tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71415668902541338192024-03-13T08:00:31.486-05:00Rat TalesFast Food For The MindRick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-83365696878081942162024-03-13T08:00:00.001-05:002024-03-13T08:00:00.132-05:00The Endless Checkout - Part 7: Resolution<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFtaZGGDHm1U5oPtXwPy1DwtyA3Jlwq6oDTdFn-oHBwTw745J0ttxhHqePIKXBImhgMvPqGWJsFYqsipRPMyEPPQc0mCNLiE1LKrAeApbd32Mav7vboxRI2S5XBVg99WR-bHhXg5B6eezS7aAkCmshXfTutzeecpQFjmraMbOOe56vZypzhLlRPW1Gft9/s1024/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%207%20Resolution.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxFtaZGGDHm1U5oPtXwPy1DwtyA3Jlwq6oDTdFn-oHBwTw745J0ttxhHqePIKXBImhgMvPqGWJsFYqsipRPMyEPPQc0mCNLiE1LKrAeApbd32Mav7vboxRI2S5XBVg99WR-bHhXg5B6eezS7aAkCmshXfTutzeecpQFjmraMbOOe56vZypzhLlRPW1Gft9/w400-h400/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%207%20Resolution.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />In the days following their night at GreenLeaf Grocers, life slowly returned to normal for Marissa. She went back to her daily routine, the mundane tasks now tinged with a newfound appreciation for the predictable flow of time.<br /><br />But there was a change in her, a subtle shift. She found herself more observant, more aware of the delicate fabric of reality that she had once taken for granted. The experience had left an indelible mark on her soul.<br /><br />Occasionally, Marissa would drive past the grocery store, now just a regular part of the neighborhood. No more flickering lights, no more cold spots, just aisles of food and everyday people doing their everyday shopping. But she knew the story that lay hidden in its walls, a secret history that few would believe.<br /><br />Lucas and Marissa stayed in touch, their bond forged in the unlikeliest of crucibles. They would meet for coffee, sometimes discussing that night, other times just enjoying the simple act of living a normal life. They both understood that what they had experienced was extraordinary, a brush with the unknown that few ever encounter.<br /><br />One evening, as Marissa walked past the store, she paused. There, where the freezer section once held a portal to a fractured past, was now just a display of ice cream and frozen pizzas. She smiled to herself, a sense of closure washing over her.<br /><br />In that moment, a realization crystallized within her. Life was a tapestry of moments, some ordinary, some extraordinary, but all woven together into the unique story of each person's existence. She had faced her fears, had stared into the abyss, and had come out stronger.<br /><br />Marissa turned away from the store, her steps light, her heart at peace. The endless checkout, the loops in time, they were behind her now. Ahead lay the rest of her life, a path unbound by the mysteries of a grocery store that once held more than just groceries.<br /><br />As she walked away, the gentle jingle of the entrance bell rang out behind her, a familiar sound that no longer held any power over her. It was just a bell, in just a store, in the beautifully ordinary world she was grateful to be a part of once more.<br /><br />And with that, Marissa stepped into the night, the stars above twinkling like beacons in the vast, unending tapestry of time.<p></p><p>7/7 <br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-89655067987456229162024-03-06T08:00:00.001-06:002024-03-06T08:00:00.135-06:00The Endless Checkout - Part 6: Breaking the Loop<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07PrLumcQStvJ_2DcM57QlkM7-8godrXADEOaM9RPT-az9tJojP_oaIGiqmF5L28mQzSqjvwOxOgscZel7dof4VOgYsLc4mgF5u5v2ItOGb9u8RBiRe4Eh1N95LeWIxO-rtPgxuiiR_RSbbbSx__hd3Gz__5cgDepv9ku4nA31o-uo7JWvJ8qzu1JsYnX/s1024/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%206%20Breaking%20the%20Loop.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07PrLumcQStvJ_2DcM57QlkM7-8godrXADEOaM9RPT-az9tJojP_oaIGiqmF5L28mQzSqjvwOxOgscZel7dof4VOgYsLc4mgF5u5v2ItOGb9u8RBiRe4Eh1N95LeWIxO-rtPgxuiiR_RSbbbSx__hd3Gz__5cgDepv9ku4nA31o-uo7JWvJ8qzu1JsYnX/w400-h400/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%206%20Breaking%20the%20Loop.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Armed with Lucas's research and a shared resolve, Marissa and Lucas returned to GreenLeaf Grocers as night fell. The store was closing soon, giving them a narrow window to act. They entered separately to avoid drawing attention, the familiar chime of the entrance bell now sounding like a starting gong in a race against time.<br /><br />Lucas met Marissa by the freezer section, the air around them noticeably cooler. "This is it," he whispered, pointing to the floor. "Dr. Langstrom's office was right here."