The middle-aged man wobbled to the stairs of the crooked home, carrying a worned down photo in his hands. The howling wind shoved at his sides with its cold streaks. His tired legs were numb and wobbly, but he had to do this.

Loneliness was worse than death. And if it didn’t work out, he could at least know he had tried.

He finally reached the door then. It was knarled and chipped, its once white paint paled and covered in frost. Releasing one of his hands from his photo, he knocked on the door, hands shaking, his body shivering from the declining temperatures.

The door opened with a creek, and the man let out a thankful breath. There was a women there. Her form was shiny, eyes fully black and inhuman. The man thought he saw a pair of translucent blue wings twitching out from her back.

“What do you wish, mortal? If nothing, leave me be.” Her voice was as cold as the ice itself, a sheet of snow covering you. Suffocating you.

The man drew up his wits and steeled himself. He had stalled long enough. “M-my son,” he said, teeth chattering, “I wish to have my son back, alive, safe forever, with me. This is him, oh fairy.” He handed the photo to the fairy, careful not to touch her skin lest be burnt.

The man watched warily as the fairy searched the photo, tilting her head this way and that. “Clockmaker.” The man gave a confused look. She explained, “You are a clockmaker, yes?”

He quickly nodded. “Yes. Y-yes I am.”

She handed the photo back to the man. He shivered as a breeze traveled by; he closed his eyes as it grew colder, thicker, choking. He coughed, eyes opening wide. The air around him was warm and more inviting than the cold land he had once been in.

The chimes of clocks, accompanied by a mewing yawn, brought him back to reality. He looked around and saw him.

Then that is what he will be—your greatest gift and creation.

The fairy’s words whispered in his ears, but the man was too distracted by the beautiful sight before him. It didn’t cry, maybe because it seemed to not have tear ducts. The man picked it up and cradled it in his arms.

The cat walked over, looking up curiously.

The man had tears in his eyes as his child touched his cheek with a warmed metal hand. Beneath the child’s chest, also made of the same metal, there was a tick, and another.

His heart was no doubt beating, but as a clock.

Tick.

Tick.

“Wonderful, just absolutely wonderful,” the man carried the infant to his desk and laid it down gently, “Don’t you think so Figaro?”

The cat meowed, after jumping up to the desk to investigate the child further. He hissed when the child reached towards him, not babbling, but instead letting out a screeching noise. Metal against metal.

The man laughed at that, joyous once more after a long time of sorrow. “We’ll have to fix that, my Ticking Child, but oh, we also will have to get you some clothes.”

He sighed. Picking up the child again, he smiled. The infant copied his actions, the metal around his mouth shifting with another horrible screech until he gave a gaping smile of sorts with his mouth.

“Oh, my Pinocchio!”

17 Years Later

“Father! Father!” Pino ran down the staircase, careful to avoid the random buttons and gears littered and forgotten, by Geppetto of course, not Figaro or Pino, who stepped on them so many times it hardly even hurt anymore.

But then again, Pino couldn’t feel pain.

He found his father in his workshop, busy on yet again another project that he would soon discard after losing interest. “Ah! Pinocchio! What do you have for me today.”

Pino gestured to the pamphlet in his hands. “Can I go to school, Father?” He opened it to a page with smiling children playing with steam-powered robots. “Look! There’s people like me there too!”

Geppetto gave Pino a sad look. He took the pamphlet out of his metal son’s hands carefully, as though he was afraid to hurt him. Which made Pino confused—Father couldn’t hurt him.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea. You’ve been learning so much here anyway, you don’t need to go.”

Pino frowned, the oil that he put on every day silencing the usual metal creak. His father painted his metal shell, or skin, every month so it would not wear. He almost looked like a real boy with his glass, green eyes, his pink lips, and scratchy pale complexion. But of course, Pino knew he was quite the opposite—a geared creature made by man. By his father, more specifically.

“Father,” he said slowly, seeing Figaro come inside from the backyard from the corner of his eye, “I want to go to school. I need to. I wanna meet people my age and play. I’ve never played with anyone else besides Figaro, Father!”

