She noticed the velvety red carpets were stained with wet footprints and mud, in a size too big to be her mother’s or father’s boots. 

Then there were screams on top of the thunder upstairs. She held her breath, not knowing what happened. The echo of the scream still echoed in her ears, as loud as blaring cymbals. 

And then there were heavy thuds.

A fully cloaked person came down, and with the dark hood pulled down, it was impossible to make out his features. The only thing not masked was his triumphant smile. The person efficiently picked up the girl, and started striding to the door. 

She screamed and cried. She knew that this man, whatever his intentions were, was not good. She started bawling in the strange person's arms. Annoyed, he slapped a wet towel over her face, before walking along the neatly trimmed bushes of the mansion’s garden towards the gate. 

She wanted to scream again, but she was too exhausted. Her cries started to turn slurred and tired. She was falling asleep unwillingly. 

She used her last strength to clutch the hourglass, hoping it would help her. In her desperation, she turned it upside-down. 

First there was darkness. Then, unexpectedly, she saw flashes of multicoloured light. And flashing numbers. 

She seemed to be floating through space. Somebody was holding on to her feet, not willing to let go. But a strange burst of air forced her into the realms of flashing lights and numbers. She felt so dizzy. 

The ever expanding darkness took over in a matter of seconds. 

And it kept her this time.

You must understand, friend, that although she may seem like a submissive wife, the plainest of all women, she has a black heart. 

It is engraved within her chest; thrumming, beating, writhing, clawing at the shackles that countless bottles and tablets have created to ensnare the bullets. 

I can hear it screaming: it screams the lies of God and the tales of the devil. and cunning like the snake she was, with a viper tongue and batlike eyes. The bed is cold, but ah! —— the floorboards are not. 

I use the sheets to muffle the sounds, but the rattling still rings in my ears. I know she is down there; under the dawning sun, I look at the birch and recognize the scratches of her nails etched onto the blocks of wood. 

She tells me every night there's a monster; her eyes are wide and frantic, crazed and maniacal; so much so that I smile at her, the sweetest most patient curl of the lips, pat her on the head, and tell her she's just dreaming. 

My wife shakes her head, insisting, "It's true. there's a monster; I see it!" I look at her in sympathy. She doesn't know what she's talking about. "Why won't you believe me? Please, help me!" 

The neighbors look at me in disgust. Screams come from the house in the dead of night, and I wake up in fear to see my wife covered in a cold sweat and blue lips. The air is thick and the lights are dim. All I see in those moments are a shadow of who I used to love. She is drenched in the dark, and something evil taints her spirit, lingering around her body like poison. 

She looks like a skeleton under rays of moonlight. They cut into her ripped clothes like arrows straight to the heart. Even the sky warns me of her treachery.

And it is with a sigh of regret that I admit: the machinery in my cupboard starts to quiver, starts to shake, and it calls out to me. It tells me I need to kill her. I need to kill my beautiful wife. 

It is because I love her so much that I must take away that heart of hers that is causing her to believe such wild-ridden thoughts; and then she may return to her teenage years where she did not believe in such foolish fantasies. 

Monsters are not real, I always reassure her. But in the darkness of her night, where I see her teeth sharpen and toes curl, I see two spider eyes, dark as the night peer out from the bottom of the bed. It is when I realize who the monster truly is.

Her mind, eaten by dust, is aging; she emerges from the flooring every night, head tilted to the side, smile unconsciously flying to her raw and bitten lips, neck nowhere to be seen, and she stalks her prey with eyes locked firmly onto the headboard. To where I am hidden under the covers, praying I am not to be seen by this creature.

I constantly remind her to take her pills, but she never listens; so this is the night that I must lay my bullet within her pretty, wicked heart, and rid myself of that deranged woman before my heart scars too.

The tranquil silence of the room buzzed in Mira’s ears. She sat straight up, her hands positioned on her lap primly. She was screaming, screaming and sobbing out in pain in her mind, but she made no effort to hide it. Her face contorted like a zombie and she looked like she was crying out in agony. 

Mira was mumbling random things that came to her mind spontaneously to distract her from her disaster of a mind - “Buppy guppy, dilly bob, farting bananas…” She burst into giggles. 

To be fair, Mira was acting mental. But no! She wasn’t mental, not even a little bit. She was just annoyed, because of this stinking place. But she was NOT mental at all. 

Pastel colors were splashed all over the room: a light pink, soft yellow, and a simple sky blue - her least favorite colors. Actually, most colors were her least favorite colors. But pastel ones were, by far, her least favorite colors. Whenever Mira saw bright colors in general, she wanted to shriek and cover her eyes and save them from the pain of bleeding, rocking back and forth on the floor like she was mad. Only black, gray and white made the exception.

The counselor winced. “Right, Mira. We’re here to talk about your condition… How are you finding your stay in the Asylum for Troubled Teens?”

Mira urged herself not to strike the counselor in the face right then. “Don’t you dare call me a troubled teen. Listen up.” Mira stood up, seething, her fists clenched so hard that veins protruded out of her skin. “I’m not a troubled teen. Others might be, but I shouldn’t be here. I’m not insane, or anything like that. I’m normal, as far as normal can go. I’m not crazy. I’m not mental. I’m…” She struggled to come up with an accurate word. “Unique. Different. Eccentric.”

“Then why do your parents call, concerned?” The counselor fired back. “Why do they worry about your health? Why do they warn us about your spontaneous outbursts whenever you see cheerful colors? Why are you here? Because you didn’t kill a girl?”

Mira interrupted - “Correction, my legal asylum paper thingy says two. But who’s counting?”

The counselor continued, as if she couldn’t hear Mira - “who was merely annoying you?”

