The Frozen Queen

High up on a snowy mountain, the Queen sits upon her throne.

Within the frozen halls of her palace of ice, she stares out the panoramic windows, out across the lands. Her cold, azure eyes gleaming with frigid malice.

Years have passed since she had used her spiteful magic to cast the land into its frozen prison, yet she has not seemed to have aged even a single day. Such was the power of the malevolence within her heart; enough to stop the world under her icy spell.

Now, she spends her days sitting atop her ice-encrusted throne, thinking only of how to exact her revenge upon the one who had crossed her so long ago.

Oh, no, the hateful ice curse she had cast upon the world was not her final act of revenge, merely only a way to give herself time to conjure an even more malicious plan.

Each day she rises from her chilly bedchamber, a beautiful, deadly storm, and stalks her way to the throne room to sit and contemplate in a fury, the same as the day before.

Each day brings countless plans and schemes that come close to the mark, but each day ends with her screeching in frustration at not be able to come up with a suitable plot which matches her cold, vengeful heart, as she stomps off to sleep a listless sleep.

Though, as she slumbers, she dreams, not of the ice and cold into which she has plunged the world, but lush, green valleys on warm summer evenings.

Strolling through the fields of pastel-coloured flowers that glowing fireflies light as they float from one petal to the next, casting their bluish glow along the winding valley in the late summer eve.

It is during these fleeting dreams that the Queen’s magic wanes ever so slightly, and for those brief moments in the night, her icy grip slips and the world thaws just a little.

Never completely, but over the years, the people and places held in their place, suspended in ice, have been coming slowly back to life.

I have been coming slowly back to life.

Such sweet, promising dreams however, always end abruptly with the sun’s piercing light, shining into the Queen’s bedchamber and flooding her light-hearted subconscious with harsh memories of the infringement maligned against her. 

Thus, she awakes with malice renewed and the world is frozen once again, cutting off any hope of escaping her icy hold.

Yet, I bide my time, having no other choice but to.

Each night, I stand watch where she left me, like a sentry statue in the corner our bedchambers, encased within the magical ice that slowly melts away a little more with each of her fanciful dreams.

Each night I too stand and stare, pondering on what wrong act I could have possibly committed to turn my Queen’s so cold against her husband and plunge the world into its deep, frozen sleep.

Valley Run

He was making good time on his Sunday morning run, Gerald thought as he jogged along the wet pavement of the quiet country road.

It was a damp morning after the night rain which made for a pretty and peaceful jog in the light mists that hung low in the air amongst the trees of the woods that lines either side of the straight-running road.

Only a handful of vehicles had passed by so far, so he essentially had had the road to himself, which was one of the perks of living so far outside of town; quiet and private.

As he came down the side of a large dip in the road, a bunny hopped quickly across the lanes, diving down the grassy ditch before heading into the thick covering of trees to Gerald's right.

He passed by where the bunny had disappeared into the woods and looked down into the valley that led into a streaming brook at the basin. He slowed to see if he could spot the little bunny rabbit but it had already vanished in the camouflage of the foliage and shadows that filled the fairy-tale scene below.

Moving over to the narrow shoulder of the road, he peered down for a moment, but it only took that moment to lose his footing on the loose gravel and slip, sliding down the slick, wet grass of the hill, which gave no purchase to slow him down.

He kept sliding and rolling down the decline and into the dim light of the forest valley.

When he finally came to a stop he was laying on his back looking up at the canopy of pine and cedar trees that reached up and blotted the grey morning sky so that only slim cracks of light made it through to give the forest floor a diffused illuminance.

He sat up and brushed the clinging leaves and grass and twigs that had collected over his arms and legs on his chaotic trip down.

Wet and embarrassed, he surveyed the peaceful scene he had abruptly crashed into. The babbling stream to his left continued on its merry way, undisturbed by his arrival.

Birds chirped their songs high up on the tree branches and for a long moment Gerald just sat back and took in the serenity of the nature surrounding him; calming his breathing to match the soft breeze that moved through the leaves above.