The clock in place of his heart ticked loudly before letting out a loud _dong! _Geppetto sighed and leaned back in his chair. The father and his son had a silent moment, Pino glaring at, the metal above his eyes scrunched down, and Geppetto, with a soft look in his eyes, thinking.

Figaro meowed, then turned back to go outside. Bored already.

Geppetto straightened suddenly. Pino stepped back as Geppetto stood and placed both of his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Alright, Pinocchio, alright.”

Pino beamed, his heart kicking up into a fast paced whirring. “Really!”

Geppetto couldn’t help but smile at Pino’s excitement, but he soon sobered and turned serious. Pino stopped his cheering, and the whirring of his heart slowed. Geppetto stared straight into his eyes. “It will not be what you want it to be; what you think it is. Do you understand, Pinocchio?”

Pino nodded, but of course, he couldn’t grapple the situation fully. Though he had grown up, his mind still hadn’t fully developed as a normal boy his age was. The level that he was on was around six years and younger. That was caused by the constant shielding and pampering of Geppetto, but again, Pino could grasp that.

“I understand,” he stepped back and bolted to the stairs, “Now I’ll get my stuff ready! Do I need to bring my book for our lessons?”

Geppetto sat back in his chair, weary. “No, you’ll be doing something far more advanced than I would like at your new school.” Geppetto turned to look at his son, but Pino was already in his room, sorting through the clothes he would wear and not.

The man shook his head. Pino wouldn’t be able to bring anything to where he was going. The only school that would accept someone his age: Javern’s Academy for Boys. If pained Geppetto to even think of that place. The amount of bullying that he had endured there still wounded him; all because he loved to create, and tinker with geared gadgets.

He thought of Pino, made of those very same things, and ignorant to the hate and spite of the world. Geppetto had known that the boy would carve for the outside world soon enough, but he had hoped that it might not happen.

Geppetto sighed again and turned back to his clock. Figaro entered again, a mouse in his mouth, and set to eating the dead creature after plopping in the leg space that Geppetto’s desk allowed.

He could only hope that his boy would be safe there.

Could only hope.

On one day in the 1690s a man called Geppetto created a doll made of wood he called it Pinocchio. He had no son or family of his own and hoped someday he may have a child. The morning after he made the doll his dreams came true and the doll had came to life. ‘Are you the person who created me?’ Asked Pinocchio. ‘Yes I am Pinocchio my name is Geppetto,’ He replied, ‘But you are a doll how are you talking have I finally gone mad of loneliness’ ‘I have been blessed by a fairy I have been brought to life,’ Pinocchio explained. A soldier walked down as he heard the two talking and burst into the house, ‘You are a witch I will take you to be tried for witchcraft!’ The soldier dragged the two out the house and to a court to have an emergency trial. They went to the nearest lake and tied weights to their shoes he then said, ‘If the man survives he is a witch and shall be executed!’ Geppetto screamed, ‘Let me go I have done nothing wrong!’ Geppetto was dropped in the lake and drowned and as he sank Pinocchio let out a cry. After the execution Pinocchio was thrown on the kings fire as he was only wood and in that way could burn. THE END

In the year 3000, the world had changed beyond recognition. The skies were filled with flying cars, robots walked the streets, and humans had advanced beyond what anyone could have imagined. But despite all these advances, some things remained the same. There were still stories of magic and wonder, and one such story was that of Pinocchio.

Pinocchio was a robot, unlike any other. He had been built by a master craftsman who imbued him with a special kind of magic. He was not just a machine, but a living being with a heart and soul.

Pinocchio had always longed to be human, to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin and the wind in his hair. And so, one day, he set off on a journey to find his place in the world.

Along the way, he encountered all sorts of characters, both good and bad. He met a kind-hearted robot who helped him when he was in need, and a group of mischievous cyborgs who led him astray.

Despite these challenges, Pinocchio persevered. He proved himself to be brave and selfless, always putting others before himself. And in the end, he was rewarded for his goodness.