Mira shook her head, these two incidents making bile rise up in her mouth. “I didn’t. I’m just a person who prefers to be isolated. I’m introverted. Extremely introverted.” She told the counselor easily, truthfully. “I’ve been framed. It was my younger sister. She’s the one who should be here. She has severe anger problems, and she killed them. It looks like I did it because she told everyone I did and they believe her because, well, I’m less popular. Less sociable, less normal, less smart…” Mira listed all of those off the top of her head, counting with her fingers. Mira frowned. “And lots more.”

The counselor’s face grew more anxious by the second. Mira sounded like she was for real. Normal. But the counselor couldn’t say anything, could she? She was restricted by her job… The counselor twirled her deep red hair around her finger. Her sparkling sapphire eyes pierced into Mira’s beetle-black ones. Both didn’t look away until the counselor opened her mouth.

“Are you being serious?” The counselor breathed, clear eyes brimming with intrigue, but then quickly morphed into confusion.

The counselor hesitated and looked around their surroundings cautiously and then hissed in a hushed-up voice, “Listen. I’ll help you. You’re clearly telling the truth. But first you’ve got to be completely honest with me. Is all of this true?” 

Mira nodded, staring intensely at the counselor. “I’m Mira. Your name?” Mira spoke in her flat, neutral tone. She held out her hand. The counselor shook it importantly, and Mira shook it just as importantly, like both of them were business people completing a deal.

“Call me Dr. White. And, Mira, I know your name. It was in your file.” Dr. White smiled kindly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the corners of Mira’s burgundy lips twitched.  “No one’s ever helped me before.”

“I'm the first, then.” Dr. White said quietly. She took Mira’s icy hand and pulled her up so that both of them were standing, bare feet on the furry coffee-colored carpet. “Let’s go.” 

Warmly, Dr. White swept two strands of Mira’s dark brown hair over her face, and proceeded to tie the back of Mira’s hair with a high ponytail. Then Dr. White took her crimson beret over Mira’s head. She slipped Mira’s checked black and white jacket off and stuffed it into her handbag. Dr. White beamed proudly. “You look completely different!” She exclaimed, clutching her hands together in excitement. Dr. White snatched a bright pink tube of lipgloss and applied it to Mira’s thin lips.

“Oh, and Mira, now you’re Mira’s cousin, Jane White, yes? You’re here to visit Mira Green. But you’re done now. My counseling session is done too.” Dr. White told Mira. Mira nodded obediently.

They left the soundproof room. Dr. White slung her arm over Mira’s shoulder. “Jane,” She began loudly, “How did you find Mira’s behavior?”

Mira tried to act casual. “Mira has improved a lot. I brought up the color hot pink-” Mira mimed gagging, but controlled herself. “-and she acted completely normal!” 

“That’s excellent, Jane.” White replied as they strode out of the asylum. “I’m sure she will continue progressing. After all, she’s only been here a week or two, yes?”

“Exactly.” Mira agreed, now really getting into the act. “Mira is an excellent young woman. If only the world could see that.” Mira stared wistfully onto the ceiling. “But, oh, they will someday. When Mira leaves this place.”

And they walked out, brilliantly, onto the front lawn. Mira spun her arms around excitedly. White laughed. “I’m free.” Mira breathed, lying on the emerald green grass. The words felt stranger-like to her mouth, rolling off her tongue oddly yet so smoothly. “I’m finally… free.”

Bing would usually cut the grass back in the States. He had everything he needed there, friends, family, and the sports that he likes to play. Now, he is just an outcast to the whole school. One boy in particular called Ching always picks on Bing, calling him names like Albino monkey, white ghost, and milky water pigment man. Bing was very smart compared to the people in his school, averaging straight marks and planning on getting a scholarship. One day, on Friday the 13th, Ching and his friends wanted Bing out of the school. Ever since Bing came, he got all of the attention away from Ching. Ching used to be the center of attention, with teachers praising his left and right. Ching and his friends planned all night long, to find a way to get rid of Bing. The plan was to break into Bing's house and steal everything valuable that they could find. 

The next day, Ching had the plans in his pocket. It was on a very small sticky note with what seemed to have ketchup stains on it. He was walking through the hall with a proud expression until he crashed into Bing. “Hey!Watch where you're going Albino Hybrid!” Ching said. Bing dropped his pile of class notes with the sticky note that Ching had. But at the same time, Bing slipped something into Ching's pocket. That night when Bing went to check his notes on the upcoming assignment, he found the plans that Ching had. It said “ 4pm after school, lead Bing to the river near the border of our town and throw him in the river”. Bing was a very smart boy, a boy that wouldn’t be tricked easily. 

Morning came, Bing wasn’t worried at all. At lunch, before the gang of bullies could reach him, he started shouting as loud as possible. The lunch lady then sent him into the principal's office, and was locked in a room by himself with only a telephone and the headmaster. He showed the evidence to the headmaster together with his plan. After school, Ching and his gang of friends suddenly didn’t want to go to the river, they wanted to meet at an alleyway. 

By the time they got there, the headmaster with policies were waiting for them. It turns out that the note that Bing had dropped actually said that the river was full of army units to guard the border and saying that an alleyway would be better. Ofcourse Bing knew that Ching was dumb, so he just left a giant clue on where would be the ideal place to get rid of someone.

Ching and his gang of friends ended up getting arrested. The moral of the story is to remember that “Your Actions Always Have a Way of Coming Back To You”.

Illmoor was once beautiful, or so it was said.

It was once heavenly, ethereal. Verdant hills gleaming like emeralds against the blue sky that stretched for miles. Valleys, flowing with sweet, clear water. Majestic mountains, seeming to reach up into the vibrant, blue sky, embraced by fluffy, white cotton balls. Idyllic forests, birdsongs, crisp breezes, occasionally sending a rustle among the tree leaves. A pristine lake, wild wind sporadically sending a ripple from end to the very other. A rising sun, each morning, casting its rosy hue across the sky, its golden rays of sunlight introducing a new day. 

