Hi There🫡 I write code and create contents. I want to inspire people through creations made by my own hands.🌿 English is my second language, and I want to improve my English skills. I welcome corrections and feedback on my language!
Hi There🫡 I write code and create contents. I want to inspire people through creations made by my own hands.🌿 English is my second language, and I want to improve my English skills. I welcome corrections and feedback on my language!
In the heart of the bustling port city of Marisol, where merchant ships laden with silks, spices, and secrets arrived daily, worked a trader named Calen Pryce. He was known not for his wealth—though his coffers were undeniably full—but for his uncanny ability to procure what others could not. Need an ancient relic? Calen would find it. Missing a loved one? Calen had a knack for tracking people down. The price, however, was never predictable, and rarely did it come cheap.
Calen’s shop was unassuming, tucked in an alley where shadows stretched long even at noon. Inside, trinkets from every corner of the world adorned the shelves: gilded daggers, faded maps, and jars of rare herbs. Beneath the shop, in a cellar only Calen and a select few knew about, lay the real treasures—artifacts of power, objects with stories so dark they were whispered only in hushed tones.
One such object was the Coin of Veritus, said to compel absolute truth when held. Calen never used it himself—truth, in his line of work, was a dangerous thing. But it brought him customers willing to pay exorbitant sums or offer favors steeped in desperation.
Come when the nights are bright with stars
Or when the moon is mellow;
Come when the sun his golden bars
Drops on the hay-field yellow.
Come in the twilight soft and gray,
Come in the night or come in the day,
Come, O love, whene’er you may
And you are welcome, Come when the nights are bright with stars No Or when the moon is mellow;
Come when the sun his golden bars
Drops on the hay-field yellow.
Come in the twilight soft and gray,
Come in the night or come in the day,
Come, O love, whene’er you may,
And you are welcome, welcome.
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him:
Me, nae cheerfu’ twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.
I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy:
Naething could resist my Nancy:
But to see her, was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov’d sae kindly,
Had we never lov’d sae blindly!
Never met — or never parted,
We had ne’er been broken-hearted.
Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, Alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee.
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him:
Me, nae cheerfu’ twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.
I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy:
Naething could resist my Nancy:
But to see her, was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov’d sae kindly,
Had we never lov’d sae blindly!
Never met — or never parted,
We had ne’er been broken-hearted.
Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, Alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee.
We cannot know this statue, this satyr with his head propped on a wineskin; we cannot know if he dreams. In fact, none can know in spite of aeons  of looking, of examining where his hip is eaten away, eroded as if by our eyes. For what has been lost we are to blame, for what has been kept to be thrown away. He sleeps, his brow furrowed, lips  furled, he sleeps in drunken stupor and his snores though silent still insist. The need to be drunk, we share this need to let consciousness  go. Satyr is the mentor of blackout. He is the Bacchus we worship  within us. Observe in time his beard has grown into the jug as man and vessel merge. Together they seem content. He sleeps because the wine has been drained. There's no more stress, nor straining for he  no longer feels his hip, his brain, this unbearable lightness. Now stone seems to embrace this hallowed notion of empty, of emptying space, this erasure, this sage trace we sometimes leave behind. He is both  absent and present, a fading figure in a picture, familiar, yet unrecognized,           ourselves at another age.
In the shadowed alleyways of the bustling city of Valmere, a thief named Eli moved like a whisper on the wind. His targets were never the poor or the powerless; instead, he aimed his talents at the corrupt magnates and untouchable elites who lined their pockets at the expense of the downtrodden. Eli had grown up on these grimy streets, an orphan with nothing but a sharp mind and quicker fingers. He learned early that the world wasn't fair, that justice was a luxury few could afford. Yet, within him burned a desire not just to survive, but to balance the scales in the only way he knew how. One chilly evening, as the city's lanterns began to flicker to life, Eli overheard news of a lavish party at the mansion of Armand Duval, a notorious industrialist known for his ruthless business practices. It was said that Duval was to unveil a priceless artifact he had acquired under dubious circumstances—a jewel-encrusted statue that rightfully belonged to the public museum, stolen from under the city’s nose. The plan was simple yet daring: infiltrate the party, retrieve the statue, and return it to its rightful place. Disguised as one of the many servers, Eli slipped through security with a grace that belied his nervous heartbeat. The opulent halls of Duval’s mansion were a stark reminder of the greed and excess he despised. As the night progressed, Eli navigated through crowds of the city’s richest and most powerful, each laugh and clink of fine china fueling his resolve. Finally, he located the statue, displayed proudly in the center of Duval's personal gallery, its gems sparkling under the soft lighting. The heist was smoother than silk. With the statue secured in a hidden compartment of his server’s tray, Eli made his way out. But as he reached the exit, he was stopped by a young woman with sad eyes, who whispered, “Thank you.” She was the curator of the museum, who had been fighting a losing battle for the statue's return. Once outside, Eli didn’t head for a hideout; instead, he went straight to the museum. Leaving the statue at its steps with a note, he melted away into the night, a grin spreading across his face as he imagined the morning headlines. The city woke to a sensation. The stolen artifact had been mysteriously returned, and while the police searched for the elusive thief, the public’s opinion was unexpectedly sympathetic. Here was a criminal who fought for justice, who championed the city’s heritage against the greed of the powerful. Eli, watching from the shadows, knew he couldn’t stop the inequality that plagued his city, but he could inspire hope. In a world where the scales were so often tipped unfairly, he had chosen to be a counterweight, and in doing so, had stolen not just treasures, but the hearts of the people of Valmere.
