The Reset Button

It seemed that from about 6 o'clock on the 31st December, the world began counting down. Many just got caught up in the general excitement and hype that surrounded the evening.Some could hardly wait to leave the old year behind and step into the new.

Rosslyn was one of those people. The year she was looking back upon had not exactly been the best year ever. There had been losses, challenges and hard times she hadn't thought she'd make it through. On more than one occasion, Rosslyn felt like she'd recreated that iconic Bridget Jones scene, on the couch in her PJs with a block of chocolate and a glass of wine, that sad old redone Eric Carmen song playing loudly from her player as she half sang, half sobbed along, at least a thousand times. Certainly so many that she had long ago lost count. In any case, she was anxious for the new year. She couldn't wait to stand, looking back at it, waving it goodbye, confident in the knowledge that she could leave it behind in the past. Like someone desperately wanting a webpage to reload, Rosslyn was pressing so hard on the refresh button, staring so intently at the clock on the wall as the seconds took minutes to go by, that the pressure could have broken the computer mouse, or the clock hands, or both, quite easily. Rosslyn longed for the new year. Rosslyn longed for the opportunity to hit 'refresh'.

Rochelle on the other hand sat on her balcony, half-full champagne glass in hand and a big smile on her face as she reflected on the year that had been. The downs and the ups, the lows and the highs, the bad times and the good. This year, all things considered, had been pretty darn good. Nothing majorly bad had happened, she'd finally landed the job of her dreams and had gotten a brand new car and her very own place. Just to top it all off. Many a moment this year had made her want to echo Liesel's ecstatic squeal at the end of 'Sixteen Going On Seventeen' in the Sound Of Music. As she laid back in her chair and took a casual sip of her sparkly bubbles, Rochelle had to admit, her year had been pretty great.

Though the rides had been different and for different reasons, both Rosslyn and Rochelle could agree that that year had been a roller coaster. Both were eager for that fateful strike of 12 that would wash the year anew.

Suddenly, Rosslyn stopped flicking channels. The words of one of the TV New Years celebrations coverage host's had caught her attention. "Wherever you are, right now, whatever you're doing. However this year has gone, take this opportunity to reflect, right now, on what's happened this year..."

Rochelle's ears pricked up as the sound of the New Year's TV coverage sailed through the open door and into her ear, tickling it with it's whisper.
"Take this opportunity now, on the verge of that stroke of midnight to make a wish for the year ahead. Think about your hopes and your dreams for this new year. Take a breath and get ready to step into it."

As the TV host had recommended, Rosslyn breathed in deeply, proceeding to hold her breath as the host on TV continued. "Remember, from that stroke of midnight, the reset button has been hit. You have a fresh start, a whole brand new year to do with it what you will." So make the most of it." The host on TV took a deep breath as a big, bright smile spread across her lips. "And, without further ado, let the countdown begin!"
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.

Five!
Four!
Three!
Two!
One!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! 

Race Against Time

To some, it seemed that Felicity must be crazy. To others, she seemed lonely. But Felicity knew the truth. Felicity knew that Nilli existed. Felicity knew that Nilli was real. Nilli was Felicity's best friend. Had been since she was a tiny baby. Had been for as long as she could remember. But, Nilli was also a little magical. He was invisible to everyone but Felicity, and to everyone else, Nilli was just her imaginary friend.

The problem was that Felicity was growing up and the two friends didn't know what would happen when she did. Would Nilli still be around when she grew up? Would he loose his magic and become just a lifeless children's toy once again? Would he become invisible to Felicity? Or, would everything stay just as it was now? Just the same, like nothing at all had changed? 

The answers to these questions Nilli nor Felicity knew. That was why they were in a race. A race against time. They had until Felicity's birthday. That much they knew. After that, they didn't have any idea what would happen. The two friends knew of a single potion. A 'cure' of sorts that would, like the Blue Fairy had done in Pinnochio, turn Nilli into a real boy. And they had until Felicity's birthday to find it.

The friends worked round the clock, day and night in search of the magical cure to their predicment. The 'real' potion was legend to Nilli's kind, and he'd heard of it only in whispers. Not once had he spied it with his own eyes.
"What do you think?" Felicity asked, turning to face him, another glass full of brightly coloured liquid in her hand. Nilli studied it, turning his head one way then the other as if this might give him a better view.
"I don't know," he said uncertainly at last, meeting her eyes. Felicity's face fell. "Legend has it that the real thing, the real 'real' cure is rainbow, and sparkly."
Felicity wanted to laugh, and she did. "Seriously?" she asked. "It's rainbow, and it sparkles? It's like something out of a kid's story."
Nilli shrugged. "You have to admit, Felicity," he said in his high pitched voice, "you and I, we're like something out of a kid's story."
A smile formed on her face. "You're right, Nilli. You're a dream come true. Everything I ever could have wanted. Everything any kid could have possibly wanted, I've got with you." She paused, taking a deep breath. "That's why we have to win this race. That's why we have to make you real."

So the friends worked without stopping until they miraculously produced the sparkly rainbow potion required to turn Nilli into a real boy one sunny afternoon a mere week before their time was due to run out.

Right after Felicity blew out her birthday candles, making her wish, Nilli drank the rainbow coloured liquid. Felicity's family gasped as Nilli materialised right before their very eyes. Sccared by his sudden appearence, by the unknown, some of them screamed. Others recoiled or ran away. So Nilli went into hiding, resuming his invisible form so as not to frighten anybody else.

Little did Felicity's family realise when she brought home her boyfriend Neal to meet them years later that they were meeting the very same person who had frightened them that day of Felicity's birthday when he'd suddenly materialised before their very eyes.

Now, on their wedding day, you could not wipe the smiles off the face of anyone in the room. As she recited her vows, Felicity could not have meant anything more in her life. Everything she said as she gazed into his bright blue eyes was truer than anything she'd ever said before. "Today, I;'m getting everything I ever could have wanted. Today, all my dreams are coming true. Because today's the first day of the rest of our lives. Today is the day I get to marry my very best friend, and I couldn't wish for anything more in all the world."
Her smile grew wider still as she leaned in to whisper into his ear. "I love you," she said, "Nilli." 

By The Light of The Moon

The nighttime, without the moon's bright light, is dark and gloomy. Shadows lurk, easily hidden. People wander around blindly, no light to guide their way. Others are lost, consumed by the blackness, feeling like they are alone in the world. In the darkness, it seems all hope is gone. That was my world before you came into it. The moon had been there once, but it disappeared suddenly and I'd been lost in the darkness ever since. Until you came along.

When you arrived, you brought the moon back with you. You brought the light back into the night, so that the world is not plunged into pitch black darkness. You returned the light to the world.It's almost like the moonlight is different to what it was before, but it's still there, brightening the otherwise darkness of the night. Returning light to the world.

By the light of the moon I'm guided once again. By the light of the moon I'm reminded that I'm not the only one here in the world. By the light of the moon, where once I'd been lost, I'm found again. By the light of the moon, the darkness is starting to disappear. By the light of the moon, the world seems bright once again.

You are my moon in the night sky, that lights up the world when it's dark, finds, me, guides me, keeps me company and restores my hope in the world. Where once the moon was stolen away, you've brought it back to remind me what I had once and what I can and will have again.

Smiling Winds

Everyone laughed at her as she walked along. Why, she did not know. She was only being herself, after all. What she did know was that it upset her. Quite a lot, though again, the why to her question was a complete mystery. She was too naïve to realise that the laughter had malice behind it and was not born of good intent. She’d start with her head high, looking straight ahead, only to end up with head bowed, staring at the ground when she reached the end of the street.

It happened so often though, that she soon realised, or discovered, the malicious undertone of the laughter. She was still confused as to the why however. Whys always confused her. Whys were always a hard question. In place of the logic, the answer to a why, in her case anyway, required tapping into someone’s mind, and that was almost impossible.

Initially, she had been saddened by the taunting, and the strange, confusing looks that were shot her way. It seemed at times, as if every back turned on her as she passed. An aisle was created, as those around her receded into the shadows, leaving her a lone figure in the spotlight.

One day, a man smiled at her as she came toward him and his street shop. Given her past, she looked behind her to see if there was someone else, but as usual there was no one there. It was just her and this smiling man. She slowly stepped closer with curiosity, wordlessly gesturing to herself. The man, still smiling, nodded his head. For a moment he turned away. She had just been starting to smile, and at this, the smile faded, at a much quicker pace than it had first come. But then, he turned back, a bright red balloon in his hand, and at snail’s pace, her smile gradually returned to her lips. He held the balloon out toward her, but she stood motionless, not believing, or perhaps not registering that it was in fact her that the balloon was being offered to. He thrust his arm down again, though his expression was not impatient nor annoyed. Instead, it seemed an encouraging gesture. Shakily, she extended her arm toward him, at which, the man’s smile grew wider still as he handed her the bright red balloon.

Her smile remained in place as she wandered away, balloon firmly in her grasp. She tugged gently to pull it down, and lightly touched a finger to it’s surface with her free hand. Quickly, she pulled her hand away at the quick zap that jolted through her finger. As she passed a shop window, she noticed her hair was sticking out in all directions, which served only to cause her smile to widen the slightest bit more. Overtime, she’d come to the conclusion that her appearance was what people must be laughing at. They didn’t know her, so they couldn’t possibly have been laughing at her personality. Sure, she was a little out there. Eccentric, some might say. Others would simply call it zany. But she called it her, and now, with a balloon in her hand and a smile on her lips, she decided that she was just being her. She was doing nothing wrong and had nothing to be sorry for, and so why allow other people’s reactions to bring her down?

After tearing her eyes away from her reflection before her, she began to skip down the street. As usual, her simple presence turned heads, but unlike usual, her shoulders did not slump, her smile did not disappear, and she did not begin to stare at the ground. The balloon flying along behind her created a warm gust of wind, constantly rushing over her and enveloping her in it’s reassuring embrace. She was unsure whether it was the wind or the fact that something had clicked inside her, but she didn’t think she cared. All that mattered was her sudden, unusual burst of confidence, the fresh, sparkling smile on her face and the new found spring in her step as she skipped along down the street, bright red balloon flying swiftly behind her, as if it were running a marathon just in an attempt to keep up.