There were not many inhabitants in Illmoor back then, no. Just a few friendly families, living each day draped with the beauty of their home.

This was nothing but mere reminder, that despite the challenges of any previous day, the landscape would always bring the promise of a better tomorrow.

The skies are gray. The hills are replaced with stacks of grey waste. The valleys no longer flow with sweet, clear water, but with tainted, murky liquid. The mountains are no longer embraced by clouds, but by polluted factory smoke. The forest trees are bare, leaving no leaves to dance with the wind. The lake is drained, and replaced with heaps of rubbish and waste. 

But most of all, the sun no longer warms the hearts of our people.

Now, each passing day was nothing but another bitter reminder of the shattered shells from a broken promise. 

But that's not all.

The walls. The walls, enclosing the delicate city. Hiding us from the outside world; hiding the outside world, from us.

Nobody goes out, nobody comes in.

I put away my spyglass, heart weighing a thousand pounds.

Nobody knows.

And that is my goal. To be the first person to know.

I opened my eyes, thick grey mist was surrounding me. The mist twisted and spiraled into many shapes, I reached my hand out to feel it, but the mist faded away. 

Instead of lying in my bed, I was on a hard rocky surface. The sky was jet black, but I could see bursts of indigo, green, pink and purple decorating the sky. 

I sat up and looked around and instantly felt like I had bathed in ice water, so I wrapped my blue sweatshirt tightly around me. A red mountain towered over me, looking closer, the mountain also had light shades of brown, grey and violet. The floor I was previously lying on was auburn and had mini craters as deep as my fingers. 

A painful feeling rushed through my lungs, I felt light headed as I tried to breathe. whenever I was, must not have any oxygen. I scanned the area desperately, hoping to find an air source, just as I was about to give up, I remembered my inhaler. I pulled the white device out of my pocket and began taking short breaths, soon, I felt better enough to walk around. 

I spotted a shape kilometers away from me, since I had nothing better to do, I decided to check it out. I began to walk, but every step I took would cause me to bounce up really high. The place I was in must have limited gravity. 

After a while, I mastered zero gravity walking. I was able to walk towards the direction of the shape. Around an hour later, I arrived huffing and puffing at the shape. 

What once was merely a blurry shape in the middle of nowhere was now a big black shed with a roof that was filled with solar panels, which was weird as there was no sun. There was something familiar about the shed. Something eerie and mysterious. Because my inhaler was running out, I was desperate for an air source, so I knocked on the door. 

The door slowly creaked open. A figure wearing a black cloak and a mask with tubes coming out of it stepped out. The tubes apparently helped her breathe. It hesitated, then removed its mask. Silver blue hair cascaded down the figure’s back. I could see a young girl’s face. Rosy cheeks and grey eyes. I looked closely and searched my mind for why the girl was so familiar. She removed the cloak and I saw a blue sweatshirt. Suddenly, I remembered who she was. 

“About time.” She whispered.

The girl was me.

Across the way Pine saw many different animals, many types of birds, even some marmots had popped out of the snow in front of him once. Although Pine was confused because they all seemed to look at him like they had seen him before, and he had never even been close to this mountain in the past. He Ignored that though, they must’ve mistaken him for something else, but nothing else on the mountain looked like him, unless there were animals on the mountain like him. And just when he was thinking that, he reached what he thought was the peak, but yet another false summit, this once was different however, there was a big cave and trees all around the place. There were also footprints in the snow, a lot of footprints, And they looked exactly like his. His species must have been here before, and from the look of the footprints, very recently.

Pine looked around for a while, looking for any other sign that other wolves were here but he couldn’t find any, just the big cave that the footprints led into, Pine looked at the cave, curiously, and let out a howl, he waited a few seconds, nothing, he let out another howl and waited a few seconds, but this time, he heard something.

Kaboom! A neon box bashed into the ceiling of Baby Yoda dorm room. Yoda immediately ran back to his room with his cup of boba to investigate what happened. After seeing this weird huge item lying in the middle of the room, especially when he saw his favorite chicken mcnuggies plushie getting stuck under the big weird thingy, Yoda, who is only 6 years old, burst into tears. The official Janitor 3OPC came and he saw something incredibly shocking. The tears of baby yoda activated the big weird thingy’s safety protocol and immediately got pulled into the realm by a hidden force. 

“Hello?” Baby Yoda cried. He couldn’t see anything. He tried to stand up but an immediate pain on his little short legs convinced him to sit back down. He cried even louder. 

“I mean, it's not like u will be sucked into a porter realm when u r 6.” “Luek, I thought the people in that dimension would be used to the way to come here.” “Bro chill. He is only a kid. The commander who expected the injuries he might experience. He put the padlocks  there so that he wouldn’t open the portal accidentally and fly out.” 

“Chicken mcnuggies……” Baby Yoda woke up from the long sleep and was holding his chicken mcnuggies plushie tightly. There were 2 other people in the room. 

“Soh, you're tallin me that I am not un my orginel plenet?” “Yep. U r in a different multiverse right now. Also known as THE SUN. ” Luek Groundflyer replied. “Kiddo, take this. This might come in handy some time.” ibo two kenobi said as he threw a silver stick to baby yoda.” “Wait, is tis a ligtseber?” “I guess. In our multiverse that thing is called darksober.” 

“Well, Your job here is to rescue Bright Vader. He got kidnapped by r2d2. In our multiverse, he is an old guy that knows about almost everything. “ Luek Said. “How bout u guys??” Baby Yoda Asked. “ we will be there to support u with troops. U got this!” Luek replied. 

WHAKK! BASH! BANG!! 

“Uh i tink i clerd them…..” Baby yoda said timidly. 

Baby Yoda rushed inside The cell of Bright Vader with Luek behind. 

“Mr.Bright, are u….” 

AHHHH! 

As a bright light blasted from under the cell, the 3 people disappeared in plain sight. 

