The sun floated across the sky as dragons and mushroom critters flew in and out of the fantasy forest. Kri crouched, ready to spring at the rabbit. Her orange fox pelt gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. A single leap, a crack, and the rabbit was dead. Kri trotted toward her den with the spotted rabbit in her jaws and a satisfied smile on her face. “Nice job Kri.” Said her father in the shadows. Saf was her father strong, but sometimes a little grumpy. He was a fierce fighter when it came to defending his family. Kri also had a sister, Zill. They liked to wrestle together in the meadows where wishing butterflies and shape-shifting bees flew in circles around the multicolored flowers. Kri’s mother was ruu. Her voice was always gentle and kind. She was the one who always calmed Saf when he’s not in a good mood. Suddenly a burst of light shot into the den, making a large hole in the wall. “Zill!” Cried Ruu with an angry face. “Sorry.” Replied Zill glancing up at the hole she had made. Zill had a light element and she couldn’t control it yet. Kri has a wind element allowing her to run fast. She could also summon wind whenever she wanted but wind was wild and she couldn’t control where it went. Ruu sighed and she used her nature element to patch up the hole with moss and twigs. In the fantasy lands, every kind of creature from fire breathing dragons to ability foxes like Kri, had a special purpose. The wishing butterflies had to grant anyone a wish when they were seven months old. Kri didn’t know why the wishing butterflies even gave wishes especially when they turned seven months old! Saf had taken Kri to the human world before. There were lots of giant moving monsters and towers that touched the sky. There were also humans some where in the monsters and some even stood inside towers. Kri also thought it was scary. It was as loud as thunderstorms even at night. It was nothing compared to the quiet and peaceful nights in the forest.

The dolphins were the fastest way across Carmel Lake. Why that’s a thing, I’ll never know. I don’t really know how anything makes sense in ZipZopBoop Land. I get that dolphins can swim (duh), but how they can navigate with such finesse through something as thick as caramel is the thing that confuses the daylights out of me.

Kimmy says. “They just do Daddy. Dolphins would be the fastest swimmers anywhere.”

I can hear the italics in her voice with anywhere. It comes with narrowed eyes, a trait passed on by her mother. Eight years old and already frustrated with her old man, maybe even a little embarrassed.

“But what about my pants? They’re going to get all sticky…and I don’t even want to think about my shoes. It’s going to take me _forever _to walk to my office.”

I wonder if Kimmy can hear the italics in forever. She says it’s not her problem, but it’s in the tone of an annoyed child. I could pry a little more…but I decide not too.

“So, are you excited to see where I work? You get to see Brenda. You like Brenda.”

She likes Brenda. I think. The last time Brenda came over, she did magic tricks. Kimmy thought it was the funniest thing on the planet. Laughing like a hyena on cocaine*.

• You think I’m being dramatic with the whole hyena thing. But I’m not. Believe me, that’s the kind of thing you have to see to believe.

“I like Brenda,” said Kimmy through a snicker. Her hand tightened around mine when she said that. “How does Brenda get to work?”

I tilted my head upward. “Well she takes Rainbow Route…and she uses the flying squirrels.”

“I LOVE the flying squirrels!!!”

“I’m aware. You have drawings all over your bedroom…and throughout the hallways. And ALL over our refrigerator.”

“It’s because they’re fun to draw Daddy.”

I figured as much. But I have no idea how drawing flying squirrels is better than dolphins in caramel, elephants through a chocolate subway, or giraffes that can jump on clouds.

There isn’t much you can know with the frantic mind of an eight year old. And getting stuck in her crazy little fantasy world…that’s just something else.

But…

Leave it up to a comet to do something truly outlandish, and bizzare like that. This is where I live now. In the mind of a crazy little eight year old.

Wish me luck on my first commute.

6 o’clock.

I was still in bed, Listeria could sing her heart out for all I cared; I was going to get my 12 hours.

Maybe this was my fault for being cheap but how was I supposed to know there’d be any real difference between the 50 den siren and the 35–their bowls looked exactly the same.

Marketing failure.

