The sky The moon The stars

A twinkle A tinkle a boom

A light A flash A bang

Reflective orb Reflection orb far far away

See from the window looks so clear so close

see from the window looks so clear so far away

Creatures of the night Brightly shine way above

Healing Sleeping waking

The sky The moon The stars

The sky The earth The sea Even fire Elements in which we see Help us to survive day to day But we don’t know the way We use them to help But they are also great dangers They cause destruction Sadness Death As good as they are They are also deadly

The lone raindrop Triggers the flood The hurling of debris Brings the fresh blood The rumble in the ground The trembling of the sea The tossing of the water The cause of the tsunami The passiveness in those words Sparks fury anew Or creates insecurity No one really knows what they can do.

“When do you think she’ll be back?”

Ajax moves away in irritation, his rest in the sun ruined. Scooby was way too energetic for his liking.

“She always comes back,” Ajax meows, moving his tail to whack Scooby in the nose. It surprises him but doesn’t deter him. Unfortunately.

“But when?” Scooby repeats, pouncing playfully in front of Ajax.

Eyeing the table with Herbert’s tank on it, he leaps up in one graceful jump. Scooby lets out a high pitched whine. “Surprisingly I don’t have all the answers,” Ajax grumbles.

Greg the lizard crawls up the table leg and joins their conversation, “I still don’t get why I couldn’t go.” He pouts as much as a lizard can.

“Because of the stupid rules. She told us,” Herbert points out, laying on his rock.

Ajax flicks his tail, annoyed that he can’t get space even at a high altitude. Scooby laid down in front of where he is and now everyone is seeing this as a meeting place. Perhaps because it has the best view of the front door.

Snoopy and Ash bound into the room much to Ajax’s dismay. Not more of these rambunctious canines. What does a feline have to do to get some peace?

“Is she home yet?” Snoopy questions, Ash towering over him, tripping one another to see out the side of the door. Ajax can’t even believe Ash is a wolf. Any primal instincts are clearly gone.

Something flies overhead, a shadow moving across the floor. Woodstock, that lucky bird, lands on the coat rack, high above everyone else. “I think you would know if she were home.”

Fern and Smokey join this party, scurrying in the living room. Ajax wonders if everyone just wants to bother him.

“Is she home? Why is everyone in here?” Fern questions, her ferret tail wagging like a dog. They’ve all been around the dogs too much. It clearly is rubbing off on all of them. Except for Ajax.

Smokey climbs onto Scooby and cleans herself. Her dust bath container is being washed, so she resorts to doing it herself. Ajax approves of this method, but that might be because it reminds him of himself. Of cat behavior. Which is sorely lacking in this house.

“Guys, we have some of the sharpest ears around. We’ll all know when she gets here,” Ajax announces, trying to quiet the voices that he only wished were in his head and not out loud.

Everyone mumbles in agreement. Ajax thanks whatever cat gods there are that they seem to be settling down.

Finally. Silence. That’s hard to come by in this house. And while Ajax usually doesn’t mind this, he’s a little on edge today. He knows it won’t be a good day for Lou. Anticipating this, dread builds inside him for his friend.

Just as he lays down, head lulling into his front paws, all the animals’ ears perk up. Rubber on gravel. A car.

Instantly, they all are in a clamor to get to the door, even Ajax (though he would like to think more poised than the rest).

They all can see from the window panels on each side of the door. Lou bounds out of the car, a soft smile on her face.

Lou is home.

the wind whistling,

the sand shifting,

the sun beating down on the golden grains, we’d be surprised if it didn’t melt into glass right then and there.

there grows a shrub,

some kind of plant,

we can’t really tell what kind of plant it is, because we’re not florists or herbalists or gardeners, and also, what does it matter, because it’s the desert and it’s lucky that it’s still alive.

alas! the wind got too strong,

the plants weak and useless roots give in,

it begins rolling across the dunes like some kind of stupid tumbleweed, so helpless and idiotic, one half an ugly marshy green color, the other a gross brown shade.

it rolls for days,

maybe weeks, i don’t know,

now this dumb shrub-thing is all-around brown, and it’s so incredibly brittle that if you were to touch it it would probably collapse like a dramatic little piece of… nevermind.

