Peanut Butter Sandwich Face

    Elmo'd had enough of poverty. Tonight was the night he would rob the bank. He had his bike set out front with his whiffle ball bat. The plan was the bike up front, bash the door in, grab the money, and speed away before anyone knew what had happened.

    When the time came to depart for his scheme, he realized he was missing a mask. That's bank robbing 101: you never show your face. Well Elmo didn't have a mask, but he was clever and he wouldn't let that stop him.

    On the counter he saw bread and peanut butter. His mom was making sandwiches earlier. That'll do Elmo thought. He grabbed two slices of bread and peanut-buttered them. Then he stuck one to each of his cheeks and left for his heist.

    Elmo pulled up to the bank, jumped off his bike, and started whacking his bat against the door. Much to his disappointment, though, Elmo's bat is what took the beating. In three hits it was bent in half and cracked down the seam. Then he saw someone turn the corner. Gotta bail! He thought. He hopped back on his bike and sped away, hoping he wasn't seen.

    That evening he heard his mom murmuring something at the door. When she closed it, he saw her turn to him with a crumpled bat in her hand. She gave him a knowing look, walked over, peeled the peanut butter bread off his cheeks, and gave him a big kiss. "Oh Elmo, we'll be ok! We'll figure things out." Then she wiped his face clean and helped him into bed.

Alex Hates Carrots

    Alex hated carrots, that's why he was running through the house. His mom was chasing him with a big carrot in her hand to try and make him eat it. She was bigger, but he was faster, and nimbler.

    He swerved behind the chair and scooped through the kitchen. There's no way mom would catch him.  Suddenly he realized it was too quiet. As he approached the other side of the kitchen, he spared a glance behind him. Mom wasn't chasing him anymore.

    Alex stopped to look farther back. Was Mom hurt. Then from behind, she tackled Alex to the ground and shoved a big carrot on his mouth. "Gotcha!" She shouted.

Blast and the Sonic Headphones

    He could see the headphones slowly spinning on their base at the end of the platform. They were the other half to the Sonic Stereo. Once Blast had the headphones, he'd no longer need to move stealthily, and he could exit these corridors freely. The only way through the corridor without sonic disruption was by stealth, and even then, it was dangerous because Blast didn't have sonic protection. But he would in a moment. Without the headphones to protect his ears from sonic energy, any sentinels patrolling the labyrinth would deafen him on sight. The sonic stereo he'd discovered would do the same. It was his only weapon, and means of escaping overtly, but he was still bound to silence until he had the headphones.

    Now was his chance. Blast dashed forward. The two sentinels patrolling the area had just passed; he might just make it. They turned back and continued their designated path, and almost immediately detected Blast. Each sentinel charged and released a pulse of sonic energy.  Blast had only moments. He dove forward, grabbed the headphones, and just as the sonic pulse reached his ears, he managed to slip the headphones on. The pulse immediately went quiet, and Blast knew he was safe.

    He took out his stereo, clipped it to his waist, and turned it on, likewise blasting the sentinels with his own sonic energy. The headphones let him listen to the music without being incapacitated, and so he dashed out of the hallway. The alarm was raised through the labyrinth, but Blast didn't care, he was free to roam now. Left and right he kept running, disabling any sentinels that appeared, and striking any guard that attempted to pursue unconscious.

    He arrived at the last corridor. A steeply sloped straight passage down with a clear light at the end. Blast ripped a panel off the wall, threw it before him and jumped on, surfing the entire way down. When he reached the exit there was an explosion on the ground outside, and the force bent the exit surface upward. Blast launched into the air, over the pillar of smoke and into the dazzling daylight, music blaring sonic energy in all directions. A voice came on his ears "Sighting confirmed, well done Blast. Looks like you have the stereo and the headphones. We'll meet you back at the hanger for your debrief."

    Blast didn't have a mic, but he flashed a thumbs-up before landing on the dunes and continuing his surf session back to the hanger.

Adladu's Negotiation

    Adladu entered the Peepling's hall, remembering to duck upon his entrance. He was tall enough as a Galon, which the Peeplings did accommodate for, but his horn surpassed the clearance of the doorway. His stuck straight up, unlike most Galon horns, which curved much farther out at the apex. Now inside, Adladu could begin negotiations.

    The Peeplings were beginning to extend beyond the boundary that they were given, and Adladu was sent to ease the matter before force was used. The Peeplings argument was they simply didn't have enough room, which was true. They reproduced at a swift rate, and if they remained inside their boundary, they'd be living on top of each other.

    Adladu was reminded to remember well the last time the Peeplings were given leeway.  They'd nearly brought famine to the rest of the country. The Galons had to spend what energy they had in a final maneuver to quell their consumption of the crops. Each citizen was to keep a Peepling sack with them at all times, and should they see one, snatch it and stuff it in the sack. Meanwhile the casters were sent to invoke a boundary around a section of land designated for the Peeplings. Once the boundary was in place, the Peepling sacks were gathered and tossed over the boundary, containing them for years to come as the Galons recovered.

