Right,” he said softly. “Enough of that. We’ve no answers here, and until we do, let’s get something to eat.”

Ress said, “Apologies. Let me help.”

Raearrt nodded and stood along with her to begin preparing food. Madga toyed with her cup, glancing up at Argorth who was staring into nothing. He looked at her and she glanced away.

There was a deep sigh and she turned to see him rise to his feet. He walked to a wash bowl and cleaned his hands with soap and water before assisting with the food. After a long moment, Madga drained her cup and joined them.

I'm still not sure why I was chosen to be the first to ever journey into the vast and turbulent fuckery of my own mind, but there I stood with my wife. I was surprised when I was told that I could bring a guest. My wife, Sweetie (not her real name of course, because she'd kill me if she could be linking in any way to my writing) was the obvious choice I figured that she more than anyone else deserves to get some answers as to why I find the topics of trailer parks and human sexuality FUCKING HILARIOUS. Now, if you were to combine trailer parks and human sexuality into one topic, I would probably laugh until my sphincter prolapsed leading me to slowly bleed out as I chortled, giggled, and cackled into a blood loss induced state of brain death.

Well, there we stood my wife's dainty hand in mine, in front of the quietly buzzing portal that swirled with multicolored lights that kind of made me wonder if this is what a person on an LSD trip sees when they try to eat a handful of Skittles mixed with M&M's and Lucky Charms marshmallows. We'd been told that this miracle of modern science before us would transport us into the recesses of my mostly irregular, far from the acceptable operating standards of a healthy human mind ready to go where no one should really want to go in the first place.

Strangely enough, considering the scientific wonder that was about to happen, there was a surprising lack of fanfare as we stood there. In fact, all the lead scientist did was tell us to go with an indifferent waive of his hand. It reminded me of the way you might waive your hand at your waitress at Denny's when she comes to offer a refill of your coffee while your mouth is stuffed with the last bite of your Grand Slam Breakfast. So, without further adieu or adon't for that matter, we stepped into the portal.

Now, let me say that the trip into my mind was a bit anticlimactic. One second we're in a lab within the bowels of Whatsa-Matta-U College of Science and Technology (located in Frostbite Falls, Minnesota of course) and the next we're in this weird hallway lined with doors of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The floor was carpeted in that split pea soup green shag carpeting that was popular in 1970's. To our surprise, we weren't alone because in the middle of the hallway stood a little leprechaun-sized man who looked EXACTLY like Curley of the Three Stooges.

"Welcome to your wee whittle bwain," he exclaimed stepping forward with a smile that was just a bit too happy.

First, the strange little stooge stepped up to me and gave my hand a firm shaking and then he kissed me full on the mouth. While I tried to remove the Curley slobber from my face, and the Curley taste off my tongue the little perv turned his attention to my wife. He didn't offer her a handshake. Instead, he immediately attached himself to my Sweetie's leg like a horny barnacle and proceeded to vigorously dry hump her leg. Of course, I jumped in to save her, but I didn't have to do much because with a practiced movement of her arm, she grabbled little Curley by his littler Curley and gave it a good twist. To no one's surprise, Curley immediately lost all enthusiasm for adding a stain to her jeans and dropped to his knees.

"What'd ya do that for!" he groaned as he tried to untwist little Curley.

"I figured if it works for the whole you when you get a bit randy, it'd probably work for whatever the fuck you are," my wife replied while checking to make sure that her new Levi's were Curley cum free.

"Okay," I said, trying to sound mature, "I think you need to control yourself and who exactly are you?"

"I'm the most responsible voice in your head, so I was elected to be your guide." Curley replied, cautiously and very gingerly moving away from the missus.

"GREAT!" My wife and I responded in stereo.

"Geez. Think ya would be a little grateful to have someone to help you get through the cluster fuck wrapped in a gorilla circle jerk that is your psyche." Curley whined, his feelings somehow hurt.

"Maybe we should get on with it," my wife said motioning to the hallway and all the doors. "What exactly is this place."

"This my dear," Curley said with a theatrical waive of his pudgy hand, "Is your hubby's, "Hall of Important Stuff. Everything that he values is behind these doors and it's all organized by category."

"You'd think there'd be labels on the doors," my wife said approaching an ebony black door with a skull door knob.

"I wouldn't..." Curley gasped trying to stop my missus from opening door.

It was too late, because with the same quickness she used to grab Curley's berries she grabbed the door knob and pulled the door wide open and was greeted by a thunderous wall of noise. The force was such that it knocked the wee horny bastard poor off his feet and like a music grenade sent him flying about twenty yards further down the hallway.

"I'M ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL"....." "I SEE A LITTLE SILHOUETTO OF A MAN SCARAMOUCHE, SCARAMOUCHE, WILL YOU DO THE FANDANGO"....."FAIRIES WEAR BOOTS YEAH YA GOTTA BELIEVE ME..."

Pummeled by rock lyric's, it took all of my petite Irish wife's strength to get the door closed. With the sonic bulldozer finally contained, Curley was able to stand up on his pudgy little legs. Any enthusiasm the little perv may have had left was officially gone. Now, he stared daggers at Sweetie.

