Whether it be to destinations anew, Or flavoured fruits from remote lands, This world is open to you like the flattened planes of a road map.

It is up to you to choose if you have exhausted it’s offerings, Or if there is still more left for you to discover.

That masked man holding the flower. That pineapple. That trailer. What do they have in common? Beauty. There is beauty in just ordinary things. That pineapple looks so delicious. That flower that the masked man is holding. Gorgeous. That trailer. There is a family of 5 laughing it up. Just because you see something you shouldn’t judge. The masked man is holding a flower that he picked perfectly for you because he knew you liked that flower. That pineapple will bring nutrients to someone that needs it. That trailer brings happiness to a family because it’s there shelter.

Show me everything you think I am, and I will show you who you are. The seeds that made me so bizarre? Well they were sewn by you. The train car I was thrown from has been abandoned, long-ago. I know what I was supposed to be, But it gave up the ghost before the orchids came into view. Shiny red apples, shiny green apples. “Shiny red apples are we!” But I will not sing your fight song for I do not know the words. My armor is far too impregnable for any verse to traverse. The train fell short of the mark you wanted, Not the one I needed. The soldier I am came to a different stop. A difference in plot. Consider this my Pineapple Expression.

The petals peeled off like skin on a sunburnt neck. Flaked away, then blew nonchalantly in the hollow breeze stretching before him. A warm gust sighed out of his equally flaked lips; a remnant of dust diverged up the shell of a mask that covered his face. He gave one last contemplative look at the tiny flower, opened a cherished handkerchief with blackened edges and lay the flower in the centre with the delicacy of a mortician.

The land was harsh before him. Scorched by a unforgiving God. Whenever he walked a rough mile, he contemplated the next time he would see a smile or hear a cry. He had endured it yet missed the simple routines: collecting a morning paper; critiquing his inept government; shaving with a new razor; drinking clear tap water. The simple pleasures. An anger formed around the car fob in his pocket. The edges were roughened from their original design, he palmed the whole thing and considered how they jingled with familiarity. His muscles began to lose tension, his hand opened like a blossoming dahlia. He calmed his shattered nerves then trudged on.

It wasn’t long until his trudging became rhythmic. Every fall of his boot felt heavier than the last. In his delirious mind, he attempted to preoccupy himself with lyrics from songs about the sun. ‘Don’t look back into the sun’, ‘Walking on Sunshine’ but they all failed to quell his intense boredom. Trip. Fall. Fell. He blinked twice and then shot straight up to his feet. Surprising himself at this dexterity. Adjusting his mask over his eyes and comprehending the object before his boots. A child. Eight, maybe ten he pondered. But what shocked him more than the discovery of a dead body, was the fact her face was indistinguishable. Her statue-like small frame was undisturbed, her hands clutched a pocket sized photo. With the realisation that she’d been attacked by the elements and wildlife, he took pity on this poor soul. He longed to cradle her in her dying moments, knowing he could never have saved her life. He delved into his non-key pocket and removed his cherished handkerchief. It furled as he removed it. The flower dropped to the floor, which he hastily leapt on top of to seize it from the gust that awaited to kidnap the delicate thing. What happened next was minutes in reality, but he fell into it ceremoniously. Flower in his left thumb and forefinger, handkerchief bundled in his right. He laid the fabric over her face and after a solemn moment he slipped the almost petal-less flowers in her hand with her photo. He refused to look at the photo. Instead he wanted to leave her profile the way he encountered it. Questions of her arrival and facial lacerations were rife in his head. He only paused for a moment then broke the silence.

“You’re not alone.”

He walked away. Leaving her with the flower and her anonymity.

