I had been ambushed on my picnic, at least that’s what I deduced. The last thing I remember is leaning over to take something out of the cooler. My head throbbed, looks like I got hit in the back of my head. It was utterly dark, so I tried moving. They bound my ankles and wrists, and gagged me. Charming people, obviously. I sighed. Looks like I’ll have to call for back up. Again. Ahh well. Remembering that my ring had a small blade in it; utilitarian for opening beer and wine bottles, packages or letters and conveniently kidnap situations. I wiggled enough so the rope loosened ever so slightly. I brought my arms underneath my bottom to the front of my body. Stupid criminals. They clearly didn’t think this through. I heard a clinking noise on the door and stopped my motions, pressing the button on my ring that activated my tracker. “Look at that she’s awake,” said a man. I smirked. We couldn’t see each other through the darkness of the room, but clearly he could hear me very well. I pretended to thrash and mumble against the gag. “Hold on sweetie, lemme get the light for you,” I heard a click and the room was flooded light. Blinking to adjust my eyes, I observed my capturer. He looked no more than forty, with light brown hair and eyes that matched; he was about six feet give or take. I noted there was a scar spanning from his neck upward towards his ear. Five more minutes. “Like what you see?” He grinned, thinking himself victorious. I rolled my neck and jaw finally shifting the tied rag around my mouth down to my neck. I spat at his feet. “What makes you say that you swine?” I answered, if he was shocked, he didn’t show it. I recognized him now. He was wanted in several counties around the area for embezzlement, kidnapping, stealing and several murders. He picked a poor hostage. He knelt down in front of me, “I like feisty girls.” I chuckled, “As well as a poor choice for hostages. Tell me what made you choose me.” Three minutes. “You’re a pretty woman, who wouldn’t miss you. You’re awfully calm for victim. Most of them scream pitifully.” “You want a ransom. It’s how you like, correct? Issuing counterfeit money, stealing company funds and stocks, pickpocketing-“ “Cheeky girl,” he pinched my cheek, “Perhaps I’ll keep you after I get that money, hm?” “I’ll make your life a living hell, if you do that Branson.” One. “And clever too-“ He leaned in. Pervert. The idiot too caught up in his fantasies. He didn’t even notice that I had finally freed my hands. I slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t you touch me,” I smirked and cackled, “You truly picked the wrong woman Branson. You have no idea who I am, do you?” “Insolent devil,” pulling a dagger from his boot, “Forget about the ransom, I think I’ll carve a line in your neck to match mine.” I flung off the ropes restraining my feet, “Boy, you fools never think things through.” Branson raced at me, I tripped him. The entire room appeared to be made of metal. Slamming his head to the wall a few times seemed to daze him, but not knock him out completely. The door banged open, and a familiar blonde head peeked in. “Lance! I got him!” I smiled at the man. The twins came in and hoisted the now bound man to his feet. “Ah, how the tides have turned,” I saluted at my ex-kidnapper, “Agent Taylor of the Sanction at your service.” The twins pulled the criminal out of the room. He was hissing like a trapped goose. “He didn’t hurt you did he?” Lance gave me a once over. I shook my head. “Come on, let’s get back to headquarters and finish this damn case,” I pecked him on the cheek and allowed him to lead me out. I stretched my limbs. Case closed.