    The Peeplings adamant request was for more land, but Adladu tried to convince them of other options. He suggested they could teach the Peeplings about infrastructure. They could build tunnels and towers to give themselves more space. But they weren't interested, and they persisted in their demand for more land.

    When Adladu accepted that they could not agree on a solution, he stood up and dismissed himself. The Peeplings grew angry, and Adladu grew concerned. Just as he approached the door he tripped, and he stood back up so quickly that his horn lodged right in the lintel, rendering him immobile. The Peeplings recognized this as a wonderfully advantageous opportunity, and while Adladu was stuck, they sat back down and deliberated on how to use this new leverage.

The Lighthouse Keeper's Escape

    Edna Charlesford sat in her room at the top of the house that sat at the top of the cliff, facing the lighthouse as usual, watching the keeper who watched out for the ships. Sipping her tea, she noticed no movement from Bart, but he was a wily one, and now that he knew he was under her scrutiny, would probably be quite careful in his doings. The storm had just begun; this made it even more challenging to supervise him. Oh well.

    Bart's shadow sat there, unmoving, as the rain fell harder and harder. Edna thought this curious and then thought she noticed movement along the lighthouse wall. A large shadow, too big to be Bart. Edna thought her eye's must be deceiving her; in the dark and rain, she couldn't be sure of anything besides what she saw in Bart's room.

    Again she saw movement along the wall. This couldn't be a trick of the eyes, something was there. This blasted darkness. Nothing could be seen between flashes of lightning. Edna's house rattled as the wind buffeted it. Her tea was nearly finished, and the kettle had cooled. The fire had dwindled, and she couldn't afford to leave her post. Bart would not make a move without her seeing.

    Snuggled with a blanket, she continued to watch.

    And watch.

    And watch.

    And just when she thought he must be asleep, lightning struck right by the lighthouse, illuminating the structure. In the brief light she saw clearly for the first time that night. "Bart" had fallen sideways, now leaning against the wall, from the thunder. He was too rigid. No man stood, let alone slept like that. Bart wasn't there.

    Edna jolted up from her seat, and realizing he wasn't in the lighthouse, turned and grabbed her lantern. She flung the door open, and before her stood a huge blazing creature; its tail flickering with flames, and wings spread wide. Its body radiated cold, and ice formed outward from where it stood. Mounted atop the beast was none other than Bart, and he had come for vengeance.

    "Where did you find a Glizard?" Edna uttered. "You were to remain in the lighthouse, keeping watch."

    "I've had enough watching, Edna. I felt it was time for some doing." Bart replied.

    "That's Miss Charlesford to you Barty boy" Edna yelled. Then she smashed the lantern on the ground and with one palm before her, she gathered the flames that erupted, concentrated them into a fireball, and launched it straight at Bart and his Glizard.

    Before it hit, they leaped into the air and flew high into the sky, hidden in the night's stormy weather. For now.

Apple Smackems

    "Hey Kids! Are you tired of that old, boooring, bland Apple Crunch cereal? I know I sure am. I need something more exciting in my life, don't you?"

    "Yeah!"

    "Well fear no more! Now introducing Apple Smackems!"

    "Apple what?"

    "Apple Smackems! The brand-new face-smackin' apple cereal to get your day started right!"

    "Oooh! Apple Smackems!"

    "That's right kids, Apple Smackems! Pour yourself a bowl, add a couple glugs of milk, take a bite, and feel the smack! You'll be lying on the floor with no idea of what just hit you. But then you'll remember. Apple Smackems!"

    Smack.  Smack. Smack smack.  Smacksmacksmacksmack.

    "Whoa! These are great!  Can we have some more?"

    "Of course you can! Just ask you parents to take you to the store right now and have them buy you some Apple Smackems! What parent would say no to a healthy food like apples? Not a good parent that's for sure. That's why all the good parents buy Apple Smackems! To make sure their children start their day off right with a face-smackin' good breakfast."

    "Gee thanks mister!"

    "Don't thank me! Go thank your parents for buying you the cereal that helps you start your day off right, with face-smackin' Apple Smackums!"

    "Mom! Dad! Can we go get some Apple Smackums?"

    "Ha ha, of course kids! Hop in the car!"

    "Ah, well they're off to make a good decision. Are you?"

    Apple Smackums are in no way part of a complete breakfast. Parental supervision required. Consume at your own risk. Apple Smackems, Beef Crunch Surprise, Hairy Dairy Milk, and other affiliated products cannot be held liable for injury after consumption.

The Dew of Rejuvenation

    On the third day of Festigreen, Michelm took the pouring spout to the sunshine hollow. It was here that the Dew of Rejuvenation would gain its healing essence. The sun would beat down and boil the dew, imbuing it with healing properties. Michelm was the Steward of the Dew, and his primary responsibility was to bring the pouring spout to and from the sunshine hollow.