It was a Saturday, and under the cold winter wind, in the center of New York, a biting wind lacerated my exposed skin, immobilizing me and squeezing all the warmth out of me, which made me stand still like a tombstone in the gloomy night. My whole body continued to shiver and shake as my teeth ceaselessly started to shudder and push against each other. I couldn’t feel myself and my body hesitated to do anything. My belly felt so cold as if I had swallowed snowballs for breakfast. It was a struggle to even move a muscle. With an unfriendly breeze still flowing inside of me, we walked into the mall and saw a homeless man operating a hot dog stand. It was my birthday that day and I tended not to ask for much, but my tummy was growling like a tiger with a knowing nod of desperate hunger. So I asked my mom if we could get a bite to eat. 

My poor single mother grasped me tightly in one hand, and desperately counted her money with the other to see if she had enough. Short...just a few dimes short. All she wanted was to do something special for my birthday and have something to eat that would cheer us all up, her tears ran down her red tomato cheeks like tiny sharp knives. 

My mother and I were sitting there, feeling helpless as always; our hope just left us, like a painted dream. I always depicted hope like the sun, which, as we journey towards it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us. 

My dad and mom used to own a booming restaurant with never-ending customers just queuing to eat their delicious food. Back then life was amazing, our family would look forward to every day full of exuberance, but on any other typical day after work, my dad went out to spend time with some friends and a few hours later, we got a knock from the door that would change our lives forever. The police were upfront and gave the most devastating news I’ve ever gotten in my whole life. I broke down into tears and it was all I could do. My mother was pregnant and she couldn’t maintain the business all by herself so she had no other choice but to close her restaurant down. 

My mom and I were still reminiscing about the wonderful moments we used to have together and mourning about the past. The old man gradually walked towards us and from his dazzling eyes, you could see that his heart was full of sorrow for our family. He knew what it was like to be just short and live in this pit of poverty that never seemed to stop.

He gave us a fresh hot dog that smelled fabulous and exquisite, it practically drew a smile on my face as I had drool down my face. He handed the hot dog to me and at first, my mother took a depressing sigh and explained how she couldn’t even afford a hot dog for my birthday. I remember the change of emotion on my face with a sudden glow when I saw the old man say “Hi, I’m Angelo, this is free of charge.” My smile was like a sudden beam of sunlight illuminating the darkest corners of the mall. At the moment, I was nonplussed by what just occurred and deafened the voices of others saying “Why would you give them a free hot dog.!”  “They won’t give you anything back in return you know!”  “You don’t even know them, stop trying to help them!” Angelo didn’t have that much money himself, but he simply told us that the money you have does not come from dollar bills, but it all comes from inside you and your heart. He was indeed the richest man in the world. I was speechless, and there were really no words to express my true gratitude as me and my mother didn’t know how to ever repay this kind man. Later that night, Angelo took his own time to have a full-on conversation with my mother for hours. He could’ve been minding his own business, working without a single thing to worry about. Instead he dedicated himself to talking to my mother, giving us advice and motivation to not let anything in life stand in our way or knock us over repeatedly when we are wretched. He even went out of his way to let us stay at his little apartment for the night, providing us with a safe place to stay. Although Angelo wasn’t prosperous with millions of dollars, he gave us something that was so much more valuable than just money, it was his time and his empathetic and big-hearted personality.

Angelo helped us at our downfall when we were at our worst, he created new found motivation for my mom to push through at these tough times and because of everything he did for our family, I will be forever grateful.

With new found passion, my mother dreamed and desired of reopening her restaurant again and people could be that amazing owner's everyone loved once again. Feeling like people truly care and feel comfortable around her, she made all customers feel like a part of this huge family, and she wasn't going to let anything get in her way.

A few months went by and the restaurant had people rapidly coming in and out from morning till night like never before and business was just booming, news quickly spread about our restaurant and our story of how we came up from being homeless to opening up a restaurant full of customers. It is crazy how it all started from an old man giving us a hotdog that went on to be me and my mother’s lifesaver. Now all we wanted to do was give back to him and and thank him for how big of an impact he made on our family.

 One night, after my mother came back from the restaurant, we went to the same mall we did before and was eager to visit the old man to see if he was still there. What was truly heartwarming were when we saw the same old man helping someone else in need who also didn’t have enough money to even survive. We approached him and were elated to tell him some good news. Now we were fortunate enough to provide for others as well, we wanted to help him get back on his feet and the least we could do was offer him a senior management position in our restaurant. After all, Angelo was there helping us when we were struggling to even have enough food to eat and now….. well, our life is better than ever before. Angelo was there when we were discouraged and made a difference in our lives, we just wanted to make a difference in his life now. 

We promised him that we would pay him back and he just broke down in tears and couldn't believe what he heard. To our surprise, Angelo said that he really appreciated that we kept him in our mind, but he revealed that with or without a lot of money, he will always bring the exact same cheerful energy and charisma to work. 

This kind gentleman was unique and different. He taught me an unforgettable and touching lesson my family will forever cherish and keep in our minds. Without a rich heart, wealth is an ugly beggar. He was, frankly, the richest person on earth, simply because he understood the true meaning of wealth. 

Rain pattered on the rooftop, which muffled its downpour. The sky glowed a soft grey-blue, with the occasional beam of starlight filtered through layers upon layers of fluffy, thick clouds. It painted a beautiful scene from my window - the haze of blue above, a darkened sea below. In daylight, the ocean would be as clear as glass, shimmering in a frenzy with light of the beckoning sun. After sunset, every night, I would watch as the sea became a void of black, not allowing anyone to see what lay below the surface. A sailboat was anchored by the wooden pier, white sails gently billowing in the wind, rippling its fabric like water drops on a pond. By the sea and mouldy wooden pier covered with barnacles from left to right were white houses, elegantly over-watching the waves. 