It doesn’t much matter now that I’m late for the third time this month, today might just be the day Mr. Finn makes good on his promise and finally fires me—

“Could you guys move any slower?” A minuscule nail poked somewhere inside my open mouth,
“Ow, watch the tongue,”

I could sense the unrest, but they’d have bigger problems than a poor work environment and if they made me any more late and we all ended up on the pavement together. And it would be all of us together, lord knows no one’s hiring.

Humans. Never thinking farther than a few moments into the future.

“Alright, alright I’ll just go, get down!”

Several pairs of groans chorused before they made their way to my open palm.

“Really, when did you all get so sassy?”

I hopped into some jeans and a t-shirt I hoped looked good enough and flew out the door.

Or at least I tried too.

“Jeffrey, wake up!”

His repteilian eyes just barely opened before he went right back to sleep, blowing a stream of smoke in my face.

I sighed.

I pull my hood lower trying to cover my green ringlets that often get in my eyes. I needed a hair cut. Down a dark alley, I walk into a mirror, my clothes turning sharp and angular, sparkling with a rainbow sheen you can’t see if you focus directly on. I check my golden pocket watch. Following three o clock I find my exit into a different alley. I step through, my clothes returning to their basic state. I wear moon socks, baggy gray sweats, my cropped stardust hoodie, and of course, the mandatory band around my arm letting the whole tree know my station. Deep burgundy. Like the dried blood of a crime scene. A Slap Stick. Or in other words a nobody with a pen. I pull out my pad of empty stencil paper and my fountain pen. I draw my trademark. A mandatory license. Slap Sticks can go wherever, but not without Roots knowing exactly where you are. Still caged. Just in a bigger trap, with no where to call home. An extra puzzle piece that nobody needs. I finish off my trade. Big thick lettering that spell out “AWQZTEAR” It means, son of sorrow. It’s my name in the native tongue of the lost generation. It translates to something like Benoni. My parents called me Ben. My friends just call me Noni. I pull the stencil from the paper and tuck my pen and pad back into my waist band. I walk from the alley into a Main Street of Sharp Suger City, or as us sticks call it, the Axis Gate. One of the biggest branches of The Tree, it holds the most nodes intersecting the sub branches. I pass many shops, several, selling themselves. The is no sense of reservation or class. These sugar rots will swindle your every point, until you got no currency left. Leaving you, in more ways then one, pointless. Most buildings are made out of sugar bricks, but a few of the oldest establishments are still elaborately carved from sugar crystals ranging in color. They are beautiful. A sugar rot steps into my path. Her breath is sickly sweet. I hate this place. “Hello there young man! Can I offer you some Cane Shots that will help save you from a premature death? By the sheen of your lovely brown skin I can tell it’s right around the corner. What a shame it would be! Only thirty points. We accept currency from several branches, almost all twenty five!” I tell her to shove off. Most everyone worth their own two can see Cane Shots are actually just diluted shots of maple syrup. First off gross, second off, total scam. I slide pass the jabbering rot and move into the thick of the crowd to avoid being singled out a again. The woman obviously didn’t notice my band, because we sticks are not welcomed in the Axis Gate. Not welcome, but we survive. I hop on the back of a stem route that was speeding towards The Trunk. Sticks can travel from anywhere, but it’s easier if we are closer to The Trunk of The Tree. It opens up the rest of the branches. Not just the twenty five everyone else can use, but all seven hundred. Most of the general population of the twenty five often get annoyed that Slap Sticks can travel wherever. They’d even tried to limit us in the past. It has never worked because each stick’s slap is different, so they police us instead. What the general public don’t know is that most of the other branches are hostile and dangerous. We’ve made homes in the outer branches because we aren’t allowed in the twenty five after moon dawn. However, we often have to rebuild because the branches snap. Sometimes you can tell in advance, other times, lots of sticks are lost. As the stem route closes in on a platt ahead, I jump off and coming to a rolling stand. I jog into the shadows of a giant abandoned crystal cathedral. After sneaking in through a side door I walk around in awe taking in the carved scaffolding. I look at the thinned windows depicting the lost generation’s up bringing. Saplings born from fire. Molded from the matter of the great before. Cutting fabric into the first three branches.
I wandered away before painful memories took hold of me. Coming to the pews I sat in one. Grinning I started down at my trademark. It was time. I hoped he hadn’t slept in. I wanted to go comet racing. “Branch 32.” I whispered, slapping the sticker down on the pew. In a flash of dirt, water, and light I was gone. I was going to my home, or as close as it gets. I was going to see Kibou.