As a child, the village elders would gather us around the rest days bonfire, all of us tired from running in the fields or helping the farms. Then they would take out long rolls of a substance and tell to us magnificent tales: valiant soldiers and damsels in distress, legendary monstrosities, and numerous others. I never understood what was on that roll, nor did I ever get to see those long rolls until the workings days came to a close. The tales, however, carved magnitudes of caves in my mind, all full with questions. One day those papers completely disappeared, that was also the day the warriors came. They were unlike those of the stories - cruel, unforgiving, and demanding. The strongly built men came and they destroyed, no sign of the caring and chivalrous disposition of the tales. From that moment on my childhood fascinations we’re continuously shattered. We were forced to work long days. No tranquil stories by the warm firelight on the resting day. Then more soldiers came and they pulled us out of our homes, dragging us to crowded places. The small houses fit barely fit two families of four and the streets were crowded with vermin and ragged, dirty people cupping their hands. Mother had always pulled me away from those strangers. For a time, I forgot about those wild tales on resting day nights. Then the large men came again and pulled us away in chains. They spoke oddly. To me it sounded like gibberish, but something one said made another man scrunch up his face. It confused me for a while before I realized we spoke differently. Suddenly, I could understand them again, and they were demanding where the monsters were, where those brave soldier disappeared, and where those long rolls of…whatever it was were. It all came flooding back, the adventures of the metal clad men, the damsels in distress, and the terrors guarding the….hoards….of treasure… Some of my playmates grandparents grabbed any linens they could find and began to scribble strange symbols onto them. At night, some of them would retell us those stories that we had heard so long ago by the fireside. Once I saw an old man take an ash stick and make the markings, but the soldiers came and dragged him away. I didn’t see him again after that, nor did anyone else. Years passed and the elders died. My people were still in chains, forced to plow and get barely anything in return. My playmates and I grew up. While searching for blankets one cold night, I found one of those linens with the lines on it. I didn’t dare ask around, everyone knew if you asked or got caught with those linens, you would be taken away. Quickly shoving the cloth away, I ignored the squiggles and finally located some horse blankets. Now, I sit in my chair, my bones weak from cold and age. I talk and tell of those fabulous tales that were once told to me to the children at my feet. Children who are worn, like me, but still have hopeful sparks in their eye. It has taken me this long to realize it was greed, that drove The Takers into our homes. Greed, for those fabled treasures. It has been long now since our enslavement- our children are speaking in that strange tongue of The Takers. My memory is slowly failing me. There is none now left to remember the stories but the children, who soon may be swallowed by The Takers greed too. If only someone could make the words we speak immortal. Make the words we speak tangible, held in hand and tell the stories so they all wouldn’t have to be remembered. It is too late, I think, for us to be saved, we will ever remain until nothing remains. Swallowed up by the abyss. But I think, yes, I believe I shall sleep now. Sleep and live those dreams among monsters, soldiers, and women in distress. Yes, I shall sleep now, eternally.

Ahh yes. Chess. The game for masterminds and genius’. It’s tricky, establishing moves and predicting your opponents steps. But it’s a game I will continue to play whether I shall like it or not. The world, my world, is a chess board and the people I include in it are my pieces. Such it has been and always shall be. I stared at my pearl and obsidian plated chess board, one of the many heirlooms of my house. What kind of game shall I play today? The court provides many issues… KNOCK! KNOCK! I looked up, “Enter.” One of the servants brought a silver tray to me, carrying a letter and the newspaper in his other hand. He place both onto my desk. I nodded, acknowledging him, and dismissed him. I opened the letter and skimmed the contents while with my other hand I reached to lift the cover off my food tray. Placing the paper onto my desk, I proceeded to eat and read the newspaper that had been brought. Curious, the contents of the letter contain nearly the same as the paper. I smiled. Looks like I have my game cut for me today. While putting the lid over the platter I noticed something. Underneath the napkin on the tray, there was a black figure. Frowning, I reached to grab it finding the object cool and smooth. Picking it up, I realized what it was, a chess piece; the knight, known for irregular moves, typically in the shapes of the letter L. I gazed at the black horses head and turned it over. KNOCK! I picked at the bottom, it peeled off quite easily. A second knock on the door. I was snapped out of my revelation. “Yes.” “Sir, you have a guest.” “I see, please escort him to the parlor. I will be down momentarily.” I stared at the knight once again and continuing to pick at the bottom. The piece appeared to be hollow, and a small slip of paper fell out as I tipped the small horse head over.

“Hello again player. We have a task for knight. It is simple. Even a pawn can take out the king.”

Odd. I placed the piece onto the center of my heirloom board and went to exit my study. My world is a chess board, but there are unspoken rules; a player is to board as pawn is to first move, unsteady and undetermined. I might as well play this game I have been placed in. Yes, I think that’s precisely what I’ll do.

One. Singular, like the sun. Always in the center stage light, On the top never giving up a fight, Histories greatest triumphs, remembered And sung with praise of the highest

Two. Doubles, reflections in mirrors, Always in the shadows, Hidden from those who suppose they see everything Forever doomed second rate, Stuck behind the gate of second place, Doomed to be forgotten by time

Three. Marvelous three. Many a tale comes in thirds, Like the wishes of the genies lamp, The luckiest of musketeers; each for the other, Or perhaps unfortunate Goldilocks and her encounter with the bears

Lucky or not one thing will remain, Whether first place, second rate, or golden three, Count not gold pieces in vain, For it will not change the number of your fortune