How I envied them, being so close to the water, able to see the white foam down to the molecule when the waves fought and clashed. As music blasted through my ears, all I could think of was the cars on the road. A wide road stretched and winded behind the houses, twisting ‘round the bay and out of view behind the small forest. 

The drops of glass coated the lush evergreen trees, now covered with their own shadows, in a light coat of dew. Noticing such, I took out my AirPods and stood up, turning my back to the scene close to a painting. Even the greats couldn’t portray the way this atmosphere made me feel. I walked across my room, and opened the door to it as quietly as I possibly could, turning the doorknob about 1 millimetre per second. After doing so, I hesitantly checked the watch strapped unwillingly around my hand.

I remembered vaguely, ordering the watch online, unbeknownst to me that I had accidentally ordered the smallest size. Now it lay secured to my wrist, suffocating it because I had no other choice. The moment of realisation when I opened the box, excited beyond belief, only to be met with a band so small it may as well have been a ring. It stretched, surprisingly well, yet even the stretchiest silicone still rubbed uncomfortably against my skin, bunching it up in places. 

2:47. AM. That’s fine, right? Not too late. I tiptoed out the door frame quiet as a mouse, hopping around the places where I knew floorboards creaked. I walked down the hall and into my very.. antique living room. Ignoring everything else, I approached the large barrier between the room I was in and the balcony watching over everything. Everything that made nights — or rather, mornings — like this so.. surreal. I unlocked the door and stepped outside, and the sound of pounding rain immediately filled my ears much louder than before, drops quickly starting to collect on my bare feet. The reason I made the brave journey of venturing out of the safeness of my room - the plants barring the railings of the balcony and the free-space filled only by air below it. 

I reached my hand out to the almost glossy-like surface of the leaves and felt the coolness of drops coating my finger, as if they were saying: “We come in peace.” The simple beauty of everything increased by ten folds because of it. Rain encapsulates its own worlds - some filled with pain and hurt, others with peace and calm. Some worlds take you on a rollercoaster of memories, and some simply make you appreciate everything. Rain, for me, wasn’t just little splashes and drops. It created swarms of unreachable memories, mono-happening past. 

Paired with the abyss of dark clouds, they made me feel the arms of pain. It alternated between colour swings of happiness, yet also produced small wafts of bittersweetness. The simple truth - a truth I held over all else, was that rain has infinities over finiteness. It has a rainbow over dullness. Every drop has a story, every drop has remembrance. It’s this remembrance that draws me closer, a chance to mull over everything. Most of all the past, but small glimpses show the present, and it’s then where I love it the most. The occasional moment where all I can think about is the present, when everything else can be blocked out.

No matter how hard I tried to stay, I couldn’t for too long without being kicked out by my own thoughts. The one consistency throughout each sprinkle was that it never allowed for thoughts of the future. As my older brother always did, I tried separating everything into percentages. Percentages, fractions, decimals, those were his thing. He loved using those to make sense of the world, throughout conversations, just everywhere. However, I had a suspicion that most of them occurred within his head, like my head was my safe place, a place to retreat to whenever possible. 

Rain - 90% past, 10% present and 0% future.

Sitting down on the chair on the plain, concrete balcony created simplicity. A basic bliss - a break. I slowly lifted my phone out of my hoodie pocket. This was my favourite hoodie, having bought the last one with only the biggest size remaining at the closest clothes shop to my house with a past friend. That friend I left in the past, back when rain was simply an annoyance to my daily life, an interruption to what could’ve been. A stone struck my heart as I recalled the experiences my friend and I had, but they blew away through the wind in an instant. Sometimes, I wished to go back to a state where everything was so much easier, where one could take on everything at face value. But why reminisce when there’s no point? There’s nothing I could do to change what happened - I had hurt them as well as myself. There’s no going back from that, so why make the day moodier?

The hoodie folded and crumpled around my body, almost going down to my thighs. Seeing as the wind brought only shivers and goosebumps on this visit, I decided to turn the metaphorical heater up by bringing my knees up to my chest and dragging the fabric over my knees and down to my ankles. Here I was, a little bundle of skin, bones, blood and cloth on a chair, minuscule to the surrounding world and beyond. I directed my focus up to the moon, which created no shine on the water, just a faint gloom being exuberated. As much as I would’ve liked it to be full, it was a mere crescent. Just another symbol that nothing was special, just my tired body; covered in the grime of toil, finding its way blindly through the streets of habit.

I opened the case to my AirPods once again, taking them out. As I motioned to put them in my ears, I hesitated, then proceeded to stop. I put them back in and simply watched. I watched the world continue without me, everyone racing past me as I wasted my time biding my thoughts. I seemed to be trapped in my head, in everything I did. I felt out of my body, almost like I was stuck in autopilot, confined in a bubble of me, myself and I, separating myself from everything and everyone. I looked at my hands, raising them up to in front of my eyes and scanned them down. Every crease, every wrinkle and every bone. Each ridge of a mountain stuck up down the length of each figure, creating a mountain range of evenly shaped hills. 

This was me? Caught within a skin of notions, I perceived my being slightly different that night.

I sat up, desperate to get this out of norm feeling off me, and slowly repeated the same process that got me out here back into my room. I sighed loudly, making sure everything was in order before I allowed myself to be seduced into slumber. I made my bed, despite being about to go back in and mess it up all over again. I turned off my lights, closed my scratchy and rugged curtains and organised the papers on my desk overlooking my dreams. I felt the bridge of my glasses perched on my nose and gradually dragged them off my face, feeling it relax a little. 

I almost launched myself onto my bed and it proceeded to taunt me by creaking loudly. I cringed, hoping no one was awakened by my stupidity. I lay my head down on my pillow, but it still felt full and active. My head felt heavy, weighed down and I couldn’t get it to soften. I tossed and turned, trying to find the perfect position to rest it in, but to no avail. The moment I thought about not thinking about the past, I started thinking about it. 

