The Ransom Queen

 It took a special kind of person to qualify as a kidnapping prospect. Lords, ladies, princesses, nobles. Specifically, people who had wealthy ties, someone who could be milked for a hefty ransom. Princess Leila of Synn was one of these special people. However, she was a different kind of special. On the night of her kidnapping at the young, tender age of four, she caused so much trouble among the thieves who’d taken her that they lasted less than two hours before they tried to give her back. Kal, the man who had lead the excursion, loved to tell the story of how she’d bitten half the men and nearly separated varying appendages from the rest. Kal himself had nearly lost an ear. He explained how they’d tried to sneak her back into her chambers, only to be discovered by her incessant, rabid shrieking. How they’d been taken straight to the king and queen, who had offered them twice the sum they’d asked for in ransom if they would keep her. “Said they’d tried everything,” he’d laugh. “Stern words, time outs. Beatings, exorcisms. Nothing made a difference. Mad as a harpy and dangerous as a rabid fox, she was. Still chewing on the bits of flesh she’d managed to nab here and there, grinning like a monster and asking for salt. Half a glance at her and I knew she’d be worth something, once she was trained up a bit. Still, thieves can smell desperation, and his and her majesties were looking awfully fearful. ‘Three times what we asked for,’ I said. ‘And you’ve got yourself a funeral.’ “And that,” he always finished, “is how I got the gold to start my own guild and also became the very reluctant mentor to the maddest, sneakiest, deadliest thief in the kingdom.”Everyone

sitting around the table would always ooh and aah at this point, casting fearful and admiring glances at the shadowy figure that always sat at Kal’s right hand, just behind the ear that was missing a large, round chunk. Leila, the maddest, sneakiest, deadliest thief in the kingdom had heard the story so many times, been cast so many frightened looks, that all she ever did was roll her eyes. Kal was a good thief, but he didn’t have much in the way of telling stories. Still, though, it was a good enough tale that it didn’t need any embellishments to be believed. The king and queen had been “heartbroken” at the “loss” of their daughter. Since infancy she’d been kept in the castle, hidden from the subjects of the kingdom, as well as most of the mundane staff. Rumors had been intentionally spread that she was sickly and weak, to hide her fierce and demonic nature. Shortly after the ransom exchange, a proclamation had been sent out that the princess had contracted a mysterious disease and died. The king and queen, to their credit,had believed the thieves had sent their daughter to an early grave. No one who’d gotten close enough to the princess thought she could be tamed. And she couldn’t. Not much of a teacher or tamer, Kal’s methods of raising her had been more than a little unusual. “Just pointed her in the right direction and stood clear,” he always said. “Taught her how to throw knives and climb a building blindfolded. The rest came naturally.”And indeed, free of the constraints of respectable society, free from the gowns and caps and brushes and manners that came with being an heir, the forsaken princess had flourished in the darkness of the thieving business. She learned as she watched and grew stronger and fiercer every day. Her wildness calmed to a steady storm that raged within, flashing in her eyes and burning through anyone who got too close. She went through victims and targets faster than the others could count. Her signature heist became known throughout

the kingdom as “The Ransom.” Every job she completed was quick and messy, each tied up with a mock ransom note, laying out requirements and threatening a cruel or gruesome punishment if conditions were unmet. The irony was that the punishment was always carried out before the ransom note was placed. Irony that was lost on everyone except herself and the few who knew her story.“Is it revenge you want?” They sometimes asked her. She shook her head each time.“I don’t blame the king and queen; I thank them for their foolish, superstitious ways. I merely find amusement in knowing things that other people don’t.”Despite this, all eyes turned to her when an announcement was made: After years of barrenness, the queen had birthed a second child.“A girl,” Kal said, delivering the news himself. He felt a chill run up his spine as his prize student’s eyes began to glitter coldly.“A sister,” Leila echoed. “Indeed.”“Maybe a repeat quest is in order for you,” she said. He watched her for a long moment before breaking into a grin.“Perhaps it is, my cold-hearted one.”Ten years, they watched and waited, calmly and patiently.  The young princess was the kingdom’s treasure. She was paraded through the streets, heralded in epics and sonnets, spoken of with the highest opinions. She was as gentle as she was beautiful, kind as she was good. She was the daughter the king and queen had always wanted and the princess the kingdom had been waiting for.

It was the day before the princesses tenth birthday when they decided to strike.  Overnight, it was done. Princess Mei’s room was found empty in the morning, a single piece of paper lying on the pillow. The deed was carried out by Kal and Leila themselves. The young princess had been more than cooperative, keeping silent when they told her, holding still when commanded. She even stopped crying when Leila threatened to cut off one of her fingers.“This is how one gets kidnapped, dear,” Kal told Leila, gesturing to the dismal, red-eyed figure between them. “I haven’t even tied her up.”“What? Don’t be a fool. Tie her up.”“I didn’ttie you up,” he said stubbornly as she brought the party to a halt and pulled a length of rope from her sack.“Only because I ripped half your ear off with my teeth.”The Princess Mei, standing demure as Leila tied her hands together, stared openly at the ragged remains of Kal’s ear. “Too quiet,” muttered Leila. “It’s unnatural.”The young princess responded by opening her mouth, revealing that she had no tongue.“Hm.” Leila said. “It would seem the king and queen have taken precautions against having another problematic heir.” Kal took a look for himself, then burst into cackling laughter. “We should have known. After all, they lied about you. Why wouldn’t they lie about her?”“I bet they beat her when she sneezes,” Leila said. Princess Mei looked bewildered. Kal laughed harder.  

