Not Christmas Until...

"Almost Christmas Laney! Are you excited?" She asked as her daughter followed her around the house.
"But, it doesn't feel like Christmas..." The young girl said, looking up at her.
"Doesn't feel like Christmas?" Her mother repeated, confused for a moment before understanding set in. "Oh," she said, her eyes lighting up as she turned to face her little girl, "that's because the Christmas tree isn't up yet."
"And Santa hasn't come." Laney added sadly.
"No, but he never comes till Christmas Eve, and that's another week away. Besides, he doesn't like to see houses with no Christmas tree."
"He doesn't?"
"No. It makes him sad." Her mother said. "He likes to see everyone getting into the spirit of Christmas and making it the happy time it's supposed to be."
"Is that why you say 'Merry Christmas'?" Laney asked.
"Yes. So, what do you say we put the tree up?"
At that, the little girl's face lit up.

Laney set the box of decorations down with a loud thump as her mother began to spread the branches on the tree.
"What do we first?" Laney asked as her mother looked back at her with a smile.
"Tinsel." Her mother said, playing with a piece. "Should we do gold or silver?"
"Gold!" Laney said cheerfully, pulling it from the box.
"Now, we wrap it around the tree." Her mother said, taking the other end of the tinsel and beginning to wrap it.

"It doesn't look quite right yet." Laney said, a small frown on her face and her arms folded as she studied the tree.
"We haven't got the decorations on yet," her mother said simply, her smile unfaltering. "Only the tinsel."
"Hey this bauble's got my name on it!" Laney said excitedly as she rested it in her palm.
"And this one has mine," said her mother, holding it up, "and this one your Dad's."
"I think they should go up there!" Laney said, starting to get excited now. She pointed up to a few branches about two rows down from the top, as she couldn't reach.
"I think they'd look good up there too," her mother agreed, carefully threading them on the branches. "Now, do you want to put some other ones along the bottom?"

"It feels more like Christmas now." Laney said contentedly, smiling as she admired the abundantly decorated tree.
"We're not done yet."
"We're not?"
"Nope. There's one more thing," her mother said, carefully extracting the tree topper from the box. "We've got to put the Christmas star on top. Do you want to do it?" She asked, holding the gold star out to her daughter.
"Yeah!" Laney said, excitedly coming forward and taking the star from her mother.
The little girl's smile only grew brighter as her mother lifted her into the air and she set the star on the top of the tree before being put down again.


"What's that Mummy?" Laney asked curiously as her mother dragged a big bag full of things into the room.
"Presents!" She said excitedly, resting the bag on the floor. "It's not quite right without presents under the tree."
"No." Laney agreed.

"There." Laney's mother said happily. "Now we're done."
"And it feels like Christmas." The little girl smiled happily. Christmas was here.
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Merry Christmas & Happy New Year everyone. I'm off for the holidays but will be back on the 7th next year.

Overtaken

It seemed such a little, innocent thing at the time. But, I know now that it was something I never should have done in the first place. Afterwards, I had my excuses.
It was hot...
It would cool me down...
I wouldn't have it on for long (and the truth be told, it hadn't been)...
I wouldn't put it on full...

That little round turning switch seemed to draw my fingers to it like a magnet. I was so hot, and before long, the intense, overpowering need for cool took over. Before I knew what I was doing, the dial had turned. I looked up and saw it, the blades, once motionless now spinning slowly. With it came a refreshing rush of cool, a sudden, intense, though welcome change to the torturous heat of a moment before.

Breathing in the freshened, cooler air, enjoying it pass my face, I moved to be directly under the fan. That was where you really got the full effect of it. I looked up toward the sky, staring at the centre of the fan, the only part of it that wasn't moving and quickly became lost in my own little world.

I barely noticed myself gravitating back toward the magnetic, alluring, controlling round dial. The next thing I knew, I was back under the fan again, and it had sped up. The cool wind was rushing faster past me. Swirling around and wrapping me into it's cool, refreshing, somewhat heavenly embrace.

It spun yet faster and still I stood beneath it, basking in the coolness, the cold, the release from the sweltering heat. It was a hard, abrupt return to reality as the fan took on a mind of it's own.

Now on the highest setting it could go, it wasn't the heat but the cold that was intense. Though not a torturous one, a pleasant one. Involuntarily, my mouth fell open as the fan suddenly detached from it's fixation on the ceiling and spun wildly as it fell down, smashing, breaking and shattering the window as it cut through it and flew away.

Still, it is out there on it's rampage and I fear that one day, it will return. It will come back for me and seek it's revenge. The thing has a mind of it's own and I could tell from the brief glimpse of a blur I saw as it disappeared, it is, for some reason, bent on revenge. It's out there somewhere, on it's revengeful rampage, and all I can do is wait. I share my story because, for all I know, it could be you next. Be warned.

Torn

Mirela came around him from behind and slowly ran her hand down his strong, muscly arm, already feeling the tension. The anticipation. Her hand slowly reached his and she clasped it into her own. Gregory looked at her, and their eyes locked. They stood there a while, lost in one another's eyes as the deep and meaningful gaze continued until Gregory looked away, down at their hands as he let go of hers, then down at the ground as he stepped backwards.

He slipped his arms into the material, allowing it to settle on his wrists. He glanced briefly at Mirela, who was watching him intently, then looked at the sky above.  Almost immediately, he felt his feet leave the ground as he spun slowly, up toward the sky. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of the wind as it swept past his eyelids and he soon became caught up in another world.

He opened his eyes, curling himself into a ball as he began to slowly descend, back toward the ground. Almost as soon as his feet hit land again, Mirela ran for him and he felt her wrap herself around him. He was about to shrug her off, but he'd been too late. They were up in the air again. But just as soon as they'd gone up, they were on the ground again and he felt the weight lift as she released him.

He breathed deep and began to run, slowly but surely rising into the air. He closed his eyes again, unaware of Mirela running after him, reaching up for him from the ground below as his mind raced. He couldn't have both, could he? He flipped, swirled and turned easily as he flew around, still lost completely in his thoughts. He loved her. But he loved this, too. This feeling of flying was unbeatable. He felt free, lost, and he loved that.

Gregory shook his head lightly as he felt himself falling slowly back to Earth. The first thing he saw as his eyes opened was Mirela, a happy smile on her face as she ran to him once again. Smiling back at her, he scooped her up into his arms as they rose again. She dipped her head back in pleasure, feeling the wind run across her face before wrapping her arms around his neck and looking deep into her eyes.
"I love you, Gregory." She whispered into his ear.
"I love you too." He murmured back. Their eyes locked and their gaze never broke once as he let her go and she hung loosely from his neck and they danced in the sky. Carefully, he wrapped his legs around her body and she let him go, reaching now to grab hold of his legs, and then his feet. Abruptly she dropped until she was again hanging loosely from him. They spun slowly as they descended and dropped to the ground beneath them.

She danced around him as he rose alone again, flipping and turning as he rose higher in the air. He looked down to see her sitting on the ground, her eyes never leaving him as she reached toward him. He landed and as she always did, Mirela ran to him, dancing circles around him once more. She sat back, watching as he swung, with increasing speed, back and forth through the air.

She smiled as he returned and let go of a strap, holding the other tight in his grip as they took turns playfully jumping from it's anchor. She spun around, letting the strap go and he ran from one edge of the stage to the other, getting faster as he went until he was carried up again. She ran after him from the ground, reaching out as if she could catch him. She settled on the ground, watching him contentedly as he came lower than rose, spinning in a blur into the air again and came spinning back down.

As he knelt down to loosen the strap around one of his wrists, she approached him from behind, touching his back and slowly lacing her hand around as she came to his front. She looked at him, unable to hide the fear from her eyes any longer. Relieved when he took her hand in his, a small smile escaped her lips and the undying affection she felt for him returned to her eyes. Gently, he guided her wrist into the strap and linked their free arms together, smiling at her as they were lifted, spinning slowly into the air. They were forever connected as they danced around, changing grip from hands to feet and spinning, flying, freely.

Their heads touched at the back as his arm slipped around her waist and she rested her own, free arm atop his, smiling in relief. He still loved her. She still mattered. She closed her eyes, enjoying their closeness as they began to spin around, slowly getting faster and faster until they were a blurb, impossible to follow. The spinning slowed down once again as they descended one final time, and still holding each other, looked up toward the sky theatrically.

They slowly brought their hands down, synchronized and Gregory gently released their arms from the straps. He tightened his grip on the rope, using it to pull himself up again as he helped Mirela to her feet. He took her other hand in his own free one, and she looked down at their hand, clasped together, then back at him, fear evident in her eyes. Reluctantly, he slowly withdrew is grip and looked ahead. Startled as he felt something on his shoulder, he looked back to see his beloved Mirela, running her hand gently, tenderly down his arm and interlacing her fingers with his befrore letting him go again and walking away. Worry now evident in his own eyes, Gregory reluctantly turned away from the straps that allowed him to fly and followed her away.

