Story #83

There once was an artist who struggled to find inspiration. She traveled far and wide only to discover his inspiration was staring her in the face. She was overjoyed and painted for days. Her works are now displayed in the Museum of Art!

Story #82

The night was serene and the wind was warm. While the sands were touching our feet we were leaving all our miseries to the stars. The moon was shining in our hearts and we were in love.

Story #81

I don’t know long they’ve been there, how they got there or if they ever get tired. But tiny monkeys are doing the jitterbug inside my chest. They dace so hard they make me wag my own tail. And all I can here is, A monkey needs to dance and so do you.

Story #80

Once upon a time, there lived a little man in a little house named Goroth. Goroth lived in Toffalia; a world which functioned simply. In Toffalia lived many little people with little minds. Unlike other Toffalians (who simply adored drinking hot chocolate), Goroth enjoyed drinking mint tea. He loved the scent of it and the taste of refreshing minty freshness that came with every sip. Thus, although the other Toffalians did not understand why, Goroth did not mind. He still never fails to enjoy a cup of mint tea sitting in his favorite rocking chair in his little garden every morning.

Story #79

Hammarslagen ekade genom skogen men fjärilarna fortsatte ostört att flaxa omkring, omedvetna om att deras värld var på väg att förändras för alltid.

Story #78 – Agatha the mouse

Would you believe me if I told you a good mouse went bad? Probably not, because that’s not what good little mouses do. Especially not Agatha, she was the sweetest of them all. She had bleach blond fur and the pinkest nose around and her whiskers were just to die for! Why Agatha was the prettiest little mouse in the mouse kingdom, and she did everything in her power to help others. Considering how bad her only secret was, it only makes sense she did, she just had to make up for all the bad thoughts she had and all the bad things she wanted to do. In case you hadn’t realized yet, I will tell you that our dear, dear, sweet Agatha had a dark side, who knew? She hid it so well that no one suspected she could be anything but the nicest mouse there was. Nonetheless it was very true, because you see when the sun went down, Agatha was no longer herself anymore. Every night she tied herself up in the prison chambers, hoping and praying the ties would hold and her true nature wouldn’t ruin everything for her. Agatha wanted to be the princess of the kingdom but she knew she could never truly become the princess, not with this constant burden on her shoulders. Every night Agatha had to deal with it, she had to deal with the pain and the cravings. Every evening Agatha’s skin would stretch and ripple and become leathery, her whiskers would become short and stubby and her ears would turn into spiraled and pointed horns. Her tail would stretch as long as the entire chamber and her paws would become rough and her nails long with the deadliest points. Her teeth became jagged and uneven and she would develop a taste for blood. Most nights the ties would hold, but on this nite they did not. This night would be the end of dear old Agatha. You see Agatha had a curse upon her soul, she would become a demon rat every night and if she ever tasted even one drop of blood she would stay that way. Agatha’s evil form broke free on that night and she did the most horrible thing of all, she ran through the mouse kingdom streets and scratched and maimed and even killed those she held dearest in her heart. The ones she fought to help everyday, she ended up hurting the most on this night. Agatha was never seen again that night, although her alter ego became her permanent form. They say she roams the night looking for mouses to feed on and quench her thirst. Sad isn’t it? How could a mouse that was so good, end up having the evilest side to her? The fates are twisted my love, there is no true good or bad there is only abundances of each and those who are too weak to control their true selves.

~G. Emmanuelli~

Story #77

A nautilus was once jealous of the mighty Krakken for his gigantic mass of destructive power. The nautilus, too, wanted to be a lord of the sea, a thought in the minds of sailors that made them shudder.

As he grew, he used numbers and math to create the toughest shell possible, capable of withstanding even the toughest attacks. He fed on all that swam below him as he sank to the bottom of the ocean, gaining the strength and courage in battle of all he faced. He started brawls in all of the Atlantis bars during his stay there. Never had a nautilus been so fierce.

He passed the sunken wreckage of an ancient naval battle fought by the Elder gods and repurposed the golden swords, shields, and spears to be an armor of legendary arms.

Through the last of the descent the water grew dark and started to heat. Where the heat was thickest there was a red light and a torrent of bubbles could be heard.

Longing for last light, the nautilus swam towards the red aura. Slowing as he approached, he was able to discern a deep ravine and out of it seemed to be emerging some massive being.

The nautilus, now legendary in stature, roared with the delight of battle as he grabbed a few of the weapons on his shell with various tentacles and swam at what must be the Krakken.

The Krakken responded with godly fury, eyes full of fire. They meet with golden blade against sucker and beak against shielded shell. The winner would be the king of the sea, feared by all. But the fight continues to this day, and is fated to end on a full moon, when the tide is high.

The oracle speaks that the nautilus will someday win. And that the sea will overtake the land, bringing all under the nautilus’s domain. But for now? It is just a little myth.

Story #76 – My husbands first Father’s Day

We drove up to Vanderbelt mansion in Hyde Park, New York and sat in the back, along the cliff over looking the Hudson River and the mountains. The sun was about to set, so the sky began to grow pinkish tones., the grass was green, and the trees that covered the mountains ahead were full and bright. We had a special picnic set up to celebrate my husbands first Father’s Day. I wanted it to be something he remembered, no regular trip to a restuarant, or even the usual home cooked meal at the table. My daughter is to young to make him something, but what I planned turned out perfect, homemade, but out of the house– which we all begged for after the oddly cold past few days.

He (my husband is 28 years old, fair skin, blue eyes with short brown hair, he is tall and thin(ish)) he wore a white button down shirt, with blue stripes and had the sleeves rolled up, with matching blue shorts. I wore a pair of dark skinny jeans, a long sleeve long button down top, and a navy blue hijab (Muslim head scarf) that draped around my head, falling along my chest, perfectly placed around my face (I am 25 years old, not tall nor short, and thinish) and than there is the munchkin– it was my husbands first Father’s Day, but it was her first time enjoying the great outdoors after a brutal winter. She, only three months old, petite however with chippy cheeks that you just want to bite, wore a bright blue dress to match her bright blue eyes, that flew in the wind… She loves the wind blowing at her, and it made her smile and giggle. She wore a white elastic head band with a small white flower, in her hardly there light brown hair.

We set up our blanket along the grass, sat playing with her and making her giggle as we ignored our pasta salad and sandwiches preferring to watch her curiously looking around in amazement, and giggling at us making fools of ourselves in public as we try to make her laugh repeatedly. We took turns snapping photos of each other in pure enjoyment with our daughter. It was a beautiful day, a day that although was not considered for me, was for me– because seeing my daughter and husband smiling and enjoying themselves is all I ever want to see. My dream of having a family has started, this chapter in our story has begun… And I can’t wait to enjoy every moment of this story we are living together.

Story #75

Det finns en stund ungefär mellan klockan sju och klockan tio på morgonen då jag och min en vecka gamla dotter ligger och kollar på tv och låter mamma få ett extra sovpass.
Den stunden är den bästa på min dag.

Story #74

– Mamma, vad är Bermudatriangeln? frågar Sofia, 7 år, bakom sin padda.

– Ja, det är det ingen som riktigt vet men plan och båtar bara försvinner där.

– Ja, men jag vet jag! Det måste vara en jättestor bläckfisk som drar ner dem! Eller sjögräs, du vet sjögräs som är så där långt och kladdigt!

– Ja så kanske det är men det måste vara en jättestor bläckfisk om han har armar som räcker upp i himlen till planen så han kan dra ner dem!

– Jaaa, han har ju hela havet att växa i så så måste det vara!