Leila made a decision then. “Do you want to be queen someday, your highness?” Her look of confusion deepening, the princess shook her head. “Do you want the king and queen to continue ruling?” Another hesitant shake.“Then it’s decided. Kal, I’m going to be queen.”He stopped laughing.Hours later, the king and queen were admitted into the underground hall of the thieves warrens, with an armed guard and carts of gold. “Welcome, your majesties.” The voice was cold, emanating from the shadowy throne set at one end of the room. The queen gasped and nearly fainted at the sight of her nearly identical daughters, side by side. Princess Mei had been told the story of her kidnapper turned sister by Kal. And it was true, once the two of them were side by side, the resemblance was unmistakable. Each shared the queen’s green eyes and freckles, along with the king’s blonde hair.The king, having caught the queen mid-swoon, looked at his daughters and swallowed.Princess Leila smiled coldly.“I believe you know how this works,” she said.

Death Finds Life.

Holding my breath, my heart clobbered against my ribs. I knew what I had to do

to see him. Waiting for the right moment I closed my eyes, shielding them from what was

about to happen. Silently I told my parents goodbye and begged them to forgive me but

you when you love someone you don’t let them slip away. Taking in one last breath I

stepped off of the ledge of the building and waited for the pain to subside.

My gray eyes opened and air came crawling through my lungs. Glancing around I

saw tubes and heard beeping. It didn’t work. The sterile smell alone should’ve warned me

that my attempt hadn’t been successful. Let’s try poison next time. I suggested to myself.

When my vision finally focused I noticed that my parents were at the end of my bed

asleep. Mom had been crying, her red nose gave that away and dad was tense, he couldn’t

even relax when sleeping. I felt bad on trying to kill myself but the chances of a psycho

coming into any building I was in and shooting me had been very low. I didn’t hate my

life but I needed to see him again, I needed to be with him again, no one would ever be

able to understand it. Mom jumped out of a dream and saw me, instantly her eyes watered

and she shook my dad awake who looked relieved when he saw me – alive. Mom took

me into her arms, crying. Her bright honey golden hair intertwined with my own. Of

course hers was duller and had now gray hairs but if you were at a distance you couldn’t

even tell that she was graying.

“Honey,” she whimpered. “Why would you do this?” she cried unable to contain the

questions.

“I have to see Hayden,” I explained, feeling the emotions rise in my throat. Closing her

eyes she moved away from me obviously disappointed. Dad remained at the foot of my

bed, his arms folded.

“Vivienne, Hayden isn’t real. How many therapists do we have to pay for you to see

that?” he demanded, no hint of sympathy could be traced in his voice.

“I never asked for the therapists, I asked for my parents to just believe me,” I debated. I

could see the veins from dad’s neck bulge, I knew he was trying not to yell at me.

“How can we possibly believe you when you say that this Hayden character – the man

you claim to love is also in charge of the Soul Realm?” he sneered. I knew it sounded

crazy, I called Hayden crazy when he first told me the truth of his eternal occupation.

“Character? Dad you’ve met Hayden! He’s been at our house! You know he’s real but

for some reason when I decided to tell you the truth about him you just delete him from

your memory! Who really needs the therapist?” I demanded my voice getting higher with

anger. Not having anything more to say dad stomped out with mom following suit after

staring at me regretfully. Through the anger I forced myself to remember the first time I

had met Hayden.

“Vie don’t go too far please we can’t search the whole Grand Canyon for you!”

Mom warned. 19 year old me rolled her eyes knowingly. It’s not like she hadn’t heard

that warning a millions times already… she didn’t listen, instead she walked far away

from my parents because she needed to breathe. Walking along the edge of a cliff she

skipped completely mesmerized by the view. Little did 19 year old Vivienne know that a

loose branch would change her life forever. Tripping over the branch she fell over the

cliff, landing hard on a rock at the bottom killing her but she didn’t know she was dead.

Vivienne saw a beach leading to an ocean, it wasn’t sunny out but the

temperature felt like a summer day. Looking up she couldn’t see any kind of sun, moon or

clouds that could tell her where she was. Then she saw him. A tall man with thick black

hair somewhat falling in his eyes. A pale face accompanied by dark – nearly black eyes.

They seemed so lifeless, which was what captivated her the most. He wore all black as

well. She didn’t know where she was, how she’d gotten there. All she remembered was

that she and her family were at the Grand Canyon.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man’s voice felt heavy and deep. Her plan was to answer

sarcastically but she didn’t even know where ‘here’ was.

“Where am I?” she asked instead. The man looked away from her obviously antagonized

by her presence.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you plus it doesn’t matter because you aren’t supposed

to be here in the first place,” he retorted then started walking away.

“Well then maybe you could help me find my family? Is this some part of the Grand

Canyon?” She asked following behind him. They were getting closer to the beach, the

closer she got the more she began to see. There were millions of people on this beach, ‘I

don’t remember any beaches at the Grand Canyon’ she thought.

“There aren’t any beaches, if that’s where your family is I’ll help you get back to them,”

the man promised. Vivienne still had unanswered questions that needed to be answered

so she ran until she could grab onto his black robe to get his attention. He stared at her

with a hard and unfeeling expression that kind of terrified her but the longer she looked

the softer his own face became.

“Who are you?” she asked simply.

“Hayden…” That was the last thing she heard before she came back to life at the bottom

of a cliff but Hayden was still there but he pretended like she had hit her head too hard.

We befriended one another and eventually developed feelings. Feelings Hayden

tried to deny but soon gave up. A little bit after we had started dating he told me about his

role in the Soul Realm I thought he was crazy and ran off. Doing this I managed to get hit

by a car and died. When that happened I woke up in the same beach area as the last time

but it had been three years since the last time I was there. All those memories from the

Grand Canyon came flooding back and then I saw Hayden in the same attire as when we

first met. He explained everything to me, about how he got sucked into doing this, how

he fell in love with me when we first met but stayed away from his feelings in order to

protect me. He then told me that he couldn’t return to earth anymore because of his job

down here. It was then that I realized that I loved him. When I was brought back I vowed

to see him again. I tried explaining things to my parents but that it was an obvious

mistake. For the next year and a half it was therapist appointment after therapist

appointment and medications but when they realized that I could kill myself with an

overdose of those they took the pills away. Anyone else would’ve just branded me a

suicidal freak but they didn’t know, they couldn’t possibly know what waited for me on

the other side. My parent’s named me Vivienne because in Italian it means ‘life’ and my

birth gave them life but I also gave Hayden life.