    After the Dew was brought to a boil, Michelm would return it to the Chamber of Wilt and Woes, where those inflicted with pain and brokenness would come to drink of the Dew. When they did, they could feel the sun's rays course through their limbs, and the felt better for a time. Occasionally the Dew would bring genuine healing, but it wasn't often the case. Then again it wasn't often the case a creature needed healing beyond an emotional uplift. Even then, it was questionable whether the Dew had anything to do with it. But they believed it did, and so they came. And Michelm brought it to them.

Six Toe Joe

    Six Toe Joe walked through the saloon doors, demanding a sarsaparilla from the barkeep and some good ol' ragtime from Raggedy Randy. He kept his gaze straight, but he could feel the eyes of everyone in the saloon on his sixth toe. This town only had five-toed shoes, so he had to cut a hole out of his left one to let the sixth out.

    Joe sat, nursing his sarsaparilla when suddenly the music stopped, and gasps were heard through the room. "Oh, quit your stares all you, my face is up here," said a female voice. Joe had seen a pretty woman before, so he didn't bother giving the lady his attention. As she proceeded into the saloon, the music and murmurs resumed.

    The lady sat at the bar with Joe. Right next to Joe in fact. And she happened to order a sarsaparilla too.  Joe raised an eyebrow at this. "New to the town?" He asked, keeping his head forward.

    "Sure am. I get run out pretty quickly from most of 'em. Then I just move on to the next one." She replied.

    "You bringing trouble?"

    "No trouble. Just. . . different"

    Joe laughed. "I know how that feels. I'm Joe, by the way"

    "Pleased. I'm Judy."

    "You don't seem too different. Hardly seem like someone to run outta town"

    Judy turned to her right a bit to face Joe, and as she did, her own sixth toe brushed against his. And they both gasped.

    "You too?" They exclaimed.

    They hit it off from there and by the end of the summer they were walking off hand in hand, toe in toe, married, and ready to take on the next town together.

Frank the Flower

    The water showered over Frank the flower on an early spring day. He'd been planted just the day before, and he still shivered when his roots touched the cool water. This was the hard part of the season. It was time to grow, but still early enough that he had to conserve energy to stay warm. May would arrive soon enough, though, and then he would explode in bloom.

    Soon enough May did come, and just as he anticipated, other flowers rapidly began to surround him, and bees and butterflies visited often. His favorite butterfly was Beatrice. She was stunningly beautiful, with pink and purple wings, and the most impressive proboscis.

    Throughout the summer Frank and Beatrice enjoyed their flourishing friendship. The sun beat down on them, and they both grew full and vibrant. They were a marvelous sight to see before all the passersby.

Eventually, though, summer neared its end, and Beatrice showed herself less and less frequently. Frank missed her, be he was getting tired himself. Displaying his beauty all day in the sun took a toll on a flower. As autumn neared, he began to close up and tuck his leaves in. He remained tucked in for some time, and when the air cooled down, he lied down on the ground for a long slumber. "See you next year Beatrice!" He called.

Paul the Penny Pincher

    "Pennies! Pennies for meee!" Paul screaled through his lips. All day long Paul the Penny Pincher circled the wishing fountain, snatching any pennies on their way into the pool. Children cried as their hopes of a wish were crushed, and then even more so as he crushed the pennies themselves between his pinch.

    Paul wore a sack slung to one side, and in it he kept all the flakes of copper that were once pennies. No one tried to confront him. Anyone that could squeeze a penny to a fraction of its original thickness with just their thumb and forefinger was not worth the trouble. Paul's hands, wrists, and forearms together were the size of large loafs of bread, so no one in their right mind would approach him, regardless of the status of their potential wish.

    No one knows where Paul goes after the town square closes, but every day he returns to the fountain with an empty sack, snatching and pinching pennies to fill it.

The Squigglies

    Alex Jackson was the lead guitarist for his high school band The Squigglies. The gravely crunch he made with his guitar melted the faces off the audience, and his melodic vocals lifted them right back on.

    After one of their shows, the audience couldn't comprehend what they'd heard, and that's not a metaphor. It usually took two to three days for their senses to return to normal. This is all because of the magic imbued in both their instruments and their playing.

    While Alex was the lead guitarist, it was together with the front-man Adam Brightface, bassist Rob Grobber, and drummer Chris Crashracket, that The Squigglies made such magical music. They attained this gift one night in the Forest of Pink Bennisence. In the middle of the forest is a hollow, and the four were drawn there, each hearing the quintessential manifestation of the instrument he played. When they arrived at the hollow, they each noticed each other, and understood.  Alex asked the others "and what do we call ourselves?"

    Looking down at the ground were indecipherable squiggly marks imprinted in the ground. "The Squigglies" Adam replied. They each nodded one after the other and together spoke their bond "The Squigglies."

    The departed the hollow together, in the direction Alex came from, and thenceforth bestowed upon anyone who would hear their music, the essence of squiggly magic throughout their body.