Clasping his hand once more, Mirela looked at him, her eyes demanding her gaze be returned. Unsure, his eyes rose and he slowly met his gaze.
"Will you leave me?" She asked. "I know how much you love to fly, Gregory, but please, do not leave me."
There was silence for a long, agonizing moment as he turned away, thinking hard, before he looked back at her. "We do it in our spare time." He said finally. "I see no reason I cannot have both."
"Both?"
"You and flying. I see no reason you cannot perform with me. If you wanted to, that is."
Eagerly, Mirela nodded as a smile spread across her lips, reaching her eyes and making them sparkle with happiness in the dim light.
"Then, I can have both my loves at once, and keep them both."
"I'd love to."
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Inspired by the act 'Libertard' from Cavalia

Ghost

When Sarah looked behind her, she smiled at the tall, slender, muscly man leaning casually against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, his ankles crossed as he watched her. Seeing her looking at him, a smile spread cross his lips and he waved.

Feeling reassured, Sarah looked ahead again and went on. She was still nervous, you always were with new things like this, but a burst of confidence shot through her knowing her Uncle Mike was standing there, watching her.
As doubt swept over her, she looked back to see him still there. He waved back at her, his smile wider. 'Go on Sarah,' he seemed to be saying, 'you can do it.'

"Well, here goes nothing." She sighed, breathing deeply as she looked up at the building she'd call her high school for the next six years. Glancing behind her one last time, Sarah headed inside.

Sitting alone outside during the lunch hour, Sarah couldn't help but remember what had happened last year. She remembered them telling her. Not believing. They were lying. They had to have been. He couldn't be gone. Not Uncle Mike. Anyone but Uncle Mike.

Then, the sea of black, the weather reflecting how she'd felt as the rain pelted down on them. She remembered the flowers, people taking turns to throw their one down. The picture of him on top of the chest. Laughing, happy. Alive. The dirt being shoveled on top of the chest as it lay there deep in the ground. Then everyone walking away as if that was it. It was done.

It was hard for her family, she knew, but she would never forget him. Not as long as she lived, and now, she could feel him with her almost. He was there somehow. He was watching.

She saw him again, hidden by the bushes and she went to him.
"Hello Uncle." She whispered.
"Hello Sarah."
"I wish you were really here."
"I know." He said. "But I can't be. You know that."
She nodded. "But I'll always wish."
"Don't Sarah." He begged. "Please, don't hold onto me that much. You need to move on. You need to let me go."
Sarah blinked back the tears, unable to believe what her uncle was saying. She stood silently, thinking for a long moment.
Finally, she nodded. "Now I see it clearly."
Uncle Mike smiled, pleased.
"You need to move on." She said as a tear trailed down her face. Hastily, she wiped it away.
Again, Uncle Mike nodded.
"So rest in peace." She said. "I'll see you on the other side."
"Not until you're old and grey alright?" Uncle Mike laughed.

Sarah stepped back and watched as he slowly faded away. She smiled fondly. One last piece of Uncle Mike humor. But she'd always have the memories.
And then, he was gone, vanished like a vapor. He'd disappeared right in front of her eyes. But she smiled anyway. She knew she'd see him again, someday, and until then, he'd watch over her. Just like he'd been doing.

I Believe

"I don't know about this Paul." Erica said skeptically, folding her arms and looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Seriously?" He said disbelievingly, circling her. "What do I have to do?" He paced the length of the near empty stage, thinking hard. "Ok, go sit down. I will prove it to you."
"I don't know." Erica said again, her eyebrow travelling higher.
"Come on. Give me a chance." Paul begged.
"You know I'm hopeless when you do the puppy dog eyes Paul." Erica complained.
"Which is exactly why I do it." He said logically. "Just go sit. Watch. Then, you can tell me what you think."
"Ok then." Erica finally gave in. She rolled her eyes, her arms still folded in front of her as she headed down the steps. "If you're so confident, prove it to me."

Paul nodded, the challenge giving him a fresh burst of energy and a rush of adrenaline. With a click of his fingers, the curtains closed on him and the theatre went pitch black. After a moment, Erica began rhythmically tapping her fingernails on the arm rest. At almost precisely the same moment, the curtains pulled open and the lights came up. But, Paul was nowhere to be seen. Erica continued to tap her fingers on the arm rest as she waited for something to happen.

Suddenly, a group of men emerged from the shadows and pulled a curtain up over all four sides of the long, narrow, box like contraption Erica only now noticed in the middle of the stage. Another moment passed before the men stepped back and the curtain fell quickly, revealing Paul. He stepped down and spread his arms out in question. Erica raised her eyebrow again. She wasn't completely convinced yet.
"Not yet huh?" Paul asked and Erica shook her head.
"Ok. That's alright." He said. "It just so happens I've got another trick up my sleeve."
"Oh really?" Erica asked, folding her arms again as Paul worked off stage. The curtains closed again, opening a moment later. This time, there was a bigger, more dangerous looking contraption in the middle of the stage. It was then that Paul emerged and opened a hidden door in the sort of race car, bug type machine in the stage's centre. With a wink at Erica, he got inside it and closed the lid. His assistants appeared again and set a saw hanging in mid air yet still attached to the machine in motion. Slowly, the saw came down and began to cut into the body of the machine below, the very part Paul had just shut himself inside of. Involuntarily, Erica let out an audible gasp, covering her mouth with her hand as her lips began to form an 'o'. Erica's attention was diverted when there was a light shining at the back of the room. She looked back to see that Paul was standing there, running up toward her and the stage.

"Well?" He asked, spreading his arms out in question once again as he looked down at her from the stage.
"Ok, ok." Erica said, standing up with her arms raised. "You got me. I believe."

The Letter

Dear Joan,
I would like to thank you again for the money you gave me for the baby my wife and I were expecting. We greatly appreciate it. I write to tell you that a few days ago, my wife gave birth to a healthy baby boy and to request that you name him. It is a custom among my people that a baby's name should be given by another who wishes their name to live on. Since you gave us money towards our son's healthcare and education, I believe it is you that should be allowed to name our boy. I hope to hear from you soon. All the best and God bless you,
Michael


Joan stared again at the letter in her hands. This didn't make sense. How did he get her information? Who was he? Why did he want her to name his son? It is a custom among my people he had said. And then, she remembered...

A few months back, Joan had gone on a trip to Vanuatu. In Port Villa, she had gone on a tour, and Michael, their tour guide had told them of the hardships Vanuatu faced in the way of medicine and education and had shared with them his excitement of impending fatherhood. Feeling sorry for the man, and touched by his story, Joan remembered now, she'd given him money as she left the bus. "Take this." She had said, closing his fingers around the notes. "Use it for your baby. For it's healthcare, for it's education. To give it a good life." She remembered clearly now the tear that had fallen from his eye and the overwhelming gratitude he showed. Joan remembered giving him her contact details, hoping to keep in touch. And now, here he was again, writing to her. His wife had had a healthy little boy.

Looking over the letter again, she noticed that Michael had left his contact number and so she dialed it. Only a few rings passed before Michael picked up on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Michael, it's Joan. You took me on a tour a few months ago. I gave you money for your boy." She explained quickly, hoping he'd remember her. She let out a sigh of relief as he spoke.
"Joan!" He said and she could almost see the wide grin on his face. "Of course I remember you! Thank you thank you so much for the money. Our boy is well."
"I can't name your boy, Michael." She said bluntly.
"Oh but Joan you must." He insisted.
"It is too much of an honour"
"You must name our boy Joan. Please. It is a custom of my people that when money is given for a baby, they should name them."
Joan was silent for a moment, thinking about it. This was obviously important to Michael. A custom of his people. "Ok." She said finally. "I'll do it. You must give him my late husband's name, Aaron."

Be Warned

Beth had a huge smile on her face as she approached her, and to Michelle, her sister looked the happiest she'd seen her in a long, long time. She couldn't remember the last time Beth had looked this happy. Not only was her smile the biggest Michelle had ever seen it, she was practically glowing. There was this aura of happiness around her that seemed hopelessly infectious and made her smile too.

"Hey Bethie!" Michelle smiled, hugging her sister before the three of them sat down. "So, this must be the Chris I've been hearing so much about." She smiled toward the man sitting beside her sister.
"This is him!" Beth confirmed excitedly. "Chris, this is my sister Michelle."
"Nice to meet you Chris." Michelle extended her hand across the table. "I've heard a lot about you."
"You too Michelle. I wish I could say the same." Chris shook Michelle's hand and they both turned to look at Beth.
"What?" She asked, blushing a little.
"Why hasn't he heard about me?" Michelle asked, a hint of playfulness in her serious tone.
"I don't know." Beth shrugged. "I guess I never thought to mention you. But he knows about you now." She nudged Chris, who smiled.

Michelle waited until Beth had gone before she leaned closer to Chris.
"Now," she said, her voice growing serious. "I like you, but you have no idea how upset she's been, how much heartache she's been through, how she's felt about herself. I'm warning you, right now, if you do anything, at all, to hurt her, you will have me to deal with."
Chris gulped and Michelle leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile forming on her lips. "Good." She said, her tone more relaxed. "I'm glad we understand each other."

"I warned him." Michelle whispered to her sister through gritted teeth in an attempt to hide their conversation from Chris.
Beth laughed nervously, her face colouring."Michelle! I told you, you don't have to do that."
"No, I didn't have to. But you're my baby sister Bethie. If her hurts you, I swear..."
Beth rested a hand on her sister's arm, demanding her attention. "It's ok Mich." She said, looking at over at Chris, who was nervously swaying from side to side a little way away as he waited for them. "Look at him. I think he gets it."