The doctors kept me overnight to observe my vitals and what not but after the

fifth round of nurses came by I snuck out of my bed and found my way to the entrance.

When the nurse at the front counter left I took my opportunity and ran out the doors and

into the brisk night air. Running down the streets I found an abandoned bridge slowed my

running to a walk my gray eyes reflected off of the moon and I could feel Hayden near

me, I couldn’t see him but I knew he was there. Standing at the edge of the bridge I

pulled out my note and safety pinned it to my chest. I stood on top of the railing, the

wood creaked under my bare feet. Glancing down at the cement below me I knew that

this would be the last time I would have to die. The thought of my final death plagued my

thoughts but I was ready for it. I was ready for eternity with Hayden and I knew with his

job I would one day see my parents again before they were shipped off to Heaven. I took

in one last look at the dark world around, closed my eyes then let my body fall off the

bridge.

“Vie, wake up,” Hayden’s gentle voice prodded. Opening my eyes I saw the once

lifeless dark eyes full of emotion. The sound of waves crashing entered my ears.

“I did it? Wow I didn’t think it would happen,” I breathed, standing on my feet I felt

Hayden’s arms snake their way around me.

“You did it, you don’t have to leave ever again but know that you also can’t leave ever

again. I know it’s too late to ask this but are you sure you want to do this because while

you can’t go back to earth you can jump on that ferry and head up to Heaven where

you’re meant to be.” Worry laced his voice but I knew my answer. Pressing my hands to

both sides of his face I smiled and kissed him quickly.

“If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have tried to kill myself a million times,” I laughed. “As

crazy as everything has been these last few years I know one thing for certain Hayden

Mortem, I love you and now nothing will keep us apart,” I promised. Hayden pressed his

lips against mine and my world was completed.

Fin.

Work in Progress

“I didn’t know it would blow something up, I swear!” is what I’ll tell my

parents, yes that should work. Sooner or later they’ll find out and I should

confess now before it gets worse. I’m only twelve years old anyway so what can

they do to me, right?. I just wanted to get first prize in this year's science fair and

there was no way I would settle for a boring, unoriginal, unexciting, stupid

volcano. The best you can do is make it ooze out a bit, maybe squirt some of its

“magma” on the observers but even then that won’t be enough, no, I’ll do

something better. I’ll make the whole town know my name, I’ll be on the

newspaper, heck I’ll make national news!

Mr. Tesla, my cat, was suppose to help me win first prize for the science

fair; you see I invented a device that would allow cat owners to bathe their feline

friends without the struggle of an uncooperative cat. I called it, the cat-o-pult. I

had some issues but I was almost there, almost had it. By test run 12 Mr. Tesla

had lost half his… fur. He hid from me for a day, so I took a break and went to

sleep only to wake up to find my device in pieces. It was smashed by my 4,000

page book on rocket science. For a while I thought maybe I should make Mr.

Tesla the first cat to go into space but then I remembered the French already did

that twenty years ago in ‘63, plus I didn’t have enough time.

Fortunately I planned ahead and had ordered a crystal radio a week ago. I

had to figure something out that would make it stand out from other crystal

radio’s. Overnight I dreamt on what I could do, but I ended up dreaming about

what would happen after the winner was announced. I won obviously and I was

overjoyed, the university I wanted to get into were at my feet; I would never have

to see principle Brown’s crispy old skin again or hear his lectures of how I

shouldn’t have taken lunch lady Doris’s cooking oil for one of my experiments. I

got the attention of girls when they realised skateboards don’t make you

awesome like me, to top it off I was showered by a hundred shaken bottles of

pop with the whole room chanting my name. Glorious.

This was going to be a great day, I had assembled most of the kit within

half an hour, child's play really. When I tried to get a signal, all I got was silence,

deep, cold, empty, silence. I had failed, “What did I do wrong!”. I scrambled to the

manual to make sure everything had been set in place correctly. Mr. Tesla began

rubbing against my leg, now wasn’t the time for playing so I shooed him away. I

frantically searched for what went wrong, I probably should have read the manual

to begin with. I came to the conclusion that the issue wasn’t with me but it was

that the kit didn’t come with enough copper to receive a clear signal. Yes that’s it,

what fool doesn’t put enough wiring for their kit to not work. But where could I find

enough copper? “To the basement!”, I yelled with my right arm pointing high up

and index finger stretched out. Wait this isn’t right. I pointed my finger downward,

“The basement!”

I had moved the kit down now and Mr. Tesla had followed me, to taunt me

further I bet. I could see from out the window that my neighbor, Mr. Collins was

getting his gardening hose out to water his plants. I had found what I was looking

for, copper, oh so much copper, you could call it a gold mine... but with copper…

copper mine. Anyways, I had everything set up now and delicately attached my

kit the the water pipes in the basement. “Ready, Mr. Tesla?”

A bright light had filled the room, I was blinded by it’s majesty. I did it!, I

thought. Of course I didn’t know what “It” was. Ideas began leaping into my mind.

I found a new energy source, portal to another dimension, no to heaven and god

is showing me his glorious power!

“BLUARRGHHaaaHOW!”, a yell came from outside the window. The light

vanished and I had realized after coming out of my state of bliss the light had

only lasted a second. I shooked my head from side to side to return back to

reality. Out the window I saw Mr. Collins lying on the grass. Mrs. Collins had run

out from the hearing the scream, “Henry? Henry are you okay?”

“GOD DAMN!”, was all Mr. Collins could say. I looked at Mr. Tesla and he

looked at me. I looked back at the kit, now completely fried and smoking. I looked

back outside, the only thing I could say was, “Holy sh-”. A loud explosion had cut

me off before I could finish. Mr. Tesla jumped on my face from getting scared of

the sudden violent noise. “No Mr. Tesla stop!” I cried as he began using my face

as a scratch post.