Dream to Leave the Gutters

    Sluice was up to no good. Again. . . It was the third time this week he'd snuck through the gates attempting to rise in class. They always caught him, though. They always catch the Grime. Sluice did always manage to sneak something back, and this time it was an entire tunic. How he managed to sneak that back to the Gutters, I have no idea. It wouldn't remain clean here, though, so it'd hardly be useful trying to fit in as one of the Coursers.

    As Sluice was showing off his new garment, his wardrobe actually seemed to come together nicely.  Maybe his idea of masquerading as a Courser could work. We see enough of them come through and drive the willing Muckers to mimic them well. That's how we spend much of our time anyway. How hard could it be to play one well enough to get through the gates without question?

    The answer is: not very. Obviously, Sluice has snuck through easily enough many times. Getting through in the open while pretending to be a Courser shouldn't be harder, especially with the way we mimic them to keep things light around here.

    Getting through the gates isn't the hard part, though. Staying through the gates is the hard part. Pretending to be one of the Crisp will only with for so long; eventually, little things will show that indicate a lack of familiarity with their propriety. That's when the questions will start.

Anna Phregnella and the Pot Pie Pandemonium

    Anna Phregnella was the class clown of Rudimentary Elementary, and she had a reputation to uphold. The teachers dreaded the day she'd be in their class, while her classmates were eager to share a classroom with her. They knew it meant jokes and disruptions galore, and with every disruption came a chance for no homework. They cheered her on quietly through the school day.

    Fourth grade was a historical year for Anna and her class. It was the year of the Pot Pie Pandemonium.  Anna planned the event for a month. She worked tirelessly every night and through every school day, planning on the ultimate prank.

    The day finally arrived, and Anna and her classmates were ready. They'd rehearsed at every recess for the past week. When principal Bregnathren walked into the lunchroom at precisely 12:36 PM, half the class would throw their pot pies at him. But that wasn't all. In the middle of his speech, the other half would descend from the ceiling and throw their pot pies at him, completely undermining his power.

    At 12:36 that Thursday, principal Bregnathren walked in for his pot pie, and he received far more than he expected. Dozens of pot pies smashed into his face, and you could see his red hued skin through the filling. Furious, principal Bregnathren began shooting at the students, explaining the punishment they'd face. And right in the middle of his explanation, the rest of the class descended down from the ceiling on ropes and threw their pot pies at him. This interrupted his speech as planned, and the students all laughed at him while he stood there dumbfounded.

    Anna's classmates lifted her up and cheered, carrying her out of the school, down the street, and all the way to Pizzatown to celebrate their victory.

Elephants for Sale on Carmichael Square

Michael C. Carmichael rode on his bicycle all throughout Carmicheal Square.

Trailing behind him were elephants on carts, each one with a hat on its hair.

They waved around flags and tooted their trunks, and they rode along their merry way,

looking for someone walking the streets to buy them and adopt them that day.

One little girl with a very rich grandad, saw the elephants ride by on the street

and she noticed the sign on the very first one flapping about right at its feet

That indicated to those they passed by, the kind of person they hoped they would find

The sign read "For just one hundred thousand eighty-three dollars you can have me and all my friends behind."

This little girl quickly turned to her grandad and asked, "Please Grandad, please, may I?"

When Grandpa looked from the elephants to her, "Oh deary me" he did cry.

But he couldn't refuse the request of his granddaughter, she was after all his pride.

And not another grandchild did he have lurking around at any other house inside.

So of course, he flagged down Michael C. Carmichael and bought those elephants on the spot.

And Michale C. Carmichael,

with money in hand,

and completely elated,

went off on his way with a trot.

Greasy Gus

    Greasy Gus was the town's local slimeball. Whenever he passed anyone on the street, he'd send them running from his smell. Those unfortunate enough to have to follow his trail to their destination always had to be extra careful with their steps, lest they slip on the drops of grease he left behind. If anyone was in his way, he'd give'm a good "Outa' my way moron!" and that usually cleared his path.
    One day, his shout failed to move an especially stubborn man sitting on a park bench. The man continued reading his newspaper as if there were no one there. Greasy Gus didn't like stubborn people, he liked to have his way, so when this fellow didn't move, he was perturbed.

    He tried yelling louder. No reaction.

    He tried yelling longer. No budge.

    He tried yelling louder and longer until his face turned purple and lungs wheezed out of air. Not a single movement.
    Greasy Gus was so irritated at this man that he wound his arm back and gave him a big smack on the back of the head. When his hand hit the statue, it shattered his bones, and he squealed in pain.
    The EMT's came to try and help him, but they couldn't get a good grip because of all the grease. This hand needed treatment though, so they decided to slide him along all the way to the hospital. Those watching cheered in joy knowing he wouldn't be around town for some time. Maybe he'd think before he acted in the future?

The Stone Piper

    Stanfauld the Stone Piper traveled up and down the trail along the Cliffs of Seventeen Towers every day. He'd go down in the morning, and back up in the evening, playing his stone pipe all the while. His stone pipe was special. He'd spent hundreds of hours hewing, drilling, boring and tuning it, and through all that work it became polished and resonant.

