Elsa was having a bad day. A day like any other, really, but today she wasn’t feeling interested in having a day like any other. She wanted a ‘day’, the kind that creates a day that would forever be a part of Elsa’s memories. The kind with drama, the kind with laughter and screams. The kind with magic. But unbeknownst to Elsa, her wish was granted. For deep within an old workshop of a forgotten apprentice, a rusty doorknob was responding to the call of Elsa’s dreams. If any living creature was there, they would have seen a small, copper, and downright ugly doorknob turn into a golden ball and rise from the ground. But as there were no living creatures there, the only thing that saw the magic were the other objects scattered across the workshop, deep in their sleep, waiting for a dream to wake them up. With a whisk and a swish, the now golden ball exited the workshop and flew toward Elsa. To those with a practiced eye, it would look like a comet racing between cars and over oceans, between planes and skirting tornadoes. Until it reached its destination, ready and waiting, turning back into its old, seemingly regular doorknob. Meanwhile, Elsa was heading back home, her backpack slung over one shoulder and eyes only on the phone in her hand. But a glare from her left diverted her attention to the door next to her with its copper doorknob. Elsa felt like the doorknob was calling to her, ready to consume her every thought. “Come, open the door”, it seemed to be saying. Perhaps this doorknob felt her desire, to go somewhere else for just one day, anywhere else, do anything else than live the regular life. Seeing as Elsa wanted something different about this day-and unwilling to not answer the doorknob call- she reached for the doorknob and opened the door. As she closed the door, the doorknob sparkled and shimmered, as if winking to passerby’s. The first thing that assaulted Elsa’s senses was the smell of fried rice. The second thing was the sound of people talking loudly and very fast, like a shouting match between twenty people that nobody was winning. She opened her eyes and was startled by the scene in front of her. People all around her, cooking and slicing and making. She was in a kitchen, most likely a restaurant. Well, this was far from the “paradise” she was hoping for, she thought. She went to turn around and go back to her old life, but just as she was touching the doorknob, she paused. She has always believed that looking a gift horse in the mouth is a nothing more than missed opportunity, and wouldn’t she miss something if she were to leave now? The exit wasn’t going to leave; she can go back whenever she wants. It’s time to experience something different, even if it was a different different than she was expecting. And besides, she knows how to cook. Decision made, she reaches for a apron, washes her hands, and nervously goes up to one of the chefs. “Excuse me?” She asks timidly. The man turns around and turns back around in a quick 180. “Good, you’re finally here.” They were expecting her? “Get to work on the Fried Rice and Chicken Teriyaki for table six. Chop, Chop!” He snaps. Startled, Elsa follows his hands and gets to work. As soon as she starts working, and sense of peace touches her soul. Instinctively, she knew just how to make every recipe on the menu, along with other ingredients that could be added to make it special. It was as if she was elsewhere, far from her regular worries and restlessness, and purely in the moment, cooking and cooking until her hands ache. The time passed quickly, with more orders coming in and more magic sprouting from Elsa’s fingers and onto a plate. Too soon, it was time to go back home, her hours of dizzying peace nothing more than a memory. But it will be a memory that stays with her, of that Elsa was certain. She opens the door once again, returning to the sidewalk where she left her backpack and phone. She turns to look at the doorknob one more time, gives a smile born of happiness and walks away. Job well done, the Doorknob gives one last shimmer-wink, and flies back to the forgotten workshop.

Why do people talk about Destiny in a bad way? She is actually a friend of mine Sometimes sour, but generally sweet

I mean, come on, stop with the nay say She isn’t out to get you with nasty signs Or punishes you with a satisfying ending, all proper and neat

Unless you deserved it Then she’ll destroy you But that generally doesn’t happen (But FYI, don’t try to beat her at games; she’s competitive and always wins)

Seriously, she loves happiness She tries to make everyone have a good life Even at her own expense

How many people have a friend like that? Stop being the crabbiest Show her some love, not hate and strife Just dispense

If your life sucks That’s on you You made yourself miserable Instead of listening to her

And yeah, She’s kinda needy She’ll call you all the time

But I love her calls, her crazy flair Destiny, no matter how freaky, greedy, sneaky, Well, you get the rhyme

I love you You’re my friend You look after me So right now, I’ll look after you

So jerks, stop being haters And get on with your life! You will be so lucky If you try and enjoy it

Destiny isn’t your problem, IT’S YOU!