“where are we going with this”

good question,

the moral of the story is that desert shrubs are weak, their bloodline is weak, and they deserve to tumble uselessly through the arid lands for eternity.

A light paw hits the ground, gently nudging the earth aside. Sunlight drifts through the gaps in the trees canopy, dappling the undergrowth. Nothing can be heard but the sounds of the forest, the full chatter of an entire ecosystem at play.

The doe lowers its head, gently nibbling at the vegetation. Above her, birds chatter and sing, loping back and forth amongst the branches.

Suddenly, her head raises, responding to a sound only she hears. She holds herself ramrod straight, her eyes sweeping over the brush the only movement.

After several minutes, she slowly lowers her head to continue grazing, still warily checking the darkened undergrowth on occasion.

Meanwhile, a hare munches nearby in the hidden brush - the source of the noise. The hare, oblivious to the doe’s discomfort, continues to enjoy its dinner. A large cardinal observes its progress from a perch in a large elm tree, its tall branches reaching high above the wildlife.

Spreading its wings, it takes flight suddenly, swooping low to avoid the forests dangling limbs. A few sharp turns and rolls later, and it bursts through the canopy, greeted by a dazzling blue sky. It chirps loudly, gleefully, basking in the space to turn and twist and fly. It soars low, nearly brushing the tops of the trees, then dips down suddenly, skimming the surface of a swiftly moving river.

A fish splashes out of the water in front of the bird, then dives back deep into the current. The cold water rushes smoothly over its gills, providing sweet relief. It swims through its school, dipping deep into the river bed weeds before rising once more to leap out of the water.

Upstream, the bear waits patiently, ready to catch the next fish to leap into its waiting clutches. Winter is just beginning to thaw, and its hunger knows no bounds. Spring is beginning, and nature continues, anew and ancient, changing and unchanged.

The waves seemed to, well, wave to the seashore. It would take its turn to meet the sand. Sea foam would rise in its wake, the bubbles drifting back out to sea with the waves. The tide rose and fell, marking the moon. When the sun sank, winds came from the open water, cleansing the air for another new day. Currents whisked sea weed and shells out to sea and back. The ocean has a system. A system of life.