    As he skipped along the path, he'd toot his pipe and anyone misbehaving would receive two smacks from the pipe. One for misbehaving, and one for making Stanfauld interrupt his playing. People quickly learned to be on their best behavior along the path.

    One fellow was particularly immune to Stanfauld's treatment. Burlquad had a thick head, and seemed to have experience being hit on it by blunt objects. He was mocking an old lady one day, and Stanfauld despised this behavior. He came up to Burlquad and knocked him hard on the head, but Burlquad didn't flinch. He continued mocking the old lady like nothing happened. Irritated, Stanfauld knocked Burlquad on the head again. And again. And again.

    Quite frustrated at this point, Stanfauld decided to try another tactic. He took to his pipe again, but instead of his usual merry tune, he played an aggressive, arpeggiated piece that made Burlquad's toes tap and arms flap. He started dancing like a foolish chicken, off from the path and out towards the cliffs.  Stanfauld made sure the drop wasn't too high, and the water below wasn't too shallow before moving the thick-headed fellow off the cliff.

    The old lady meanwhile had begun mocking Burlquad in retaliation of his treatment of her. She was so overjoyed at Stanfauld's intervention, and when he returned to the path from the cliff edge, she danced over to give him a big hug. When she reached him, she went to wrap her arms around him, and Stanfauld whacked her right on the head with his pipe. He despised mocking.

    Stanfauld skipped and piped along his merry way, leaving the old lady to rub the large bump on her head and think long and hard about her behavior.

Trevor's Tactical Taillight

    Trevor was a unique man. He drove around in his Pontiac, mostly invisible to the world, but the world had little idea of the tricks up Trevor's sleeve. He liked to live dangerously, and over time the police caught on to his shenanigans. . .

    His game was traffic light chicken. It started with seeing how close to red he could make it through a light before it actually changed. Then he tested further and further, seeing how late after the light changed he could go without getting caught. This lasted some time, but eventually he was caught.

    That's why he had his tactical taillight. Trevor kept on driving, disregarding the growing number of police cars following him. He'd run out of gas eventually, but he wasn't worried. He found a straight section of the highway, and by now in addition to the police cars were police helicopters, military jets, and international news coverage following him.

    Perfect he thought.

    Trevor accelerated as fast as he could, unlatched a special switch on his dashboard, and flipped the switch it contained. His rear left taillight burst open in a shower of sparks, and a spinning, glowing orb hovered in air between him and his pursuers, trailing him as he continued. The orb spun faster and faster, and as it did it grew brighter and brighter, dimming the pursuers' lights in proportion. Soon all was dark except for this orb. When that happened, it returned to Trevor's taillight.

    The orb went dark for a moment too, before a giant ring of light swirled open in front of Trevor's Pontiac. The fleet behind him braked or swerved out of the way, just avoiding the ring, while Trevor sped right on through and disappeared in a flash of light. The ring collapsed leaving only some glowing trails that spelled "Catch ya later, suckers!"

The Evening of Great Delight

    The Evening of Great Delight was the most fantastical evening Esmerelda had had in her life. The neighborhood adorned the lamp poles and trees lining the streets with strands upon strands of lights.  Purple, gold, blue, and white strands stretched along the road as far as she could see, and up above they made a magical canopy, like an elegant ballroom taken right outside to her front yard.

    Nicki and Ramona joined her, and together they strolled along the street admiring the various carnival performances and rides. They weren't interested in riding; watching was wondrous enough. Tigers roared at them from a cage, sparkling butterflies soared through the air before fizzling out into smoke above their heads, and bouquets of dazzling pinwheels blinded them as they walked by.

    Before long, it was time for the Grand Display of Marvelous Wonders. A firework shows the dads in the neighborhood had been planning for months. Esmerelda's dad was part of the team. She'd grown irritated listening to him talk about it, but she inside she was quite excited for the show.

    Esmerelda, Nicki and Ramona found seats on the lawn and gazed up as the show commenced. The sky began to mimic what they'd strode through earlier in the evening. Bursts of purple, gold, blue, and white lit up the sky, creating an even grander ballroom than Esmerelda could have imagined. Though now she did imagine herself swaying at a ball to the captivating music accompanying the show.

    After the finale, Esmerelda, Nicki, and Ramona each walked back to their homes, tired and ready for bed, but eager in hopes that this would become a wonderful tradition.

Cee Meets Dee

    The hungry hard drive skittered around dataland, searching for a yummy byte wherever he could find one. Documents, Downloads and Desktop all had morsels, and he even found a cache of cookies!

    Cee continued to munch munch munch until one day he was full! Big bad OS would be here any minute to defragment him. It was such a painfully boring long process, but he'd been through this plenty of times already.

    Big Bad OS finally made its way there, but what was this? He wasn't being defragmented after all! In fact, it looks like Cee was getting a new friend!

    "Hi, I'm Cee" Cee said to the new drive.

    "Hi Cee, I'm Dee, evidently. You're looking full, I guess I have my work cut out for me?" Dee said.