Memories of the person I left behind, a reckless decision, a rash one. Regret, such a strong emotion - a silent apology that no one hears. Regret - bundles up feelings that leave burn marks on your heart. Regret was the type of feeling that overpowered anger. It overpowered loneliness, overpowered helplessness. The only feeling that superseded it - sadness. A deep well of pure sadness that only digs itself deeper the more you think about it. A well containing all your tears. I couldn’t help but wonder what people nearing the end of their lives’ wells would look like. I wondered what it’d feel like to swim around it, and understand all the pain that every single person has to go through.

Minutes passed. My eyes didn’t feel tired, or droopy. They were wide open, it felt more comfortable that way. My hair scratched against my scalp and neck and stuck a little too, due to the humidity. I wanted to stand up and close the window but I couldn’t muster up the energy. Instead, I bided my time plastered to my collection of wood and blankets. At last, I felt myself drifting off. It’s been a tiring day. Really f***ing tiring.

A sudden bang woke me up. I shot up, and realised right then that it wasn’t a bang. It was the vroom of an engine. I knew immediately where it was coming from - I heard those noises every night, but never with this intensity. It was still going, each “vroom” getting louder and then quieter around each turn. I rushed to my window, desperate to see the origins of my wake-up call. I loomed over the scene and watched as a group of white.. Mclarens? rushed round the bend at the very edge of my field of view and out of sight. Rain continued to splatter on my window, making my view of car upon car splashing water onto the sidewalk or speeding round turns. How peaceful it must be - how carefree the drivers must be, with their soft beats blasting through their speakers - piercing the drops of glass before they could even start to race to the car. I could only imagine what was running through their heads, pure bliss, nothing else on their minds.

I once again checked my watch which tugged on the skin of my wrist, bright numbers flashing on my face: 4:12am. I groaned softly in despair - knowing quite well I had a full day of school the next day. I threw myself back onto my bed in a conserved way, tired, yet trying to make the least noise. I delved my head deep into my pillow and lay face down on the bed sheets, feeling each crinkle and fold in the pillowcase.

A mellow sound was the first thing I heard when I awakened. My eyes, still closed, yet I heard the increasingly loud piano melody ring through my ears. It was a reminder, one of passive aggressiveness, to return to reality. A reality of barely getting through each day - a reality of getting lost at every twist and turn life would throw at me. I sighed momentarily as I came to my senses, directing my eyes to open as wide as possible. The skin that hid them was heavy as a mountain, and me opening them was a mere ant trying to push them.

I blindly reached for my alarm clock - basic as it was, it did its job - fiddling with what I felt for a moment before hitting the button to stop the melody. As calming as it was, I grew to hate it as it was the one responsible for my waking up every morning. I counted down in my head, and when I reached zero, I sat up, opening my eyes and stretching my arms in a way that caused satisfaction to slowly trickle down my spine. I took in the familiar surroundings that flooded my eyes - same old desk, riddled with scratches and marks - same old plastic chair that sat idle, waiting for company - same old lamp with a temptation to glow. Nothing new, but I liked it that way. I felt safer knowing that nothing changed, that everything was within my control.

Many minutes later I sat uncomfortably in a poorly wrapped leather seat in a school bus. Same route, every day. As the bus wound the corners tightly, I watched as the raindrops from early morning raced each other down the windows, ending up dissolving into the same puddle collected at the bottom of the frame. The trees passed by in a blur and swayed gently - not too little so that it was unnoticeable, but not so violently that it caught you off guard. It was gentle. Peaceful, even. It was almost surreal, but the morning could only be so much. The top tier feeling, the most surreal of moments - only nighttime could achieve that level of oblivious bliss.

At first it went slowly, every turn around the twisty road felt like I was travelling through spacetime at a monotonous pace. Normal. Slow, but normal. At this point, I could drive the route in my sleep. I knew each turn like the back of my hand, each stretch of acceleration more than I could fathom. It had been the same my whole life, for longer than I could remember. Those thoughts that tend to come up - What if I hijacked the bus, held the driver at gunpoint? Could I take over and prove to myself that I knew the route? I know how to drive, I think. Basically, sure, but not a full on bus. I could at least navigate someone who didn’t know the route, right? - Those thoughts were strange, full of make-up scenarios which would never come true, but fun to debate and think over nevertheless. 

Time for another stop. The bus weaselled its way into a sloped turn, tight, but it had to be that way here. Not much space around - and people need a way to get into their houses. Another car followed us up the slope, slowly climbing the road up to a specific apartment complex. I knew exactly which person, or people, got on at each stop. This one? An older girl maybe a couple years above me, who I’ve smiled at a couple times, but that was about the peak of our limited interaction. I was pretty sure there was a few kids from other schools who also lived around here, but I couldn’t be sure. From my slightly untrustworthy memory of hazy mornings, I had only discerned the end of a singular school bus one time. 

After reaching the top of the slope and inching our way ‘round the road surrounding the complex and picking the girl up, with her situating comfortably toward the front, far away from me in the back, which honestly, I wasn’t complaining about - the bus headed back down to resume its unremarkable journey to the institution of living hell. Sliding back down the slope, “smoothly”, and oh- speak of the devil. Another bus, fighting against us on the barely two-way road. As it was about to carefully slide by - out of mere curiosity, I decided to take a look at what kind of students rode that bus which refused to back down, and try and figure out what school the bus belonged to.

I was able to see everyone very clearly, as both buses were inching past each other extremely slowly, in order to not scratch the other. At the front sat some younger kids, not too young, so I was assuming it was a middle and high school. Black haired boy, brunette girl, blonde guy - nothing special, all chatting away, I remembered when I used to do that. In the middle came more people my age. A mix of all hair colours, ethnicities, energy levels, genders. I caught eye contact with some of them, none of them lasting pretty long. That’s when I started to get conscious of how I looked, my hair must look a little scratchy, so I moved it onto my shoulders, and it flowed down my chest there smoothly.