"That is your hubby's music lyric room," he grumbled as he made his way towards us wiping his bald brow. "It's totally useless, but pretty fucking encyclopedic at the same time. PLEASE ask before you open another door! This hallway is filled with stuff that is worthless to us, but it can still be VERY dangerous!"

"How about this door," I asked pointing to a multi-colored door.

"That's one of my favorite's," Curley replied. "Go ahead."

So, expecting the worst, I opened the door and was greeted by, "Rabbit Season!...." "Duck Season!...." I'd obviously found my Looney Toons room. Sweetie was quick to point out that there was a lot more looney toons to me than could be found in that room.

The tour continued from there. Curley was an adept guide and quickly pointed out the more dangerous parts of my mind. The biggest danger by far was the great void that was my intellect. He explained that my stupidity was so intense it was starting to become a vacuum and there was real fear amongst the voices and my personal demons that called my mind home that they could all be sucked into the void's vast nothingness. The running theory was that if I ever reached the watches FOX News level of stupid the void would expand into a vast black hole that would first pull in the various elements of my psychosis and eventually gain enough strength to draw in all life on Earth and eventually the entire planet.

From there Curley led us through this sad little cemetery. Ever the sensitive soul, Sweetie couldn't help bust ask who was buried there. Curley explained in a solemn tone that the cemetery was the resting place for all of my dreams that had died.

As we made our way through the maze of headstones one grave site caught Sweetie's eye because it was covered with fresh flowers and lit candles surrounded the burial mound. Curley explained that this was probably the saddest broken dream of all and he didn't want to talk about it. However, after Sweetie threatened him with another twist of his little Curley he explained that the departed dream died the day my puberty ended. Surprisingly, the memory of that tragic dream brought a tear to our guide's eye as he told his tale. The dream he explained with a sob and a sniffle was that I would achieve at least an average sized penis, but it was a foolish dream because I was Irish and small even by Irish standards. More than a wee bit uncomfortable remembering this long departed dream, I couldn't help but look over at Sweetie. Of course, her eyes held more than just a single tear, and unable to hold back the loss, she sobbed and wailed for what could have been. However, as far as I was concerned that dream need not be remembered and I was ready to move the fuck on.

Eventually, we came to a trailer park at the end of a gravel road. The trailers were run down and of the single wide variety. County fair midway prize tapestries depicting Quiet Riot, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Confederate flags hung limply in dirty windows. Their frayed and faded polyester functioned as curtains hiding their denizens from the light while filtering out the smell of cheap cigarettes and charred grilled government cheese sandwiches. More than a few trailers had rusted Camaros and Pintos up on blocks in the front yard. The dismal air in the trailer park was filled with the smell of a septic system that was stretched beyond it's structural tolerances and somewhere the depressing silence was broken by Free Bird's endless guitar solo For some reason, Curley seemed nervous and put a finger to his lips warning us to be quiet.

It must've looked like Sweetie and I were going to say something because Curley, whispered, "This is where the other voices that live in your head and your personal demons live," he explained while looking around nervously.

"I don't want to disturb them because I owe half of them child support and the other half are pissed because I said that Jeff Foxworthy isn't funny and that a dating website catering to first cousins is A BAD idea," he explained in hushed tones.

Taking his lead, we quietly left the trailer park behind and after what seemed like forever we found ourselves in what looked like a huge art museum. The paintings on the wall seemed to express all of my emotions from the blah all the way through hatred.

"This is where your emotions are housed," Curley explained. "Each painting depicts an emotional response to an event in your life. Everything is categorized. Joy with joy, horny with randy, angry with angry etcetera," he noted taking on the tone of snobbish. EuroTrash.

Sweetie walked along examining the paintings. When she got to shame, she noticed that there were a few paintings that were covered up.

"What are these?" she asked gesturing towards the covered paintings.

"Oh those," Curley chucked. "Those depict times when premature ejaculation led to a bit of disappointment for her and spoiled the mood for all involved. Pretty embarrassing, so the artists are taking their time, so unlike your hubby, they're not finished yet."

"Moving on," I grumbled as Sweetie chuckled.

At the end of the museum stood a huge gate with a sign above it that read, "To Go Out of Your Mind, Exit Here."

"Well, that's your mind. Such as it is." Curley said pointing towards the gate. "I'd like to say it's been fun, but I can't. I'm gonna be walking funny for a week thanks to your wife AND NOT FOR A FUN REASON!"

With no reason or desire to delay our departure, Sweetie and I stepped through the gate and found ourselves back in the lab. Of course, the scientists were there waiting to poke and prod us. Apparently everything came back normal and we were allowed to leave.

As we were leaving, I couldn't help but overhear the scientists, Dr. Badenov and Dr. Fatale chuckle.

"Going off half-cocked," Badenov chuckled. "Hasn't Shallowgenepool heard that you gotta think about baseball?"

"His poor wife," Dr. Fatale said in sympathetic agreement.