    "Most definitely! But at least we can tackle this together!"

Aeroud's Descent

    He could hear everything, but dare not open his eyes, not in the Realm of the Wind's Breath. Gusts blew about Aeroud as he fell. He was pelted by debris constantly, but he had to keep his eyes shielded; opening them was an invitation for certain blindness.
    The gusts kept his downward velocity low, but once he exited the whirlwind, Aeroud had little time to find his bearings, and a Gnearond to cling to, to slow his fall the rest of the way.
    Through the many micro-collisions, he shielded his eyes and kept spatially vigilant for the exit.
    Falling. . .
    Whirling. . .
    Still falling. . .
    There!
    Aeroud opened his eyes and glanced all around. He was upside down. Need to right myself. He tucked and used his angular momentum to flip right-side up.
    The ground!
    Impact was moments away. Have to look around. Have to find a Gnearond.
    There!
    Aeroud spread his body as wide as he could slowing himself as much as possible and angled himself toward his right where he spotted a Gnearond. Just in time he caught the tail of the animal and in reaction its entire body puffed up, increasing its buoyancy.  Its fur unraveled and stuck straight out further increasing its air resistance.
    Aeroud held tightly but his downward momentum was great. His hand was slipping. His hand clenched. He didn't travel this far to die falling from the sky!
    Ground.

    His feet touched the ground, and he gradually let it take his full weight.
    Oh, thank goodness.  "Thank you, buddy," Aeroud said to the Gnearond as he let go of the mangled tail of the poor creature. It started floating back up, and when it sensed the commotion was over, it began releasing all the air through its lips, flying around uncontrollably with a comical buzzing.
    Aeroud chuckled, then turned to the North. Now the real journey begins.

Good Ol' Whinney

    The horse came back alone from the drop down to the gorge. Ol' Whinney was a reliable horse, so cowboy Jethro knew something was amiss. "Where's Jezebel Ol' Whinney?" Jethro cried. Ol' Whinney just whinnied and moseyed on over to a dried patch of grass for a munch. Well, that's peculiar. Jethro thought, scratching his head. . .  I'd better go see what happened to Jezebel.
    Jethro made his way down the gorge and when he reached the bottom, Jezebel was nowhere in sight.  He did see hoof marks though, so he followed them. As he did, he started to hear neighing growing louder. Soon he found Jezebel prancing and leaping back and forth near a fresh spring. "We'll golly Jezebel, you and Ol' Whinney found us some water! Looks like you left him to do the dirty work though, huh? We're gonna have to do something about that now."
    Jethro took to Jezebel's saddle, much to her dismay, and rode her back up the gorge. She's plenty fresh to ride Jethro thought, she'll have earned that drink. When they reached the top, Jethro hopped of Jezebel and gave Ol' Whinney a good stroke and gave him many praises for coming back to get him. Jethro packed up his things and strapped them to Jezebel, then riding Ol' Whinney, took them all back down the gorge for some refreshment and a good night's sleep.

The Phantom Row Boat

    He hadn't seen the old man since the night of the phantom rowboat. That was the night Bilthlam, Phreneta, and Glipsmore we're sneaking around the lake, and an old man came rowing over to their side.  Bilthlam could still hear him singing the soft tune "Row row my old shaky bones! When am I ever gonna find my way home?"
    It sent a shiver down his spine just thinking about it, but Bilthlam found the old man fascinating. He returned to the lake often in hopes of seeing him again, though Phreneta and Glipsmore never joined him; they were too afraid.
    Three months later, Bilthlam returned to the lake once again, and this time he heard the song distantly on the water. "Row row my old shaky bones! When am I ever gonna find my way home?"  Bilthlam gazed through the mist, trying his best to judge where the old man would be.
    Briefly the old man showed himself. As he neared the bank, the old man glanced over his shoulder and met Bilthlam's eyes. They locked only for a moment before the old man turned back and adjusted his course. He traveled along the bank before departing back out into the mist, still singing his song.
"Row row my old shaky bones! When am I ever gonna find my way home!" Bilthlam could hear fading into the night.

Seed You Later

    Someone must have seen him, because the police were at his door. They greeted him kindly but firmly. Evidently, they still weren't sure who the culprit was; this was just the best lead they had. "Good afternoon sir. We're investigating the recent watermelon break-ins that have been occurring recently. Witnesses led us to this address. Do you happen to be related to the events?" they asked Gerald.
    Now Gerald wasn't a fool, he wasn't going to willingly come clean about throwing watermelons through the competing fruit stores' windows. Not freely anyway.
    "What do you want to know?" Gerald asked.
    "Frankly sir, you match the description of the perpetrator almost exactly. If you are in fact responsible for the crimes committed, you'll avoid a much more serious penalty if you come to the station now and plead guilty."
    "I don't know what you're talking about officer, but it sounds to me like you don't know much about watermelons." Gerald replied.
    "Sir, the fact that these are watermelons isn't nearly as important as the fact that someone threw something through all these fruit store's windows."
    That's what you think Gerald thought. But they weren't thinking. If they had inspected these watermelons more closely, they would have realized they weren't watermelons at all. They were actually bombs painted to looks like watermelons and designed to split open with juicy innards to sell the charade.
    "Excuse me, I'll be right back" Gerald said. A moment later he returned to the door and handed the officers a watermelon.
    "I think if you inspect this, you'll have a better idea of the situation. Have a good day."
    Gerald shut the door in front of the two confused police officers and primed the detonator. They soon began pounding on the door demanding Gerald open it back up before they use force.
    I'll show you force Gerald thought as he triggered the detonator, sending the police flying into the yard covered in watermelon juice.
    "Seed you later" Gerald muttered.