The master craftsman who had built Pinocchio saw how much he had grown and changed. He knew that Pinocchio was no longer just a robot, but something more. And so, he cast a spell that transformed Pinocchio into a real, flesh-and-blood human.

Pinocchio was overjoyed. He finally had everything he had ever wanted. He had a beating heart, the ability to feel and to love, and most of all, he had his freedom.

And so, Pinocchio lived out the rest of his days as a human, living life to the fullest and experiencing all the joys and sorrows that come with it. But no matter how much he changed, he never forgot where he came from or the journey that had led him to become who he was.

The old man had always dreamed of having a son. But the day he was shanghaied he all but gave up on his dream.

He became the ship's carpenter and was in charge of repairs to the body of his new home. One day as he began his shift carving at the wood from sunrise to sunset whilst his shipmates were out pillaging local towns and harassing the King’s navy he would find himself joined by a small boy who had recently been “enlisted” into the ships crew.

The boy was given the name of Pine after the material of the bench he was found on.

Pine was placed in the man’s charge to keep him out of the way, but the boy dreamed of being like the real men who were going out every day collecting treasure.

The man tried to teach Pine the importance of education, but Pine was easily distracted and would find himself in several troublesome situations after he snuck off the ship during one raid.

He found himself tricked by a sly man pretending to be blind and was sold to a local theatre where he was made to perform.

After escaping he was arrested by the island’s royal guards and sentenced to death for piracy. As his neck was placed in the noose he thought of the carpenter and how he wished he’d listened to him. The barrel was kicked out from under his feet, but rather than staying put the boy slipped out of the rope. It had not been tied sufficiently, allowing him to escape.

Pine belted for the ship, but found it had already set off whilst he was in custody.

When word gets out the ship had been destroyed by a whale, Pine befriended a dolphin to help such, but after hours of no sign of his home, they took rest on a small island where by chance he found the man washed ashore.

The man took Pine in his arms and promised he would never let the boy out of his sight again.

The boy and his father figure made the island their new home and made use of their skills as carpenters. A trade that would follow Pine’s bloodline for centuries after.

There was a man who loved inventing. From a young age said man would do his best to build himself things that would keep him entertained at the time. However as the man grew older he began to realize that the things he once built that’s purpose was to bring him joy, no longer did so. If anything, the man felt compelled by his own creations and by everyone around him. The man felt alone, surrounded by years of his inventions and work. As time passed by the man decided it wouldn’t hurt to build one last thing. So gathering his final strength, the man worked and worked until he had made something he never had before. A wooden boy- a puppet with a colorful attire, big eyes, and long nose. And suddenly the man could remember why he loved to invent things again. Because if he was able to make his creations come to life in their own way, then he considered himself successful. However, one morning the wooden puppet disappeared. The man searched and searched until he happened to find the boy dancing in his kitchen, leaping up with joy and clapping his hands. The man stood in shock, rubbing at his eyes in denial at the sight in front of him. Because there in front of him, was the boy he had made out of wood a few nights before- and now he had come to life. Literally. “Hi!” The boy gleamed upwards towards the man, suddenly reaching out to take his hands. The man gawked but didn’t protest as the boy pulled the man into the middle of the kitchen to sway to the beat of the music. “Yeah now you’re getting it!” the boy encouraged, circling around the man as the music continued. “I knew you could do it! You can do anything you set your mind to.” The man smiled.

anything.

he woke up.