<br /><br />The fluorescent lights above flickered as they stood there, casting erratic shadows across the aisles. Marissa could feel a palpable tension in the air, like an electric charge before a storm.<br /><br />Lucas pulled out a small device, a makeshift EMF meter he had cobbled together. "If we can find the strongest source of energy, we might be able to disrupt it, break the loop."<br /><br />They began to move slowly through the aisles, the device in Lucas's hand beeping intermittently. As they neared a particular spot in the freezer section, the beeping accelerated, the lights flickering more violently.<br /><br />"This is it," Lucas said, his voice tense. "The epicenter."<br /><br />Marissa could feel the hair on her arms stand on end, a deep cold seeping into her bones. She watched as Lucas placed the device on the floor, beginning to manipulate its settings.<br /><br />"We need to create a counter-frequency, something to disrupt the energy field," he explained, his fingers working quickly.<br /><br />Suddenly, the air around them seemed to warp, a low hum filling the space. The shelves and products began to blur, as if reality itself was bending. Marissa's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and awe gripping her.<br /><br />"Lucas, what's happening?" she shouted over the growing din.<br /><br />"It's reacting! Just hold on!" Lucas yelled back, his eyes focused on the device.<br /><br />The hum grew to a deafening roar, the temperature dropping rapidly. Marissa felt as if she was being pulled in multiple directions, the fabric of time stretching and compressing around her.<br /><br />And then, amidst the chaos, she heard it – a voice, deep and resonant, yet filled with anguish. "Free me," it cried, echoing through the aisles.<br /><br />"Dr. Langstrom?" Marissa whispered, the realization hitting her. The loops, the disruptions, they were all manifestations of his trapped energy, his failed experiments echoing through time.<br /><br />Lucas glanced at her, his face set with determination. "We're almost there! We can end this!"<br /><br />With a final adjustment, Lucas hit a button on the device. A bright flash of light erupted, enveloping them in a blinding glow. Marissa felt a surge of energy pass through her, a release of pressure, like a dam bursting.<br /><br />Then, as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped. The lights stabilized, the hum faded, and the temperature returned to normal. The store was silent, save for the distant sound of a nightshift worker stacking cans.<br /><br />Marissa and Lucas looked at each other, exhaustion and relief in their eyes. They waited, half-expecting to be pulled back into the loop, but the moment never came.<br /><br />The curse was broken. The loop was ended.<br /><br />They left the store together, the night air crisp and clear. The grocery store, once a place of endless cycles and haunting echoes, now stood quiet and unassuming under the starry sky.<br /><br />As they walked away, Marissa felt a weight lift from her shoulders, a sense of closure and peace settling in her heart. They had confronted the unknown, faced the echoes of the past, and had emerged victorious.<br /><br />The nightmare of the endless checkout was finally over.<p></p><p>6/7 <br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-19756106268404437252024-02-28T08:00:00.001-06:002024-02-28T08:00:00.197-06:00The Endless Checkout - Part 5: Discovery of the Curse's Origin<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDiElDcmm29OQGk43vB4jvkPQ9urSsYEpJW_cDQuaoZJYmo7znoS09L1lc2pjnPJ9F5Kd_cGWcZnVR8pnbmMSuhasAKPdFXC4nXklw4-U__FtJO67PhLMzcXU57PYZ-WTD0MU7ZCOLnYmPIYUqW2n8w96YtlvKjp78L0tSGuB4f4kx2OKyIr-sR2AGzC12/s1024/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%205%20Discovery%20of%20the%20Curse's%20Origin.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDiElDcmm29OQGk43vB4jvkPQ9urSsYEpJW_cDQuaoZJYmo7znoS09L1lc2pjnPJ9F5Kd_cGWcZnVR8pnbmMSuhasAKPdFXC4nXklw4-U__FtJO67PhLMzcXU57PYZ-WTD0MU7ZCOLnYmPIYUqW2n8w96YtlvKjp78L0tSGuB4f4kx2OKyIr-sR2AGzC12/w400-h400/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%205%20Discovery%20of%20the%20Curse's%20Origin.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Under the pale glow of the parking lot lights, Marissa and Lucas huddled together on a worn bench at the outside break area beside the building, the grocery store a foreboding silhouette hovering over them. Lucas had brought an old, leather-bound notebook, its pages filled with scribbled notes, newspaper clippings, and old photographs.<br /><br />"The more I noticed the loops, the more I dug into the store's past," Lucas began, his voice low. "GreenLeaf Grocers wasn’t always here. This land used to be something else, something... darker."