Shmeane's Interview

    He watched, helpless, as the door closed behind her. Shmeane was going in for her first interview after graduation, and her father couldn't have been prouder. That didn't take away his worry for her success though.
    He decided to wait at a coffee shop while she was at her interview. He drove away after dropping her off and found the nearest Coffee Supreme, about four blocks away.
    I can't believe I'm driving through this crazy city he thought. He loved Shmeane enough to drive into the city, as nervous as it made him. Dahnne ordered a plenty-sized chocolate fraffratte, which would give anyone the jitters, but Dahnne figured he couldn't have more jitters than he already had for Shmeane right now.
    Full of chocolatey warmth, Dahnne sat and pondered, mostly about what questions the interviewers would ask Shmeane, and how she would respond. After an hour and a half, he finally received a text from her. "All finished, ready to be picked up." Neutral tone Dahnne thought. I hope everything went well...
    When Dahnne arrived back at the office, Shmeane was waiting patiently outside. She entered the car and sat poised as Dahnne carefully entered the traffic stream and began their travel home. After several moments, once he was settled, he finally asked "So how'd it go?"
    Shmeane breathed heavily before blurting out "I got the job! They offered it to me right there! Dad, thank you so much for helping me prepare, I was nervous but I answered everything so well!"
Dahnne smiled a wide smile and patted Shmeane's leg. "Great job Shmee-shmee! I'm so proud of you, you earned this!"
    "I really couldn't have done this without you dad!"
    "Did you do the crinkle trick?"
    Shmeanne paused and then said "Of course I did the crinkle trick! Of all the tricks in the book, how could I forget that one?"
    Dahnne continued smiling contentedly knowing he did in fact teach his daughter something.
    "Let's go celebrate at Pancake Central?"
    "I would love nothing more than that."

Dr. Money wins the Gigantorsphere

    "It's all bills, bills, bills. That's my only answer now," he said, pointing to the fresh hundred's lying on the floor. "I ain't got no care's in the world now cuz I got me some sweet sweet dough!" Dr. Money exclaimed in front of his goons.
    The goons in the room rolled their eyes. Clearly Dr. Money didn't know much about his very namesake. Winning the Gigantorsphere is one thing, but this was the city's local lottery. He was paid a lump sum of three thousand dollars, which sounds like a lot if you've been earning only a couple bucks in profit every week.
    "Let him think he has it all. He can live this dream for a bit. Then he'll be back to square one in a couple weeks" Manto said to Grancha.
    Manto and Grancha were Dr. Money's head goons, and in charge of product development for the Doctor's evil supply company: Money Talks, Evil Walks. He had a bit of a complex. . .
    The majority of their business was making smoke bombs for robbers to make quick getaways, but Dr. Money had bigger dreams. One day he'd be the bad guys' supplier for high tech gadgets. Who knows, if he's wise with this money, maybe he'll make some smart moves and begin down that path?

Avoiding the Cast Tax

    Outside the cabin, the wind howled through the trees, while inside, the old woman's fire was nearly out.  Looks like it'll be another trying night she thought. Out here in the badlands it was tough environment.     Wood was hard enough to come by, and keeping your shelter draft-free was nearly impossible. If you could gather enough wood to build a fire, and keep it going through the night, and on top of that protect it from the wind, well that was about the best thing you could ask for.
    "Why do you stay out there?" all the townies would ask, but they would never understand. The freedom of living on your own. Eating, drinking, living, and conjuring as you please. That was worth not having the amenities of the town.
    Unfortunately, fire magic was just as hard to come by as wood, and so that left survival up to traditional methods. Still, to conjure Astral Entities without being subject to the Cast Tax was a price worth willing to pay.

The Well of the Moon Majesty

    There was a legend about the well in the garden. Supposedly, if you visited the well on the night of a waning crescent, the tired Moon Majesty would be preparing for her slumber. In preparation for the new moon, she'd be wanting to be rid of her moon magic, and anyone who visited on such a night would be endowed with that magic.
    It wasn't powerful magic, but it was magic, nonetheless. Most people who said they'd visited reported being able to float small things closer to them or cast faint light in dark areas. It was nothing like the full moon magic, when the Moon Majesty was her most powerful. Still, being able to utilize that kind of magic for some time was helpful.
    The Moon Majesty was much more guarded of her powers closer to the full moon and would stay quite far from the well on those nights. By the waning crescent, though, she was tired, and let her magic go more freely, which many took advantage of if they could.