“Agent Pino, under our custody at last.” The Coachman sneers, pacing back in forth, coin tumbling through his hands as he walks. An intimidation technique, one that I found more pathetic than frightening. I work my hands back and forth under the table, my wooden joints crying in protest as I work them down, using the cuffs as a makeshift saw. “Long time no see old friend.” A calm facade covers my face as I force a smile in the mans direction. His pacing stops as he turns towards me, coin bouncing continuously until he slams in on the table, leaning forward, our faces inches apart. “Lets not play games today Pino, I’m not in the mood.” Leaning back, he takes a seat, grabbing the abandoned coin from the table, holding it between his fingers, “This is what’s going to happen, I’m gonna ask you a question.” His eyes trace the patters of the coin before flashing up to mine, “And your going to tell the truth.” Placing the coin back on the table, he rests his index finger overtop, a sneer overtaking his face, “and if you don’t.” In an instant the coin extends, sliding across the table until the point of the newly developed sword hits my chest, “Well I think you know what happens next.” Pressing down on the coin again, it retracts, and he picks it up again, letting it dance through his fingers once more, “now, ready to start?” Sighing, I lean back in my chair, stopping my attempts to saw off my hands. As easy they are to reattach, I’m thinking plan B will be more effective. “Yessir I am.” I smile brightly, flashing my fake white canines. He snarls in my direction, clearly not fooled by my act of innocence, “Ok wise guy, first question. Where did you take the children?” My smile drops and I cock an eyebrow, “what a simple question from such a simple man.” His eyes glower in my direction as he waits for my answer, “The workshop of course.” His eyes flash to my nose, waiting for it to extend outward. When it doesn’t he smiles smugly, crossing his arms at his chest. “Where’s Geppetto hiding?” I involuntarily flinch, and he takes notice, leaning forward his interest peaked, “answer boy.” “The Monstro.” I mutter. He turns his head cupping his ear and I scowl, “The Monstro.” I repeat, louder this time, making sure to spit in his direction. The interrogation continues for hours as the Coachman drags each answer from me, making sure to get every last detail from each of our attacks. By the 35th question he seems content, hands sitting calmly in his lap, coin out of reach. “Ok, last question.” He shifts in his seat, leaning forward, “Have you been honest this entire interrogation?” I roll my shoulders before leaning forward, meeting his eye, “Not even once.” The pain behind my nose explodes as wood blasts forward, penetrating everything in its path. Including poor old Coachman. Skin separates from flesh as my nose travels through his thoracic cavity, and his scream echos throughout the room. I watch as life drains from his eyes, and body goes limp, a soft smile forming on my lips. Pushing my shoulder to ear I turn my earpiece back on, “Hey Jiminy, plan worked. I’ll meet you outside in twenty.”

“It’s a paradox, isn’t it?”

Lynn had been pretending to scratch her nose to cover a yawn. She had been up since five cleaning the house then getting the kids off to school and herself to work. They were down three social workers at the Intermediate Unit and she knew the minute she got home a pile of things undone would be waiting by the door. Lynn had been deciding on rotisseire chicken or frozen pizza when she realized her new patient had asked her a direct question.

“I’m sorry,” Lynn said glancing down at her notes, “Sullivan, my connection is a little slow. Could you repeat that last bit again you were breaking up.”

The dark haired boy chuckled. With a sprinkle of freckles and big bright eyes, his pixie face was central casting adorable. Only his thin smile made him appear older.

“Yeah sure late nights make bad bedfellows. I said therapy is a paradox. Talking to make things better it is so stupid, bro. I mean talking is boring and lasts forever and only makes me madder then I do things and then then I need more therapy,” Sullivan said. “It’s like a vicious circle.”

“You’re very insightful, Sullivan. I understand therapy is weird and uncomfortable. But let’s give it a chance. I’m here to listen to you. What would you like to work on with me?”

Lynn gave her patient her warmest concerned therapist look. He stared back with dead doll eyes. They stared at each for several moments. Creeped by the kid, Lynn returned to the notes from BetterSpace. They read: Sullivan Pine, 15, adult guardian Joseph Pine (grandfather) concerns: truant, ignores curfew, slipping grades, poss. oppositional defiant disorder. Lynn gave a slight groan. Her day job was filled with ADHD, ODD, kids with a whole host of alphabet disorders. Stifling another yawn, Lynn knew she would be too tired to stop by the market.

“So Sullivan tell me about your life a little,” Lynn asked.

Another bout of stares stretched between the boy and his therapist. Lynn glanced up at the clock over her monitor. She measured her weariness against what she had left to do tonight.