Spread Your Wings... & Fly

"Are you sure about this?" She asked, turning to look back at her mother.
"Yes, Katie, I'm sure." Her mother lied. The truth was, she wasn't so sure about it herself. But you couldn't hold onto them forever. At some point, there came a time when you simply couldn't for another moment. When they'd suffocate if you did. There came a time in every mother's life when you had no choice but to set them free.

Katie hesitated on the edge of the path, glancing to the building across the street, then to her mother, and back again. She wasn't so sure about this. Wasn't quite sure that she was ready. Being with her mother was so safe. That was where she belonged and she doubted whether or not she was ready. But somewhere inside, a part of her new it was inevitable. Only a matter of time until it happened. Why put it off? But still, it didn't make it any easier. Not one bit. It was still just as scary as the first day of primary school had been, maybe more.

Katie relented, turning to her mother and falling into her open arms. "I don't know if I can do this Mum." She admitted, her voice muffled.
Gently, her mother stroke her hair. "You can." She said. "I know you can Katie."
Katie looked up at her. "You think so?"
Katie's mother shook her head. "I know so." She said. "It can be scary sometimes, I know. All new things are. But, you've just got to grit your teeth and do it."
Katie was still hesitant, but stayed silent, listening as her mother went on.
"Just because you're starting your own life doesn't mean that I won't be here. I'm not going anywhere just because you're 20, finished high school, moving out and getting a job. But, Katie it's because you are a this stage in your life that you've got to get your own life, move on, move out, move up. Spread your wings... Fly."
"I guess." Katie whispered, shrugging her shoulders.
"You can't just be Mummy's little girl anymore Katie. You always will be to me, but you've got to get another title now. I night have one to start with."
"Yeah?" Katie asked, looking up at her.
"Butterfly." Her mother said simply. "Because you're going to spread your wings, and you're going to fly."

Child's Play

The young boy slowly, experimentally leaned forward, then back again, curiously watching himself on the webcam as he moved about. He moved so close that his eye took up the entire screen and almost turned it black. Then he moved back in order to make himself look smaller.

"What're you doing there Collin?" Asked his father, approaching the boy.
"Just playing around."
"Can I join you?"
"Sure Dad." The boy shrugged. Trying not to let his eagerness show too much, Collin's father dragged a chair over and joined his son experimenting with the webcam.

Collin resumed leaning back and forth, playing with his size on the screen. He only stopped to look at his father, who was pulling goofy faces beside him, though he soon stopped when he felt his son's eyes on him.
"What?" He asked innocently, a pout forming on his face.
"Nothing." Collin said. "You're just funny Dad, that's all." He admitted with a giggle.
"Ah!" His father said triumphantly, flinging a hand in the air. "Your old man's still got it!"

"Hey, I've got an idea." Said Collin's father after a while of playing around.
"What is it?"
"Get out of the way a second."
Obediently, Collin rolled back on his chair, allowing his father to take centre stage. He watched curiously as his father slowly moved his head forward.
Calling his son back, Collin's father hit play on his newly recorded video.
Collin looked back at him, confused. "What's it supposed to be?"
"Here, watch." Collin's father tapped his two fingers on the screen, as if they were the legs of a little person walking across his recorded bald head.
His son burst into laughter, suddenly understanding. "Moonwalking!" He said excitedly.
"One small step for man, one giant leap for fingers." His father declared, making his fingers 'jump' off the screen, eliciting another burst of laughter from Collin.
"Can I try?" He asked eagerly. His father nodded and rolled out of the way. He watched as Collin moved his fingers forward, the way he'd done. A smile escaped his lips when his son started sliding his fingers backwards.
"Just like MJ!" Collin said proudly, smiling.


Paula-Rose couldn't help but laugh at her husband and son's playful antics. The saying was as true as ever with them. Like Father, Like Son, although in this case, it could have been switched around. Duncan had always been a big kid, the very reason she thought him such a great dad to their son.

She jumped when they turned around, having been lost in her own world.
"What?" They asked in unison, a similar defensive pout on their faces.
"Oh nothing." She said. "Just watching you two."
"Did you see the moonwalking?" Collin asked eagerly, a small smile replacing the pout.
"I did." She laughed. "Very clever."

Legacy

Meredith pulled the covers gently up over her young son, Jack's chest and sat down on the bed beside him.
Jack looked at his mother, his eyes bright, hopeful.
"Would you like a bedtime story Jack?" She asked.
Jack nodded enthusiastically. He loved the stories his mother told. They were always about the same boy, Caleb.

"Well," Jack's mother began and he snuggled into his pillow, closing his eyes in order to imagine the story in his mind and listened, hooked, as always, on his mother's every word.
"Caleb was about 12."
"Around my age." Jack whispered happily.
"Yes." His mother agreed. "Around your age. Anyway, one day, Caleb went with some of his friends to a dam not far from his house. Caleb took his little dog, Sandy. They all had to climb up a very big, steep hill to get to the dam, and by the time they got to the top, they were exhausted. So, they all sat down on the rocks around the water to rest for a while."
Jack could just see it. Caleb and his friends slowly climbing up the hill, struggling a few steps because he was getting tired. His little dog Sandy racing ahead, because that's what dogs did. They had endless amounts of energy. Jack could almost picture Caleb and his friends lazing around the dam, lying on towels in the sun. Sandy standing by the edge of the water, his little paws getting wet as he lapped up the cool liquid.

"After an hour or two, Caleb and his friends had their energy back and started to take their clothes off, leaving their swimmers on to go for a little dip. But, just as Caleb finished pulling his shirt up, over his head and let it fall to the ground, he realized he couldn't see Sandy anymore."
Jack's expression turned to concern. "What happened Mum?"
Meredith laughed a little. "Well, what Caleb didn't realise was, one of his friends had thrown a stone into the water for Sandy to fetch. He'd gone in after it, but he hadn't let the stone go!"
At that, Jack giggled, joining his mother's laughter. "Then what?" Jack asked eagerly.
"Well, Caleb had to go in after him, didn't he?"
Jack nodded. Of course. That would be the most sensible thing to do. After all, you wouldn't want your dog to get hurt.

"So Caleb dove into the water after him. Lucky he did too, because the dog was standing at the bottom of the dam, the stone still in his mouth, his fur soaked through. Caleb saw Sandy looked like he was struggling. So he slipped his arm underneath Sandy's belly and pulled him close. Then, he swam quickly back up to the surface. As Caleb took a big gulp of air, Sandy did the same, and then started panting."

By the time Meredith had finished the story, Jack had fallen fast asleep, so she carefully rose from the bed and kissed his forehead before leaving the room. Leaving Jack with his dreams of Caleb and Sandy, and how Sandy wouldn't let go of the stone and Caleb had to dive in after him.

Six years later, when Jack was 18, his mother sat him down in the living room.
"I'm really glad you're turning those stories you told me as a kid into books Mum." Jack spoke up before Meredith had the chance.
Meredith leaned forward and placed her hand on his knee for a moment. "Thank you Jack." She said, and sat up straight in the chair again.
"Now other kids can enjoy them. Just like I did."
"About them Jack. The stories I told you about Caleb. They were all true." Meredith confessed, her nervous voice almost a whisper.
"What do you mean Mum?" Asked Jack, confused. "They didn't happen to you, did they?"
"No Jack. To your uncle."
"But I don't have an uncle." Jack said slowly.
"You did. You do." She said. "I told you about him, remember?"
Jack sat frozen for a moment, lost in thought before nodding. "The one who passed away."
Meredith nodded. "I didn't want to talk about him dying. Especially when you were younger. So I told you stories instead. About some of the things he did, in his childhood and later on. To keep his memory alive."

Jack stayed silent.
"Have I done something wrong?" She asked worriedly.
"No!" Jack said, snapping out of his trance. "No. Not at all Mum. I was just thinking. These books, they're his legacy."
Meredith nodded. "That's what I was hoping."
Jack leaned over and picked up one of the books from the table. Settling back into his chair, Jack opened it to the page before the story began. For my brother. His mother had written as a dedication. Never forgotten

Behind Closed Doors

"I'm fine." She said, heading straight up to her room and closing the door. But the truth was, she wasn't fine. Not really.

Behind closed doors, tears flowed freely from Ellen's eyes.
"What is it?" She asked out loud. "What's wrong with me? Why aren't I good enough for anybody?"
The pain seemed unbearable. Ellen grabbed her razor from the vanity table against the wall and sat cross legged on the floor. She began to dig the blade into her skin, drawing blood that oozed from the cut and ran down her arm. Her face became scrunched up with the pain, but she kept doing it, trying to replace the intense emotional pain with physical.

Hours later, Ellen hastily tried to clean herself up, wiping away the blood and cleaning the razor blade so not a trace of her actions would be left behind. It was then that she lay back down on the bed and dissolved into tears once more.

"Why me!?" She felt like screaming at the world. In her final year of school, stress levels were high and the workload just kept on piling up. On top of all that, school brought with it the lovely added drama of social cliques and moods. There were people who were your best friends one day and your greatest enemies the next. Ellen couldn't help but feel like she was going insane. She was sick of it. Completely fed up. Yet, she still had the burning desire for friends. The need to fit in. She wanted to be accepted for who she was. Only, nothing seemed to be going her way.