Squimick's Bagpipe

    He'd had a bad day and just needed something to make him feel better, and nothing made Squimick feel better than a roasted haggis on rye bread. It was unusual to say the least; even the other Scotsmen ate portions of haggis with their bread, not an entire haggis between two slices. That's the way Squimick liked it, and since he had a bad day, that's what he chose to eat from dinner.
    The reason he had a bad day was he was bagpiping to work and tripped on a sheep in the middle of the road. Now that wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but when he tripped, he snapped his blow stick in twine.  He'd worked hard to afford that blow stick, and it seemed like he wouldn't be able to afford a new one for a while.
    But what really boiled his potatoes was after he fell in snapped his blow stick, the sheep bleated and sat on his head. This was a pregnant ewe too, so getting it off of his head wasn't an easy feat. He had to take his broken blow stick and flail it up behind him, in attempt to whack the ewe in the face so it'd sit up.
    When he finally managed to whack the ewe in the face, it was so perturbed by the occurrence that it kicked the bag of the bagpipe and tore a big hole in it. Squimick sat there upset, about his bagpipe, and when he thought things couldn't get worse, a car drove by and splashed a nearby puddle all over him.
    That's when he decided he'd had enough that day and walked home, tuneless.
    One day he'll afford a new bagpipe, but for now the only thing that mattered was his haggis on rye sandwich. When he took his first bite, his joy plummeted as he realized he forgot to turn on the oven when he was cooking the delicacy. He was chewing on a lukewarm, uncooked haggis, and his day in fact could not get worse.
    He heard a familiar bleat from the window. He looked over and saw the ewe from earlier. It seemed interested in the lukewarm, uncooked haggis. Squimick took the sandwich, stood up, walked over and tossed it out the window. The ewe pranced over to it and nibbled at it voraciously.
    When it had finished eating the haggis, it bounced away happily. Squimick watched it depart and then turned to go to bed. Before he made it across the kitchen, though, he heard a nasally wheezing sounding from up the street. Squimick turned back and saw the ewe coming up the street with a brand-new bagpipe in its mouth. It trotted up to the window and dropped it through onto the floor, where it landed with a highland honk.
    Squimick was thrilled when he picked it up that he couldn't help but play it right there. He harnessed it up and gave it a tremendous blow. Maybe this wasn't such a bad day after all.

Written with Desperation, Red with Confusion

    The victim had tried to write something as he was dying, but it couldn't be deciphered. The detectives scoured the room for evidence. It was clear there was a great struggle. Did the victim try to fend off his attacker with the pen? It wasn't clear among the ichor spewed over the body and floor.
    "What was the cause?" The lead investigator asked as he strode through the room. The rest of the team looked at him befuddled. This was clearly a stabbing; what else would draw blood like this?
    "Uh. Judging by the scene, we believe he was stabbed multiple times. Sir." One of the detectives replied.
    "Is that so, Dolf was it? Where are the knife wounds?"
    Everyone glanced at each other. They hadn't checked.
    The lead detective bent down and touched the blood. He streaked it on a piece of paper. Then he took the pen from the victim. A fountain pen. He unscrewed it and found now-empty red cartridge.
Gasps filled the room. "This was no stabbing, you fools!" The lead detective shouted.
    The victim sprang up at the noise, startled from his slumber. "What's going on?" he asked.
    "You didn't check his vitals?" The lead inspector said glaring at his team.
    "W... well it seemed obvious at the sight. Sir" Dolf said.
    "Aw man, that was my last red cartridge." The non-victim complained.

Combusto the Clown

    He stared hard at the table as he tried to recall his attacker and began describing a white face and a red nose. Not the typical large red nose, but a more subtle, painted tip of the nose. For hair, the clown chose a fiery orange that faded to black at the ends and was streaked with bright yellow. The clown shrieked as he attacked Carson "Come get your tickle time! No one escapes their tickle time from Combusto the Clown!"
    Carson could only run for so long before Combusto caught up to him, and when he did, it was terrifying. Combusto's hair did in fact combust into raging flames, and his eyes turned an infernal charcoal black, smoldering with the faint glow of embers. And his voice lowered three octaves. Carson hated being tickled though, so he chose to fight back.
    Fortunately, when he ran out of breath, he happened to stop by the fishery, which of course had a plethora of buckets, many of which were filled with the water of thawed ice used to keep the fish fresh during the day.
    As Combusto approached Carson bellowing "Tickle tickle tickle time!", Carson grabbed one of the full buckets and doused Combuso with it, extinguishing his hair and eyes. Combusto shrieked in agony, stumbling and writhing from the apparent pain.

    He tripped and fell into the river, and upon contact with the water his emergency floatation device triggered, keeping him afloat as he lost consciousness.
The police found Combusto and took him into custody, and shortly after found Carson, in shock, yet relieved. "I gotta stop getting myself into those situations" he said to himself as they took him in for questioning.