So, if you see this girl around, with the wild hair and bright red balloon, lend her a smile. It will only boost her confidence more, and it may just make you happy too.

I'll Remember Yesterday

It's all new. This world, this life, without you. But somehow, it's easier than it was before. It's easier to comprehend a life after the life I had with you where once it didn't seem possible at all. Please don't think that this means I'll forget you. I love you and I miss you still. More than anything, I wish you were here with me.That you'd never left at all. Is that crazy?

But, whether I like it or not, time goes on, and with it I am dragged along. There are often times when I long to cling to yesterday. Cling to a world with you. Where this heartache and pain never happened. Where you are here, standing by my side. Two peas in a pod, you and I. You and me against the world. Just the two of us, together forever. Together until the very end. That was the dream, and we lived it too. But I wish with everything I have that I could live in it forever. I wish I could have you back. That I could go back to how it was before. Just you and I. The dream team. Is that selfish?

All these wishes, I know, are in vein. I want the impossible, but it's just that, as hard as it may be. Once, the thought sent a waterfall of tears raining from my eyes. Now, it's just a sad little smile. I can say your name without shaking. I can laugh and remember without a tear. Is that bad?

But, when someone like you is gone, there's only so long you can live with the shadow left behind staring you in the face. Nothing will ever be like you and I. There's no replacing what we had. That's another unobtainable impossibility. But, it would be nice to have a little company till I see you again. Another friend. To talk to. To laugh with and cry with. To share everything with. Someone else here, to stand beside me and help me take on the world. Someone else here so that I'm not all alone with all of this.

I hope you'll understand, and I'll hope you'l forgive what needs forgiving. I hope you know that I can't wait for the day I'll see you again, but I hope you understand that it will be longer for me than for you and I hope you'll understand that I don't feel like I can do this by myself. I hope you know that tomorrow's a new day and I hope you can understand that just because tomorrow is a new day, it doesn't mean that I'll forget about today. It doesn't mean that I won't remember yesterday. Tomorrow is a new day, but I won't forget today, and I'll always remember yesterday.

Boys and Their Toys

The thunderous rumble of a modified car engine. The appearance of blinding lights slowly filling the window as the car came close. The smell of burnt rubber wafting in through the open door. All sure signs that her brother had come for a visit.
"Yay! Mum! Uncle Danny's here!" Her youngest told her excitedly on his way to the front door, so he could be the first to greet him. Her breath caught in her throat as her only daughter rushed past her in a blur to join her little brother. It was only when Ben, her eldest, showed up beside her in a rare venture from his room that the smile she'd been holding in finally emerged.
"Did I hear Uncle Danny pulling up outside?" He asked.
"Yep," she answered, unable to keep the smile from her face.

By the time she reached the front door, her youngest two, Elise and Morgan, had already run off down the drive, waiting to greet their uncle the very minute he got out of the car. Ben was only a little way behind them, wanting to seem cool, but not able to suppress his excitement.

Morgan and Elise gave a cheer as her brother finally emerged from the car at last, a smile quickly forming on his lips at the sight of them.
"Uncle Danny!" Came the excited chorus.
"Hello!" He said, "how're my favourite kids in the world?"
"Good!"
"Good to see you Uncle Danny!" Ben called as he approached, leaning in for her a bear hug.
"How's it going Mate?"
"Not bad."

Next, Danny squatted down, expertly completing the secret handshake he'd formulated with Morgan. Sideways high five, fist bump, a strange firework motion, a high five down low before finally ending with a high five as high as Morgan's small little arms could reach. Danny rose only part way before easily scooping a giggling Elise into his arms. "How's my princess?" He asked as he led the way back toward the house, spare arm round Ben's shoulders. Morgan reluctantly held Ben's hand as they made their way back toward her, a consolation prize compared to the chance to hold Danny's hand.

"I was hoping you'd come by again soon," Ben was telling his uncle as they walked through the door. Conversation ceased as Danny released Ben and leaned over to peck his sister in greeting, bending lower to place Elise back on the ground after he'd done so. "Hey Scarlet," he said. "How's my little Sis doing? These crazy kids not driving you too wild are they?" He asked teasingly.
"No, no. We're fine here," she said, waiting until she knew the kids were out of earshot before continuing. "I'm glad you came for a visit though. They've missed you, and I've  barely seen Benny for weeks." Danny raised an eyebrow. "He only ever really comes out when you're here. They love you, you know Danny. You're a bit like their idol."
Danny laughed nervously as they entered the kitchen. He leaned against the counter while Scarlet bustled round. Finally, she found a few cans of coke, which she set down in front of Ben and Danny.
"Uncle Danny, do you think we could work on my car a bit while you're here?" Ben asked, his eyes lit up hopefully.
"Sure thing Buddy! Is that alright with you Scar?" He asked, peering over at his sister.
She nodded. "Fine by me." The two of them picked up their cans and headed outside.
She turned on the carport's lights and stood by the window, watching them a moment. It took the two of them to
remove the cover from the car before they set their cans on the bench, lifted the hood and set to work.

She hadn't even noticed Morgan had gone until she spotted him approaching them. He reached up and tapped his uncle's calf, the highest part he could reach. Danny turned around, his face lighting up.
"Hey Little Man!" He said cheerily, hoisting him into his arms.
"Uncle Danny, can I help too?"
"Sure!" Danny set him down on the bench beside their drink cans, pushing them aside so Morgan wouldn't knock them. "Do you think you could pass us the tools?"

At the feeling of a tug on her shirt, Scarlet finally looked down to see Elise. "Mummy," she said,  "why do they always want to be outside with the car?"
"I'm not entirely sure sweetie," Scarlet said, "it's a guy thing I guess."
"What?" Asked Elise, still confused.
"Boys honey," said Scarlet. "Boys and their toys."

A Dog's Lament

The moment the door opened, the dog raced toward them. He jumped higher and higher, bouncing his legs on the stomachs of his owners as if they were springboards and his back legs springs. He bounded ahead of them when they began to move, leading the way into the house.

 Inside, there was more excitement, more jumping around, more hyperactivity. As his owners watched on, laughing hard, he zoomed around the house, circling them a few times before stopping at last, panting heavily. He collapsed into a flat position on the floor, breathing quickly, desperate for the  return of air.

The dog waited until the older woman left them alone before sitting in front of the girl. As she reached out and stroked his soft, wiry fur, the dog began to speak. A long, involved series of groans and moans, intermixed with a few odd growls here and there. He was telling her a story. A story that seemed sad and tragic and filled with woe. This was the dog's lament.

It was fine at first. There was sunlight and clouds and the sky was blue. There was warmth in the air and lots of smells and exploring to do. But then, there was nothing new. It started to get darker and colder, and I couldn't get inside no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't get to you. I couldn't find you anywhere. And then, it got darker and colder and I was all alone. It felt like the world was freezing over... Then, it was pitch black and I couldn't see anything. You still weren't here! You left me! All alone! In the dark and the cold. I didn't know if you'd ever come home again. I though you'd left me forever! 

As the girl listened to the dog, trying her hardest not to laugh at the humour in her dog's serious recount of his sorrowful tale, she imagined him sitting on one of the tree stumps in the yard, howling his tragic story to the moon.

But, as the family settled in for the night, together again, all was forgiven. The dog lay down atop the blanket under which the girl sat and licked the air contentedly. He took one last look round, then, satisfied nobody was going anywhere, finally he dropped his head gently onto his front paws and closed his eyes. With his people. All together again. Home at last.

Contradiction

"Oh, he's a real rough guy that one," they'd say, "deviant delinquent with no morals. What does he think he's doing, exposing our children to such... Such unpleasantness?" Put simply, Artie Rose's pictures were considered rather scandalous. Folks in the small town where he lived couldn't handle something so outrageous as the human body, depicted as a form of artwork. How could they, when they could hardly even face seeing themselves without the clothes that usually covered them.

So, Artie was labelled. Odd, deviant, sick, delinquent, were all terms that came to be associated with Artie Rose. The recluse he was, Artie didn't know for a long time that these labels had come to be assigned to him. Although, in his defence, the labels hadn't come for a while. Before that had been the whispers. Before that, he'd just been ignored. Thought of as the odd, eccentric but most likely harmless guy who lived by himself on the edge of town.

The public image of him in the early days he had known about, but as the years went by, he kept to himself more and more. After that came the whispers, not an utterance of which ever reached Artie's ears. The labels came after his art started to become more visible. Especially in the small town Artie called home, no one had ever seen anything like the pictures he painted. So, he became even more isolated than he once had been, subjected to staring and people crossing the road to avoid him on the few occasions he did decide to venture out.

That was until one day, the sound of a knock at his door made Artie jump at least a foot high in the air. He paused a moment to compose himself before he erased, brushing his hands down his dress shirt and pants to remove all traces of creasing. "Hello," said the young woman when Artie opened the door to reveal her. A pretty young thing, not too much younger than himself, he guessed, with a smile bright as the sun shining above.
"Hi," said Artie, his grip on the doorframe tightening as he swayed a little with nerves. "Can I help you?"
"Are you Mr. Rose?"
Artie nodded and the girl's smile widened. Her cheeks increased in colour as she spoke again,, "I'm sorry, Mr. Rose. I'm Kitty. Kitty Picton." She extended her hand to him, and once he shook it, returned it to her side. "I'm sorry to bother you Mr. Rose. I've come about your ad in the newspaper." She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket, shook it out and held up the newspaper clipping for him to me.
"Well," said Artie a little breathless. "It was quite a while ago that I placed that." He said slowly as the pieces gradually sorted themselves out inside his head.
Kitty's face fell. "You've already got someone, haven't you?"
"No, actually. You've been the first person interested," said Artie, "and you must have come a long way!" He stepped aside and opened the door a little wider, beckoning her with a finger. "Please, do come in."