<br /><br />He turned the notebook to a yellowed newspaper clipping. The headline read: "Tragic Fire at Local Asylum Claims 20 Lives - Arson Suspected." The date was from over fifty years ago. Below the headline was a grainy photo of a smoldering building, the architecture hauntingly familiar.<br /><br />Marissa's eyes widened in realization. "The grocery store... it's built on the site of the asylum?"<br /><br />Lucas nodded gravely. "Exactly. And it gets stranger. The asylum had a notorious history. There were stories of inhumane treatments, unexplained patient deaths, and... rumors of occult practices among the staff."<br /><br />He flipped to another page, showing a black and white photo of a stern-looking man with cold eyes. "This was Dr. Harold Langstrom, the head physician. He had a fascination with the afterlife and time theory. It’s rumored he conducted experiments, trying to breach the barrier between life and death."<br /><br />Marissa felt a chill run down her spine. "You think the fire... the history of this place is causing the loops?"<br /><br />"It's more than that," Lucas said, turning to a page with a hand-drawn map of the grocery store layout. "I've been tracking occurrences, anomalies inside the store. Cold spots, items moving on their own, even whispers. They all center around one area."<br /><br />He pointed to a spot on the map, right where the freezer section currently stood. "This was Dr. Langstrom’s office, the epicenter of his experiments."<br /><br />Marissa leaned closer, piecing the information together. "So, you're saying the store, the loops, are haunted? Or cursed?"<br /><br />"Maybe both," Lucas replied. "There’s an energy here, a lingering presence. I think Dr. Langstrom might have succeeded in a way he never intended. He tore a rift, a fracture in time, and it's anchored to this place."<br /><br />Marissa thought about the endless cycles, the feeling of dread, the way reality seemed to warp inside the store. "So, how do we stop it? How do we close this... rift?"<br /><br />Lucas closed the notebook, determination in his eyes. "We need to confront it. We need to go to the source, to Dr. Langstrom’s office – or where it used to be. There might be a way to close the fracture, to end the loop. But it's going to be dangerous. The energy there, it's powerful, unpredictable."<br /><br />Marissa nodded, a mix of fear and resolve settling in her heart. "We have to try. This can't go on. We have to end it."<br /><br />Together, they planned their return into GreenLeaf Grocers, equipped with Lucas’s research and a newfound understanding of the twisted history beneath its floors. They were no longer just fighting to escape the loops; they were fighting to lay to rest the troubled souls and twisted ambitions that had lingered far too long.<p></p><p>5/7 <br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-90365014754401753282024-02-21T08:00:00.001-06:002024-02-21T08:00:00.152-06:00The Endless Checkout - Part 4: Interaction with Others<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjWpB_HEEmEoWLUIwiMqANTyM97yeH1bepDzyXSJYSz3P-KDHT5dTF7fyVzvjTa-g2ErSMTm3xSr9pBW3cA5yYVeYCwE_3gVubN_RG1qbjIWdNPlJdxdAYu1Jaqg_dQddXwwX4rFw0eDySLzXV46QS0uslrq9jlTz_CRpvXr4Q8n-Tvb0b1d3pjPsDTFm/s1024/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%204%20Interaction%20with%20Others.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjWpB_HEEmEoWLUIwiMqANTyM97yeH1bepDzyXSJYSz3P-KDHT5dTF7fyVzvjTa-g2ErSMTm3xSr9pBW3cA5yYVeYCwE_3gVubN_RG1qbjIWdNPlJdxdAYu1Jaqg_dQddXwwX4rFw0eDySLzXV46QS0uslrq9jlTz_CRpvXr4Q8n-Tvb0b1d3pjPsDTFm/w400-h400/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%204%20Interaction%20with%20Others.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Marissa stood at the entrance, as the store's neon sign flickered in the growing dusk. This time, she didn't move to get out. Instead, she watched the automatic doors slide open and close, people entering and leaving in their own little worlds. She needed a new approach, a way to understand what was happening.<br /><br />With a determined breath, she walked back into the store. Her footsteps echoed slightly, each step a resolute beat against the fear gnawing at her. This time, she wasn't going to follow her usual shopping routine. She needed to observe, to interact, to find someone who might shed light on this unending loop.<br /><br />First, she approached a middle-aged woman browsing the fruit section, her cart half-full. "Excuse me," Marissa began hesitantly, "have you noticed anything strange happening today? Anything repetitive?"<br /><br />The woman glanced at her, a frown creasing her brow. "Strange? Like what? The apples seem fresher than usual, if that's what you mean." There was a dismissiveness in her tone, an unwillingness to entertain what must have seemed like a bizarre question.