Even though it had been a painful way to go, he was almost glad he had taken the fall; it had allowed him to discover this hidden little oasis he would not have found if...

Across the brook Gerald caught sight of a small figure standing on a tree stump looking directly at him.

It was what looked to be a traditional garden gnome one would find nestled in any number of backyard flowerbeds.

The pointed red capped little chap, who stood no taller than Gerald's knee, wore a grey beard down to its chest that framed the rolly polly features of their face. A blue short-sleeved shirt with brown suspendered trousers and little black leather boots completed the ensemble.

The two stared at one another in the middle of the forest tableau; Gerald with astonishment whilst the gnome's rosy cheeks plumped as they smiled quite friendly, they glistening black eyes shining happily.

Not wanting to make any sudden movements to scare the little creature off, Gerald slowly lifted his hand from where it was propping him up and waved in a neighbourly fashion. He tried to find his voice to say hello but before he could begin to speak, the gnome held up a stubby finger to their lips and silently shushed him.

They then pointed their finger up and around, motioning that perhaps they were not alone in these woods.

Gerald's eyes followed to where their little finger pointed to see if he could catch a glimpse at any other hidden creatures of the forest but none presented themselves, just the lone gnome standing before him on its well-worn stump.

Bringing his eyes back to the storybook character made manifest before him, Gerald saw the gnome then move its arm downwards slowly, until pointing their chubby digit towards their rear.

Cupping its ear with its other hand as if they wanted Gerald to listen harder. They stood in stark silence, while Gerald obediently strained to head whatever it was they wanted him to hear.

The serenity of the quiet sounds of nature was then shattered by the single loudest fart Gerald had ever heard.

Disgusted surprise plastered itself across Gerald's face as the rude gnome giggled at their own immature little joke. 

Before Gerald could say an admonishing word, with a wink and a coy bop of its finger along the side of their red little nose, the farting forest gnome twinkled out of existence before Gerald's very eyes.

Leaving only the musty stench of its gaseous blast.

 

Hero of Legend

Deep under the mountain a rumbling began; faint and nearly undetectable at first, yet it slowly began to build to a clamorous shaking that threatened the very foundations of the great mountain.

From somewhere deep inside the earth, a glowing light began to grow with the rumbling; grow and begin to speed its way up from the darkness of the deep recesses below.

Crumbling rocks burst and fell away as the glowing light sped up and onward through the innards of the mighty mountain as if they were simply clumps of dried dirt instead of the solid and ancient rocks they in fact were.

The ever-growing light flickered as it passed through the relenting rock; tunnelling its way straight up through the core of the mountain, towards the very apex of the massive natural monument.

The village at the base of the shaking mountain held its collective breath in anticipation of what seemed to be their dooms finally come at last; the inhabitants always fearing their end would come at the looming mountain's eruption some day. That day looked to be today.

The world appeared to be shaking apart as the mountain threatened about to burst apart, until finally, the blinding light did erupt up and out of the top of the snow-capped peak, obliterating it in a shower of boulders and debris.

Yet, only the shimmering light eschewed forth, and climbed into the bright, blue sky.

From down below, barely visible to the on-looking villagers, the light faded and a figure emerged; the figure of a person reaching up with their outstretched arm, in which, their hand grasped a glistening sword.

With their long hair flowing in the wind, the figure and sword held their position high above the mountain peak in the sky for an extended moment as the sun's light kissed the sword with a glint that seemed to produce a dinging sound before they flew off eastward in a blur.

"Wholly Shit!" Agmar exclaimed as he pointed skyward as the figure disappeared from the sight.

"Don't you swear at me!" Nailine scolded with annoyance at being interrupted in her questioning of her oaf-headed husband. "And try and distract me, Agmar! Did you and your idiot mates eat all my meat pies last night when you all came home stinking drunk from the public house?"

"But... the Hero of Legend has returned, just now!" Agmar pleaded. "Did you not see them burst forth from Mount Gironde?"