"I'm sorry," Kitty rambled as Artie led her through the house. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long, and I came without announcement... I had to wait till I turned eighteen and I could run my own life."
Artie stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face Kitty, wide eyed. "You're eighteen!?"
"Yeah," she said, unconcerned. "So?"
"You're so... Young."
"You're not so old yourself, Mr. Rose."
"Artie," he said, "and thank you. But I'm possibly old enough to be your Dad."
"No one would guess."
Artie said nothing, instead gesturing she take a seat opposite the one he'd settled into himself.
Kitty did as she was asked, leaning forward in her chair, hands clasped together. "So, this modelling thing."

That long while ago, Artie had placed an advertisement seeking a model for one piece of artwork. But, he and Kitty bonded so closely over the weeks it took Artie to do that one picture that Kitty stayed and kept working with him. That was when Artie started to become a little more than just the odd but harmless guy living alone on the edge of town. His pieces featuring Kitty made Artie a little more infamous in his small hometown, and as his newest series of paintings began to circulate, labels such as 'deviant', 'sick', 'twisted' and 'corrupt' became attached to the name Artie Rose.

"Artie, darling, you know people are talking about you, right?" Kitty asked him one day on her return from an outing into town.
"They are?" Artie asked, mouth agape in horror.
She leaned down, brushing her arms soothingly as she moved to kiss him on the crown of his head. The worry lines on her forehead creased with concern. "You didn't know?" She asked, her voice soft. Artie shook his head wordlessly.  "Oh honey, I'm sorry."
"It's ok," he said after a moment. "Kitty. It's ok. You and I, we know that it's art, right?" Kitty nodded as he went on, "even if the rest of the town doesn't believe it. Even if they think I'm a delinquent, you and I... We know... It's art to us. Works of beauty. The most beautiful woman I know celebrated as all women should be."
Kitty blushed. "Well," she said. "You're quite the contradiction, aren't you?" She asked, finally taking a seat beside him.
"Hmm?" Asked Artie, not quite comprehending.
"Contrary to what all the townsfolk think, you're the sweetest man I know, Artie Rose. You've treated me like a goddess right from the start. That's hardly deviant at all!" Artie reached for her hand across the table and she took it, squeezing gently." You're a contradiction." She said again with a bright smile. "The best kind of a contradiction."

Surprise! A Short Film Tribute

A few years back, I posted a story in memory of the legendary Robin Williams. Today, on the 2nd anniversary of his passing, I'd like to share this short film adaptation I've made from it in his honour. As with The Tale of The Three Brothers, there is no sound at first. It should also be noted that I am by no means a professional in the world of film making. I just do it for fun.

So, with that said, you can take a look at the short film below and read the original story here. I hope you enjoy them!

Sucked In

It was not like anything he'd ever seen before. His eyes grew wide in horror as he watched on helplessly. The only warning was that horrible sucking sound. He watched the countless bubbles that had once floated serenely along pop one by one as a current disrupted the once still water, quickly gaining strength. The tiny soap particles being sucked in, no chance at escape.

He held a hand to his mouth, stifling his gasp as the water became shallower still and started swirling swiftly around in a circle, the sucking sound growing louder. To the young boy, it all seemed like a scene from a horror movie. Something reminiscent of a small storm, forcing everything in close proximity into it's violently spinning clutches. Then, it would drop them down into it's unseen vortex, never to be seen again...

Then suddenly, all the water was gone. It disappeared down into the unseen vortex. The young boy gasped again before learning cautiously over the side of the tub to see if he could see any signs of the lost water down the drainpipe. Just like all the things that had been sucked in, the storm had gone. Almost as quickly as it had come. Leaving not a trace behind it.

Without You

It feels like just yesterday that we were together. It feels like just this morning I said goodbye for the last time. Except I didn't know. I didn't know that it would be the last time. You never think it will be. You never want to imagine it might be. You never, ever want it to be.

Some days I imagine you're being carried away from me. They've forced us apart. I can almost see you kicking with all your might and I can hear the painstaking sound of your screams and your fearful cries. I try to get to you, but you're just out of my reach. Every time I try and get closer, there's some invisible wall that forces me back each time I try. Not being able to reach you breaks my heart, and watching you go, in seeming slow motion, feels like torture.

Without you, it feels as I have been forced along. Forced through the days as more and more pass since the day I last saw you. They're dragging me further and further away from you and my desperate attempts at escape are helpless. So now I just sit here, crying silent tears because you're gone. Because they stole you away from me and I'd give anything in the world to have you back here with me. Because without you, all hope seems drained from the world.

Without you, I am trapped in a shadow. I don't even know where I am anymore. I am alone, all hope and light long gone from the world around me. Because they went with you. Each beat of my heart feels like a stab wound openly bleeding, each breath like it could well be my last. It doesn't feel like I can go on, and yet, somehow, I am forced on.

Without you, life has been stripped of meaning and purpose. I exist. I want so much to live, but I don't seem able to. The world is an odd mixture of red and blue. The purple that seeps through sings a sorrowful lament of wishes and lost dreams. White, pink, yellow and a different sort of blue are fading fast in my memory. I try to cling to them, a vein hope that something reminiscent of life with you may return, but they're quickly slipping away.

So I hold my breath, hoping with the last little bit of lingering hope I do have that I won't have to be without you forever. That I won;t be trapped here forever. It feels like it has been forever when a light appears from above and a hand extends down to me. I go weakly toward it on my hands and knees and struggle upward to reach it. It drags me up and out into the open world, full of colour.

Though the moment, I set down, the colour begins to slowly fade away, coming to stop on a washed out echo of what it once had been. This is the world now, without you in it. Not as dark and gloomy as before, but not as bright and joyous as with you in it.

Without you, the world is robbed of it's bright colour, it's happiness and joy. Without you, I seem to have forgotten what it feels like to have a friend. I've forgotten what it's like to be happy and to have hope. But as I look around, I can almost see faded echos of you. In the softness of the flower petals, the warmth of a fire.

You are everywhere. Everywhere but where I need you most. I don't want to trap you. I want to want to let you go. I want to want to set you free. But I am not ready, and I don't know if I will ever be ready. I am not ready for every single moment with you to just be a memory. I am not ready for you not to be here with me. I don't know how to live in a world without you in it, and it scares me. I don't know how to go on without you by my side.

Surely, it's got to get easier somehow. Surely, one day, I won't have the urge to cry or to scream. Surely one day, I won't want to just sit still and do nothing because I can't share it all with you. Surely, one day, it won't hurt every time I think of you. Surely, one day, I won't start to cry every time I say your name. It's got to get easier somehow, surely. Just, not today.

Little Reminders

"I don't know how these are all going to fit, given you both have so many." She turned around to look at her mother and Mr. Kelly, her mother's new roommate at the nursing home.
"Oh, don't worry Jenni," said her mother with a smile, "I'm sure we'll figure it out soon enough."
Suddenly, a few bells chimed over a loudspeaker in the hall just outside the room. At this, Mr. Kelly came to life. "That'll be the signal that the midday meal's ready," he said as he tottered unsteadily toward them, proffering his arms. The two women came closer and linked their arms through his, allowing him to lead them to the dining room.

"So," said Jenni when the three of them were seated at a table with meals in front of them, "I know why Mum has a heap of photos."
"To make sure that I remember even if I forget," her mother says happily.
"But what about you Mr. Kelly?" Jenni asked, turning her gaze to him.
"Please dear," he said, patting her hand gently across the table, "call me Fred."
"Ok, Fred," Jenni started again a little uneasily, "why do you like to have so many photos?"
"For me, little darling," he says, "it's proof that I've had the extraordinary life that I have." The smile already on his lips spread wider as he told the story. "You see, there was a time when I was young when I wondered if I would get to live the life I'd always dreamed of. Even after I met the love of my life, I was still convinced sometimes that it was all just a wonderful fantasy. Too good to be true. Back then, and looking back at them now, they're my proof that it happened. That the wonderful, extraordinary life I've been lucky enough to live was not a dream but real. Those photos are my proof that it actually happened."
"Your little reminders," Jenni said.
"Little reminders..." Said Fred wistfully. "I like that."
Jenni smiled. "Just like Mum has her little reminders.

It took another hour or two after they'd returned from the room to arrange Jenni's mother's stuff into her new room with Fred. Stepping down from the small step ladder, Jenni wiped the dust from her hands. She backed a few paces to examine her handiwork, her mouth twisting as she did so. "I would say we're finished," she said, "but I think we're still missing something..." She looked round the room,  hoping to find her inspiration lurking somewhere nearby. Finally, her eyes settle on her mother, then wander to Fred. "Fred," she says, "do you think you could come sit with Mum a moment? I think I've found the perfect solution."

"There," Jenni said happily when she returned a week later, setting the framed picture on the shelf above their beds, in the once spare space separating Fred's photo collection from her mother's. "There," she said, a smile on her face as she looked at it, Fred and her mother standing either side of her, inspecting it too. "Perfect!"
"Beautiful," said Fred, smiling.
"Wonderful," said her mother, all but clapping her hands.
"A little reminder for you both," said Jenni, "of another moment that actually happened, and a moment that won't be forgotten."

My Home Run

The young man stood on the other side of the fence, watching him throw a ball back and forth with someone else. He didn't really pay much attention to whom exactly. It didn't matter. It wasn't important. No, the young man had eyes only for him. He'd stood by the sidelines like this many times before, watching him, but he never noticed. Then suddenly, the ball came flying toward him. Instinctively, the young man rose his hand and the ball sailed neatly into it. As he lowered his arm, the young man stared at the ball a moment, not noticing the young man he'd been watching jogging toward him. "You catch pretty well there Mate, Just as well. Otherwise it might've hit you square on in the face" he said, smiling when he reached the young man. "Thanks. I'm Rod by the way."
"Kent," said the young man, dropping the ball into Rod's outstretched palm before reaching to shake it.
"Do you play ball?" Rod asked.
"I've never tried," said Kent.
"I could show you," Rod said. "I might need a sub partner every now and again. Little Miss Mickey over there can get tired pretty quick." Rod gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, and when Kent squinted, he could just make out a young girl sitting in the shade. "She's my sister, and I love her, but she doesn't really like doing this stuff too much. She only does it cause I'm her big brother and she loves me. But it would be nice to play with someone my own age for once."
Kent had to fight to keep his cheeks from colouring and giving him away. "I'd love to," he said. "I've always thought it looked like fun."