By now ten minutes had past, I was outside to see if Mr. Collins was okay.

Mrs. Collins was helping him up when she saw smoke rising in the distance

where the local meat processing factory was. I tried to play innocent knowing I’m

probably the cause of this mess. “What happened?” I said while trying to put on

the best puppy face I could muster. We saw some fire trucks with their sirens

running, driving in the direction of the smoke.

“I was struck by lightning!”, Mr. Collins replied. “I was about done waterin

mah garden so I went to turn off the water”, he began rubbing his hand, “As soon

as I touch the faucet I was zapped by heaven.” Of course, the water pipes and

the faucet. This, was me. Before I could think of a way to explain myself, Mrs.

Collins had interrupted my thinking with a, “Good lord what is that smell?”

What smell? I thought, but then it hit me too. A blast of odor so foul you

would think it came from Mr. Tesla and was aged for a hundred years. On the

same road where the fire trucks had gone up was now covered in a white

substance that was quickly oozing downward. This was the source of the smell,

but what was it? This was no time to think though as the odor got worse and it

was closer now. There was really nothing I could do so I went back inside my

house, I left some bacon cooking to mask the stench.

The next day I woke up to find the Sunday paper unopened so I grabbed it

before someone else could. Front page had the title, “Hamond’s Meat Plant

explosion!” in big bold letters. I read through the article quickly gathering key

words here and there: “Silo”, “Welding”, “Pig lard”, “explosion”, “investigation”,

“possible lead”, “copper”. The paper had dropped to the ground slipping through

my limp fingers. It all made sense now, the overcharge from my radio sent a

shockwave of electricity through the water pipes that connected our town with the

factory. The article said a worker at the plant had left his welding kit leaning on

some water pipes on Friday before closing. The welding setup was next to a silo,

inside the silo was pig lard. Well that explains that stuff on the road and the

smell. Witness were blaming the Russians. Now coming to the realization of what

I’ve done I began thinking of a solution to get me out of this mess. I could just

pretend I know nothing of what happened, but the FBI would find out eventually.

Maybe I can convince them that it was my way of making a “real” volcano

since the pig lard was oozing down the road after the explosion, maybe that’ll win

me the science fair or put me in jail. I could defect to the USSR, they’ll take me in

I think after attacking my own country, right? Before I could think of anything else,

I could hear someone banging on my door. Oh no, this it, time to come clean, I

thought to myself. I opened the door and outside stood five men in black suits

wearing sunglasses. “What kept you?”, I told them trying to keep my cool and

appear unafraid. The man who knocked the door pulled out a piece from my

radio kit that I buried in the back yard earlier from behind his back, Mommy!

A week later I had confessed before Mr. Tesla would rat me out, they

wouldn’t have been able to break me, but cats can be easily persuaded with

tuna. My face was on the front of every newspaper in the country, “Local kid

exposes illegal pig trading circuit with a blast”, I was set to have an interview at

the city news station in a few days. I didn’t see what the big commotion was but

at least I didn’t get in trouble with police. But at least now I’m getting the attention

I deserve, and there’s still time before the science fair. I can’t wait to show them

my cat-o-pult invention on live tv, first prize is mine.

The Dragon’s Lair

Nathan saw her sipping coffee in the café, her long, dark hair hanging loose

around her shoulders. He couldn’t tell if she was American, like him, but the book she

was reading was in English, so at least they spoke the same language. He thought he

remembered seeing her on the train from Prague to Krakow—it was those dark eyes and

lashes, and the way she sat perfectly straight, like a ballet teacher. He wondered if she

was staying in the hostel next door as well. Her eyes flicked up; she must have sensed

him watching. He looked back down at the map of Krakow he had been studying, which

was illuminated by the early morning light streaming through the café windows.

He had been in Europe for three weeks, traveling alone. His parents had died

suddenly, in a head-on collision, just a couple months before. Being the only child of

only children, he had no family left, and his small hometown suddenly felt oppressive,

with pitying looks from the neighbors every time he so much as checked the mail and the

weight of memories in his childhood home. So he bought a ticket and jumped on a plane,

taking as little as possible with him.

Nathan stopped first in London then worked his way east. It was in Prague that he

first had the idea to go to Poland. He remembered his father saying that his grandparents

had emigrated from Katowice to Michigan, and how he’d love to visit Poland someday,

but he never got the chance. In your honor, dad, he thought as he watched the Czech

countryside pass by in whirling greens and browns through the train’s dirt-streaked

windows.

He had arrived in Krakow late the night before, and in the morning, woke up to

discover that the coffee in the hostel’s lobby was truly terrible, so he found himself

situated at the café next door, planning his day. A group of Germans arguing at the table

next to his stood up and walked out of the café, leaving Nathan alone with the woman.

Now he could feel her eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look up. “First time in Krakow?”

Her melodic voice was laden with a heavy Polish accent.

Surprised, he looked up to see her smiling at him. Disarmed by her bright red lips

and the fact that a woman that beautiful was speaking to him (especially since he’d been

wearing the same clothes for days now and desperately needed a shave), he almost forgot

to answer the question. “Yeah, I just arrived last night.”

She stood up, grabbing her coffee mug and book, and joined him at his table. She

peered at the map he had spread out in front of him, with scribbled notes in the margins

and places of interest circled. “Ah, Wawel Castle. You going to see the Dragon’s Lair?”

“The Dragon’s Lair?”

“The Wawel Dragon is Krakow’s best legend, you cannot come to Krakow and

not visit the lair! Let me take you there,” she said, grabbing on to his arm.

He would have let her take him to Hell, he thought, barely listening as the girl,

who had introduced herself as Luiza, pointed out some minor landmarks on the way to

the castle. She didn’t stop walking as she spoke, however, determined to beat the crowds.

“Ah, there it is!” Luiza said, presenting the view with her arms as though she

were on a game show. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

A mixture of domes, steeples, and turrets sat atop a hill, overlooking the Vistula

River. “It’s very eclectic,” Nathan said as they crossed the street to the path leading up

the hill.