Up until now, Ellen had been able to tuck everything away. Act like nothing happened. No one ever suspected a thing. But now she was starting to feel overwhelmed. It was all too much. The pressure of everything bottled up inside had caused the lid to pop off of it's own accord and the contents of the bottle, Ellen's emotions, were falling out in a long, relentless flow. It came out as tears, anger, self harm as she tried desperately to replace the intense emotional pain she felt with physical and negative voices in her head. A mind monster. 'You're not good enough.' It said. 'You're worthless.', 'How could anybody ever like you?'

The problem lay in winning the battle. The hardest part was speaking about it. To Ellen, her problems seemed petty. Stupid. They didn't really matter. Until her mother caught her one afternoon, alone in her room and confronted her.
"Ellen?" She said, standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock at what she saw. "What are you doing?"
Ellen froze. After a long while, she slowly looked up at her mother, pain evident in her eyes.
Concern in her eyes, Ellen's mother came closer, sympathy in her eyes and helped her daughter to her feet. She slipped her arms around the young, vulnerable girl and led her over to the bed, sitting down and allowing Ellen to fall back into her arms.

Ellen dissolved into tears as her mother hugged her tightly.
"Ellen, what's going on honey?" Her mother asked after a while. It took a bit of time for Ellen to regain control of herself, but even when she did, talking was a struggle.
"I'm not anybody." She said through her heavy sobs. "No one cares about me."
Ellen's mother rubbed her back as Ellen tried to get the words out. "No you're not. I love you, your dad loves you. Everyone in the family does. We'd all miss you."
"You're the only ones." Ellen said as negative thoughts took over once again. "I bet you're the only ones who would even come to my funeral. Everyone else would be having a party because I was gone. They'd be celebrating it."

Ellen's mother was suddenly serious.  "Hey!" She said seriously, pulling away and holding her daughter's shoulders firmly, studying her face. "Don't you ever talk like that. You hear me?"
Ellen nodded weakly, staring down at the bedspread.
"You are loved." Her mother said again. "You are loved very much. You are not worthless. You're so beautiful. You're funny, you're outgoing..."
Ellen looked up at her with sad eyes, causing her mother to stop talking. "You really think so?" She asked quietly.
"Yes." Her mother said firmly, demanding the girl's attention. "Now Ellen, I want you to hear me when I say this."
There was a short pause and then Ellen nodded.

"This is only the start. It's not going to get better straight away. You've got to work at it. Fight it."
"The voices in my head?"
"Yes." Her mother answered. "The voices in your head, the urges to hurt yourself. But, you've got to do it one day, one step, at a time. Ok?"
Again, Ellen nodded.
Her mother held out her hand. "And, I'll be here every step of the way."

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If you are hurting, you are not alone. There is always help available. Belle's Recovery Project is one such help, run by my friend Isabella https://www.facebook.com/BellesRecoveryProject

Voices

Brian shuddered under the scratchy, thin hospital sheets. His arms were stiff beside him, as were his legs as he stared up at the ceiling.
"Brian." A voice called out. The voice seemed to echo as if it had bounced off a few walls before entering his ears. "Brian."

On the hospital bed, Brian froze, staring straight up at the blank, grey ceiling of the hospital. He closed his eyes and soon fell asleep. lulled into the land of nod by the steady, rhythmic chorus of beeping machines of other patients in the ward.

He was chained to a wall, unable to move an inch. Suddenly, he heard echoing footsteps, growing louder as they drew closer and his body became more tense than it had been to begin with.
"Brian." There was that voice again. The dreamlike, echoing, other worldly voice.
It took everything Brian had not to scream when the figure belonging to the voice and the footsteps rounded the corner and came into view.
"I'm so glad you're here." The voice said, slowly approaching him. Brian opened his mouth and the creature, because Brian didn't really think you could call it human, quickly closed the gap between them with a few side steps that looked like something out of a creepy horror movie and raised a bony finger to his lips.

"Uh uh. Shh." Said the creature. Brian closed his mouth abruptly and stared at the creature before him. It could have been human, Brian realized, once, maybe. To him, the creature looked as if it had hitched a ride on a time travel machine to get there and that it had come from a Nazi Concentration Camp from the second world war where it had been tortured before it had managed to escape. The pillow case like dress it wore hung loosely from it's skinny, sickly frame. All the creature's bones and veins were easily visible and it's head was completely bald. It was a short thing, around the height of a six year old child and on first glance, it looked harmless. But, Brian was scared out of his skin.

Brian woke with a start, sitting upright to see a kindly nurse smiling at him.
"I saw. There was someone. They looked sick. Near death. I don't even know if it was human" Brian stuttered. The nurse continued to smile at him as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It's ok Brian. There's nothing there. You're in the hospital remember? The institute."

Brian lay back down, but he was still uncomfortable. Cautiously, he leaned over to look underneath his bed. There, laying motionlessly under his bed was the bony, sickly, tortured looking creature he'd seen in his dream. Startling him, the creature opened it's eyes suddenly and looked up at him, winking once.

Brian shivered, a mixture of cold and fear, returning to lie flat in his bed. He shook his head vigorously in an attempt to erase the image from his mind. But had the creature really been there? Had he really heard those voices? Or, was it all in his head?

Interrogation

His footsteps echoed loudly from the metal walls of the shed as he paused in the doorway to evaluate the scene. There was a slowly increasing trail of blood, beginning to the left of the door and continuing around the edges of the large empty room. The little drops of blood slowly increased to little puddles, and later pools before objects, roughly cut human fingers were left discarded at randomly placed intervals. Finally, the trail lead to a discarded, pale, scarred, blood stained, fingerless body. The detective bent down to see the tortured eyes, wide open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. The last thing they'd ever see.

The woman sat nervously playing with her fingers as she awaited the detective in the cold, echo prone room. Finally, he arrived and took a seat opposite her at the table in the middle of the room.
"So," He said briskly. "Why'd you do it?"
"I didn't." She answered.
"I'm not playing games." The detective's voice began to grow gruff and he narrowed his eyes. The woman's red, tired eyes stared at him, or perhaps past him in a numb, blank daze. She said nothing.
"Come on, I really don't have all day."
"Officer, really. I didn't... I would never..." The woman began to babble.
"Really?" The detective got up and began pacing the room, his gaze never once leaving the trembling woman who sat on the cold, uncomfortable metal chair. Her eyes became redder as tears threatened to fall.
"You were the last person to see him that night Ma'am." He said, circling her much like a shark circles their prey. "You must know something."
"I don't!" She cried out. shuffling her feet onto the edge of the chair and wrapping her arms around her knees. Her timid gaze slowly went from the ground up to the detective's intimidating, determined face and her eyes followed him as he paced the room.
"I swear!" She said, finally giving in to the tears and letting them soak her cheeks. "We just ran into each other... I hadn't seen him in years!"
"Hadn't seen him in years, eh?" The detective stopped in front of the woman, staring coldly at her. "That's not what one witness says, who saw you not two weeks ago, leaving the supermarket. Together." He said, putting great emphasis on the great word. He was so close, their noses were inches from bumping together. Her lips started to quiver and she trembled even harder, a seemingly impossible feat and an increased flow of tears began to fall.

The detective threw his hands up in the air, like a surrender. "That's it." He said. "I've seen enough." He came around to the woman and motioned for her to get up. "Ms. Johnson, I'm placing you under arrest for murder." The detective roughly put her hands in the hand cuffs and led her out of the room and away.

I Don't Remember

"Where am I? I don't remember..." He said drowsily. He was startled to feel pressure in his left hand and looked over to see another hand squeezing his own.
"I'm here Dom. You had a sleep remember?"
"That man in the blue. He said he'd come back in ten minutes. Will he come soon?"
"He's been. It's all over."
"You'll wait for me, won't you Tara?"
"I did, and they brought you back to me."
"Where am I?"

"He's awake." The nurse observed, poking her head in around the drawn curtain.
"He has been for about ten minutes or so. He keeps asking the same questions. Over and over. Is that normal?" Tara asked, peering concerned, at the nurse, who was now checking Dom.
"That's just the anesthetic talking darlin'. It will go away soon enough."
"Tara?" Dom asked, his voice weak and tired sounding. "They're not going to give me that vile tasting liquid again are they?"
"No Dom. That's all over." The nurse answered before Tara could. "You just have a little rest now and you can go home a bit later, when you feel up to it." With that, the nurse left, pulling the curtains away so she could monitor him better from a distance.

It seemed hours to Tara before Dom began to show signs of coming round. "Tara?"
She squeezed his hand and he looked over at her. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Its all over. Right?"
"Yes Dom. All over. Everything's finished. You're in recovery having a little rest before they let us go home."
"Thank you for putting up with me Tara."
"It was nothing Dom. Like the nurse said, it was the anesthetic, not you."
"The nurse?"
"She came in before to check up on you. You'd not long woken up."
"Tara, my head hurts."
"I know. She said that was normal."

Dom drifted off and Tara sat beside his bed, holding his hand the whole time he slept. When he woke up again, the nurse deemed him fit to go home.
"Alright Dom, you look pretty good to me. Do you feel up to going home?"
Dom, still somewhat weak simply nodded his head.

Tara helped Dom get his shoes on as they waited for the nurse to bring the wheelchair around. With support from both Tara, and the nurse, Dom walked the few steps from the bed to the wheelchair and fell heavily into the seat. The nurse wheeled Dom through the recovery ward and down to the hospital's foyer as Tara lead the way.