As promised, Kent returned and Rod taught him all about playing ball over several sunny afternoons. The two  quickly became friends. Kent still tried to stomp down on what he felt for Rod, but it was hard. Little did Kent realise, Rod shared his feelings and he too was scared.
"I know you're scared Rod," Mickey said one day. "But you have to have courage."
"You think so?"
The young girl nodded. Their father stuck his head round the corner. "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. The brave do not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all."
"Dad's right you know," said Mickey when their father had disappeared.

So, one day after a lengthy game of catch, the two sat on a bench recovering. Rod smiled at Kent. "Kent, hold still a second would you Buddy." Rod reached to gently swipe a lash from the edge of Kent's eye. Holding it between them on his finger, he said. "Make a wish Kent, then blow it away." So Kent made a wish before puckering his lips and blowing. Not a moment later, his wish came true as Rod leaned in, pressing his lips to Kent's. They stayed like that a moment before they pulled apart.
"Rod you..." Kent said, his mouth hanging open a little.
"Was that ok?"
"Yeah. I just didn't think. I never thought..."
"It's true Kent," Rod said, chuckling a little. "I like you. I might even love you." He reached for Kent's hand, squeezing it lightly in his own. "What do you say we see where this goes?" Seemingly robbed of speech, Kent simply nodded and smiled back at him.

Up until now, their blooming romance had been something of a secret, but that all changed when they played their first baseball game a year or two later. Kent hit the ball hard with his bat, let it drop to the ground with a clatter and ran for his life. The team and the crowd watching all cheered as he ran, but none louder than Rod. Kent was bright red when he completed the circuit and fell down onto the pad as the umpire declared him 'safe'. Exhausted, Kent didn't rise, and Rod was the first one by his side. Rod glanced at the umpire. "I've got him," he said before gently, strongly scooping Kent up into his arm and carrying him from the field. On the sideline benches, Rod saty beside him, arm round his shoulders. "You did well honey," he said. "I'm proud of you. For someone who had never played baseball..."
"I had a good teacher," Kent said simply. "It was because of you Rod. I was running home to you."
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In memory of the incredible Garry Marshall. This man made the most cherished film of my childhood, the Princess Diaries. I am saddened that he's not with us anymore, but I am so grateful that he lived. RIP.

The Keeper Brothers

Though he'd seen it a thousand times, the sight of the large tree, lit up in the night never failed to take his breath away. He looked around in wonder at the rainbow of lights surrounding the tree and reached out toward them. They seemed so close that he could touch them, yet his outstretched hand could not quite grasp them. He went closer and looked up, the multi-coloured lights filling his vision.

Smiling, he watched the lights swirl and dance about, turning into little shadow-movies of sorts a short while before they were simply lights again. His breath caught in his throat as he heard a faint sound, growing slowly in volume. Turning around, he released the breath and smiled at the sight of his brother, who waved, a cherry grin spread firm across his own lips. The brother was clad in stripey blue, a long tail and an old-fashioned bed hat, almost identical to him but for the blue his brother wore where he was clothed in yellow.

It took the brother a few short steps to reach him, and they stand together, arms round one another's shoulders, their gazes on the rainbow lights, dancing and swirling in the dark night sky, under the shade of the big tree. After a moment, the blue brother pointed a little to the side of the tree under which they stood, toward another tree surrounded by lights of dancing silver. That's your tree. He told him telepathically. While the brothers were mute, they had become so close that they could hear one another's thoughts.
I know, said the yellow brother. But yours is so colourful and pretty!
dreams are pretty, said the blue brother, but memories can be beautiful too. Without memories, there would be no basis for dreams..
We are both magical, agreed the brother in yellow. the dreamer and the rememberer, the dream keeper and the memory keeper
Yes said the blue brother as they both set about the work. Everyday they would meet here by the Keeper Trees as they were known, the dreamer to collect dreams to make people smile, and the yellow brother to gather memories, those lost, those momentarily forgotten. To help people who had lost their minds remember, to remind those in trouble of those good times amidst the bad.

The brothers looked at each other, the dreamer with his sack full of dreams slung over his shoulder, the rememberer with his suitcase, filled with memories in hand. Together, they walked up the path, stopping and turning to one another at it's end.
Here is where dreams begin, said the Dreamer.
Here is where memories lost are restored, said the Rememberer.

And so the brothers set out into the world, shadows under cover of darkness, whispers in the wind. They went about their work without anybody noticing, afraid of what it might mean if they were seen. They don't look as ordinary as you and I. The Keeper brothers are special, and they;'re important. Be sure to thank them the next time you recall a treasured memory, or find yourself in an unbelievable fantasy while you sleep. Because you may not see them, or even hear them, but they can hear us, and it's always nice to be thanked sometimes.
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This story is a sequel to Dreaming Winds, which you can read here

The Show Must Go On

He sat, squashed into the corner. Arms tightly hugging his bent knees close to his chest, his head resting on them. He had been there so long that he had lost track of exactly how long he'd been there. It could have been hours, or it could have been mere minutes. Whichever one it was, to Paul, it felt like forever.

"P..Paul." It was a light, gentle voice that caused Paul to finally shift his gaze upward from his knees to see Clea, his assistant, on her knees beside him. "Paul," she said again. "what's wrong?"
"I... I don't think I can do this anymore Clea," he said, timidly meeting his gaze with a tear-stained face.
"Why not?" she asked, her gentle voice quiet.
"Because..." he said. "There's too much... Too much hate..."
"Oh come on Paul!" she said. "You've had hate before I know you have."
He nods. "I know, but it's... it just seems worse this time, somehow. Would anybody want to take it anymore?"
"Paul,.." Clea began. She paused, then spoke again, "do you know how many people look up to you? Do you know how much of an inspiration you are? Do you know how much love there is?" Paul blinked. "There's hate, yes," she went on. "But there's love too. So much love."
"Really?" Paul said weakly. Clea turned the tablet she was holding around. At the top of the screen was a search, for #perryroberts. Below it were countless messages.
Where are you Perry? 
Perry, please come back. We need you! 
The world needs Perry Roberts! Please come back to us! 
Perry has helped so many of us here. It's our turn to help him now. 

"Can you see Paul?" Clea said. "Can you see how much you're loved? Look at how much influence you have Paul!" Clea jumped up and down on her tiptoes a few times in excitement. "You can use that influence Paul! Use it for good!" Paul nodded.
"Besides, what's quitting now going to do? It'll let the haters win! Do you really want that, Paul?" Ashamedly, he shook his head. "So come on then, get up, wipe off that dust and on with the show!" She reached out to him, pulling him up when he took her hand.

"You know Clea, you're right," said Paul, on his feet again."Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance. I truly don't know what I'd do without you. Thank you."
"Anytime, sir." A small smile appeared on her lips.
"I'll face it with a grin, I'm never giving in. On with the show!" said Paul. "Besides," he continued after a few minutes, "I couldn't possibly let all of these people down." Clea was nodding as he spoke. He glanced to the window, outside of which a brilliant sunrise was happening. "Outside, the dawn is breaking, but here, inside in the dark, I'm aching to be free."
"So be free, my beautiful bird," said Clea, her smile as large as it could grow. "Be free and fly!"

Paul returned to his office and took to social media to announce his return, posting a video to thank all of his fans for their patience and support, say that he would be fighting the hate and the haters and, to declare a comeback concert.

In the wings, right before his public return, Paul looked back and smiled at his assistant. "Thank you, Clea May," he said. She simply nodded, reaching out to touch a hand to his forearm.
"I know," she said, "I know that inside your heart is breaking,"
"My make-up my be flaking,"he agreed, smiling too.
"But your smile still stays on."
"The show must go on," they said together, squeezing one another's hands before he let go and walked out onto the stage with a roaring welcome from the crowd of his adoring fans.

_________________________________________________________________________________
This is a continuation of the story of Perry Roberts. Go back to where it started here and here.

Moments & Memories

Imagine this; you're sitting high up on a cliff somewhere. The views are vast and picturesque, people are so far away that they look like ants. It's just you up there. The world is yours. There are no worries, no fears, no bad feelings at all. Just this overwhelming happiness. This light. This feeling like you're on top of the world. Euphoria. Everyone loves that feeling. Anyone would do anything to have it be eternal.

Up there in your little bubble, you're so far away from everything, yet it's all right there. It becomes background. It might be quiet, just that nice kind of quiet. Or it could be loud. Your ears could be filled with the music you love. You could have been absorbed completely in a story, as if you're in it's world. Wherever you are, you're free. Free from life's troubles, and the day to day problems of everyday life. You're having such a good time! Nothing can stop you now...

The dreaded crash will inevitably follow that unbeatable high. You'll want to chase it. It's there, right there. Just outside of your grasp. You're blind but for your pursuit of that escape. You'd do anything to get that feeling back. You want to be stuck in that moment. You wish more than anything that the feeling would last forever. You want it all, and you want it now. You've only got one mission. Everything else is just radio gaga,  Isn't it a shame that you can't just  turn back the clock?

That's the sad reality, You can't turn back the clock. That escape may be gone, but it should not be forgotten. Because that escape happened, and from it, you can take a multitude of memories with you on your way. To cheer you up, to make you smile and laugh. To help you remember that you have escaped, and that escape will come again. You just need to keep dancing through life. Remember, your future is unlimited.Because things happen and come into our lives bringing with them something we must learn. So hold on to those memories. Let them remind you of the good as you just keep dancing through....

So keep your memories. Hold them close. Let them remind you that good has been and that good will come again. Let them help you to keep it positive. With the chance you've been given, you need to be driven as hell. Give the future a chance. Don't forget you have a future, and hope as each new day dawns. Your world may not be that bad. Look up. Look hard enough and you might just find a small break in the clouds. They may be few, and sometimes far between, but just look. There will be silver linings among the clouds if you only look,

Everyone knows that with good comes bad, and with bad comes good. You can't turn back the clock, it's sad but true. There will be moments where everything feels like it's out of control. There will be moments when the world will seem like it's spinning and there will be moments when it feels like nothing in the world will be good again. But, there will also be moments of sheer joy. There will be moments when you feel on top of the world, like nothing can touch you anymore. There will be moments of escape. So embrace it, embrace it all and live in the moment as you're dancing through life. But don't forget to keep it positive. Hold those treasured memories close and look for the break among those clouds. But most of all, remember, good has been and good will come again. 