BRANCH 32. OFF GILTED BRANCH. ORIGIN:: STAR CENTURY BALANCE/ ENTRY: STICK 22698.

BENONI LAVENTRY

**_six minutes before moon dawn.

€][€*+=+• _

As one of the lesser furies in the underworld, Cyrus had the lovely job of punishing the wicked in a world of strange mortals. A land above the clouds that was an awful upwards flight from underground. He did love the feeling of falling back off a cliff when he was up early enough to have time for himself. Cyrus also enjoyed a mortal thing called coffee. It was a strange bitter soup but it tasted better with sugar and cows milk. He disposed of it with a small fire and put it out before flying up. Up in the clouds where he had made a home for himself on a campground. Camp Mosshat it was called and they welcomed him with open arms. There were a few more normal looking mortals like the ones Cyrus was used to seeing on land and one mortal he had his eye on. A curly haired ginger named Elliot was someone he wanted to keep close. He didn’t quite know why, he didn’t really understand human emotions well but he wanted to. Cyrus flied down and made a graceful landing outside of Elliot’s tent. He knew very well he had permission to come and go as he pleased and entered the tent with a small smile. Elliot snored softly and drooled a little onto his pillow. One leg was up and closer to his chest and the other was straight out. It was too warm still to wear pants to bed so Elliot was left with boxers and a shirt. Cyrus stroked his soft curls after sitting next to him. He placed a soft kiss on his cheek and Elliot turned onto his back, exposing his lower belly. Cyrus smiled and adjusted Elliot’s shirt so it covered him. He wasn’t ready to think of Elliot like that he just wanted- to hold him really. Elliot sighed and curled up, facing Cyrus. He has been told too many times not to fall in love so easy but he just couldn’t help it. Cyrus was sweet in his own way and sarcastic and his real smile could light up a room. He liked dreaming about dancing with Cyrus under the stars, just the two of them surrounded by the sky. Elliot smiled in his sleep and mumbled a little something.

Once again, my bed jerked me out because I refused to wake up to the mumerous alarms, except this time it was for an urgent even in the afternoon. I pit my legs in my comfy slides while I grabbed my tablet. My slides ushered me to the bathroom where my toothbrush brushed my mouth for me. I hoped in the shower and next my closet picked your an outfit for me so that I didjnt have to wait to pick an outfit.. ) the end)

I am elven. My best friend is human. My name is Zanira and it is pretty weird. Her name is Charlie and it is even weirder. I find peace in the songs of nature and days on the beach. She finds peace in a little piece of technology and a warm spot in her bed. I have the power to control the natural elements we find around us. She controls others actions with her words. Together we are complete opposites. As one we are a force to be reckoned with.

In the magical kingdom of Elderglade, every morning, Wizard Elowen embarks on a daily commute like no other. Here’s a glimpse into her enchanting journey:

Elowen begins in her cozy hilltop cottage, nestled between towering pines, their needles glistening with morning dew that sparkles faintly with lingering enchantments from the night before. The sun barely peeks over the horizon as she steps onto her porch, wrapping herself in her deep blue cloak, embroidered with protective sigils and pockets that shimmer with enchanted items.

With a flick of her wrist, she summons her trusty broomstick, Starfeather, which has an elegant form and slight golden glow from decades of loyal service. She mutters an incantation, and Starfeather hovers obediently as she settles onto it, clutching her oak staff, a symbol of her rank and a conduit for her spells.