With a swat on his head, Nailine brought Agmar's attention back to her. "I don't care if the Hero of Legend's grandmum bellowed forth from the Bagnarg Bog!" She warned. "Did you eat my pies!?"

Agmar hung his head in shame.

"Yes, my love." He admitted sheepishly, holding his modest cap in his hands.

"Mmm hmm." Nailine nodded at the admission. "Well, now we'll have nothing for when my mother comes for her visit next week, will we? Don't look surprised, you know she was coming. Now, get going to the dark forest to gather up more of the spices I'll need to try and bake something with what little meat's left for her arrival dinner. And if you get captured by that dark wizard that lives in there, maybe your can call your Hero of Legend for help."

With that, she sent him off with another swat of her empty pie plate.

Witch Hazel

The witch of the wood lived a simple life in her modest hut of stone and thatched straw, and she was happy.

Her witching had never seemed like a job to her, she just enjoyed helping people so much she often felt guilty charging even the merger sum she did for her services.

Love potions, death potions, putting hexes on people's enemies, even the occasional mad ramblings to just intimidate someone bought her joy.

Villagers from the little towns bordering the big forest would make their way through the labyrinth-like woods to come ask for her witchy wares, and she would oblige them merrily.

On slow days, she would go out and find the poor retches that never found their way through the maze of gnarled old trees and loot their carcases for whatever offerings they had been planning to give to her anyway.

Yes, it was a good life being the witch of these here woods.

Sipping her tea, the witch sighed with satisfaction as she looked out the round window of her hut's kitchen.

The smile faded from her lips and a shadow crept over her face as she spotted a figure standing out amongst the trees just passed her cursed herbs garden.

It was a good life, except for this idiot.

Catching her eye in the window, the hooded figure started to wave excitedly and move to come into her yard.

Putting her tea cup down with a clatter, the witch dashed out of the back door to meet the grinning buffoon they could stomp all over her patch of lucky four-leaf clovers she had worked so hard to cultivate in this climate.

Alas, the simpleton trampled all through the delicate little patch of green before she could get to them.

The witch sagged with exasperation as the warlock dehooded himself while continuing to wave and stomp up to her, totally unaware of the destruction left in his wake.

"Hullo, Hazel!" he greeted her amiably. "I was hoping you'd be in today!"

Visibly, Hazel the witch rolled her eyes as the warlock's robes got caught on the barbed wire fencing that surrounded the more deadly genus of flowers in her garden.

"What do you want, Wilbur?" Hazel asked with supreme annoyance. "I am a very busy witch."

Wilbur struggled to pull himself free from the fencing just before a big Venus snapped at his head; unfortunately not taking it clean off his crooked shoulders.

"Oh, I've run into a bit of a problem with a spell you could say." Wilbur the warlock stammered as he reached Hazel where she stood in her irked stance.

"You could say you run into a lot of problems, Wilbur." Hazel replied bone dryly.

"Yes, well," Wilbur continued unfazed. "More of a situation with a Doubling spell, really. I was working on it for Farmer Thendorg in Fenrith over yonder, and well, I could really use a pitch of your Dissolving powder. You know the one you use for really big wart removals?"

Hazel's hand automatically went up to her chin before she stopped it with a nonchalant dismissive wave. Her skin was clear and smooth now, no need to doubt herself.

"Yes, I know of my own powders and potions, Wilbur." She snapped. "What of it? What could you possibly have to trade that I would want?"

Grinning his stupid, goofy grin, Wilbur started to root around in his robes.

"I am NOT interested in any of that!" Hazel protested abhorrently while trying to avert her eyes.

Unaware of her disgust, Wilbur pulled out a handful of little, orange coloured toadstool stumps.

"Well, I just so happened to come across a patch of these beauties." Wilbur offered proudly. "I might not have the skill to distil these Halorooms for their potent properties, but a witch of your prowess would certainly find them valuable."