Let The Music Set You Free

She sat, staring unseeingly out the window. She was lost. In her own world, perhaps, or maybe her thoughts. In any case she was lost. Physically, her body was there, but who knew where her mind had gone to, only that it was far, far away from here. If it even was here or whether it had disappeared altogether. Nobody knew. But, she jumped at the sound of a faint whisper in her head. Make a big noise. You're gonna take on the world someday...

Around the seemingly mind-absent girl, people sat motionlessly, silently staring at glowing, blaring screens. They could have been described as zombies, robots, apparently robbed of the most important aspect of their minds, like the girl. But she was different. They acted like mindless drones, travelling from screen to screen, each the same as the others, each individual indistinguishable from the rest. Uniform. She was not like them. She was not dressed as they were. She did not move from screen to screen. She did not move at all, as if she were frozen in time. She heard nothing at all, while all they heard was radio gaga.

One day, something miraculous happened. The world, filled with endless white noise suddenly silenced, but only for a moment. One brief moment before another sound played. A continuous sound with rhythm, beat, melodies and harmonies unlike anything anyone had heard before. They reacted transiently before returning to their screens. But something within her had been ignited. At last, she turned away from the window, filled with curiosity at the novel noise. She was different, special.

This intriguing new sound, it turned out, was music. As technology had taken over this new world, this wonderful, joyous thing had been lost, almost completely. So now, at the sudden reappearance of it, something old was new again, and she was reinvigorated. New life had been breathed into her, and, it seemed, she was suddenly alive again. Now, she thought, I'm here.

Little did those around her realise, for they were still stuck in their zombie mode, she was embracing the spark of her spontaneously re-ignited life. The music had given her her life back, and now, she basked in it's newness. Because it, and the beauty it's sounds created seemed so familiar to her. So natural. She started moving around, waving her arms around. Smiling. Dancing, and allowing the music entering her ears to flow through her completely, filling her with sheer joy and calm in the process. These are the days...

Having discovered various pictures of musicians, she realised that unlike those around her, who all looked the same, the people in the pictures all looked different. No two people really looked alike,
and she realised, she did too. She had always known she was different, but now, she also realised that being different was ok. She looked at the others. The zombie clones, and shook her head. She wanted, desperately, to break free. One day, she thought, I'm gonna be free.

At this realisation, she knew that, not only that she wanted to break free, but that she needed to. But, she also knew, looking around her, that she'd have to make it on her own. So, she took a breath, returning to where the others sat, still mindlessly glued to their screens. "Let the music set you free. Let it flow through you and encourage you to move. Let it ignite your soul, warm your heart and let it set you free." She said as she left. She didn't know how the music worked. But, even if she had known, she would have left it on anyway, clinging to one last hope that they too, might one day be freed as she had been. She turned to face the door, reaching out to cautiously, slowly, open it. In the world beyond, she spied a single, shining light. So she set about following it, this one shaft of light that somehow, seemed to show the way.

Why?

Why. It's the question everybody asks when something bad happens. Why me? Why did this have to happen? Why did they have to go? Why did they leave me? Why them and not me? Why, just, why?

The man stands outside, throwing a raging tantrum at the sky. Screaming at it, why, over and over. The woman is furiously, painfully pummeling the ground with her fist, a river of tears falling freely down her face as she asks the same question in a whisper. Why? 

The girl, phone held loosely in her hand as the tears start. Yet, she looks so mad, you can practically see the steam blasting from her ears. Then the tears take over once more. "Why?" she manages to get out, her voice heavy with sobs as she chokes the small word out between them. As the phone falls from her loosened grip, she drops heavily to her knees on the floor. She's staring at the ground, without really seeing it. Why? I don't understand? Why did he break up with me? Why, just why.

Why. The question that never seems to get answered. A million people yell it up at the sky. At some higher power who could be up there, supposedly controlling everything. But this higher power never bothers to respond. It never dignifies all of these people with an answer to their desperate. So it hangs lingeringly in the air. Why. The momentous question so often asked by people in one last, desperate attempt at clarity. One last clinging hope at understanding A question so often asked, but so often left unanswered. So often that this small, pivotal question becomes something of an anticlimax. Why!? Why? 

Why. The ever unanswered question. Does it even have an answer? Or, is it a question without an answer? Who can answer? But, if there is an answer, what would it bring? More despair? More anger, hurt, or upset? Or comfort? Closure, clarity?

The Tale of the Three Brothers: Short Film Tribute

Some regular readers may remember the story I posted in tribute to English actors Christopher Lee and Alan Rickman in January following their passing. Today, I'd like to share a short film I've made from the story, featuring the actors and in tribute to them.

It should be noted that I am by no means a professional in the world of film, so I apologise if it's not of the best quality. Also, there is intentionally no sound for the first 20-30 seconds of the video, so don't worry if you can't hear anything to begin with.

Read the original story here and take a look at the video below. I hope you enjoy it!

On A Rainy Day

At first, it was so light, you could hardly tell it was raining at all. Then, it started to get heavier. You could hear it tapping against the roof. You could see it falling from the angry black storm clouds covering every single inch of the sky above. It was pouring down, bucketing. There were puddles everywhere. It had rained so much that it seemed a wonder there was any water left to fall. But fall it did. It did not stop. It didn't improve, instead, it stayed a as it was or grew heavier. A constant, at times deafening pitter patter on roofs that brought with it a bitter, dreary cold. And wet.

Granddad ran without hesitation outside into the sprinkling rain. He spread his arms wide, turning his face up to the sky with, we all hoped, his eyes closed. He spin round in gleeful circles. His young great-grandson followed him out, a big smile on his face. At the door, he pulled on his gumboots with great effort before running clumsily after the old man. His wrinkled face lights up with joy as he turns to see the bumbling toddler coming toward him. The toddler's face reflects the absolute delight in his own. The old man bends down, easily lifting the young boy into the air, proceeding to waltz the two of them around the yard, singing a tune we cannot here from where we are watching, the sound of the rain drowning it out completely, as the young boy laughs uncontrollably. He leans back in Granddad's arms as he does so, spreading his arms and allowing the cool raindrops to fall on his face.

The young boy's mother, my sister, wanders nearby, open umbrella in hand as she gently runs her fingers across the delicate, wet flower petals. Every so often she glances over at the toddler and the old man, a small smile on her lips as she watches them, happily oblivious to most of the world but each other and the rain falling down on them.

In the next room, my brother sits, hands hugging his knees to his chest and a big fat frown on his face. Sulking. Because the power's out and he can't sit glued to technology as he does most of the time. He spends so much time with technology that he has no idea what to do without it. He has no plan B, and so he sits, staring off into space, sulking. The most we get from his a groan. Now that our parents have gone crook at him for repeatedly asking things they can't possibly know the answer to. Why is the power out? When will it come back? How long will it take for the power to come back on?

With a heavy sigh, I turn to look back out the window at Granddad, my sister and her son. All joyously soaking up the now pouring rain. All seems quiet, pretty, serene. Until it's not. Suddenly, with a loud crush bang, my mother bursts into the room, rushing past me in a flying blur and roaring through the back door. She lifts a newspaper I hadn't noticed her holding  over her head and runs out to Granddad. "Dad!" I hear her yell through the door, "what do you think you're doing!?" I glance at my sister, who is unobtrusively watching on while pretending to still be absorbed in the wet flower petals in the garden.
"And stringing Nile along for the ride!?" Mum goes on. She glances at my sister. "Lilly at least had the good sense to fetch her umbrella." In unison, my sister and I roll our eyes behind our mother's back. "Dad! You'll fall ill! Come on, back inside," Mum reaches out to lead Granddad away, but he shrugs her off.

Miraculously at that moment, the rain slows right down. Granddad points up. My mother, sister and I all follow his gaze to see a faint but bright rainbow has appeared in the sky. "Look, see?" He says, softly, gently turning back to my mother. "Rain doesn't have to be bad, all dark and gloomy. It can be beautiful, joyous." The wide beam on Granddad's face appears inerasable

I smile. I like Grandad's outlook. His view. There's nearly always a rainbow after the rain, I can remember him telling me once. You shouldn't let anybody take it from you.

Here With Me

You never leave my mind. So much of you is left behind...

I need you to know, I'm with you. Right beside you. You're not alone right now. I'm not really gone, you've got to go on...

Sitting mere metres from his beloved, he reached out to touch her. But she could not see him sitting there beside her. She didn't know he was there. Still, he looked at her. Could not look away, though it broke his heart to see her this way. He wished there was something, anything he could do. He was there. Right there. But she didn't know... 

His face lit up with a sad smile as she reached out to touch him. "It's almost like you're with me," she said. 

I am, my Darling. I'm right here. Right here with you. I just wish you could see... 

"I wish you could be here with me." He moved to touch her arm, but it fell straight through hers. He did not have a physical form anymore. He could no longer touch her. She turned away from him, and sat in silence a while. "I can't believe this," she said, beginning to pace. "I don't want to believe this. Don't want to believe that you're gone." 

But you've got to go on...

"I know I have to go on. I know that I have to let go. But, I just can't accept it yet." She paused in her tracks and retook her place on the lounge beside him. His smile, small and sad, went unseen. She let out a heavy breath. "I want to believe. More than anything, I want to believe that you're still here with me, but I know I have to let go of the life I'll never know." She smiled in his direction, as if she knew he was there. "I know that I have to go on, hard is it may be. My heart is broken, it keeps breaking every day. But, come what may, nothing stops another day." 

I want you to know I'm here for you. I'm not going to leave you. You're not alone. I will always be 
here for you. I will not leave you alone, my Darling. You will never be alone. 

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In loving memory of my Great Aunt, who passed away early this morning. RIP. 

