“I don’t think that’s it at all.” She said.

She scowled at the paint sample against the wall of the study.
He sighed. The fiftieth sigh against the hundredth paint chip from the builder’s supply store. That’s not a bad ratio, he thought to himself. I am handling this dreadful plebeian drama rather well.

“We’ll just have to try another brand of paint. I know EXACTLY the color I want and these just aren’t working.” She turned to him; satisfied in her decision, in her superior wall-color-choosing-abilities when the thought momentarily took over his mind and paralyzed him.


He blinked. She was staring at him.

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Mr. Moon

Little Bobby knelt and prayed every night by his bed with the moon shining on him from high in the sky outside his window.

He called the moon “Mr. Moon” because of the face smiling down on him.

One night, after he said his prayers, he looked out to see Mr. Moon standing right outside his bedroom window.

Mr. Moon wasn’t smiling anymore.

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Once a Kingdom

We are, we have always been.
Holding council, ever unchanging.

As the pleasant warmth returns, the discussion continues where it left off when the cold time came.
Old Abarak weighed in first, as usual. “We were once part of a great society, A KINGDOM on a mountain; we WERE the mountain, that was the expanse of our kind…Together as ONE!”
The elders nearby murmured in agreement.
“Nothing could touch or harm us. Harmony and peace for ages.”
“Then one day… One horrible day…”

He trailed off. It often ended there, the memory was too painful. It didn’t matter, the smaller ones had heard the story enough to recite it themselves.

After millennia on the great old mountain, the kingdom was attacked by outside forces, torn asunder, families were ripped apart. When the dust settled, all was in ruins. Survivors found themselves isolated, alone. Over time new families grew, new allegiances were formed from the rubble. But no more mountain kingdom, now only scattered tribes.
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