Through her splayed fingers, Hazel peeked at the mushrooms Wilbur held out to her and a greedy spark ignited in her green eyes.

"Well perhaps." Hazel tried to sound mildly interested with maximum restraint. Those little knobs could last her years and keep her pot overflowing with coins from the women and men who coveted their 'uplifting' qualities.

"I only need a cupful." Wilbur said earnestly. The fool had no idea how valuable those mushrooms were. "Just enough to make a batch of Vanishing potion." He explained.

Playing it ever so cool, Hazel took her time mulling the trade over, instead of instantly snatching the orange stumps up greedily from his clammy hands.

"I suppose I could spare some." She said thoughtfully. "But only, a half a cup. I'm running low myself." She quickly added.

Wilbur's grin somehow widened further to show even more crooked and snaggled teeth. He's probably aimed high, knowing he'd only need a pitch of the stuff anyway and thought him self pretty shrewd, she thought.

"Bless you, Hazel!" he blurted as he dumped the mushrooms clumsily into her hands so forcefully she had to stumble back as to not have him right on top of her.

"Okay, okay." She told him as she pushed him back. "You just stand here while I go get the powder. There's hex traps all over the yard so I mean it: stay put!"

Wilbur stood at attention dutifully as Hazel bustled back into her hut, muttering giddily to herself about how the idiot warlock was finally proving useful.

After a few moments she came back out to him carrying a little burlap satchel daintily between her finger and thumb.

"Here you go..." She tried to put as much sugar into her voice as possible in his presence,"...darling." she shuddered with self-loathing. "Now, don't you drop it, because it's liable to crate a hole in the ground so deep you'd never stop falling." She could only hope.

"Thank you so much, Hazel!" Wilbur said with so much gratitude Hazel almost felt bad filching him. Almost.

"Now just go straight back the way you came." She instructed him faux-sweetly. "You don't want to step on one of my hexes!"

Wilbur stumbled around and goose-stepped back over the patch of clovers without noticing again as Hazel held her false smile with a wave.

"Oh, thank you again!" Wilbur burst as he waved back while walking out through the slightly over-grown path. "Don't worry, I'll be carefu..."

With a sudden poof, the warlock disappeared in a puff of purplish smoke.

Hazel gasped in surprise as the satchel of Dissolving powder fell freely through the smoky air towards the ground, only to be caught by a quick acting hand.

Hazel balked at the sight of a second Wilbur the warlock as he caught the satchel and waved stupidly at her.

"Doubling spell problem!" He called to her with a wink. "Thanks again!"

The warlock turned and rambled into the trees where Hazel now saw that there were a dozen or so Wilburs waiting.

They all waved and grinned like the same moron that had just gotten hexed into the Neither Realms.

Hazel shook her head in disgust and stopped waving abruptly.

"Idiots."

Neon City

Droplets of rain hit the windshield as I drove along the neon-lit city streets in the late hours of the long night.

The rain doesn't affect the Navigation Enhanced Display that covers the windshield's duro-glass, as it guides me through the slick, wet streets; making my way home after my shift.

I let the Autonav take over the driving as my mind isn't on the road at all, but today's case.

I'd been a detective for thirteen years now and the details of this new case had shaken me like I was fresh out of the academy.

The images from the crime scene kept playing in my mind, and even though it had made my insides churn, I couldn't help but go over what I had seen; there was something I couldn't put my finger on, something very off.

The noiselessness of the vehicle's motion through the rainy night was too deafening so I turned the sound system on; playing some classic electronic music to help me zone out and try to see the missing puzzle pieces in my mind.

The motel room where they had found the victim was in that faux tropical theme that was making a comeback, only it had never been renovated, it had kept the same decor for so long it had come back in fashion.

The room would need a serious reno after what had taken place tonight however.

Body parts and internal fluids were strewn and spilt all over the place, staining the carpet, the walls, and the ceiling with spatters of dark, sticky patches.