“Originally built in Gothic style, but after the fire of 1499, architects from all over

Europe contributed to the structure you see now.” She continued her history lesson until

they reached the entrance gates, pointing out the many towers and their functions. Nathan

listened to her lilting voice without really taking in a word of what she said.

Once through the entrance, Nathan automatically turned in the direction of the

courtyard, where the many other tourists seemed to be shuffling, but Luiza grabbed him.

“No! The Dragon’s Lair first!” There was an odd sharpness in her voice that he hadn’t

heard before, but he shrugged it off and followed her down the cobblestone path that

wrapped around the back of the castle. She seemed especially passionate about this

dragon, so he tried his best to focus on what she was saying (and less on the snug fit of

her shirt) as they walked.

“There are different variations of the legend of the Wawel Dragon, but the most

popular version is more like a fairytale than actual history,” she said. He refrained from

pointing out that any story including a dragon was not likely based in historical fact. “I

much prefer the story of the two princes, Lech and Krakus. You see, the dragon had been

ravaging the region for years, and the king put the task of killing it on his sons. But its

skin was too thick for their arrows to pierce it and they couldn’t get close enough without

being burned to fight it with their swords, so they had to be clever. They took a cow,

gutted it, stuffed it with sulfur, and left it outside of the dragon’s lair. After eating the

cow, the dragon started choking on the sulfur. He went to the Vistula River and drank and

drank, trying in vain to find relief, until he burst.

“Upon seeing that they had succeeded in defeating the dragon, the princes

rejoiced, but it was short lived. You see, their father had said whichever of them defeated

the beast would become the next king.”

As they descended along the path, Nathan noticed they hadn’t passed a single

person. Apparently, most tourists saved this part for last, which was probably why Luiza

wanted to start with it. “Which brother did the king choose?”

“Oh, he wasn’t given a choice,” Luiza said. She seemed pleased to see he was

following her story. “The evil Lech took matters into his own hands, and murdered his

younger brother for the crown.”

“Lech was older, then? Seems like the crown should have gone to him anyway,

right? His birthright or something?”

She shot him a dark look. “He killed his brother. Lech was horrible and

murderous and Krakus was innocent and good.” She suddenly seemed defensive, and

Nathan wondered how deep-rooted this folk tale was in her culture.

They had arrived at the entrance to the lair. A rope was strung between two

stanchions in front of the opening of a large, dark cave. “Looks like it’s closed today,”

Nathan said, stepping back a little towards the path back up to the castle.

“Nonsense,” Luiza said, lifting the rope up and indicating for him to go under.

“There’s no sign.”

He shrugged, and entered the cave, Luiza following behind him. Their footsteps

echoed as they went deeper. Nathan could see there were lights along the cave’s ceiling,

but they weren’t on, and the morning light wasn’t enough to reach the darker crevices

they were exploring.

As they walked, it occurred to him that perhaps Luiza wanted him to kiss her.

Sure, they’d known each other all of an hour, but why else take a man into a dark cave

alone? He was suddenly very conscious of his breathing, the sound of which seemed

magnified by the cavernous walls. Before he could try anything, she stopped walking. It

was dark enough in this crevice that all he could see of her was a faint outline. “There’s

more to the story,” she said.

He didn’t care a bit about the stupid story right now, but decided it would be bad

to say so. “Oh?”

“Lech thought no one would suspect him, but one of Krakus’ sons had witnessed

his father, alive, when the dragon died. The sons of Krakus took an oath: that they would

avenge their father, by wiping out Lech and his children. Unfortunately, they failed, and

Lech’s descendants survived. So their children took up the oath, and so on. Every time

the children of Krakus thought they had killed every last one of the children of Lech,

they’d find a new line that had branched out.”

Nathan was only half listening. He cautiously took a step toward her, hoping she

wouldn’t back away. She didn’t, but she didn’t stop talking, either. “But finally, after

centuries, we have narrowed it down to one remaining descendant of Lech. How fitting,

that you were drawn here, to the place where it started.”

Gramps sits on the couch in the living room, reading his book. What an old fart. I 

stand around his little kitchen, digging around his pantry. If I left things up to Gramps, 

he’d have me starve. And if starving doesn’t kill me, this boredom surely will. I’m not 

really hungry right now; I’ve already eaten some bread and cheese, like a prisoner, if 

that’s what prisoners really eat. Now I’m just digging around the kitchen to entertain 

myself. Fortunately for me, Gramps is pretty absorbed in his book, so he won’t bother 

me.

I grab Gramps’s two boxes of Easter peeps. The old geezer bought them way too 

early— Bunny day isn’t for another couple of weeks. These perfectly good peeps 

shouldn’t be forced to wait around so long to be eaten, so I take all ten of them out of 

their packaging. I put them all in the microwave, with a plate underneath them like a 

civilized person. I personally think that plates are overrated, but I’ve been told 

otherwise, so I use a plate like the good boy that I am. I set the microwave to go for a 

minute.

I watch intently. After twenty seconds, they begin to expand. Cool. As time goes 

by, they grow bigger and bigger, slowly morphing together into a mushy pile. Way cool. I 

open the microwave right before the timer goes off. I take the plate out and observe the 

peep mush. It’s awesome, but after looking at it for a few seconds, and poking it a bit, 

and eating a bit, it gets boring again. What to do, what to do. This peep mush is pretty 

sticky. I wonder…  

But what’s that? There’s an odd tapping sound. I look up at the window and

see this scrawny ginger boy, standing there wide-eyed. I’ve seen him wandering

around the yard next to Gramps’s sometimes, so I imagine he must be Gramps’s

neighbor. Don’t know if I trust him or not. I don’t want his tapping to wake Gramps,

so I open the window.

“What the heck do you want kid?” I whisper.