The Nurse stayed with Dom while Tara went to get the car and helped get Dom inside. Tara helped Dom with his seatbelt and he fell asleep again as they drove away back home.

I Might Have Swung A Little Hard...

"It'll go easier on you if you come clean." The father looked down on his son, standing trembling against the wall.
"I didn't mean to Dad. It just kind of..."
"Kind of what, Josh?"
'Happened."
"You're lucky I'm not your mother." His father scolded, staring down at his son hard. This only made the boy tremble more. "You'd be in a lot more trouble if she were the one that caught you."
"I'm sorry Dad." The boy whispered.
"You stay here. Before you wreck anything else." Josh's father made to walk away, before turning back. "Right. There."

Josh stood frozen where he was while his father went out into the backyard. He stood in the doorway, surveying the yard. Finally, he shook his head. Along the cement porch were broken fragments of the outdoor lounge swing that he'd bought just three weeks ago as a birthday present for his wife. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he spotted the precious fairy garden statue that had once belonged to his wife's grandmother. At least Josh had managed to save that. That was something.

It was a few minutes before Josh's father returned. To Josh, he seemed even angrier than before.
"The only good I can see is that" his father stood glaring at Josh as he counted a list on his fingers.
"1, you didn't hurt yourself or kill yourself, and 2, you didn't break your mother's heirloom fairy statue."

"What's happened here?" In came Josh's mother, all guns blazing. Josh was still frozen against the wall as his mother's raging eyes found him.
"It's like a tornado hit our backyard! Except for the fact that tornadoes do not come here." His mother turned to her husband. "Garry, would you mind going and cleaning up out back? I'll handle this."
"Sure." Was all Josh's father said before he left his wife and Josh alone in the living room.
"So, Joshua, can you possibly shed some light on the subject?"
Josh was shaking and struggling not to laugh at the same time. If it had been a cartoon, his mother would have steam coming from her ears and her face would be the same shade of red as a tomato.

"Joshua!"
"Yes Mum?" Josh shrunk down a few centimetres. Based solely on his mother's tome, he was in trouble now.
"Can you tell me what happened out there."
"Well, I might have swung the swing a little hard."
"Might have? A little? Joshua, something tells me your father wouldn't be so stupid as to do such a thing. What, exactly, made you think that type of behavior was a good idea, let alone acceptable?" His mother stood in front of him, her arms folded across her chest and her foot tapping against the ground as she waited for her son to talk.
"I don't know. I wasn't thinking really."
"At least you recognize that. You are lucky you didn't hurt yourself! We could have been driving to the hospital right now!"
"Yes Mum," Josh said sincerely. "Could have been."
"Up to your room. No TV tonight, and you're going to bed early. Homework, dinner, shower, bed. Understand?"
Josh nodded and made for the stairs, relieved somewhat.
"Oh, and Joshua?"
Josh tensed up and turned to face his mother.
"The cost of the swing will come out of your pocket money. You broke it, therefore, you will be buying me a new one."

Anya

The young girl let her head fall and come to rest on her mother's shoulder."Mum, I'm scared."
"I know Sammie. But you've done this before, and you always came back in one piece." Sam's mother gently stroked her hair.
"I guess. But I'm still really nervous. Really scared."
"Don't think about that." Her mother instructed.
"How long will they be? We've been waiting here for hours!" Sam winced as another jolt of pain rushed through her.
"I don't know, but I'm sure it will be our turn soon. Why don't I tell you a story? Take your mind off things."
Sam nodded, snuggling deeper into her mother's comforting, supportive shoulder.

"I once knew a girl. We were about your age and she had medical treatments, though not as many as you." Sam was sitting straight now, intrigued.
"She was a beautiful person, inside and out. She was so positive and outgoing. Something I longed for myself, but could never quite get. Not to the fantastic extent she had anyway. She was so tough and strong. To anyone else, she seemed to be able to handle anything."
"She couldn't though, could she?" Sam guessed.
"Well, those of us close to her. Those of us lucky enough to be considered a close friend, like me saw her softer centre. In reality, she was just as worried and nervous about things as the rest of us, if not more. But she never let it show. We never saw her anxious or afraid."
"If you never saw it, if she never let it show, how do you know?" Sam asked, leaning back into her mother again.
"I knew. I could tell. Everyone gets nervous before medical treatment. Especially when its something as big as theatres. When there were treatments coming up, I worried about her, right up until I saw her again and I could see for myself that she was alright."
"It sounds like you worried more than she did Mum."
"Oh no. I worried about her, yes. But there were times she was a lot more nervous than I was. She was scared. I was merely only nervous for her. It wasn't the same."

"You're trying to tell me something here, aren't you?" Sam guessed, leaning further into her mother.
"Even though she was scared, my friend was always brave. She just gritted her teeth and did what had to be done. She was unbelievably brave. You're doing the same thing right now, Sammie with how brave you're being. I want you to keep doing exactly that."
"Mum. Your friend, what was her name?"
"Anya."
"Your best friend Anya? The one who used to babysit me when I was little and who comes over sometimes? That Anya?"
"That Anya."

Cabistado Stables

Taking small shuffling steps forward in the hallway, Brooke looked around, wide eyed with curiosity. The phrase 'the noblest conquest of man is to have gained the friendship of a horse' was printed on the far wall as part of the company's logo, underneath the picture of a horse's hoof held gently in the palm of a human hand and the name of the stables, Cabistado Stables. The name had been fabricated from the Spanish words for human, horse and friendship. Not surprising, Brooke realised, seeing as the owners hailed from Spain. Brooke had read up on the place on the internet the previous night for the thousandth time, her excitement bubbling from her like a waterfall.

Brooke's love for horses dated back to childhood and when she'd first seen 'Black Beauty' as a young four year old. Ever since then, she'd been obsessed with horses and everything about them. Growing up, she'd collected several hundred soft toy horses, various horse movies and even more books about horses. The only thing Brooke had never done was ride a horse. Her parents had always told her that she was too young just yet, and they promised that 'when she was older' they'd consider it.

Now nearing 16 and new in town, Brooke had been delighted when she'd found a friend in the form of Marlena, a young girl who loved horses every bit as much as Brooke did.
"You're joking!" Brooke said disbelievingly.
"No. My parents have stables on the outskirts of town."
"Really?" Brooke's excitement was so great she could barely contain it, although some of it did seep through in a happy beam.

"Brooke!" Marlena called excitedly. "I'm so glad you came! Excited?"
"Mum's a little skeptical but, do you even have to ask?"
"We'll take care of that. Don't you worry Belleza. Padre is very concerned about safety. It's his number one priority, and he'll be training us so your mother need not worry." Marlena explained. "Now come on, let me show you around."

Marlena finished the tour of the stables by introducing Brooke to a few of the horses. There were four grouped together. There was a pure white Andalusian, a caramel coloured palomino, a majestic looking dark Spanish Purebred and a colourfully speckled Paint horse.
"This is Brisa, Libere, Sonador and Magia. Padre said you could choose from them in terms of who to ride."

Marlena stepped back to let Brooke have a closer look at the horses. She approached each of them in turn. She noticed that Brooke spent the most amounts of time with Brisa the Andalusian horse and Sonador, the Spanish Purebred.
"I think I like Brisa and Sonador most, but from there I can't decide." Brooke turned to her friend. "What do you think Marlena?"
"Well, both are very gentle and patient. Brisa is a little more free spirited, and she can be a little wilder, though she can still be tamed. Sonador would probably be a lot more loyal and he's definitely more disciplined than Brisa."
"I really like them both, but I think I'd like to try Sonador." Brooke decided.
"Great choice, and you know what? You just made two decisions in one!"
"I did?"
"Yeah. Madre made a policy where each rider must select an extra horse, as back up if something happens to your first horse. So Brisa can be your back up."

"Who are your horses?" Brooke asked.
"I was just getting to that." Marlena went toward the caramel palomino and stroked his nose. "Libere here is my back up." Marlena lead Brooke a little way down the hallway of stables.
"This lovely boy is my horse." She extended her hand and another dark Spanish purebred came forward, nuzzling it. She gave him a scratch on the side of the head. "Milagro."

Later on that afternoon, Brooke had her first lesson. A one on one with Marlena, her horse Milagro and her father. He brought his horse Nobleza along, with whom he rode alongside the girls on the trails.
"You're a natural Brooke." He said, his deep voice rich with a Spanish accent. "You mounted very well and you made a good choice in Sonador. He is patient, disciplined and will make a very loyal companion and friend for you as you get to know each other."
"Thank you, Senor Batller."
"Please, you may call me Emanuel."

As the weeks and months went boy, Brooke developed a great relationship with both Brisa and Sonador, though her bond with Sonador was considerably stronger and her friendship with Marlena was becoming closer. Eventually, it got to the point where Brooke was hanging around the stables nearly as much as Marlena was and it wasn't long before Emanuel and his wife began to give her chores to help out.

It was then that Brooke felt she'd found her calling. With Marlena and the powerful, loyal horses they had syrrounding them, both felt they were on top of the world. Brooke could barely remember the day of her first riding lesson. Her second visit to the stables when she'd been a mixture of nerves and excitement. Now, all she felt in the stables was complete joy.