How anyone could be so full of rage and hate to do that to another being was beyond me; I had seen many crimes of passion in my time, but this was something different.

A message perhaps?

Examining the images in my mind I tried to pinpoint the uneasy feeling I had had when I first inspected the scene.

The officers first on the scene weren't as good at hiding the fact that they were more than a little upset at what they have discovered; one was still retching on the balcony.

They didn't have to tell me the victim had been a young professional, new to the business; a more seasoned pro would never have been in a place like this, no matter how hard up they might have been.

Trouble is the only resident in places like this.

Going over the officers' reports as the car drove along the still busy streets, I remembered standing at the foot of the bed, trying not to step in any of what remained of the victim.

And then I saw it in my mind's eye; a differently coloured stain on the bottom corner of the bed sheets.

Enhancing the memory, I examined the details closer. Definitely a lighter hue than the rest of the pools of fluids covering the rest of the bed; a reddish brown instead of the inky black and gold that dominated every other inch of the dank motel room.

Asking the vehicle's central computer hub to analyze what chemical make up the foreign substance could have had my mind reel with implications.

As the data ran through to Police Central's mainframe, I already had a sinking feeling of what the results might came back as.

But how could that be possible, I thought. There hadn't been a report of any of them for decades now, not since the last wave of super viruses was thought to have wiped the last of them out.

The vehicle turned the last corner before entering the underground parking garage of my high-rise apartment building as the results came through on the windshield's heads up display.

With a sigh I read the analysis details and taped my fingers on my chin with the familiar metal tinkling sound that had always served to calm my neuro-net whenever something had agitated my circuits.

Not this time though; I doubted I'd be able to get a proper night's recharge for a week in the face of what the results meant.

Somehow, human blood had been spilt at the crime scene where a young robot had been torn apart, metal limb from metal limb.

It was just the beginning of a long night for me; nothing in my years of being a robot detective had prepared me for this.

The Boy With Rocket Hands

Once there was a boy with rocket hands.

He was otherwise a healthy, happy little boy, only instead of hands and fingers at the ends of his arms; he had cylindrical metal rocket boosters.

His parents loved him just the same as they would any non-rocket hands child, and other than some close calls with singed hair while he was a baby, they tried to give him as stable and caring life as they could.

When it came time for the boy to attend school, the boy's parents did not want him to feel any different than any other child his age, so they let him go off to learn with the other children.

Unfortunately, children can be taught to fear, shun, and ridicule those that are different from what everyone was used to, and so they made fun of the boy with rocket hands.

He had always known he was different from everyone else, but could not understand why that should matter, and why the other children would tease him so, just because of his rocket booster hands.

With tears in his eyes, the boy ran across the school yard, away from the cruel children. And, using his rocket hands to blast off the ground, he lifted off into the air.

High and fast the boy climbed into the sky until he was a mere blur against the cloudless azure backdrop.

The boy left the atmosphere and the Earth behind and made his own way, alone, throughout the galaxies.

He explored the cosmos and travelled to many planets, meeting many new species along the way; some friendly and accepting, as well as some hostile and quarrelsome.

Yet, he never came across anyone else who had rockets for hands.

Until, on one particular planet inhabited by a race of robots, the boy met a young robot who also had rockets for hands and they became the best of friends.

Together they went on many adventures; discovering new worlds, uncovering space treasures, helping others when they could; finding that a lot can be accomplished with the rockets they had been blessed with.

After some time, when the two friends had grown, they happened to travel near the familiar galaxy of the boy's home world and the robot convinced him to return, if only for a moment.

So it was that the boy with rockets hands came back to Earth, and destroyed it.

David the Mole

David the mole did not have many friends, and those that he did have were more just work acquaintances from his job in the tunnels rather than close comrades.

They were friendly towards him and would invite him out to drink with them at the watering hole just passed the farmer's field after their shifts ended but he would always politely decline and head home to his little burrow on the outskirts of the mole underground town.

Too busy working on his project, he would tell them, but never elaborate further.