“Gosh I need some help and I wasn’t sure where to turn and I saw that you

came over to Mr. Gregory’s house today and so I thought that I’d ask you, and I’m in

super deep trouble and I need you to come with me right now, please, this second.”

This boy could talk my ear off.

I take a handful of peep mush and stuff it in my mouth. No amount of whining

can rush me. I need to consider my options. I don’t trust this kid, scrawny ginger

who is much too aware of my whereabouts for my liking. But, it’s not like I had

anything better to do. I’m staring him down with a lazy eye, just like I’d seen in the

movies. The kid is starting to twitch.

“Please,” he whimpers.

“All right, all right, all right, give me a sec,” I say, wiping my hand off on

Gramps’s sweater that he’d left on the counter. I peek at Gramps and of course he’s

sleeping, his glasses sliding off his nose and his book in lap. He’ll be snoring, soon

enough. I slip out the back door.

“What’s the matter here?” I say, for he’s jittering like a June bug, if those sort

of bugs jitter. I don’t really know.

“It’s bad, real, real bad! You see, it’s, well, um, it’s just that, you know what—

just follow me!” he says, and he’s racing back to his house, hoping the fence.

I sigh. He reminds me of that hamster I used to have, Hammy. Of course I

didn’t have that pet for long; I haven’t kept any pet for long. Anyway, this ginger of a

kid is as quick and skittish as that hamster, and the same color too. Ham-boy, that’s

what he is.

I race after him. If this kid could jump a fence, I certainly could too. He runs

into the front door of his house and I follow.

“What’s the big idea… oh,” I say. The front room looks fine enough, but it’s the

kitchen around the corner that makes me stop. And turn around.

“See you on the other side kid, good luck with that,” I say with a wave of my

hand.

“No, no, I really need your help!” he says, coming to my side in a blink. “We

can do this, I just need your help, please, just let me explain, at least,” he says, hands

clasped together like in prayer. And his big green eyes are right in my face.

Honestly, it is curiosity that gets the best of me.

The CandlemakerThey knew her as the candlemaker, but no one could tell you her name. They did not care how she came to possess the gift, or where she came from, or why she hid, but all wanted her mysterious candles for the magic they could perform. They all sought her, with bundles on their backs and their work-worn minds on a perfect future. Few found her, but those who did received their desires, or so they told the townspeople. Yet, no one could remember once they found her how to return, and none ever did. She stayed safely in the woods, her fingertips on fire and her palms molding torrid wax.The son of the cobbler grew up hearing stories, as he sat just outside on the street corner and shone the leather shoes of fine businessmen, watching the world pass by. The high men of society, with all their luxury and wealth, often told of the woman who made their dreams come true- not the beautiful wives or secret mistresses they had at home, but the candlemaker who gave them happiness. They spoke of their wishes and the miraculous changes wrought in their lives, and they yelled at the boy when he paused to listen. They left in lavish carriages pulled by snow-white horses, and the boy went in to do his evening chores.The day he turned eighteen was the day he decided to join them. He packed his satchel with his most prized possessions, slinging it over his mussed brown hair and tattered brown clothing, and headed along the dirt path out of town. He entered the forest, and for many cold nights, he slept beneath gnarled tree branches and prying stars. Each time he reached the country beyond, he turned back to the overgrown paths and tread through marsh and moss and insect infested terrain. And then, on the nine-hundred and ninety-first

day, he found the cottage.The walls were rough pine and the roof grass-covered, jutting out just far enough to overhang a nevertheless sunlight-dappled porch. Magpies perched on the railing, with all their stark contrast of black and white, and cawed their strange song. Amid them stood the candlemaker, as mythical as they claimed.Her hair was as black as shoe polish, and her skin and cloak were whiter than cream. She was barefoot, with wide eyes that changed color as the sun flickered, dancing in time to the birds’ calls. She wore a silver circlet around her head, and a golden chain bearing a glass rose glittered around her neck. The sculpted thorns did not pierce her flesh.“Akadian,” she whispered, staring at him as she spoke his name. “Son of the cobbler. I’ve been expecting you.”“The candlemaker,” he said simply, his amber eyes glittering in disbelief at his luck. “I am here for your magical candles, if you are all that legend says.”“I am,” she nodded, lifting her arm and bidding the magpie that was perched there to alight. “I have many offerings, but it is yours to choose which of many futures may be yours.”No more words were spoken, and the flock parted as the candlemaker made her way through the open door. Akadian followed her, up the steps and into a central room.Shelves of candles lined the walls, in every color, shape, and texture imaginable, their scent wafting pleasurably to where he stood. None were lit, but he could still smell the distinctive hints of vanilla and pine, separate and yet blended with the aroma of iron and salt, and a myriad of other things he could not place. In the

center of the floor, on top of a faded rug, a small, square table waited empty and bare. The candlemaker stood behind it, watching him.“What is it you desire?” She asked, gesturing in an arching motion over the smooth surface. Akadian looked at her, suspicion written plainly on his face. When she made no attempt to speak further, he laid down his pack and stepped up to the table.“I desire an estate. Four rooms, with a view of the village, and down bedding in my quarters,” he said finally, as it was the first thing that came to mind.“It shall be done,” she nodded, before studying him silently.“Well? Aren’t you going to do something?” He glared, expectantly.“If you wish.” She turned around and took a candle from the shelf, a stubby one colored azure blue. Setting it down, she held up her forefinger, and to his shock, it suddenly caught fire. She touched the wick of the candle, and it burst into flame before her finger went out.“What have you to give in return?” She asked, her once-peaceful face illuminated hauntingly by the glow. “What have you to burn?”“I have nothing,” he scowled, taken aback. “If I had, I would not seek you.”“All seek me, though they do not know it. And all have much to give that they do not see.”For a moment, he continued to glare, puzzled and annoyed, before he reluctantly picked up his pack and rifled through. From its depths, he retrieved a white woolen sock, which he begrudgingly handed to the candlemaker. She did not say anything, but stared into