Then came a few older kids - these were the smaller amount of the bunch. Most of them looked pretty tired, on their phone or staring out the window in despair. I even caught one blonde girl furiously typing away at her computer, and for a second I saw an essay, barely started. Fun. Talk about procrastination - If she actually manages to complete that in time for whatever school she goes to.. then wow. I didn’t manage to get a look at a logo or name of the school, but I did manage to get a glance at the last of the older kids just as the bus accelerated away, finally clear of its obstacle. 

I caught a glimpse of some fluffy brown hair and headphones splitting it - then barely a full face. The guy was at the back of the back, like me, but looked twice as awake. Our eyes caught each other for a brief moment, but didn’t break until the bus rolled out of sight. Just a glimpse - fluffy hair is so cute.

Then it was back to normal, average bus ride, with a brief memory of the kids we passed and a kid with cute hair I saw. Nothing special - and it would continue that way. After we reached the bottom of the slope, it passed by in a blur, just like that bus. Soon enough we were passing through the gates of the school, into a musty painted car park filled to the brim with family cars, guards shouting, little kids squealing away and piles of people waiting to get to where they needed to go. It was all painted a dull ivory, which contrasted with the sea of yellow originating from the mass amount of buses all entering and leaving. School mornings, for me, were both peaceful and chaotic. Undistinguished, yet stressful. Cut-and-dry, yet so full of noise. 

Some things just contradict each other in such a perfect, complimentary way. When it feels balanced, cancelled out, then you can kind of let go, let some part of your brain take charge and switch to autopilot. At times, it almost feels like you can control time. As long as you’re relaxed enough, familiar enough with the situation, you just watch as the dials on your watch accelerate until you’re at the end of the day. That’s exactly what happens everyday - and exactly what happened that day.

Before I realised - or perhaps, before I wanted to realise, I was setting my bag down in my room and rolling up my scratchy curtains once again. I never really mentally processed what went down at school, I just made sure to remember things with work and assessments and I more than passed. I didn’t try - but I didn’t need to. It was all so easy, and it felt almost as tiring to just not do anything compared to putting all your energy in.

That, folks, was the introduction to what would be a long, long compilation of glimpses which eventually transformed into looks. Stares. Souls. It was just the introduction.

Now in the south pole, a furry green creature sits. The Grinch smiles, as he is ready to go to war against Santa. He had once been an elf, but cursed by Santa, now he was ready to have his revenge. He sat on his variant of Santa’s sleigh. Dark green with silver edges and outlines. This sleigh had no reindeer, making it solely powered by nuclear energy. 

As The Grinch’s sleigh sped through the sky, to the North Pole, its cannons readied. Green cannons started protruding out of the sleigh with a hole on top. The Grinch grabbed a bag full of red powder and poured it into the cannon. The cannon started shooting out the red powder onto Christmas Town, the elves that resided within the town’s eyes started glowing, and started causing trouble everywhere. 

Santa stepped out of his house and gazed upon the feral elves and summoned his ice spear. With one throw, his ice spear impaled one of the elves, making their eyes go back to normal. Santa summoned his spear back and flew into the sky, meeting the Grinch face to face. The Grinch grinned and took out his sword as Santa jumped-flew back, summoning ice spikes to hit the Grinch, however, the Grinch was ready, as he activated his rocket shoes and stabbed Santa with his sword. Santa felt blood losing his body and used his magic to repair his wounds, then he flew towards the Grinch and summoned an ice shield breaking the Grinch’s slash at him. The Grinch flew back, and from his sleigh, he took out a cannon from a sack and started shooting rockets at Santa. Santa simply flew back, and used his powers to freeze rockets, then made his ice spear an ice hammer, and hit them back towards the Grinch. The Grinch flew back, narrowly avoiding the missiles and took another item from his sack, a flamethrower. The Grinch flew forward and started spraying Santa with fire. Santa flew back incredibly fast and summoned ice bombs to get rid of the Grinch’s new weapon, then he flew at light speed towards the Grinch’s sleigh, and impaled it with one hit, with his spear. The sleigh started turning into ice, and then, completely cracked into pieces. The Grinch gasped as he flew towards Christmas Town, desperate to cause at least another mischievous event before Santa caught him, back in the sky, Santa held his ice spear. He chased after the Grinch with his speed but as he grabbed the Grinch, he noticed something was wrong. The Grinch was smiling. Santa only had a moment to react as he noticed the plasma bomb on his back and exploded away from the Grinch. The Grinch continued to smile, as he landed on Christmas Town. The Grinch threw multiple bombs at the houses and finally arrived at where he wanted to be. The Storage Room. The Grinch walked to the last chest, and opened it. Inside was a crystal pumpkin that was glowing orange. The Grinch ran out of the storage room, seeing Santa fly at him. It was just as he thought, Santa was strong, a feeble plasma bomb wouldn’t harm him. Before Santa arrived, the Grinch threw the crystal pumpkin onto the ground and flew away. Santa gasped as he saw what the Grinch had done, a fire started at the pumpkin and slowly grew into a huge fiery demon, it was Santa’s nemesis, Halloween. 

Just like the Grinch, Halloween smiled and threw fire at the houses. Santa flew into the air and started battling Halloween. He grabbed the shards of the Crystal Pumpkin and tried to put it back together, but it was no use. Santa had to use a single powerful item he used for reserves. Inside his pocket, Santa grabbed the Star of Bethlehem and put it inside the Crystal Pumpkin. The Crystal Pumpkin was now formed back together, with a flash of orange, it sucked Halloween back into it.

All was fine again, in a desperate battle, Santa had now defeated Halloween, or had he?