The first leg of her journey takes her through the Mistwood Grove, a mystical forest where trees whisper old secrets and wild creatures often observe her silently. As she glides between trees, she’s careful not to disturb the nesting phoenixes or to startle the shy sprites who tend the forest’s heart. Her cloak helps her blend in, shimmering like morning fog to keep her passage peaceful. Occasionally, she’ll spot a friendly dryad and exchange a brief nod or smile in greeting.

Emerging from the forest, Elowen follows the course of the River Lumin, which winds like a silver ribbon through the countryside. The river’s waters shimmer with latent magic, and it’s said that the goddess of the river grants safe passage to those who respect its flow. Elowen often sees river spirits frolicking, their laughter mingling with the sound of rushing water. She dips her staff respectfully as she passes over the river’s shimmering surface, honoring the goddess’s domain.

The next landmark is the Floating Peaks, a chain of suspended mountains held aloft by ancient enchantments. These mountains float at varying altitudes, some as high as clouds and others low enough to cast shadows over the nearby fields. Skilled wizards and witches use these peaks as shortcuts, and Elowen is no exception. She guides Starfeather through the air currents, skillfully weaving between the peaks while keeping an eye out for stray drakes or wayward sprites. Occasionally, she’ll stop at one of the floating platforms to gather rare herbs or enjoy the view of Elderglade’s vast landscapes below.

As Elowen descends past the Floating Peaks, she enters the bustling city of Astra’s Reach, the kingdom’s heart and home to the Arcane Conclave, where she works. Astra’s Reach is a city brimming with magic: cobblestone streets hum with enchantments that keep them clean, and enchanted lanterns float overhead, casting a warm glow in the early morning haze. The citizens, a lively mix of humans, elves, dwarves, and other magical beings, nod respectfully as Elowen sweeps by on her broomstick. Shopkeepers in the magical district prepare their wares, displaying enchanted crystals, rare spell ingredients, and glistening potions for sale.

Finally, she arrives at the Arcane Conclave, a grand spire that seems to pierce the sky, radiating light and arcane energy. Elowen touches down at the entrance, greeted by two imposing stone golems who guard the Conclave’s gates. They bow slightly as she passes, recognizing her as a senior wizard. She steps into the grand hall, ready to begin her work for the day—whether it be teaching young apprentices, consulting the ancient tomes of the library, or researching new spells for the kingdom’s protection.

As she begins her day, she can’t help but look forward to her return journey, knowing the world of Elderglade will again greet her with all its wonders and mysteries.

So this doesn’t follow the theme, anyway hope you like

When I grow old I shall often turn to the warmth and familiarity of my youth And I will roll the memories over like candy on my tongue It will taste of the contentment and satisfaction of a glowing fire And the bright colored bobbles hung from a tree That lights up hearts as well as faces. And I will sit with my weathered hands And my sun spotted face A gift, Evidence I have lived. I will be perched in my favorite chair, Like a cat in the window Bathing in the warmth of innocence. I won’t wish to look back and resent all the issues from my past But instead I will continue to live in my memories And I will spin a web of new ones that my own can remember, When they are old, sitting in their favorite chair. They too can share the love, Sweet like honey that drips from a comb.

Barduk awoke to the roosters call. Another morning, another day at the mines. The kobold cursed his captors…his slavers. He cursed men. He cursed elves. He cursed dwarves. And he cursed his creator. Born only to be hunted and enslaved by creatures far stronger than his own.

His master, Pyetr, a dwarves son of a whore, soon barged in to the slave’s quarters, forcing Barduk and his kobold peers to their feet. The cruel dwarf did so with his usual demeanor - a mix of vulgarity and violence.

“Git up ye useless dogmen! Come on! Off to the mines, ye mutts!” He whipped them with a thin long spiked branch.

The dogmen scurried off to their feeding troths - to their hurried shit colored gruel that barely passed as edible even for a kobold’s palette.

Barduk, was niether the alpha nor a runt, but he had the respect of the other enslaved kobolds. He ate his slop in haste, askansly eyeing the dwarf. The hatred must have shown through Brazil’s eyes as the dwarf hit him with the branch.

“That’s enough for you,” Pyetr scowled, “time to mine!”