his eyes as if searching his soul. After a moment, she placed the stocking over the fire and it began to burn. A thick smoke rose from it as it decayed into ash, and a silhouetted scene briefly formed above it. As the cobbler’s son watched, the shadow of a man stepped into a great manor, lying down on a cushy bed. From the candlemaker’s cottage, Akadian caught the vaguest wiff of dewy night air.The smoke dissipated, and the remains of the sock now dusted the tabletop, but the candle continued to burn. The candlemaker looked to him with her kaleidoscopic eyes.“Is that all that you desire?”“Is it done, then? When will I receive this gift?” Despite what his eyes had seen, he did not quite believe it. He gawked at her when she replied.“You will know as soon as you leave. Follow the scent, and it will show you the way.”He nodded, and was about to walk away gratefully when a thought occurred to him and he rounded back.“Could you give me riches? I can’t well live in this manor if I have naught to upkeep it.”“What is it you wish?” She asked again.“Gold. Silver. Gems and Jewels in as much abundance as I may.” As he spoke, he now surveyed the countless shelves as if calculating their potential value, wondering which, if any, could bring about endless wealth.“If you wish,” she conceded, though he did not glance at her as she bent down before a low shelf. This candle was long and porous, a royal amethyst in color. Again, she lit her finger and

touched the wick, which ignited before she inquired, “what have you to give in return?”Finally taking his gaze from the rows of candles, he scowled once more as he remembered her ridiculous request.“Why must I?” He said, perturbed. “I already gave you my stocking.”She did not respond, and after a second, he rifled through his bag to pull out the other stocking. Not finding it there, he grumbled and continued to search until he found a black shoe with a large hole in the toe. He placed it on the table, and the candlemaker stared at him. “Is that all that you will give?” She inquired this time, taking the shoe in her hand. He snapped his bag shut, and so she took the shoe. It burned, despite the fact that it was made of leather, and the smoke rose again. This time, the cloud showed a treasury of precious metals and gaudy jewels. The dank aroma of an empty vault, buried deep in the earth, filled the room before the scene faded, and the shoe, too, lay in ashes. The candle continued to burn.His eyes shown with greed, then, and he said to her, “I desire power. Servants. A kingdom. Can you give me those things?”“I can,” she said, but her eyes were full of disappointment, and warning. “But I would advise against it. And the cost will be great.”He waved his hand and went to his bag. All through the day it went, the cobbler’s son asking for treasures and the candlemaker supplying, though her cautionings grew ever fiercer. The candles filled the table, and sprinkled across the floor, as the shelves grew ever more barren. The scent was

strong, and the heat grew nearly unbearable, but still Akadian was not satisfied. His greed multiplied, and even when he could not think of more to request, he would point and ask what a particularly vibrant candle could bring him. When even the pack itself was burned, and the cottage was filled with flame and ash, the cobbler’s son still wanted more, and so, though he had naught to give, he demanded another gift, free of price. Finally, the candlemaker knew it must stop.“This is not wise,” she said, her finger going out before she could light the next candle, her face now flickering with so much light that she herself seemed to be on fire. “Great gifts come with great sacrifice. It is the way of things. If you can not be happy now, these offerings can not give you what you seek.” She paused, and he stepped forward through what had now become a roiling red sea. Malice and greed seeped from his visage and wafted from his very being. He went to speak, but she held up her palm. “I will not give you more, Akadian. Go from this place, and seek true happiness.”

As she reached for the nearest flame to put it out, Akadian leaped for her, his steps resounding dangerously on the

ground as he shoved her away from his precious candles. Her small frame went flying into the wall with the force, and the shelf behind her rained down on the scene, pelting them both with wax that had begun to melt from the resonating heat. She tried to stand,

having hit her head, and she heard a sudden outcry as the cobbler’s son watched the candles fall on their sides, igniting the table, the floor, and the newly-fallen candles. From across the room, he stared at the candlemaker, watching a single drop of blood

slip from her neck where the thorns of her rose necklace pierced flesh. The world seemed to slow down. He crumbled to his knees. Smoke overtook the room, and then was pushed

upwards and out as the fire grew into a tremendous inferno, blazing into the evening

sky as the roof caved in.At midnight, the flames died as their fuel went out, leaving

behind them only two smells: smoke, and iron. The night was silent, inking out the stars like shoe polish, as an

ash-dusted figure walked out from the wreckage. She tread among the carnage, her flickering eyes washing over the charred wicks, lava-like wax, smoldering wood, and crisp, grey-white bone chips. The

crimson of blood and fire stained her feet as she weaved over the ground. Sighing, she looked away. With a finger, she sparked a flame and made a mass from the clumping wax, molding it into a dish and collecting into it small fragments of the refuse. It smelled

like death. Holding it in both hands, she stepped out of the burned place and onto the grassy path. The candlemaker did not look back as she faded into the darkness, the magpies singing a eulogy in her wake.

The Plan

When the police officer asked us who the idea had belonged to, all three of us

pointed to Jimmy. I mean if anyone was rich enough to get bailed out of jail between the

four of us, it was Jimmy. His parents were filthy rich while the rest of us all had medium

wage jobs. Jimmy was also the one to come up with the most outrageous ideas, so

pointing him out wasn’t a lie. The ones that usually ended up with us in the police station.

Like the time we climbed on top of the State building and lit fireworks in the middle of

night, to show our “State pride”, or even the time we crashed Prom by letting 5 chickens

loose in the gym, labeled from 1-6. That one even made the local news. This officer is

new though, he doesn’t know who the four of us are—yet. So, to hopefully get off with a

warning and to not let him call our parents, yet again, we put on our best “oh I’m sorry,

we really didn’t know” face. That was only getting us so far however, so our plan B was

Jimmy.

“Yes sir, it technically was my idea, but I really didn’t see the sign. Its really dark

outside. See? Even the moon isn’t out tonight.” Jimmy started drawing the officers

attention to the window. “See? No way we could have seen that sign. Right?” The officer

was nodding his head slowly at what Jimmy was saying.