Creaking chair and worn wooden desk, Papers strewn across its hidden curves, A collared man sits at it, head in his ink stained hands, Weary from his days story spinning,

They wanted more, so they got more, But at what expense? His head hurt, his hands ached, And he was running out of words

Thousands of words in the English language, Yet he could not find a single one that was right, 27 successes and still more to go, Ink running dry, and parchment pile drenched in nonsense, He looks up, at his paper and his pen, Beginning once more

Those are the struggles of a writers game, No more words would fit into that play, So he made his own, Now they are the ones that we use today, Are you pious or gloomy? Have you had a monumental moment? Or ever been bedazzled? Our majestic Shakespeare has had his rants, Of what ever more than his own creations

Little Amy clambered onto her parents bed anxiously waiting for her mom to get out of the shower. The woman arrived clad in her fuzzy bath robe and slippers. The girls eyes brightened, “Can you read the story again? Please please please!” Her mother smiled, “Alright.” Grabbing a book with a sequined cover off the nightstand, she leaned into the wall of pillows against the head board and waited for her daughter to settle into the crook of her arm. “There once was a goldfish. He was not like the others in the pond; his scales were a brilliant gold color, shimmering whenever he swam. One day…” Amy was absorbed into her favorite bedtime story. While she heard her mothers soft, sweet voice, she was also standing next to the golden fish. She was beside him as he was caught on the fishing line and as he offered three wishes to the fisherman. And as the story ended, she reached to touch his magnificent scales, but the picture in front of her rippled and disappeared. Then she was back on the bed in her parents room with her mothers voice next to her. “Then the fish was released back into the water. Who knows maybe one day you’ll catch the fish and get your three wishes?” The book was shut. “Alright, love, time for bed.” “Will daddy come and give a good night kiss?” Asked the drowsy girl. “He will when he gets home,” Amy was carried to her room and tucked in. “Good night my little goldfish.” Her mom placed a kiss on her forehead and shut off the light. But all little Amy could see was her gold fish, scales shimmering.

I felt bare, skinless, Like the nomads that once roamed the earth, The ones that followed the rapid changes of the lands, My ancestors, from the earth and through my blood, Today is the day I receive you and you receive me, Blood of my blood, bones of my bones, Let me return to the dirt and atone, For all the aches and pains that I have caused to be, Let the lands flourish and flood, While I am gone

I decided to take a relaxing day from my apprenticeship at the apocothary. I walked to my favorite spot in the woods, a small ledge where the sunset was always lovely to watch. While climbing up the last rocky part I froze. A large wolf with a shaggy white coat stood and stared at me. My eyes widened and I too, stopped moving. We stared at each other; I dared not move. I didn’t know if these were shifters or if it was just an arctic wolf pack passing through. But why would it be arctic wolves? I thought, I don’t live that close to the border of the mountains that separate our two lands. While I was pondering, another wolf joined in staring me down. I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard a twig snap. A third wolf had arrived. I tried not to panic, for I knew they could smell my fear. I slowly backed away and sat down on the nearest pile of boulders. Slowly taking out the days provisions that I had brought with me. I happily munched on my lunch while still eyeing the animals close to me. All three of them were staring at me now, and I was beginning to get nervous. Yeah, there was no way these where shifters. The wolves would have attacked me by now if they were. I sighed, the knot of anxiety in my chest loosening a little. “Girl,” my head shot up, widening my eyes in surprise. Well, shit, they were shifters.

Walking through a crowd, Full of faces, all talking loud, Yet none will realize that all wear masks

That girl in the corner, She seems all bubbly and pink, Contrary to what you think, She is a mourner, Dressed in black

See that figure, red haired lurking, He intimidates all that near, Hiding behind a carefully crafted mask of fear, Instead when he is simply working, How to finish school

We all have different faces and ethnicities, Colors and personalities, But one thing we will never acknowledge is the working of our fears, Insecurities pushed out of sight, Broken hearts and ailments alike, They’re just another facet of our story, So when will we embrace our glory, And leave behind the lies?

They say it glowed bright, Like a gold coin under light, A blazing yellow to contrast the blue sky, Where all the birds would fly, Now fifteen years have passed, Each longer than the last, And still I have yet to see, The wonder that all have told me, Of the warm sun, flaming ray, In the stead of the harsh gray That now shadows the world, I wish for that one glimpse, Of the star that once graced the world, And of the warm days that we were tasked to live in