A young gleeIan boy and his gleelan father are outside around their home, lying on the grassy, smooshed ground, looking at the stars. The young boy gets up into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around his knees, holding his head down. His father suddenly noticed how his son is acting, thus he comes over to his son, putting one hand over his right shoulder, and asks: “What’s wrong, kiddo?” The young boy replies to his father saying, “I feel small when I look up at the stars. I feel like just a worthless speck compared to all of the stars, all of the planets, all of the galaxies out there. I feel like we are nothing, dad. Nothing but just a bunch of random specks on a speck planet smaller than all the other speck planets, stars galaxies out there. Just nothing.” His father, when hearing about how his son feels, grins and replies, “Why, Nathan, of course there are tons of other planets, stars, and galaxies in life. Some we may already know and see, and some we have never seen, known, or heard of before. Why, of course there are tons of other species, other animals, besides us humans and our adorable, furry companions, like our “wittle” sweetie cat-berus Neo, living on those planets and in those galaxies. That, however, does not mean that any of those species living on those planets and in those galaxies don’t matter. And it does not mean that just because there are so many other galaxies, species, planets, and so many other living or existing things that we mean less or nothing.” The son gets his head out of his crossed arms and looks at his father with lowered eyes, an overall very blank expression, with an eyebrow raised, and asks, “Really? You think that I’m gonna believe that, because you’re my ‘wise old man that knows everything about life?’ My dad who I can ‘always’ trust?” The son says in a clearly very sarcastic tone. The father just laughs loudly. Very loudly, a deer and a squirrel hiding in the trees hear the laughter and stop, but then go back to whatever they do hidden in the woods. “Oh, Nathan,” his father says, “are you mad at me for making you believe that Santax Clausen and the Weaxton Buunny were real?” His son replies, “No. I just feel like you’re lying to me about the whole galaxy, species, we still matter bullshit. I mean, if every species, every galaxy, every, you know, whatever are all the same and are all small, then does that mean nothing matters?” his son said in a very dispiriting, saddening tone. The father quickly replies, “Nathan, what I was trying to say was that everyone and everything the same, not the same, kind of the same, not at all the same mentally, emotionally, socially, intrapersonally, interpersonally, psychologically, scientifically, mathematically, musically, artistically, athletically, stylistically, romantically, manly, strongly, cowardly, intellectually, ignorantly, womanly, ethically, sexually, statistically, medically, educationally, personally, lovingly, disturbingly, immaturely, maturely, cruelly, kindly, positively, negatively, religiously, not religiously, awkwardly, confidently, logically, humanly, animal-like, robotically, of a high status, of a low status, that are tall, that are short, normally, and weirdly on every planet, in every galaxy, in every system that contain all those planets and galaxies and universes all have one thing in common: They each have their own purpose and value that makes all of these life-forms, animals, and things who or what they are!” His father had to stop talking for a short while to take a breath from what he said until he can continue talking. His father managed to get himself back together to continue. “So, kid,” his father said getting up and holding his son’s hand so that his son could get up, “just remember that everything and everyone from here, far from here, way far from here, way, way far from here, close to here, closer, farther, there, out there, just everywhere will always be at least something in life, never nothing.” His father says with a big, reassuring smile to ensure his son’s confidence and his sense of thinking of the world and everything else around him. His son turned his head upwards to the shimmeringly bright and beautiful night skies, and then looked at his dad and says “Okay, dad, I guess you’re right about this stuff.” His son said with a small, genuine smile, that isn’t entirely certain, but is happy nonetheless. “Yeah, I’m right! I’m right as hell, and I know it!” His dad said as he and his son walk back to their house. As they are walking, his son then says something, “Dad, what if there are some aliens on some other planet about to talk about what we talked about when we were stargazing?” His son asked. The father replies, “Well, unfortunately, I don’t know, but that would be pretty cool. Right?” His son replies, “Uh, Yeah. Yeah, it would be, uh, kinda cool.”

On a faraway planet where an another alien species called the neuglobians and robots live together like humans and animals, a buff, dark-haired, green-skinned alien is stargazing with his thin, glasses-wearing, also green-skinned son with their robot pet named Bongo, a large, wide, loud, robotic Dalmatian. The alien’s son then says out of the blue, “Dad, don’t you ever wonder how- Bongo, No!” The alien’s son stops talking and instead gets up and runs to his dog, so his dog can stop pissing on some small, one-eyed T.Rexie that grows blades from its fingers and opens his mouth, invariably opening another even bigger mouth when attacked. “No, Bongo! Dammit, what the shit?! No pissing on any Rexie!” The alien son shouted. The alien’s dad saw this and laughed to himself. “Ah, reminds me of when I used to do that when I was a neuglobian child,” said the alien’s father.

In the heart of an ancient forest, where sunlight filtered through a canopy of emerald leaves, a small stream gurgled happily. This stream was the lifeline for a multitude of creatures, from the tiniest insects to the largest trees. Among these inhabitants, a wise old oak and a spirited little squirrel shared a special bond.

The oak, whose roots ran deep and whose branches reached for the sky, had stood in the forest for centuries. It had witnessed countless seasons change, and its bark was etched with stories of the past. The squirrel, with fur as red as autumn leaves, was known for its boundless energy and curiosity.

Each day, the squirrel would dart up the oak’s sturdy trunk, chattering excitedly about its latest discoveries—the sweetest acorn, the funniest bird song, the freshest breeze. The oak would listen patiently, its leaves rustling in gentle laughter, offering shade and comfort.