Stupid.

The three of us stood up from our seats and slowly made our way to the entrance.

Jimmy was telling the officer to get a closer look as he was backing away. Luckily for us,

there weren’t many officers in the building, and the ones that were, were all busy with

other people and knew us, so they weren’t paying much attention. Jimmy signaled and we

ran.

We made it ‘til about the sidewalk when the officer realized and started after us.

We knew where we were going. From the station it was four blocks then make a left, and

go another 2 until you hit the underpass where we would duck underneath and make a

right into an entrance that let out on the other side. Then all you had to do was jump a

couple of fences and onto the estate of Jimmy’s.

We lost the officer around the third block, either that or he just gave up. Once we

got to the secret underpass tunnel, we slowed our steps to walk the rest of the way. Dave

and Anthony hopped into their cars and left, while Jimmy and I walked in through the

back door and headed straight for the kitchen. His parents weren’t home, not a big

surprise, but that meant we could eat whatever we wanted. After scavenging the fridge

and pantry, we headed to his room with arms full of chips, soda, microwaved burritos and

any candy we could find. Two hours passed with us just eating and playing Call of Duty

on his Xbox, when Jimmy turned towards me with a glint in his eye and a smirk on his

lips.

Here we go again. “What? Do you have another great idea tonight?” I glanced at

the clock near his bed that read 3:45 a.m. Does he ever sleep?

He didn’t answer, just simply nodded and got up from his seat to grab something

off of his desk. The booklet he threw onto my lap was a study guide for the SAT’s.

“This, AJ,” Jimmy pointed at the booklet, “is my next great idea.”

“What about it? We have to take it next month, so what?”

“Don’t you want to pass?”

I nodded. Of course I did. Who didn’t? Your score on the SAT could get you into

college, and college was my dream. After high school I promised myself I would be done

with Jimmy’s “ideas” and I would start focusing on what I wanted to do with life. I was

looking forward to it.

“We’re gonna steal the answers to the SAT.”

Jimmy’s words took a moment before the shock finally set in.

“Are you insane?!” I stood up and strode towards him. “We cant STEAL the

answers!”

“AJ, calm down! If you want to pass, this is the only way. You know none of us

are smart enough to pass that stupid exam!!”

I couldn’t believe this. What the hell is he thinking?! I started pacing in front of

the t.v. repeatedly running my hands through my hair.

Jimmy sat down at the foot of his bed, “Look I know it sounds insane, but I bet

the four of us could pull it off. Then all four of us can go to college.”

I stopped pacing. “We pull this off we go to college.” Jimmy nodded. “We don’t

pull it off, we get caught and go to jail and never go to college.” Jimmy nodded again.

I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. Jimmy followed me out.

“C’mon AJ! Just think about it will ya!” Jimmy yelled at me as I started my car,

put it in reverse and backed out of his driveway.

I can pass. Or I can go jail. These two thoughts kept going through my head like

picking off the petals of a flower. I needed to pass high school, but is it worth the risk?

Could we really pull this off? All four of us? My phone started going off in the cup

holder. Jimmy’s name was lit up on the screen. I plucked the last petal off of the flower

and knew. I slammed on the brakes and flipped a U-turn, heading back towards Jimmy’s.

"Peter had been teaching middle school for the past four years at a mediocre institution in North Las Vegas, Nevada. It was the best job he could get after graduating from his local community college in Oklahoma. The thing is though, the job really wasn't all that great. The pay was alright but the location of the school was terrible. Peter simply didn't fit in living here. The people he met were quite unpleasant in his eyes and it should be noted that peter is not the type of fellow to be easily displeased. In general he is very welcoming and kind-hearted to all. The Las Vegas environment didn't seem to lend itself to that. It was very harsh. Everyone just kind of kept to themselves. It was very barbaric in a way.

Months went by and Peters happiness dwindled. I can only imagine just how one might feel being bullied as a teacher. For instance, there was one kid named Darius, who always called attention to Peter’s hipster-esque fashion sense. He would make fun of it relentlessly, each and everyday. Darius wasn't always so obvious in his remarks though. Sometimes he would just ask him questions in a way to tease Peter. Peter wouldn't always catch on right away but by the end of the day he would realize what was going on. It happened so much, he began to expect it. Peter tried discussing the issue with other school staff, but nobody seemed to care."

Paris, 2010; the city of light, but for me it was also a city of darkness and growth and grime. I’m leaving this letter hidden here in the apartment that someday, new occupant, you may learn a few lessons from my experience and make better choices than I.

I moved here the summer of my eighteenth year. The dream of every young woman. To be employed in Paris, France. A place so often depicted in the media to be where love is fostered, dreams realized, where Audrey Hepburn (as shown in the film “Sabrina”) transforms her outlook and very person, where she learns to truly live. I was hoping Paris would have the same effect on me.

It all came to be when my father, Barry, member of the San Fernando City council, met a French fellow Politician. This man, Jasques had moved to Southern California with his family a few months prior looking for better educational opportunities for his fourteen-year-old son. My dad, very big on family values etc. etc. mentioned that he also had an adolescent son my brother, Michael age 13. Thus began the set up friendship between Michael and Ronnie, the Frenchman’s son. (Sorry there’s so many names in such a short-span of this story, I promise I’m trying to get through this as quickly as possible).

So if Michael and Ronnie were to be friends this meant backyard gatherings with our new favorite French family. Usually I would sit somewhere by the bamboo fence while the boys were off somewhere, the dads talked and laughed and clanked their beers, and the moms put together a fruit salad (or a fruit salad-equivalent). Occasionally Marie, Jasques’ wife would scoot her camp chair close to mine, “ma cheri” she’d call me and she would tell me about Paris about the architecture and the culture “tres magnifique” she would describe it and how America just didn’t compare. about her two eldest who still lived there, and how she wished her daughter had someone like me to be good influence on her. Before the school year was over, the trip was planned, the date set, and soon I was off; my excitement as high as the plane that brought me.