Piece of Me

One foot in front of the other. Just one more step. This is what I've been telling myself. For who knows how long. But, as I round the same corner for the hundredth time, I stop, leaning back in my haunches as I gasp exhaustedly for breath. It is only now that I realise that I must give in. That I must finally admit what I have been trying to deny for so long now. That I am lost. So utterly, completely and totally lost.

We entered this maze together, you and I. Now, here I am, walking endless circles without you by my side. To lead us. To guide us.  You disappeared and left me here, all alone. You weren't supposed to leave me here, you know. You weren't supposed to go. I wasn't ready. I'm still not ready. I don't think I ever will be ready to let you go. To say goodbye.

I long for you to return to me, dear friend. To be by my side again. I need you here with me, for I am so lost, so alone, without you. I have tried, so hard, to walk this maze alone. But every new path looks the same. I turn a corner, to find nothing novel there. Everything blends in. You, my friend were special. You could tell things apart. You knew where we'd been, where we were and where we were going.

I've lost all of that now. Like you, there one moment, and gone the next. And when you did go, you took a piece of me away with you too. A vital piece it would seem. Like a fair chunk of my heart. Because, nothing's been the same since.

I stand here, wishing there is something I could do. But, I am helpless. With you, and that piece of me gone, there's nothing left but to learn to live again. It seems impossible from where I am, but... it is possible, I think. People do live without parts of their hearts. At least, I think they do. I hope they do. Because, that's the future I'm facing.

But, even if I live to tell the tale of a stolen piece of my heart, a stolen piece of me, I will always love you. I will always miss you. Though, I hope that one day, maybe, I might be able to live again. That I might find the exit from this endless maze and find a life beyond this. And I hope, for you, that it's wonderful wherever you are. I hope you can be happy. I hope you are able to have the life you have always deserved. But, more than anything, I hope against hope that I'll see you again, someday very, very soon.

Fuel For the Fire

Can't... Will never.... Won't... As I repeat these words to my friend, she is seething. Were this a cartoon, steam would be flowing from her ears accompanied by a high pitched squeal. "Oh no," she says through gritted teeth, her entire body shaking. "We can't have that!" 

"What?" I say, spinning on my heel as she begins to pace. 

She in turn, spins on her own heel and faces me, coming closer, maintaining eye contact the entire time. "Candace! You... you mustn't let people tell you those things..." 

"It's not like I can stop them." I say, "I'm not God. I can't control anyone but me.." 

"True," she says, coming to sit beside me. 

"But that's exactly it, Candace..." I say nothing, blinking a few times. "You can control you!" 

"What do you mean exactly?" 

"Can't.. Never... Won't..." she says, on her feet and pacing again. "They're all just words." 

"Negative words though, right?" 

"Wrong!" Once again, Hilda spins on her heel, a wide smile on her lips. "For most, yes, they are negative. But they don't have to be. For most people, they're negative words because they allow them to be." 

"Ok..." I say, "Hilda, I can see that you're passionate... but... you're not really making much sense." 

Again, she settles in a sitting position beside me. "Look Candace, if experience has taught me anything, it's that you choose the impact words have on you. Have you ever heard that saying?" She pauses, trying to recall it in her memory. "You know the one..." Again, she trails off. "Sticks and stones may break my bones..." 

"but names will never hurt me!" I finish with her triumphantly, a little relieved to understand something at last. 

"Yes!" says Hilda, the smile returned. "The second part of that saying implies that you can choose to ignore words which may otherwise have negative associations." 

I nod, smiling. Finally the fog of foreignness is clearing.  

"So, those words," she says, pausing to ensure she has my full attention, which, of course, she does. Now that it seems to make a little sense, she has me hooked... "Can't... Never... Won't... You've got to use them." 

"I'm sorry," I say, "use them?" 

"Yes," says Hilda. "Use them as fuel for the fire." 

I blink at her silently. She's lost me again... 

"Because they're telling you things right? They're telling you that you can't.. won't.. that you'll never.." 

"Yeah," I nod, albeit slowly. 

"So you use the words as motivation, fuel, to do the opposite." 

"Oh," I say, lighting up again with the onset of a lighting bulb moment. 

"You use it as fuel for the fire," Hilda says with me, nodding.

Fuel for the fire.

Silence Is All You Know

Silence is all you know, when you're alone..

The young girl looked out the window at the world beyond. Her shoulders slumped, she let out a humph as she folded her arms across her chest. Oh, how she wished she could join them. How she longed to be among them. But, she knew, if she were to venture out, the busy bustle would quickly disperse, and within a few minutes, there'd be no one in sight. They were all scared of her. So, most of the time she slept. For sleep was an escape from the horrible feelings that came with isolation. Of longing, of sadness and envy. And, rest, they told her, was good. It didn't seem to matter if she got a lot.

She had been isolated for as long as she could remember. But alone, it felt as if time dragged on. That every minute lasted an hour and every hour a day. As she usually did in her few waking moments, the young girl watched the world from her window, For a while, the world carried on the same way it always did. Until suddenly, a figure began to approach her window.

The sight of the figure growing larger as it came closer made her jump. When the figure was as close to the window as she was on the other side, the young girl realised that on the other side of the window, was a boy, around her age. He tapped on the glass to gain her attention. "Hello," he said, waving cheerily. "I'm Tom! What's your name?"
"A..Aaliyah," said the young girl slowly, jumping again at the sound of her own voice, for she hadn't heard it in so long.
"That's a very pretty name," said Tom, whose gaze had fallen to his feet. He looked back up at her again. "Can you come out and play?"
Her own eyes downcast, Aaliyah shook her head. "I'm not allowed out," she said as tears threatened to spill a waterfall from her eyes.

"Can I come in then?" Tom asked eagerly, "you look lonely, and I haven't anyone else to play with."
"I don't know where the door is," said Aaliyah, returning to staring at the ground after peeking briefly at the boy.

She looked up again just in time to say an older man apprach the boy, setting his hands gently on Tom's shoulders. "What're you doing Tom?" he asked and Aaliyah held her breath, sure he was going to make Tom go away.
"I found a playmate," said Tom, glancing at her, "only, she can't come out..."
The man looked up at Aaliyah through the window, "Hello!" he said, just as brightly as Tom. "I'm Robert,"
"He's my brother," said Tom quickly, and Aaliyah nodded her understanding. "this is Aaliyah," he said, turning back to his brother.

Robert, it turned out, was very clever, and soon, Aaliyah was joined by him and Tom on her side of the window. "What are you doing here all by yourself then, huh?" Robert asked.
"I'm sick," said Aaliyah.
"No one comes to see you?"
"Not often," she said, "they're all scared of me."
"Scared?" he asked. "Why would people be scared of a pretty young girl like me?" Aaliyah felt her cheeks warm at his words and pressed her hands to them, savouring the foreign, but nice sensation.
"They think they could catch what I have," she said. She did not react, knowing what would come next. On instinct, the two brothers backed away from her, though to their credit, they only took a half a step.
"I... Is that possible?" Tom asked nervously.
"No," said Aaliyah, shaking her head for emphasis, "I'm pretty sure so. I'm dying." To her relief, the brothers came closer once more.
Robert continued closer, circling Aaliyah thoughtfully as he started to speak. "And, as far as you know, dying is not contagious. Right?" Robert spun on his heel, stopping when he was facing
Aaliyah.
"Right," she said definitely, echoed by Tom, who followed with a sigh of relief.

Tom closed the gap between himself and the others, and Robert went to stand by his brother. "Well," he said, "consider yourself alone no more," he said, rubbing his hands together, a gleeful smile on his face.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The brothers returned a time later, and Aaliyah started to smile before her breath caught in her throat as she remembered a warning she'd been given, long ago. You only have so much time, Aaliyah. Be cautious...
"Robert, can you check on the other side of the window? Is there a number there?"

"There's a number here," he said, looking at her. "10."
"Aaliyah, what does that mean?" Asked Tom.
"10 days," Aaliyah said slowly,  remembering things as she spoke. "10 days is all I have beyond isolation."

In synchrony, Tom and  Robert's face's fell. "What?" Tom asked. "But..."
"Tom, you should go now. Go with Robert," said Aaliyah, touching a hand to his arm.
"But," he said again.
"There's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do," said Aaliyah. "But, I still have 10 days."
Sadly, Tom nodded. "I wish I didn't have to leave you Aaliyah. I hate feeling like I'm leaving you to the silence."
"Silence is all you know when you're alone, Tom," Aaliyah said simply, a small smile at your face. "But you and your brother have shown me what it's like to not be constantly stuck in silence, and it's wonderful. The music is heavenly."
"Hold tight Aaliyah," said Robert, smiling his usual bright smile. "There will be much more music yet."

With that, Aaliyah watched the brothers go, smiling even as Tom looked longingly back at her. Then she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come. So she could escape and speed time to when music would fill her world once more.

The Sadness Will Last Forever

He squatted low, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Eyes shut tight and hands pressed firmly to both ears, he continued to rock back and forth. He was silent for a while before he could no longer take it. He opened his mouth and started to scream.

He had curled himself into a ball who's only movement was to repeat the same motion over and over again. Rocking. Back and forth, back and forth. No matter how tightly he pressed his hands to his ears, it seemed he could still hear the voice. Though, the blockade of his hands did seem to muffle the noise to a mere whisper. But still, the voice called to him. Antony... Antony... Antony...

At first, it had been quite maddening. Then, he'd grown used to it. There were moments of solace, though they were few and far between. Otherwise, the voice would continue calling to him, the sound a haunting whisper. Sometimes, it would become too much and he would relent. That made it better for a while. Sometimes, the voice would even help him along in his plight. But in the end, it would return to haunting him, but worse than before. Eventually, it started to feel like torture.

------------------------------------------------------

My Dear Brother, 

I worry about you, for I know your mind is often troubled, and though I hope you are well, I fear you may be ill again. I haven't heard from you in weeks, Antony. What is happening? Have you been dedicating yourself to your work of late as I know you so often do? 