In only a short time, Brooke had come to realise the truth in the saying the Batller's had selected as the motto for their stables. 'The noblest conquest of man is to have gained the friendship of a horse.' Though it sounded silly to some, being friends with a horse was surprisingly rewarding. They were such beautiful, patient, trusting creatures and they were very affectionate and protective of those they were closest to. Unsurprisingly, Sonador seemed to be most protective of her and Milagro of Marlena. Brooke could see the same in Emanuel and his horse Nobleza. They had a strong, indestructible bond and a trust and loyalty between them that must have taken years to build. Now, the pair worked brilliantly well as a team and were a shining model of what Emanuel's students hoped to share with their horses in time and proof that just maybe, gaining the friendship of a horse could be man's greatest conquest.

Looks Can Be Deceiving

Looking around, Coralie realized she was considerably younger than her new classmates if not the youngest of the group. She pulled her pale pink suitcase along behind her, joining the rest of the group.
"Need some help there Princess?" Asked one man in a mocking tone, turning around to face her.
"No. I'm right thanks." Coralie smiled politely at him, and he turned around again. A moment later, another man turned around for a moment before starting to laugh with his friend.
"Hey look Joe. It's another one. Beauty spa's that way love!"

"That's one hundred fifty six, one hundred fifty seven, one hundred and fifty eight in ten minutes!" Officer Davison announced, a pleased grin on his face as he crouched beside a now red faced, puffing Coralie. "Good work Officer McCauley." Their teacher slapped her hard on the back. Coralie looked up at her predominately male classmates, to see most of them gawking at her, open mouthed in astonishment. Only a month into training at the accademy and Coralie was well and truly on the rise as the year's star pupil.

"There are three traffic light colours. Red, yellow and green. They signify what?" Their theory lesson that day was based around road rules and driving. Another tutor, Officer Wells, was putting them through their paces and testing their knowledge.
"Green is go, red stop, and yellow go through really fast if you're going too fast to stop."
"Good, but not quite. Anyone else." Officer Wells looked around the room at her students. "Officer McCauley?"
"Red is stop and green go. Yellow is the cautionary light. If you are going too fast too stop, go through but do so with caution. If you're well away from the lights, prepare to stop."
"Spot on. Ok, a little harder. What is the legal blood alcohol level?"
Coralie spoke up immediately. She'd been studying drink driving just the other night and the facts were fresh in her mind. "Ideally, you should have no alcohol in your system in order to drive. However, the legal limit is currently set at 0.05 BAC. In order to comply with the limit, males may drink no more than two standard drinks in the first hour followed by one standard drink per hour following. For females, one standard drink per hour is allowable."
"Exceptional Officer. Well done."

At their graduation ceremony 5 months later, Coralie's name was called midway through her classmates and she proceeded to the stage to receive her graduation certificate. "Officer Coralie McCauleu. Graduating with honours for exceptional performance in physical and academic tasks. Well done." Like her classmates, Coralie shook hands with the officer presenting the certificates.

"How'd you do it Coralie?" Asked one of her classmates. "We all thought you'd gone the wrong way and you were headed for the spa."
"I noticed."
"So? You beat all of us on the gym and you showed us up in class. What's your secret?"
"Well, lets just say looks can be deceiving, and not all blondes are dumb. AS for gym, well. What doesn't kill me makes me hotter."

True Colours

Laverne gently fingered the leaf growing from the stem of the sweet smelling flower in her family's garden. As she did so, a light rain began to fall and she stayed a moment, watching as fresh water droplets appeared on the leaf before falling to the ground, making it temporarily darker in a little circle where the drop had fallen.

Meanwhile, Cheryl, who was a few years younger than her sister was inside, practicing her magic. "Dlareme" She called, pointing her wand at a vase across the room. The particular spell was supposed to make an object fly, and allow the caster to bring it to them. But, it didn't work and the vase flew only a few metres before crashing to the grand and shattering into several broken fragments. She tried another spell, to turn a fairly invaluable object into something else. But that too malfunctioned, leaving the object half of what it used to be and half what she'd attempted to turn it into, rendering it unusable.

Cheryl screamed, throwing another vase on the ground in angry frustration, smiling defiantly at the satisfying crash as the vase hit the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. She continued to smile as she threw the half transformed object to the floor in retaliation for the spells gone awry, as if it was somehow the object's fault.

Laverne walked into the room, seeming to glide as she made her way over to her sister, carefully dodging the broken vase pieces on her way. She put a calm hand on Cheyl's shoulder and smiled.
"It's alright."
Cheryl glared at her sister, her face red with the tension coursing through her body.
"Alright?" She asked. "What do you mean 'alright'? In what way is this," Cheryl gestured at the two piles of broken vases and the half transformed object on the floor. "Alright?"
"Well, we can easily fix that." She said, gesturing at the half transformed object. "And as for that, well, we can clean that up easily."
"You mean you can." Cheryl retorted.

For years, it went on like that. Cheryl was always being outshone by Laverne, who seemed to have a natural talent for magic. One day though, Laverne's life began to fall apart. Her engagement was called off and she was left with nothing. She hadn't yet managed to establish a career and her social life was a scandal after her break up.

Hunter had been Laverne's best friend since childhood but little did she realize, he'd had a secret crush on her that dated back to their teenage years. In the midst of her rage, Hunter was caught in the crossfire of a spell she'd cast, vert, which transformed one object into another and also worked on people. She'd meant to cast it on something inanimate, but Hunter had got in the way and so the spell had instead been cast upon him.

Cheryl had arrived at just the right moment and tried to reverse the spell. Unfortunately, she pronounced the counter spell slightly wrong and as a result, the original spell was only half reversed. Growing up, Cheryl had never really liked Hunter, instead, she was always jealous of the friendship he had with Laverne, and not with her.

Now, a Frankenstein of sorts, Hunter fled, believing Cheryl had cursed him for being friends with her sister and he was never seen again. This was the point at which things for Laverne started to look up. She got a job as the assistant of the town mayor and her social status within the community rose once again.

Before long, things were the way they'd once been. People kept their distance from Cheryl, shuddering when they saw her and trying desperately not to be noticed. Laverne meanwhile was always stopped so the townspeople could give her compliments and tell her how great she was. She had many friends.

But soon, Laverne newly regained power got to her head. She began using her popularity and the influence her position as the town mayor's assistant gave her to spread terrible rumors of her sister. "Did you hear what she did to that poor young man?" A woman asked, whispering to her friend on a street corner. "He turned that innocent young man into a monster!"
"Hey look!" Whispered the woman's friend urgently. "There she is now!" She pointed with a shaky finger toward Cheryl, who stood on the opposite side of the road, waiting to cross.
"Don't make eye contact." The first woman warned. "She might turn us into stone!"
"Or worse." Her friend shuddered.
'You shouldn't let statements like that bother you.' Cheryl recited over and over in her head, an attempt to keep herself calm.

As she walked across the road, Cheryl shook her head at the two woman who had been gossiping about her. They were now running in the opposite direction, most likely fearing for their lives. As she continued along the path, she noticed a small young boy hiding under a public bench. She knelt down and smiled at him. He began to cower and was near tears with fear.
"It's alright. I won't hurt you." She said gently. "You look hungry. Here you go." Carefully, Cheryl pulled a piece of bread from her shopping bag and held it out to the little boy, who shuffled back, pressing himself against a bench pole.

Continuing to smile, Cheryl reached back into her shopping bag. This time, she pulled out a small paper bag and set it on the ground, placing the bread atop it and pushing it toward the boy. She backed away a fraction and watched as the boy cautiously reached out to take the piece of bread and took a few tiny bites before hungrily eating what remained.

View

Imogen and Louise both had Cerebral Palsy and miraculously, they were both affected in the same way. The only difference between the girls was their view on their disability and their outlook on life.

Imogen looked at the things she could do rather than what she couldn't and what she couldn't do like other people, she did differently. She looked forward and took everything one stp at a time. For Imogen, anything was possible if she put her mind to it and worked hard. Sure, life was tough and sometimes she was blue, like everyone. But every single time, with out fail, she'd get back up, dust herself off and get on with things.

Louise meanwhile would often wallow in self pity and feeling sorry for herself. She wondered if she could do things, then decided most likely not. She didn't try. She kept to her cozy, small little life and never did anything different or new. She wanted sympathy and often played the 'disabled' card. Louise was always too scared to do anything and she worried about possibilities that may not even happen.

Life is about perception, what view you take of the world and your circumstances. You're only human if you sometimes have bad days and think 'why me?' Everyone has those moments. But you also have choices. So, do you want to go out and live your life or do would you rather sit in your house all day and do nothing? Would you rather stick to the same boring routine you've had for the last twenty years or put yourself out there and try something new? Would you rather have a full interesting life or a boring, predictable one? So which view do you take? Optimistic or pessimistic? Positive or negative? Good or bad? Happy or depressing? Life is what you make it to be. It's your choice, so what do you choose?

Ageing

Like all little boys, Alan couldn't wait for his birthday, to be a whole year older and get closer to being a grown up. When you're a grown up, they said, then you can do anything you want, they said. At six, Alan didn't completely understand it but the general idea of growing up exciting him and, like all impatient little six year olds, Alan wanted to grow up. The only problem being time.

It seemed to drag on and on. Each day felt like a whole week's worth of days and to a little boy, that was a lot of waiting. But, with time, he grew, went to high school, the raging hormones kicked in and he was caught up with the rest of the teenage crowd, doing things he'd surely regret later.