The shady hooded man offered the objet delicately, as if it was moments from crumbling. Now I have a choice. Save my mother, or acquire the most beloved thing in the world. The Pine. The Pine has only been on earth for a couple of centuries, and compared to the other delicacies we’ve had, it is simply childlike, but I could not help but admire it’s ridged points. It resembles very much to a pinecone, and is the size of a a golf ball, but no one really knows of it’s true powers. Some say it heals, others say it defends. No matter, I have to have it. No matter what, I need the Pine. It’s mine. I could be closer to God with this! Screw the others. Screw a normal mortal life. Now I have power! Now..... I am a God. Now I can be whoever the hell I want to be! Without thinking, I swipe the charm from the ghostly mans hands and I feel like power is coursing through my veins! I just know I will be bigger, better, stronger with this!! Standing for a moment to let the power adjust in my mortal body, I gently place the Pine in my back pocket. It seems like minutes later when I hear the clock strike midnight. I’m suddenly stunned to the idea it has been roughly 9 hours since my mother had officially perished. As the thought sinks in, I notice a subtle squeak of the door blocking me off from the rest of the world. “Who’s there?” I call out roughly. “Who dares to walk in uninvited?” I demand once more. Just then I see the outline of a small, frail woman. Her long hair stringy and thin. There’s a bright light source coming from behind as the door swung open slowly, so it seems harder to see, but I’d recognize that silhouette anywhere. It’s my mother. That’s impossible though. She died. I killed her, I know I did. I knew she’d get in the way, but this? No. This isn’t her. It can’t be. I stabbed her straight through the chest with a spear! “Lawrence.” Hearing my real name stunned me for a moment, but I’m drifted back to reality as her voice continues. “You have done a dangerous thing, son.” Her rasp stronger than ever. Having that voice tell me I’m bad is what really hurts. No matter what. “You are no son of mine, Lawrence.” She pauses to think before continuing.”My son isn’t this greedy. My son was loyal to his mother. You wanted me dead, did you not?” Hearing this hurts even more, making my drive to attack harder to push back. I begin running without control, and she quickly touches my cheek with her fragile hands. Instantly, we are brought back home. I’m a child again, sitting in the snow on our roof, talking innocent conversation about pineapples. “Hey mom?” I ask. “I love you.” “I love you too, dear”

As I stepped out of my house ready to drive to work, that was when I noticed him. A strange man with a black and white mask. At first I thought I might just be seeing things, but they became clearer, and I knew that it couldn’t be that clear. A moment later, he pulled out a beautiful, orange flower. It seemed to almost... hypnotise me. I was drawn towards the flower in the man’s hands. Then, without me noticing, he started taking small steps backwards. Eventually, I was at his car. He kept the flower in his hand, opened the door and let me in. When we arrived, he opened the door, handcuffed me, and threw me into a dark, dirty, grey room. He then pulled the flower away. I couldn’t remember a thing between then and walking out of my door. “I’ve got to get out somehow,” I thought. Then the masked man hit me with something. Something that hurt. Then the world started to go black.

Don’t go into the empty train compartment, the voices whisper in your ear. “There’s a pineapple in there!” They scream hysterically. Squealing, laughing... at you. Your breath hitches and your heart thumps defiantly in your chest. ‘You’ll never get out!’ they assure you. Goosebumps tickle your neck as you look behind you. They’re everywhere now. Crawling, wriggling. You won’t escape.

It’s all just a dream... just a dream. You tell yourself this, over and over. Oh, how ironic the reassurance!

There’s laughing, but it’s not from you. You finally will your legs to run, and so now you’re running.... the tunnel is damp, black. At least it should be. But all you see are pineapples, spiked and fresh. Breakfast? Ha!

You think not. There’s no escape but oddly, you still run. Numb, desperate. Afraid. All the better, I say.

You’re sobbing like a scolded child now, pleading for god to save you, to have mercy on your soul. As if that ever works.

Your stumbling, your body flinging itself to no exit. You fall. Obviously.

You’re in a fetal position now, crying. Again. You’re quickly starting to irritate me. Stop it. Of course you won’t.

You try to get up as I walk, closer. Step by step. You’ve wet yourself. Gross.

Too bad. I’ve reached you now, and there’s nothing you can do. I reach into my pocket as you stare, frozen, at the smiling mask concealing my identity. Mmm, where is it? Ah, there it is!

I whisk a yellow flower from my pocket. Slightly wilted, but still beautiful. I reach out, offering you a gift.

You pass out. ——————— Xena had just watched this kid-Max, according to his papers- wet himself. She crossed him off the list. The simulation had lasted 3 minutes. This kid was afraid of yellow, pineapples, dark tunnels and Halloween masks. 4 fears.

4 fears too many. Max exited the simulation, blushing in embarrassment as he realised not everything was just a figment of the imagination. “Sorry kiddo. Can’t take candidates who can’t control their bladder. But you can do exposure therapy. Trust me, it’ll help. Should we book another session for next year?”

Max gulped, nodding, then quickly rushed out. Guess that’s it, she supposed. Sighing as she began cleaning the mess, she wondered which fearful child dared play next.

Train The wheel was cursing the rail, Frozen thought of freedom while the Melting sunset captured in the Windows’ glance A sweet melody disappeared in the bright We never know if this Trainhas arrived ?