TO BE CONTINUED

It had been a long day.  I had been following a hiking trail recommended by one of my close friends.  But, of course, I forgot to charge my phone so the battery died, and I was stuck with my physical map.  However, my geography skills aren’t… well, aren’t the best, so I somehow managed to get lost on that twisty one-way road.  It was getting dark.  As the sun dipped behind the bushy leaves, I reached the foot of a flight of stairs.

Looking up at the looming staircase towering over me, a shiver ran down my spine.  The shadows stretched all around me.  Reaching.  Beckoning.  The blood-red leaves menacingly stretched toward me.  I shuddered.  I was and still am, terrified of the dark.  I stepped up onto the first step.  One foot.  Another foot.  The only sound was my footsteps thudding loudly on the cold stones.  A rustle in the bushes behind me.  I froze.  Whirled around.  Nothing.

I continued, teeth chattering, heart in my throat.  Suddenly, a cacophony of calls, birds, wolves, and dogs erupted all around me.  The wind howled, rustling all the leaves in a dreadful chorus.  My heart almost stopped, I was so scared.  I focused on my footsteps, trying not to think about the dreadful creatures around me.  Thud.  Thud.  Crunch.  I looked down, and instantly, my blood ran cold.  I had put my foot directly through a human skull.  Bits of bone lay shattered around the empty skull.  Mortified, I nearly fell off the step and would have become another skull.  However, I looked up.  Broken bodies, animals, and humans lay defeated on the steps, their remains littering the stairs.  Organs lay splattered across the molded steps, rotten and stinking.  I gulped, but I had nowhere to go but up.  I stepped gingerly among the bodies, trying not to step on any, but still hearing a persistent crunching and squelching.  I cringed inwardly.  My mind spun, trying to work out what had happened.  Feeling weak, I reached the top.  I stopped.

Crunch.

Squelch.

Crunch.

Squelch.

A blood-curdling noise came from directly behind me.  It echoed around the darkened woods all around me, the sounds of the night vanishing as quickly as they had come.

I froze.  My blood turned icy.

I turned around. 

—--------------------------------------------- HK 20:00 Jan 23 —------------------------------------------

The sound of footsteps could be heard down the road. Rusted bricks clinked with every colliding step as the heel of the leather shoe struck down rhythmically. The forked cane of the cloaked one tapped ever so lightly against the mossy ledges as the cloak flapped with the wind’s guidance. 

“The second day of the Lunar New Year is literally today!” 

True it is, for one can hear the joyous shouts of celebration ringing out in the night sky, filling the air with a jubilant atmosphere, along with the red packets exchanged to celebrate the year of the rat.

“Is there a problem?” 

“No but—”

“Good,” came the short reply.

The crackle of fireworks can be heard a mile away, lighting up the night sky with an amber dazzle. Crowds gathered at the harbour as the burst of citrine and emerald magnified by each roaring flare. Ruby streaks slashed through the air, blinding the crowd in their brilliance.

“I told you everyone else would agree that this was the way to go! It’s just that stubborn old you would not listen to such a wondrous proposal,” The voice was laced with indignation, “Though we lost the excuse to say we don’t know where we are going… Plus I’ll probably throw up again on the way there and throwing up is not fun at all. Can you imagine the bile coming up your—”

“That you’ll have to bear with,” The other held out his watch, “it’s currently 5:30 in the evening after all.”

Staring at the evening fireworks, the shrouded figure muttered, “As misleading as always…”

Behind the lichen-covered pillar, a silhouette illuminated by the sparks slipped out into the colour-filled night. 

“So that’s your next move. A clever one too… No wonder we didn’t see any communication, I would have missed them if not for both of you unknowingly pointing me to the right direction…” She mused.

 “Fireworks or should I say fi—-” Her voice cut off as the world around her spun and faded into darkness.

—--------------------------------------------- ? ?:? Jan 25 —------------------------------------------

Across the nations, a village laid broken in ashes.

It was the sort of blithely made statement that one would expect from someone else who was yet to be bludgeoned and eroded by the harsh yet monotone world that was reality. It was how time lingered and unspooled lazily from Clotho’s thread in a long strand of flax to be woven into a perfectly silken tapestry, where sunlight drenched the world gold, and moments were preserved in a million tiny picture frames washed in the warm hues of nostalgia. 

Promises, to Nyx, were supposed to be the reassurance that the sun would rise once again, and would do so ‘till the end of time, the milky fingers of dawn caressing and healing the bruises of nightfall. No matter how dark everything was, no matter how tough times were, the sun would never disappear. Promises were the redwood trees, solid, grounding, and dependable. They were the blade of a well-forged sword, its wicked blade gleaming in the light of the furnace. 

Promises weren’t supposed to be like the ephemerality of sunsets. They weren’t supposed to give way their vibrant colors to surrender to the darkness.  Promises weren’t flowers. They weren’t supposed to wilt. They weren’t supposed to be bashed through like an inattentive child crashing carelessly through a spiderweb, completely disregarding the meticulous effort put in by the spider to spin the web itself, interlacing white threads to create something wholly unique that dangled, barely visible.

Years later, Nyx stood at a podium of polished mahogany. 

The rain pelted down in sheets of shimmering silver. The wind howled and gusted around her, almost reminiscent of the restless spirits of the dead. 

Are you out there, Atticus? She queried silently. 

Of course, there was no response. Perhaps it was silly of Nyx to expect Atticus to reply, but he had promised that he’d never leave her alone. 

Why did she expect him to keep that promise? 

The wind wailed once again, jolting Nyx back to the rather unpleasant reality she was in. Back at the mahogany podium, with grim-faced and grief-stricken people staring up at her, awaiting the obituary she was to give. 

And that was when she was struck with the realization that promises were breakable. Forever wasn’t till the sun stopped rising, or till the mountains crumbled. 

Forever had a built in ending. 

Everything did. 

Nyx watched, with empty eyes devoid of any emotion as the casket of her best friend was lowered in the freshly overturned dirt. 

“He once promised me that he’d be here forever.”