Once he'd passed his teenage years and was climbing through his twenties, Alan felt relieved to be rid of the hormones and have the rollercoaster of puberty behind him. Now, he had bigger worries than who was going to the football game or whether or not the girl who sat in the back row liked him or if that person who seemed nice was safe to talk to, if he wanted to go on not being teased or picked on. No, now Alan worried about he was going to do with his life. As a child, he'd changed his mind quite a bit. One week, he would be a doctor, the bext a policeman, the next a teacher and the next a champion sports star. Through his teenage years, the phases had lasted longer and he'd thought much more seriously about them. Even during his years at university, the rest of his life had seemed a long way off until suddenly one day, it hit him in the face, like someone had slapped him. And there he was, fast approaching his thirties with still not a clue.

From there, Alan went through all the usual motions, taking things day by day. He established his career, got married, had a family and not thinking much further then tommorow or next week as he watched his children, walking the same path of ageing that he had done, and was still doing, just as everyone.

About his mid to late forties was when Alan no longer liked the idea of growing up. Instead, he wanted to freeze time, even make himself immortal, not that that was possible. He wanted to stop right there and not age another day.

At 50, Alan started noticing the older couples walking in the park or out in town. There was one he remembered, walking by the sea shore, arm in arm. The man held a cane tightly in one hand and each step he took was shaky, as if he could fall flat on his face at any given moment. His wife meanwhile held a walker carefully as if her life depended on it, her shopping sitting in the front basket. She too looked fragile and vulnerable. It seemed that even the slightest change in the wind's course could knock her from her feet.

Alan shuddered to think that he might be like that one day. Age, they had told him, was just a number. Growing old didn't matter. 'The Golden Years' they called it. But watching the couple walking by the sea, it didn't seem to Alan anything close to 'the golden years'. He didn't fancy losing his memories, or getting arthritis. No, he didn't fancy getting closer to death or being sick all the time. Granted, not everyone aged that way, but some did and Alan's greatest fear was that we would be one of them.

Although, Alan realised that he'd led a great life, and by golly, it wasn't over yet. Even if he was getting older, he thought, so what? I can still have just as much fun as when I was 5 or 15 or even 42.

The Coveaus

Eli and Damon looked around the dark room. They had plastered themselves against the wall and stayed there ever since the lights had gone out and they heard the click of the lock on the door, trapping them together in a small room. The mysterious, eerie noises had begun not long after the loud click of the lock. One could pass it off as the wind, but Eli and Damon knew better. They'd watched too many horror movies to shrug at strange noises.

Both of them jumped at the sound of footsteps, a sound akin to thunder in the otherwise deathly silence of the deserted room. The already defening sound grew louder still as the footsteps came closer and Damon and Eli looked around frantically for the source of the noise.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with a bright light as the aliens came in. Eli and Damon froze. All they could do was stare. The creatures were tall, had no head and bodies that were covered in a black and white swirly pattern and had a gapping hole in the centre of their chest. They also had an old fashioned lantern hanging in mid air, not far from their non exisistent heads.

"People are detected." One said, its voice deep and somewhat soothing yet its manner of speaking robotic. "Humans." Said another, its voice exactly the same as the first. There were at least ten of them, all standing in a row each looking exactly like the one before it.

Involuntarily, Eli began to tremble, Damon following suit. "You will remain immobile." One of the aliens ordered. "Who are you?" Eli's question came out in a squeaky, timid whisper. "And silent." Commanded another.

The answer to Eli's question came in the form of what appeared to be a war cry. "We are the Coveau. The mighty, strong, indestructable, undefeated Coveau." "What is your inferior species?" Asked one. Damon and Eli both said nothing. "Speak!" Demanded another of the Coveaus. "I'm Damon, and this is my mate Eli." "You are partners." Another Coveau nodded its understanding. "No. Eli is my mate. Friend." "You are allys." The alien corrected. Damon nodded in response.

The Coveaus stood, facing them like soldiers, remaining silent, until finally, they seemed to come to life again. "You will follow us." A coveau ordered. Damon and Eli didn't move. "Please, just let us go." Eli begged. "You will follow us." The Coveau repeated.

When neither Eli nor Damon moved, four of the Coveaus stepped out of line, two standing at a attention on either side of Damon and the other two on either side of Eli. The other six turned away and began to leave, the march robotic and ordered. The coveaus linked their arms in with Damon and Eli's and began to move, forcing them to go with them. "Where are you taking us?" Eli tried. "You will remain silent." Insisted a coveau, squeezing harder on Eli's arm, punishment perhaps, for speaking against orders.

Eli and Damon were thrown forcefully from the Coveau's grip, falling flat on their faces on the cold, damp, cement street. They got up and turned around to see a  single Coveau, lingering in the doorway, watching them somehow. "You will not speak of the mighty Coveau." It ordered. "We shall remain unkonown and you shall not return here, for we dwell here now." Eli and Damon nodded, both unsure of whether they should be relieved or scared still.

The Coveau disappeared and the door closed behind it with a bang, not as thunderously loud as their footsteps, but still considerably startling. Damon and Eli looked at each other, their eyes wide and breathed a sigh of relief. They may never make mention of the Coveau again, but they certainly wouldn't forget them any time soon.

Rippled Reflections

I looked down, and in the water below I saw my life reflected in a series of images. It was like I was walking in a hall of mirrors. Reflections of myself were looking back at me from certain points in my life.

The first was my earliest memory. I couldn’t have been any more than three at the time. Mum was chasing me around the house, with a towel in one hand and a bar of soap in the other. I can remember giggling gleefully as I ran, annoying my mother more and more with each second that passed. I’d been playing outside, finger painting but had decided to use myself as the canvas instead and so I covered myself from head to toe in paint.

The second was of my first pet. A tiny little Italian grey hound. I’d been about 6, and at the time, had had just as much energy as the tiny, hypo energetic little dog. We had been chasing each other around the yard, but even though we were both had around the same level of energy, her four legs, even though they were tiny, beat my two. I simply couldn’t catch her.

Next. I was around twelve and rebellion was just beginning to set in. Mum and I were in the kitchen, screaming at one another across the counter. I’d been giving her attitude because she wouldn’t let me go to a party that weekend. At the time, it had been everything I’d cared about. One of the popular girls, yes, the popular girls was holding a pool party for her birthday and I’d been desperate to go because, maybe, just maybe, I’d have a chance at breaking in to the popular group. At the time, all I wanted was to be one of them.

After that was a memory from when I was around fourteen or fifteen. Many of my peers had recently been testing the boundaries, with things like drugs, drinking. Someone, I faintly recalled had even stolen at least two hundred dollars worth of makeup from Coles. Nasty rumours were flying around everywhere. It was a confusing time. The cruel nature of my peers combined with the hormones we all had raging through us, looking back, it had been, quite simply, hell. I was crying on my bed. The people who’d been my friends the day before had hated me that day. I can still remember screaming at my mother when she came in to console me. She wouldn’t understand. Get lost. Leave me alone.

The last reflection was from something that had happened earlier that year. It was just an ordinary day. I’d been with friends. I’d had a lot of them at the time. It was another long, dreary school day, but the parts that were spent with them seemed to last only five minutes. It was a break and we were just sitting together. It was one of my favourite memories. One of the happiest times I could ever remember.

As I closed my eyes, the reflected image memories all shattered like broken shards of a mirror. All the emotions went away and I felt nothing but the cold wind rushing past me as I fell. It felt like I’d hit glass as I hit the water and then nothing. All there was, was black.

Quidam

Quidam. It could be anyone. The person in front of you on the bus, a classmate you haven't gotten to know yet, the new nervous co worker who only started last week, a person you brush past on a walk. Quidam is a stranger who could be anyone you don't know. Quidam is new and mysterious. Just like any stranger or new person.

Just like any stranger, Quidam brings endless possibilities. The opportunity for a fresh start or a new friend. Quidam is a person who evokes mystery, and like many new things, wonder in young children. They may be a person who others a wary around out of fear of the unknown.

Quidam may be the person you cross the street behind, the kind stranger who stops to help you pick up the belongings you've dropped or the neighbourly person who greets you as you walk by. It could be anyone. So who is it?

Quidam is a nameless passerby, a solitary figure lingering on a street corner, a person rushing past, a person who lives lost amidst the crowd in all to anonymous society.

Fish Out Of Water

 

People stopped and stared when they saw her. It only made her feel worse. Up until now, she'd been on her own most of the time. It seemed like she was the only thing people could see. Like they were blinded to everything else. As if she wasn't insecure enough as it was, people stared at her, continuing to stare until she was out of their sight.

At the time, it had seemed a brilliant idea to Sirena. She had been getting rather tired of cooped at home. She had been there so long, stuck in the one place that it had become incredibly boring. Minutes had started to feel like hours and days like weeks.

So, she had decided it was time for a change, which to her seemed long overdue. Besides, she was nearing 18, and wasn't that around the age where children started to move away from home and branch out? Having never really known her parents, she wasn't real sure but she guessed that that was what generally happened.

The city differed greatly from what she was used to back home. For one thing, this particular city was a lot drier than she was used to and there was certainly a considerable amount of sunsgine, unlike her hometown which had been quite dark with not a lot of colour. Whereas, this city was full of colour.