“Not that one! That’s mint green, I need pale green. Now!” Mr. Achello needed a Xanax. Or chloroform. Or a good old fashion smack upside the head. Lisa goes back to the shelf and starts looking for pale green, which is soo different from mint green, and found it between emerald and juniper. Correct paint in her hands, she goes back to Mr. Achello. “Here you go Mr. Achello.” He takes the paint, looks down and frowns. “Actually, I like the mint green better now. Go get it!” He screams. This is not worth ten dollars per hour. “And get me chartreuse, navy, and tangerine. On the double!” Lisa hides her frustrated expression, turns around, and goes back in the storeroom to get the colors he wants. Returning, he only glanced at the paint. “That navy is a watercolor paint, I need oil paint!” What a difference. “Yes Mr. Achello,” Lisa says, going back once again. This time, she stays in the storeroom longer, unwilling to move from her hiding spot. Mr. Achello is an impossible man to work for. Constantly changing his mind, asking for ‘Sky blue, Pearl white, Apricot, and everything has to be oil paint!.’ But a job is a job, no matter how much the boss sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Grabbing the navy, which isn’t watercolor, and returned back to him. “The navy oil paint,” she says walking up to his back. But suddenly he turns around and the navy paint goes all over his apron in a big splash. Lisa freezes. I’m definitely going to get fired, she thinks. But surprisingly, Mr. Achello gives a smile, the first and only smile Lisa has ever seen him have. It’s big, and makes his face looks more relaxed than his more common grumpy face. “That’s it!” Without any answers, he grabs the paint and starts flinging the navy at his painting, making little splatters of blue across the canvas. Quickly grabbing the other paints, he repeats until it looked like a rainbow threw up. Taking his long brush, he does a few quick strokes and steps back. Nodding to himself, he turns to Lisa, who by this point is long confused. “What do you think?” Amazed that he is asking for her opinion, she mutely goes up to the painting. It still looked like rainbow remains, messy and colorful. He had somehow mixed colors in the middle and spread them out to the ends. Finally, with a second look to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, Lisa turned to Mr. Achello. “Is that…me?” She asks. In the middle, the silhouette of a girl was in the middle, somehow looking both part of the colors and different from it. He gives her a small and happy nod. “Yes,” he replies. “Most employees of mine normally leave by, let’s see,” he looks at the clock on the wall, “one hour ago. But not you.” Lisa didn’t know how to respond to that. “Well, thanks I think…I mean, I caused a big mess on your apron.” He gives her his second smile, this time less big and warmer. “A little chaos is exactly what’s needed to create something extra special. It’s why the best artists and often the most insane ones. And the messiest people you’ll ever meet.” And Lisa was shocked speechless. “Come on, lets put it in the exhibit,” he says. Lisa grabs the painting and goes to follow Mr. Achello. Mr. Achello is now her favorite person in the world.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Must I listen? Why should I? The clock doesn’t care Doesn’t feel It just ticks And ticks, and ticks

Tick, Tick, Tick In a constant tempo That nobody wants Can’t it stop going forward And try going backward?

But backward never works It creates a never-ending misery How about this clock? Why don’t you just stop? Call in sick, take a vacation, go to the dentist Just stop With the tick, tick, tick

Tick, tick, bang! That’s it, the final chime I will never get it back Never go backward Never just stay Oh clock, why can’t you stay still?

Give me one time, I beg you Be still for once, make that once a forever But you won’t You can’t Because you live in a motion that can never end And cycle you constantly repeat Again, and again, and again

I’m going to make you a deal Every time you tick, every bang, every cycle Do something different each time And I’ll do the same You might like it What do you say?

Cookoo! Cookoo!

I thought so

Elsa was having a bad day. A day like any other, really, but today she wasn’t feeling interested in having a day like any other. She wanted a ‘day’, the kind that creates a day that would forever be a part of Elsa’s memories. The kind with drama, the kind with laughter and screams. The kind with magic. But unbeknownst to Elsa, her wish was granted. For deep within an old workshop of a forgotten apprentice, a rusty doorknob was responding to the call of Elsa’s dreams. If any living creature was there, they would have seen a small, copper, and downright ugly doorknob turn into a golden ball and rise from the ground. But as there were no living creatures there, the only thing that saw the magic were the other objects scattered across the workshop, deep in their sleep, waiting for a dream to wake them up. With a whisk and a swish, the now golden ball exited the workshop and flew toward Elsa. To those with a practiced eye, it would look like a comet racing between cars and over oceans, between planes and skirting tornadoes. Until it reached its destination, ready and waiting, turning back into its old, seemingly regular doorknob. Meanwhile, Elsa was heading back home, her backpack slung over one shoulder and eyes only on the phone in her hand. But a glare from her left diverted her attention to the door next to her. But, to clarify, the door isn’t what shined in her eyes, but the doorknob. Elsa felt like the doorknob was calling to her, ready to consume her every thought. “Come, open the door”, it seemed to be saying. Perhaps this doorknob felt her desire, to go somewhere else for just one day, anywhere else, do anything else than live the regular life. Seeing as Elsa wanted something different about this day-and unwilling to not answer the doorknob call- she reached for the doorknob and opened the door. As she closed the door, the doorknob sparkled and shimmered, as if winking to passerby’s. The first thing that assaulted Elsa’s senses was the smell of fried rice. The second thing was the sound of people talking loudly and very fast, like a shouting match between twenty people that nobody was winning. She opened her eyes and was startled by the scene in front of her. People all around her, cooking and slicing and making. She was in a kitchen, most likely a restaurant. Well, this was far from the “paradise” she was hoping for, she thought. She went to turn around and go back to her old life, but just as she was touching the doorknob, she paused. She has always believed that looking a gift horse in the mouth is a nothing more than missed opportunity, and wouldn’t she miss something if she were to leave now? The exit wasn’t going to leave; she can go back whenever she wants. It’s time to experience something different, even if it was a different different than she was expecting. And besides, she knows how to cook. Decision made, she reaches for a apron, washes her hands, and nervously goes up to one of the chefs. “Excuse me?” She asks timidly. The man turns around and turns back around in a quick 180. “Good, you’re finally here.” They were expecting her? “Get to work on the Fried Rice and Chicken Teriyaki for table six. Chop, Chop!” He snaps. Startled, Elsa follows his hands and gets to work. As soon as she starts working, and sense of peace touches her soul. Instinctively, she knew just how to make every recipe on the menu, along with other ingredients that could be added to make it special. It was as if she was elsewhere, far from her regular worries and restlessness, and purely in the moment, cooking and cooking until her hands ache. The time passed quickly, with more orders coming in and more magic sprouting from Elsa’s fingers and onto a plate. Too soon, it was time to go back home, her hours of dizzying peace nothing more than a memory. But it will be a memory that stays with her, of that Elsa was certain. She opens the door once again, returning to the sidewalk where she left her backpack and phone. She turns to look at the doorknob one more time, gives a smile born of happiness and walks away. Job well done, the Doorknob gives one last shimmer-wink, and flies b