Gadil admitted it: the camp was rather flimsy. He and Pious had formed it out of their left over robes to form a blanket bed and a covering. They’d use their arms for pillows when the night came.

Gadil stroked the fire, eyes to the sky and nose alert. The demon was still surprised that he was still alive. Pious could have killed him rather easily in the broken, weak state he was in, having his powers sucked dry out of him after all that time in the prison of the Angelic Capital. Most other demons would do that. But Pious wasn’t most demons. Gadil honestly thought that Pious was some kind of half-breed from the kind way he was acting. And something else—what did Pious do to end up in the most secure prison on the planet.

He didn’t feel like gathering answers at the moment, and he couldn’t really anyway.

Pious was too busy fussing over the random baby he found while they were dashing from security.

“My wittle angel baby,” Pious cooed, tickling the tip of the tiny cherub’s nose, “Don’t cry, we’ll find you something to eat.”

The baby screeched even louder than before, its face ugly and red. Gadil felt like killing himself, but he had made it this far and couldn’t stay alive with Pious.

Pious glanced up to Gadil, concern in his eyes. “Gadil, do you know what he would like?”

Gadil shrugged. “I dunno, holy water?”

Pious narrowed his eyes at that comment before turning back to his baby, who’s cries were getting louder. “Shh, shh.”

At this rate they were sure to be caught. Gadil shrugged then stood up, groaning when he heard something pop into place. “Give it some milk.”

Pious blink, bobbing the baby up and down in his arms. “That’s a great idea, Gadil!”

They stared at each other for a while, the baby’s cries feeling the silence.

“Why are you—“

“Can you go get the milk, Gadil?”

Gadil growled. “No, NO! I am not doing it, it was a suggestion!”

Pious barely blinked. “Do you want to hold her?”

“I got meat and milk from the cow, though I don’t think the milk will be that clean,” Gadil grumbled, sitting down by the fire to cook his meal, “Where’d you get that bottle anyway?”

Pious ignored him and gave the bottle to the baby. The baby gulped it down quickly—and was finally QUIET. “Good baby,” Pious cooed, “Happy baby.”

Gadil sighed and laid in their make shift bed, Pious siting and holding the baby beside him.

“Tell me when the meats done, will you?” Gadil mumbled, eyes drooping.

“Sure,” he heard Pious say softly.

Gadil woke up on Pious’ back with a very, very hungry stomach.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “What happened.”

“They took my baby…They took my baby…”

“Uhh, Pious?”

He heard Pious sniffle. Crap? Was the male crying over the angel thing?

Pious laughed high laugh. “Now we’re going to go to them like they want,” he said, turning his head to face Gadil with crazed eyes, “Aren’t we, Gadil?”

Gadil really had not choice. He was weak and wanted to eat. And if Pious would cook something... “Yeah, I guess so.”

Pious blinked at his reaction and smiled. “I knew I loved you for some reason.”

“Excuse me?”

Then Pious started to pick up the pace. “We need to hurry,” he jumped over a branch, jostling Gadil, “Sorry about that. They are expecting us before nightfall.”

“Who are they exactly?” Gadil asked.

Pious was quiet for a second, then said. “Bloodwalkers.”

“Oh fuck,” Gadil sighed, “Will you make me beef after this for dinner if I kill 75 percent of them?”

The other male laughed, this time more joyfully. “Of course, but if _I _kill 75 percent, _you _have to make me and the baby food.”

Gadil groaned. “If we do get the baby,” he muttered glumly.

“We will get the baby, Gadil, don’t worry.” Pious whispered.

“I’m not.”

“You should be…”

…It’s ours. __

[This was just for fun, but if you’ve made it this far and want to know what the two demons look like…well here you go—

Gadil— Thin, coal skin and gold eyes, bald.

Pious— Think of WWE stars, red eyes, grey skin, and bald. (All prisoners had their hair cut because we want no lice!!!!!)

Thanks for reading!]