So, as she walked down the city's main street, people stared. But, Sirena realised, they had reason to. When you were walking on a tail in place of legs, a little staring and attention was to be expected. Right?

Colours

 

Nature and the environment are most often what first comes to mind when the word green is first mentioned. Trees, leaves, grass and the vegetables your parents made you eat as a child but you hated are all green. It can symbolise money and mean life, well being, good luck and jealousy as well as a signal to tell us 'go'.

Anger, rage and a signal 'stop' can all be the colour red. Red can mean danger, and sometimes joy and prosperity. It can be a flashing light accompanied by a siren warning you to move quickly out of the way while the emergency vehicle rushes past. Red is passion and intensity. It can be a fire fueled desire and can mean extreme heat.

Happines, optisim, clarity and wisdom are all the colour yellow. It's the blinding colour of the sun, a bright banana or a pretty daffodil flower. Yellow is the colour of walls in the nursery of a baby whose gender isn't yet known and the colour of a squeaky rubber duck waiting to play at bathtime. Lemons and falling autumn leaves are all yellow.

The sky, the seas, calm, peace, cold, tranquility and sadness can all be blue. The colour of jeans, butterflies and things for newborn baby boys, blue can be confidence, harmony, unity, cleanliness, loyalty and even an appetite suppressant. Sometimes, blue can appear to be the colour of the moon and can have a naturally, soothing, calming effect.

Most often a quite depressing colour, black can be grief, fear, elegance, wealth, evil, anonymity and sometimes death. Black is the colour of night and darkness, of negativity, bad experiences, fear and threat. It can be a leather jacket, electrical wires or remote controls. Black can bring with it grief and remorse, mystery and evil, or even possibility.

Purple is often associated with royalty and nobilty. It can be the colour of power, enlightenment, peace, magic and purpose. Purple is the colour of pretty flowers and the sky at sunset. It can sometimes appear to be the colour of the flash of lightning in a stormy sky and a jacaranda tree.

Purity, innocence, humility and precision can all be the colour white. White can be truth and openess, clarity and cleanliness. White is the colour of cold winters and snow, potatoes, ice cream and milk. White is said to be able to promote new begininnings and development.

Pink is the colour of romance, love, tenderness and acceptance Pink can mean fullness, achievment and neautrilisation of negative behaviours, feelings or emotions. Pink is the colour of flowers, pigs and things for newborn baby girls.  Magnolia trees, contentment, fairy floss and quiet are all things pink.

Isobel

When Kristen walked into her little girl's room that morning she wasn't expecting to find what she did. "Isobel, the sun's up sweet heart, so should you be." She called as she came in. Kristen drew the light purple, butterfly decorated curtains on the far well before turning around.

She gasped. Her daughter's bed was empty. There was no sign of the bubbly, beautiful little eight year old she'd tucked in and kissed goodnight the night before. Her heart was racing as she processed what she was seeing and the world seemed to be years away as she searched her house and outside, calling desperately for sweet little Isobel.

Kristen didn't wait long before coming to the horrible conclusion that Isobel was really gone. Panicked, she made her way to the phone to call triple zero. "Police." She said. The next minute or so seemed like the longest minute of her life as she waited for someone to answer her call.

When she heard a voice on the other end, she spilled her story. "It's my daughter. She's gone. I put her to bed last night and went to get her up this morning and she wasn't there!" "You're daughter's missing madam?" "Yes." Kristen said, slowing down. "Ok. I'll send someone out to you, but please stay on the line with me." The person taking her call was calm and patient, a hint of soothing in her voice. "Now, what's your daughter's name? Can you describe her for me?" "Her name's Isobel and she's only eight! She can't be out there all by herself!" Kristen was becoming overwhelmed as the emotion spilled out. "Can you think of anywhere she might have gone?" "No. Nowhere. She's never left home before. Never run away. She's always clinging to me usually. This isn't like her. Not one bit."

The police arrived then and took a picture from Kristen. One of the three officers that had been sent out stayed with her while the others went out looking for Isobel. The hours passed in what seemed like slow motion. If she wasn't pacing around the house, Kristen was staring out the window or waiting by the phone or the door like someone would call or knock at any moment. It was the most stressful, agonizing time of her time.

Aside from school and work, Kristen had hardly been away from her daughter at all. Never once had she strayed or run away. Like she'd told the police officers, this wasn't anything like her daughter. It was very unusual. Isobel was normally so attached to Kristen. Always wanting to hold her hand, and if she wasn't she was never far away. She was always in sight.

At long last, there was a knock at the door. The two police officers had returned with Isobel. Kristen hugged her daughter tight. "Don't you ever do that to me again Isobel. You hear me?" "Yes Mummy. I'm sorry." Isobel was shaking in her mother's arms as she buried herself deeper and deeper into her Mum. "We found her in a park not far from here Ma'am. At the big tree near the playground."

"Where did you go?" Kristen asked curiously, studying her daughter. Just as interested as Kristen was to hear the story, the two officers came inside to hear of Isobel's adventure. "I went looking Mummy." Isobel said simply. "Looking? What for?" Kristen knelt in front of Isobel, her face full of concern. "For Grandma Isobel." Kristen's mother, also Isobel, had died not too long ago, but before she'd passed, she'd had dementia and had often got lost on her walks. "When you said she'd gone, I thought she'd got lost again, so I went looking for her. I thought I could bring her home." Kristen smiled. "Oh no Sweetie. Grandma Isobel hasn't gone for one of her walks. She's gone away, and she's up in heaven now." "Oh." Isobel said. "So she's not lost?" "No Isobel, she's not lost. Not anymore, and thankfully, neither are you."

I'll Drive!

Charlotte and her mother were getting ready to go for a drive. While Charlotte waited in the front seat, her mum went back inside to get a jumper. By accident, she left the door open and so the family dog, Lolly, who had been inside at the time, wandered out and jumped up onto the driver's seat of the car.

Charlotte laughed as Lolly put her front paws on the steering wheel before jumping down to inspect the acceleration and break pedals. She jumped back up and sat on the seat again, glancing at Charlotte as if to say "Are you ready? I'll drive!" Before, Lolly had been checking everything out to see if she really could drive the car. Still laughing, Charlotte reached over and ruffled the little dog's hair. "You'd stop traffic Lolly!"

Charlotte's mother couldn't help laughing either when she came back and saw Lolly in the driver's seat. "Lolly wants to drive us Mum!" Charlotte laughed. "I can see that." Said her mother, laughing too. "But, unfortunately, as much as she might want to, the simple fact is, dogs can't drive."

Charlotte's mother dropped her jumper on the seat and scooped Lolly up in her arms. She put Lolly outside and came back out, slipping into the driver's seat and closing the car door behind her. "I know they can't Mum." Charlotte said, "But wouldn't it be cool if dogs could drive?"

Love's Strength

Rhiannon felt like the luckiest girl in the world. She and her boyfriend, Kane had been together for three years the January just gone. Back in high school, their peers had thought that they were a perfect couple, one who would stay together forever. Rhiannon and Kane both firmly believed the same thing.

They'd never been tested quite like they had that April before. Sure, they'd had fights, but the night Kane's mother called her, Rhiannon's world changed. Her perfect little bubble of just her and Kane burst in an instant.

He'd gone out on his family's yacht as he often did when there was a clear blue sky and calm, steady seas. Kane's father had been driving and he'd been sitting on the edge, trailing his hand in the deep blue water as they glided along. Kane's father stopped suddenly, forgetting to warn his son, who toppled overboard and into the water, sinking fast into the water.

His father let out a yell and stopped the boat, rushing over to the edge and looking down. The water was so dark a blue that you couldn't see down. Panicking, he took off his shirt and dived in after Kane. It took him 10 nibutes to find Kane and pull him back up to the surface. He lay him in the boat and waited to see if he'd wake up. But he didn't. Turning the boat back on, Kane's father drove the boat speedily back to the peer and called an ambulance.

Rhiannon couldn't believe her eyes when she walked into the hospital room early that evening. Unconcious, his dirty blonde hair was still faintly damp and his closed eyelids concealed the normally shining lime green eyes Rhiannon badly wanted to see open. He was tucked up tight in hospital blankets and was deathly pale, looking very weak and sickly just lying there helplessly.

Much to everyone's relief, Kane woke up three weeks after the accident. But he couldn't remember a thing. "Who are you?" He asked Rhiannon the first time he saw her. "Nurse, are these my parents?" He asked when they come to see him.

Rhiannon realised that because of Kane's condition, she had to be strong for the both of them. But it was hard. All she could think was whether he'd ever remember her, remember them, again. It was a test. How strong is love? How powerful? Is it stronger than fear? Is it stronger than worry?
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My friend, author L.l Hunter's new book, Blood and Stone, the second book in the Legend of the Archangel series is out now. Here's a blurb for you:
After the death of Kat, Jacob flees and goes off on his own
But when he discovers that her soul is missing and being held captive by the Lucifites, he sets off on a mission to get it back.
Blackmail leads to revenge and revenge leads to blood.
Will he fulfill his task, or will the bloodshed reveal a new side of Jacob?

On the way he uncovers a secret plot, one that leaves the Nephilim race in danger of being wiped out. Will Jacob and his friends be able to stop the rebellion before it happens?

Is love stronger than revenge?

Blood & Stone is out now from Amazon & Kindle