Writer's Journey

  Penelope was six years old. There were two things about this sentence she would loudly complain about, if anyone told her about it. One, was that she hated being called Penelope, and insisted that everyone call her Penny. The second was that she considered it to be a horrendous insult to be called a six-year old, and would tell anyone that would listen that she was ‘almost seven!’. She neglected to tell those people that her birthday was in seven months. At the moment, Penny was swinging her legs and pouting. She kicked the seat in front of her in boredom, and stopped when she heard cursing from up ahead. The girl had long since finished her lunch and apple juice, and the tablet was out of charge. “Stop fidgeting so much,” Her mother scolded, but she lacked heat in her words. Penny had always been an energetic girl, and her parents were well aware that it would be difficult to get her to sit still for an entire two hours in the train ride. “Why don’t you draw something in your co...

  When tyranny becomes law, rebellion becomes duty. And with the current state of the Verland Empire, what can the rulers be called if not tyrants? Robin was once a fairly high-ranking member of the royal military. Like many of his then colleagues, he could have turned a blind eye to the increased suffering of the common people after King Julius took the throne. He was being paid a salary comfortable enough for him to have a large house in the capital city, and he had no family to worry about. But even as he rose through the ranks, he had kept his origins as a simple country boy close to his heart. He couldn’t help but imagine his own parents in such a situation, and the many children of the Empire who were in such a reality. This army general now gazed in silence at the stars. The view of the starry constellations was far clearer from here in the forests than it was in the capital. It brought back fond memories of camping with his family. Robin should have been in his tent. The ni...

  Everyone was crowded around the birthday girl, giggling and shushing each other. Monica grinned and waved the ornate mirror in her hand. Her friends appropriately oohed and aahed at the right times as she explained how it was a family heirloom, passed down through the generations. “Now everyone, don’t peek into the mirror!” She exclaimed solemnly, silencing the whispers in the room. “I’m going to try to see the future.” Debby was not as excited as her friends about this. She had heard many stories from her brother Jonathan about demons possessing people through mirror rituals. When she tried to tell Monica this, her claims were quickly dismissed. They were probably just horror stories her brother used to scare her, they said. Nevertheless, she remained apprehensive over this late-night ritual they were doing at Monica’s birthday party. She’d rather just watch a movie or play a game. But her worries were overruled by her friends’ excitement. Debby watched as Monica angled the mirr...