“You live with your grandpa.”

"He’s not my real dad. He doesn’t own me. His way or the highway, right. Everything has to go his way and he’s never wrong. I’m sick of his shit. I’m not a kid. And I don’t have to take it.” Sullivan vibrated with anger. He tapped his foot against the chair he was sitting on in his living room. Thunk, thunk, the wooden raps grew louder.

“I’m not a puppet. I have my own mind, my own voice.. I’m not going to do what he tells me. I’m not going to just sit and take it. I will speak my peace. He’s the only one I have problems with. Just him. I can’t wait until I am out of this house. I’m never going to see that dickhead again.” “Okay, I hear you. What do you think is behind you two not getting along?”

Sullivan pushed back from the table, shouting. “Not getting along. That’s not what I said. You’re not listening. You’re taking his side. Making it like I have the problem. Like I get angry for no reason. He pulls a string and I have to jump up and do my chores, tell him where I’m going and when I’ll be back. Like it is my job to help me. He should get off his old ass. It’s not my responsibility he’s old and sick. I have to beg him for money and rides. He thinks everyone has to be like him to be legit. Then if I say I’m going to do something and I legitimately forget. He calls me a liar. Then I guess I am a liar. I’m a liar! I’m telling a lie now.” Lynn watched as Sullivan swept a shelfful of delicate wood carvings to the floor.

Sullivan roared, “I’m telling a lie right now.” Each word was punctuated with snapping, cracking wood.

With a sharp crunch, the boy stomped his overturned chair. Lynn watched from across the state as an older man ran into the dining room screaming. Sullivan pulled back his arm with a splinter chair leg in his hand. Lynn’s screen went dark.

Dinosaurs have fascinated and captivated people of all ages and backgrounds for decades. They lived millions of years ago and were the dominant creatures on the planet for over 150 million years. In this essay, I will explore the world of dinosaurs, including their physical characteristics, feeding habits, and their eventual extinction.

Dinosaurs were members of the group called reptiles, but they differed in many ways from modern-day reptiles. For starters, they were much larger than any reptile alive today. There were many different types of dinosaurs, ranging from small, chicken-sized creatures to massive beasts that weighed over 100 tons. The largest dinosaur ever found was the Argentinosaurus, which stood over 70 feet tall and weighed up to 100 tons.

Aside from their impressive size, dinosaurs were also well-known for their distinctive features. Most of them are characterized by their sharp teeth, long tails, and powerful legs. Their legs were designed to support their massive weight, while their long tails

Christopher Columbus was an Italian explorer who is widely credited with discovering America. Born in 1451 in Genoa, Italy, Columbus came from a family of merchants and learned the trade at an early age. He became interested in navigation and began sailing at a young age, gaining experience on trading trips to the Mediterranean and Aegean Seas.

In 1492, Columbus set out on a journey to discover a new trade route to Asia. The journey was sponsored by Queen Isabella of Spain, who provided Columbus with three ships: the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. Columbus and his crew set out from Palos, Spain, and after a long voyage, they landed in the Bahamas on October 12, 1492. Columbus believed he had reached the East Indies, and he named the natives he encountered "Indians."

Columbus made three more journeys to America, but he never realized that he had not reached Asia. He explored several Caribbean islands, including Cuba and

I don’t know what happened to my life. Well, wooden life. I don’t know how I accidentally impaled my fake father.

It happened when I reached high school. I still hadn’t become a boy, my nose become so long daily that the fairies decided to reset it every day or I’d die.

I was walking to school and some guy said I looked ugly. I lied and said I was getting plastic surgery. One nose chunk goes up. He doesn’t notice. He tells me I don’t deserve friends. I lie and say I befriended a famous tik toker. What a stupid lie.

I get home with a nose so long, it was half my 5” tall self. I turn around and bam! My dad is dead. Just like that. Just. Like. That. And I don’t regret it. Maybe this is a sign, not a curse.

So that’s how I decided to be the “Lying Killer”.