I stared s at the shimmering form of the genie, his presence a swirl of azure and gold, filling the cramped space of my living room with an otherworldly glow. He hovered above the tarnished old lamp, which I had discovered hidden in the attic of my family's old house, among boxes of forgotten memories. His eyes sparkled with anticipation and a hint of mischief, aware of the gravity held within my final wish. "One wish left," he reminded me, his voice a melodic echo that seemed to bounce softly off the walls. I had pondered long and hard, knowing the stories where wishes turned sour, where desires came with unforeseen consequences. My first two wishes had been impulsive: wealth, which brought comfort but also isolation; and fame, which shone bright but faded fast, leaving me more hollow than before. Now, with my last chance to make a change, I sought something deeper, something lasting. I looked around my lavish, yet lonely home, feeling the weight of my earlier choices. "I wish for happiness," I said simply, my voice steady but humble. The genie's smile widened, his eyes twinkling with a depth of understanding. "A wise choice," he approved. "But true happiness often comes from within and through connections with others, not from magic." I nodded, expecting perhaps a lecture on the virtues of self-actualization. Instead, the genie waved his hands, and a soft breeze filled the room. The air seemed to pulse with potential, with new beginnings. "As you journey to find your happiness, you will not be alone," the genie said, and with a final shimmering flourish, he was gone, the lamp now dull and cold. In the days that followed, I discovered changes in my daily life. Opportunities to help others appeared, and with each act of kindness, my spirit lifted. I reconnected with old friends and found joy in simple moments. Happiness, it turned out, wasn't housed in a wish—it grew from a series of choices, relationships, and the love I chose to spread. The genie had granted me more than a wish; he had guided me on a path to fulfilling my truest desires, not through magic, but through life itself.
In the heart of the bustling market of Aldhaven, the Dragon Chest sat unclaimed, its origins cloaked in mystery and its surface carved with intricate, serpentine designs. Legends whispered of treasures and curses alike, drawing the curious and the brave. As a collector of peculiar artifacts, I couldn't resist. With a key procured from an old wanderer, I opened the chest one dusky evening. The hinges creaked, echoing like distant thunder. Inside, amidst a faint, otherworldly glow, lay not gold nor jewels, but a tiny, slumbering dragon, its scales shimmering with a kaleidoscope of colors. Its breath, warm and rhythmic, filled the air with a scent of wildflowers and embers. I had expected many things, but not a guardian of forgotten magic, alive and breathing. The real treasure was a living legend.
In the village of Eldoria, nestled between the misty crags of the Elder Mountains, tales of the celestial beings known as the Seraphs were as common as the morning dew. According to the village elders, these creatures were angelic, adorned with majestic feathered wings that shimmered under the moonlight and hair that glistened with a pearlescent sheen, casting halos of light around their serene faces. The Seraphs were revered as guardians, watchers of the night who kept the dark forces at bay. No story ever whispered of danger, for they were the epitome of purity and grace. However, on a night shadowed by a new moon, the village of Eldoria faced an unprecedented terror. Lyla, a young and curious herbalist, ventured into the woods seeking rare moonflowers. Guided only by the faint glow of her lantern, she stumbled upon a clearing she had never seen before. There, bathed in the silvery light of starshine, stood a figure that matched the desIn the village of Eldoria, nestled between the misty crags of the Elder Mountains, tales of the celestial beings known as the Seraphs were as common as the morning dew. According to the village elders, these creatures were angelic, adorned with majestic feathered wings that shimmered under the moonlight and hair that glistened with a pearlescent sheen, casting halos of light around their serene faces. The Seraphs were revered as guardians, watchers of the night who kept the dark forces at bay. No story ever whispered of danger, for they were the epitome of purity and grace. However, on a night shadowed by a new moon, the village of Eldoria faced an unprecedented terror. Lyla, a young and curious herbalist, ventured into the woods seeking rare moonflowers. Guided only by the faint glow of her lantern, she stumbled upon a clearing she had never seen before. There, bathed in the silvery light of starshine, stood a figure that matched the descriptions of the Seraphs. Mesmerized, Lyla approached, her heart filled with awe and her mind racing with stories of old. As she drew closer, the Seraph turned, revealing not only the ethereal beauty of its wings and the luminous strands of its hair but also something far more menacing. A pair of gleaming, sharp fangs protruded from its smiling mouth, and its eyes glinted with a predatory gleam. Frozen in fear, Lyla realized that the tales had omitted a crucial detail. The Seraphs were not merely guardians; they were hunters of the night. criptions of the Seraphs. Mesmerized, Lyla approached, her heart filled with awe and her mind racing with stories of old. As she drew closer, the Seraph turned, revealing not only the ethereal beauty of its wings and the luminous strands of its hair but also something far more menacing. A pair of gleaming, sharp fangs protruded from its smiling mouth, and its eyes glinted with a predatory gleam. Frozen in fear, Lyla realized that the tales had omitted a crucial detail. The Seraphs were not merely guardians; they were hunters of the night.
He is not doing well. She is not
“Doing well.” They are not doing well.
And so the new day blooms with its
Frills held tight across the window.
If I could know that which resembles
Me, if I could taste the insistences
Of dusk, I would rise from the shocked
Grass and imagine a shelter of miniature
Tides. Trouble always follows me. If
I left for some other clime, I would
Be confronted with the sparkling repose
Of hours for a little while, and then
The hammer would come down like
The sides of a city avenue over me.
And so I stay, oh, I stay, and I report
The greenness of the alphabet disappearing
Over my faded jeans. X, you
Have witnessed every disaster, and I know
You know it’s true. Still, that is no reason
To stop running, like an untraceable phone