So while his coworkers would go off to enjoy themselves, David the mole would go back to his mole hole alone and work on his mysterious plans into the wee hours of the day, before finally getting some rest and then heading back out in the early hours of the night to begin his shift in the tunnels.

The mole council had decreed it was too dangerous to expand the Mole Town tunnels any further to the west for fear of being discovered by the humans that dwelt there in the city at the base of the mountain.

Thus the tunnelling teams had to burrow through the rocky grounds to the east; which was slow and hard going due to the big boulders they would encounter, causing them to either have to find a way around or backtrack to start an entirely new tunnel.

Needless to say, it was an arduous task and many a mole had been injured, and even a few had lost their lives when a tunnel had collapsed when of a patch of loose boulders got hit upon.

Such losses were tragic, but the devastation that the moles would suffer if discovered by the humans would be even more catastrophic the council had ruled.

So the tunnel teams toiled on through the perilous nights to ensure Mole Town would stay secret and safe as more and more space was needed for all the new moles moving in from the dangerous wilds beyond the farmer's field.

But David the mole had thought of a better way, and it was to that end that he spent his many tireless days planning and calculating.

Until finally it was time to put his plans in motion.

In the early mornings after his shift tunnelling eastward, while the others headed for their post-work wind down, David the mole would go to the west end tunnel and begin burrowing in secret.

Towards the mountain base in the west he would dig alone into the late day until he was almost too exhausted to make it back to his burrow and pass out for a few precious hours of sleep before having to get up and dig at his actual job.

For months he went on like this, until his coworkers grew concerned he was becoming ill due to his weight loss and gaunt visage. But he would just say he had not been sleeping well and trundle off to his mysterious project.

After a couple of these explanations his tunnelling team members decided to see what was really happening.

Keeping their distance, they followed David after work one morning, through the maze of tunnels westward, until they reached what should have been the end of the boundary of Mole Town, yet there was a new tunnel that continued on under the forbidden human realm.

None of them had ever ventured this far west, burrowing under the human city above, but their curiosity and concern for what their enigmatic friend was up to drew them further on.

Up ahead they saw David round a bend and disappear.

Cautiously, they crept around the corner of the tight tunnel and were caught by surprise as they tumbled into a vast empty void that sparkled with refracted light coming from the exposed gem stones that littered the high domed ceiling of the space.

They all rolled out of the tunnel that dropped a ways down to the dirt floor of the shimmery arena.

David turned from his spot higher up the far slope in surprise himself at seeing his coworkers taking in the awe inspiring space.

Scurrying over to the huddled group, David tried to usher them back out the tunnel from where they had all come, but a rumbling had already begun to shake the subterranean room.

The group stopped stubbornly and refused to move until David explained what he was up to.

There was no time, he explained as the shaking intensified. The mountain, he shrieked, the mountain was coming down!

A huge piece of the rocky ceiling came crashing down beside them, shattering into bits and that was enough to get the group scrambling for the tunnel, with David leading the way.

Once in the cramped tunnel the team started to head back the way they had come, but David took them straight into a secret off-shoot tunnel that began to incline through the darkness immediately.

Up and up they climbed as the entire ground around them threatened to collapse and swallow them into the earth.

Finally they emerged into the bright midday air, momentarily blinding them all as the dust and dirt shot out of the tunnel behind them in a great gust air.

Once they donned their tinted work goggles in order to see in the intense light of the sun, the moles looked around at where they had escaped to.

With astonishment, they surveyed the area where the mountain had been just moments before, and the rubble pile that was previously the human city.

As the dust and debris settled they could see that there was nothing left of either the city or the mountain, only a fresh new pile of dirt, for as far as they could see to the west.

The tunnel team looked back at David who was fidgeting awkwardly under their gazes.

With a triumphant cheer, they all rushed to him and lifted him up onto their furry shoulders.

He had done it; quiet, shy David the mole had brought down the mountain and changed everything.

Now began the rise of the Empire of the Moles.