Antony, you must take care of yourself. I long for comfort in the knowledge you have company to 
watch over you, but in company's absence, I implore you, dear brother, please, take care of yourself, for I fear the price you shall have to pay should you fail. Know that I will come should you need me, 
though I hope it will not come to that.  

Please write, dear Brother, so I may, at least, take comfort in the knowledge that at the present time, you are well. Sincerely, 

Tobias

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Dear Tobias, 

You needn't fear, Brother. I am not at all I'll, though I do understand and appreciate your concern. At the present time, the other voice within is silent. Dormant. Strange though it is, I must admit. Demonic at times, completely angelic at others. Unpredictable, and strange. I only wish I was able to make sense of it. 

I apologise, dear brother, for I have deceived you some. While I am in good health at this time, I haven't been in recent times. I've been I'll, and once again fighting the inner battle with which I am so often consumed. I hope this will explain the lack of work, for which I also apologise. I endeavour to get straight back to it. 

I trust you are well, Dear Brother and am sure I will hear from you soon. Sincerely, 

Antony

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In his house, in a room he affectionately thought of as his sanctuary, Antony rocked back and forth. He had curled himself up so much, so his body, heavily bent, was as small as he could possibly make 

it. Again, he'd shut his eyes tight and sealed his ears off from the sounds of the world by placing his
hands firmly over his ears. But still, the voice persisted. Antony... Antony... Antony...

The voice was so loud and consuming in his mind that Antony failed to notice the knocking at the door, though it was quite loud. A click followed as the door was opened and then there were footsteps, slowly growing in volume as they came closer. 

The moment Tobias heard his brother's cries he began to run. He paused a moment in the doorway when he first laid eyes on his brother before running the last few steps to his aid. Tobias dropped to his knees. Antony continued rocking for a few minutes before falling all the way on to the ground. His body gave a final involuntary jerk before he lay still at last. 

With a groan of effort, Tobias pulled the top half of his brother's body, shoulders up, into his lap. "Antony," he said in a soft whisper. "Antony, come in now, dear brother. Come on, Antony. Come back to me now. Come on." A moment passed. An agonising moment of complete silence. 

Finally, Antony's eyes fluttered open, immediately locking on to that of his brother. "Tobias," he said slowly, his voice faint. 

Blindly, Tobias reached for his brother's hand and squeezed it firmly in his own. "I'm here, Brother, I'm right here." 

A hint of a smile played on Antony's lips. "The sadness," he said, his voice barely audible from lack of volume. "The sadness will last forever." As he finished speaking, Antony's drooping lids settled back into place over his eyes. A sad smile forming on his own lips, Tobias gently rested his brother's motionless body back on the ground.

Tobias gave a start at the sudden appearance of a dark, peculiar, somewhat deranged looking creature balanced on all fours atop Antony. It raised it's head, opened it's mouth and lye out a long, threatening hiss, staring straight ahead. Then, the creature's eyes scanned the otherwise empty room, coming to rest on him, eliciting a gasp. Tobias's eyes widened a little as the creature hissed at him once again before disappearing a moment later.

Tobias shuddered and took a moment to compose himself before leaning in close to his brother and whispering directly into his ear. "It's ok, Antony. It's over. The battle is over. You can rest now, dear brother." Tobias ran a hand down his brother's chest. "Rest in peace." 

Surrounded

We have been running for hours. As fast and far as our bodies will allow. Up until now. Up until we can run no more. So we collapse on the hard, unforgiving ground. It is hard to make out our surroundings, for everything blends in to the dark night. But still, I know that we are surrounded. Trapped. Our captors breath is close. Hot, smelly and loud on our faces.

The sight that greets my eyes as I open them confirms it. At first, I am squinting through the dark in an attempt to see it. Then, my eyes grow wider and wider as they adjust to the darkness and my fears are confirmed. The pack of wolves loom over us, hungrily snarling and baring their teeth. They would blend in with the night completely, were it not for their luminescent beady little yellow eyes. All on us. All on me.

As we fell to the ground, I instinctively threw myself atop her. And so she lay beneath me. I turn my head to look at her. She does not return my gaze. Her eyes are closed and I feel my own breath catch in my throat at the absence of hers. I shift my gaze to the wolves surrounding us.

As I make to stand, they back away, though they remain in their circular formation, surrounding them. I look at each of them in turn before I look at her once again I look up and meet the eyes of a wolf. This one is not like the others. He is not looking at me like I am his next meal. He holds my gaze for a moment. Barely a moment before looking away, as if he were scared himself.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I can barely look him in the eye. But I can tell he is stronger. The snowy steed continues to look my way, as if our gaze is glued together. But I cannot bring myself to return the gaze any longer. It is too close to home. I remember, once, long ago, when I was standing where he is now. But things will end differently for him, I know.

He peers again at the young, beautiful girl who lays motionless on the ground behind him. I follow his gaze and feel the tears well up behind my eyes. I know I cannot cry. Instead, I rise my head to the stars and let out a long, sorrowful howl.

Finally, I meet the horse's gaze once more. His eyes are wide with fear. I step forward, and he, in turn steps backward. My pack around me do not move. Some look at me, their heads turned to the side on an angle. But they do not move. The horse now stands over the goal. His gaze has turned fierce. Daring me to come closer. I wish I could speak. I wish I could tell him....

I back away, rejoining the others around me. I turn and start to trot the other way. I glance behind me. The others still haven't moved. I pause and stamp a foot on the ground. Finally they understand and begin to follow behind me. I allow most of them to pass me and chance one look at the horse, whose eyes are still on me. His eyes are still saucers. I nod once, and he copies the movement. I turn once more and follow my pack back into the night, letting out a breath. Not this time, I think, for now, he is safe. And I am glad.

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Next in the 'Silent Haunt' series.Read the story that started it all  here. 

Our Perfect Little Bubble

They’ve found the pin to pop our perfect little bubble. I’ve been dropped into something I don’t know. Some awful nightmare and you’re not here. I can't find you anywhere here. I’m surrounded by a sea of red. The waters are rising. I can’t stop crying. Or bleeding. I am broken; smashed and shattered into a million tiny pieces, strewn everywhere for miles around. Nothing makes sense here. Everything is foreign. But I am stuck. I am trapped. I can’t escape. No matter how much I pound, nothing breaks. Nothing lets me go. There is nothing to set me free. So I lay, writhing and rocking on the ground. I want to wake up. Please, let me wake up.

I want to wake up. I want for this strange new world to have all been just a horrible nightmare. I want to open my eyes and find you here, next to me. I want to see your irresistible, teddy bear face and button eyes. I want to feel your soft, warm skin. I want to turn around and find you there. I want to pull you close and never let you go. I want to go back to living in that bubble forever. Just you and me.

I need for there to still be a you and me. I need the world to still make sense. I need you here. With me. I need you. I need you to remind me that I am capable of being loved. I need you to remind me that I am not worthless. I need you here so that I am not alone when everyone else disappears.  I need you here to share everything with. I need you here to keep all my secrets. I need you to be here, to be strong when I am weak. I need you here to celebrate the good. I need you here to spread love. I need you here to spread joy.

 There doesn’t seem to be any joy in this new world. The storm clouds overhead are dark and angry, raging on forever. When it rains, it pours. And it feels endless. It is ice cold. I can’t find the warmth here, and though I shiver, I can’t help but feel thankful for my surroundings. This world is horrible, and it’s the last place on Earth I want to be. But it seems to be sympathetic to what’s going on. It seems to be reflecting my inside. The clouds are raging my fiery anger. The rain projecting my misery. The waters and the landscape echoing exactly how I feel. 

Everything Familiar Is Gone

The seemingly defeaning noise fills my ears. I press my hands against them, trying to block it out a as I turn my head from side to side, trying to locate it's source. Then I realise. The noise is from the traffic outside the new house. The traffic that I am not used to. That I don't think I will ever be used to. Just like almost everything else about this new place. New. Unusual. Strange. Unfamiliar. Everything familiar is gone.

When I close my eyes, I can almost pretend I'm back there again. Back where I should be. Back where I belong. I can hear the birds calling to one another and the wind whispering through the trees. I can smell the rain and see it dripping from the gum trees. I can see the rich, dark earth stretching on around me, as far as I can see. There is a wide smile on my lips.  I'm almost back there. Almost.

The smile disappears as I open my eyes again. I'm not there. I'm here. Even though I don't want to be.  There was no choice. Here is where I am. But here is not home. Home is there. Here is just here.

I close my eyes again and in my mind, at least, I am back there. I am home. With the sound of birds and the rich, dark earth. I breath in, slow and deep, imagining I can smell the rain, as if it is dripping from the gumtrees right beside me.

I am here. Wherever here is. I am here, longing to be home. Longing for home to not just be in my head. Longing for home to be not there but here. So I stand, imagining I am home. Wondering. Who will save me? Who will take me home?

You Think You Know

Her head ached. Her head ached so much she was sure it would soon explode. Her mind was racing and her heart was pounding, which only caused more pain in her head. She wished everything would just stop. Just for a moment. She needed the world to stop. Stop spinning at the speed of light. She was getting dizzy. So dizzy, and soon, she was sure, she'd fall. And she didn't know her far. She needed to not feel as if she'd soon be swimming in a pool filled with her own tears. She didn't want to hear the siren in the night anymore. She was losing control.

Everything she thought she knew had changed. Her world had been turned upside down, and she didn't know what to do. She slid against the wall, down to the floor and buried her head in her knees, finally allowing the tears she'd been holding back to come out. "You think you know..." she said in a whisper, looking up, though there was really nothing to look at.

Again, the tears fell. Relentlessly. This time, they wouldn't stop. And when they did, the screams returned. She'd removed the lid from the bottle. All the pent up energy inside was escaping. Rushing and raging like a waterfall.

So where do you start when everything's changed? When you feel like you just don't know anything anymore? She didn't know the answers. She didn't know. She just didn't know. Didn't have a clue.

There was the incident itself, the flashes, the people around her. Confusing people. People who didn't make any sense because they said one thing and did another. The few around her who weren't confusing were just angry. Angry that this had happened to her. All they wanted to do was break something. Release their lids.

They say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but actually facing the fear was so much easier said than done. She felt as if even trying to face the fear might kill her. She didn't want to stay stuck in this place, but moving on just seemed so impossible. So she sat, crying endless tears. Because she didn't have any idea what to do.

The Tale of the Three Brothers

"Leo, when I go away this weekend, I'm going to take you up to stay with your grandfather, ok?" Leo shuddered heavily at his mother's suggestion, then froze, desperately hoping his mother wouldn't notice the shivering from a moment earlier. Leo hadn't spent much time with his grandfather, and found him rather intimidating.
"Why?" he asked, fighting with all he had to keep his voice from shaking.
"Because I thought it would be nice for the two of you to spend some time together. Your grandfather wants to get to know you."
"Oh," said Leo, his face falling a considerable fraction. "Ok." There was a pause. "I guess." He finished finally, his voice a whisper.

As they pulled up to the house, Leo's eyes went wide. And he had thought his grandfather was scary... This house looked like something out of a horror movie. Not that he'd ever seen one, of course. Well, he may have caught brief glimpses of horror films. In any case, he'd seen enough to know that the house the idlying car sat in front of now, looked like it could have come from one. It was tall, possibly three storeys high or so, dark, both in the colour of the outside walls and the shadow cast on the house by the forest of surrounding trees, and gloomy, again, the trees, and the shadows they cast.

Leo could no longer control the intense shivering as he reluctantly followed his mother out of the car and up the drive. They reached the doorstep, and his mother raised her hand, forming it into a fist and tapping it lightly a few times on the door. Leo looked at his mother, than up at the tall doorway, taking a deep breath before gulping hard.

Finally, there was a clicking sound as someone turned the door handle from inside, and the door opened, as if in slow motion, to reveal a slender, towering figure. At the sight of the man, Leo took a few steps backwards, not falling backwards over the steps for his mother's sudden, strong grip on his arm, forcing him back upright.

She let him go and stepped forward as the man bent down a little to allow Leo's mother to kiss his cheek. "Hello," she said, smiling,
"So nice to see you again," he said, stepping aside to allow them in. "Hello Leo," he said, giving the shivering boy a sharp nod as he passed him coming through the doorway.
Suddenly, Leo's mother was near him, hands on his shoulders. "Don't you remember your Grandfather Leo?" she asked gently. "It's ok. Say hello."
"Hi," Leo said quickly, struggling to make himself look up at the older man.
"Hello my boy," A large smile spread across the man's lips and he stepped forward, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder so hard that it made him jump.

Leo stood beside his grandfather on the front verandah, trying desperately not to tremour uncontrollably as they waved his mother goodbye. "Well, My Boy," said his grandfather, an eerie sort of smile stretching across his face as he placed his hand with a great thump upon Leo's shoulder once more. "Shall we go inside?"
"S..sure" said Leo, unable to stop his voice from trembling. He scurried quickly inside and his grandfather stepped in behind him, carefully, slowly closing the door so as not to let it make the thunderous sound he knew it would if he let it slam. This young boy was scared enough, he could tell.

As his grandfather turned around, Leo finally looked slowly up at him, gulping hard as his eyes reached the older man's. "Sir. where should I put my things?"
"Sir?" His grandfather asked, sounding taken aback. "My boy! You needn't call me Sir! I'm your grandfather for heaven's sake! Call me Grandpa."
"Ok," said Leo uncertainly, "Grandpa."

Leo was just about to hop into bed when his grandfather appeared in the doorway. Leo let out a small scream at the unexpected sight. There was not much light behind his grandfather and it had taken a moment for Leo to recognise that it was him, and not something out of a waking nightmare.
"Did I give you a fright?" his grandfather asked softly. Leo, still shaking slightly, nodded in silence. "Oh I'm sorry. I just thought I'd come and see if you wanted me to tell you a story."
"You tell stories?" Leo asked in a small voice, clapping his hand hard over his mouth as he realised what he had asked.
"Your mother never told you?" asked his grandfather with a gasp. "Oh well, I'll have to tell you one of my stories then."

Quickly, Leo scrambled on to the bed and under the covers. Leo's grandfather pulled them up further, so that Leo's head was the only thing not beneath them and sat on the edge of the bed. He put a book in his lap. Leo squinted to read the name of the author. Names. Plural, for there were two.
"Frank A. Allen, and Patrick H. Allen," he read aloud quietly. "Who are they?" he asked, looking quizzically at his grandfather.
"Well, that's me," his grandfather started, pointing to the first name printed on the book, "and that's my brother, your Great Uncle Patrick," he said, pointing to the other name. "He's coming to stay tomorrow, you'll meet him then."
Leo couldn't help the fear that entered his eyes, but quickly shook his head in the hope that it would disappear, unbeknown to his grandfather.

"Alright," said his grandfather, opening the book. "Once, long ago, there was a young boy, probably a little older than you. This young boy wandered the woods late at night, when it was dark and deserted for miles around." Leo gulped at the frightening image his grandfather was painting. "The young boy was scared, but he was determined. And stubborn. No one but him knew of his fear. He was the eldest and thought it his duty to be brave."
"He had siblings then?" asked Leo.
"Yes," answered his grandfather. "Two younger brothers. He was 14 years of age to be exact. His younger brother was eight,"
"A little younger than me," said Leo, nodding.
"Yes," agreed his grandfather, "And their baby brother would have been around 3 or 4 years old."

Carandini often ventured into the wood at night, even though his mother hated the thought. His brother, Sidney, sometimes followed him, though not always. He got more easily frightened, and his mother protected his more than she did Carandini. She'd lost her youngest son, see. So Sidney took his place as the baby of the family, not that he approved. But that was the reason Cardini and Sidney went to the woods. They wanted to see if they could find their lost baby brother who had one night been stolen into the woods. 

"Did they find him Grandpa?" Leo asked sleepily. "You'll find out soon enough my boy. Perhaps your Uncle Patrick will tell you more of the story tomorrow. But for now, sleep." Leo's grandfather rose slowly to his feet and took the few steps to the doorway, pausing long enough to turn out the light before he left the room.

"Patrick," said Leo's grandfather delightedly the next day at the sight of a man on the doorstep. "I've been quite looking forward to your arrival!" From his place on the stairwell, Leo looked round cautiously to study his great uncle. Like his grandfather, Great Uncle Patrick was tall and slender, a little frightening too if you asked Leo. At that moment, his grandfather turned around and beckoned for Leo to come closer. "This is my grandson, Leo," said his grandfather, pulling Leo round in front of him once he had joined the two men. "he's staying with me the weekend." Then he turned to the young boy. "Leo, this is the brother I was telling you about, your great Uncle Patrick."
"Hello," said Leo, only chancing a momentary look at him before staring at the ground and his nervously twisting foot.

"So Patrick, I was telling young Leo here a little of the story of the three brothers last night," said Leo's grandfather later that night when the three of them were huddled round the lit fireplace. "I thought you might like to tell him a little more."
"Well!" said Patrick, happily rubbing his hands together. "I never say no to telling a good story! Where did you get up to, dear brother?"
"The part where the youngest brother had been stolen into the woods," Leo answered for his grandfather.
"Ah yes," said Patrick, a smile on his face as he settled back. "I remember it well..."

Their mother was still quite upset at the loss of their baby brother Carlton. While Carandini wanted to be the hero that saved the day, all Sidney wanted was to see their mother smile again. But, while they had differing reasons, both brothers wanted the same thing. To see their baby brother home again. So every night, much to their mother's protest, one, if not both of them would venture out into the wood in hopes that they might be lucky that night. They might find their baby brother.

The more time Leo spent with his grandfather and his great uncle, the less scared of them he became. He came to think of them as being very cool. If anything, you could have called them perhaps a little eccentric at most. But both of them told the best stories, and Leo was completely hooked on the tale of the three brothers. But, the two older men were teaching Leo an exercise in patience, for they only told him a little at a time, and often, thry'd make him wait until night time to tell more of the story.

So they didn't tell him anything more until the night his mother arrived. "Mum!" Leo said, dragging her into the lounge room where the two older men were sitting by the fire. "Did you know Grandpa tells stories?!" he asked excitedly. "And Uncle Patrick too!"
His mother laughed at her son's enthusiasm and eyed the two men in turn. "What tall tales have you been telling him?" she asked.
"Only the best, my dear," said Patrick.
"Our favourite, the tale of three brothers," finished her father. And so his mother joined Leo on the floor to hear the end.

Little did they realise the cause of their mother's concerns. When she had been a girl, her own brother had been attacked by a wolf in the wood. That was why she was so scared of the woods, and didn't want her own sons going out there. It had happened once, and she strongly suspected that that was what had come of her baby boy. 

For all his daughter acted at first uninterested, he could tell she was hooked on the story now. As she always had been when she was a little girl, and he couldn't help but smile as he took over the story telling from his brother.

So every night, the brothers would go out. Carandini tended to be joined a lot more by Sidney as they got older, and soon it became their tradition. But sadly, every night they'd return home to their mother with nothing to show for their efforts. 
"We're sorry Mother," Carandini would say, "we haven't found him yet," 
"But we'll try again tomorrow night," Sidney would promise solemnly. 

"Did they ever find Baby Carlton?" Leo asked, and his mother braced herself, knowing well what was to come next.

"No, I'm afraid not," Patrick answered sadly, a faraway look in his eyes.

Though the brothers searched and searched, venturing out every day until their mother died, they never had any luck at all. Their baby brother remained lost.

"Do you think they'll ever find him?"
"Don't be silly Leo," said his mother, hastily wiping away a tear. "It's only a story, the three brothers never existed."
"Not yet," said Leo's grandfather quietly.

"We've never seen Timothy, Not since the night he was stolen away," said Patrick, and Leo's mother gasped, tears falling rapidly from her eyes.
"The story was true?" she asked.
"The entire time my dear," said her father.
"But we haven't given up hope," said Patrick, "we'll see him again one day."
"Do you still go look for him?" asked Leo.
Patrick and his brother looked at one another, then back at Leo. "Always."   
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In memory of the late greats Christopher Lee & Alan Rickman. Two wonderful English actors who left a great mark on this world. RIP.