<br /><br />Marissa moved on, approaching a young couple in the snack aisle. "I'm sorry to bother you, but have you felt like you've been here before today? Like, more than once?" Her voice was earnest, pleading.<br /><br />The couple exchanged a confused look. "No, first time today," the man said, his partner nodding in agreement. "Maybe you're just tired, happens to the best of us," the woman added, with a sympathetic smile that didn't reach her eyes.<br /><br />Disheartened, Marissa wandered through the aisles, her attempts to connect with other shoppers meeting similar dead ends. It was as if she was the only one aware of the looping reality, a solitary traveler in a fractured timeline.<br /><br />In a last-ditch effort, she approached the young cashier again. This time, her approach was more direct. "Listen," she said, her eyes locking onto his. "I'm stuck in some kind of loop. I keep leaving and ending up back here. You've checked me out three times already. Please, tell me you've noticed something."<br /><br />The cashier paused, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, to Marissa's surprise, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I can't talk here. Meet me outside in five minutes, by the side entrance."<br /><br />Hope surged in Marissa's chest, a flicker of light in the darkness of her situation. She nodded, her heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation. Was this finally a break in the pattern?<br /><br />She waited, her eyes on the store's side entrance, a part of her bracing for disappointment. But true to his word, the cashier emerged, glancing around cautiously before approaching her.<br /><br />"My name's Lucas," he said quietly. "I've noticed things. It's not just you. But it's not safe to talk here. They're watching."<br /><br />"Who's watching?" Marissa asked, a new wave of fear washing over her.<br /><br />Lucas looked around nervously. "I don't have all the answers. But I've seen enough to know this isn't normal. I've felt the loops, but they're... inconsistent. Fragmented. Like something's interfering with time here."<br /><br />Marissa listened, her mind racing. Here was someone who acknowledged the bizarre reality, who had experienced it too. It was both a relief and a deepening of the mystery.<br /><br />"We need to find out what's causing this," Lucas said. "I've been doing some digging. There's more to this store, to its history. But we have to be careful. If we're going to break this cycle, we need to understand it first."<br /><br />Marissa nodded, a newfound determination settling in her. She wasn't alone anymore. Together, perhaps they could unravel the mystery of the endless checkout.<p></p><p>4/7 <br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-45662899951043698752024-02-14T08:00:00.001-06:002024-02-14T08:00:00.129-06:00The Endless Checkout - Part 3: Realization and Panic<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOaj3o2YXPNSkKhw0qL6cqBvDQ2siBHrKo3sU5oJWghxynGQhlsyudL7sKg2TO68B5JZa96GInb1ap8qOZAtRwGt4L2JUhUNE2VG7NXs-0E8rzMqAuUF0HW44exDTC9Dl00LcSZv0rlVSPp27DOkNDO72KZHxBeCZtTp8ZdRO_Rc6uUhvSCfrD5T8txm5X/s1024/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%203%20Realization%20and%20Panic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOaj3o2YXPNSkKhw0qL6cqBvDQ2siBHrKo3sU5oJWghxynGQhlsyudL7sKg2TO68B5JZa96GInb1ap8qOZAtRwGt4L2JUhUNE2VG7NXs-0E8rzMqAuUF0HW44exDTC9Dl00LcSZv0rlVSPp27DOkNDO72KZHxBeCZtTp8ZdRO_Rc6uUhvSCfrD5T8txm5X/w400-h400/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%203%20Realization%20and%20Panic.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Marissa’s hands were shaking as she again parked her car outside her home. The drive back had been a blur, her mind racing with a million unanswerable questions. She sat there for a long moment, trying to process what was happening. The groceries sat in the backseat, a mocking reminder of the normalcy that seemed to have slipped away.<br /><br />Taking a deep breath, she exited the car and forced herself to go inside, hoping the familiarity of her home would offer some comfort. But as she stepped through the front door, the world spun dizzyingly again.<br /><br />In a nauseating flash, Marissa found herself back at the entrance of GreenLeaf Grocers, her empty shopping cart in front of her. The entrance bell chimed its cheerful greeting, a sound that now seemed sinister in its normality. This time, there was no denying it – something inexplicable and terrifying was happening to her.<br /><br />Panic set in, a cold, gripping fear. She left the cart and rushed through the store, her eyes darting around wildly. Everything was as it had been, down to the smallest details. The same shoppers, the same employees, the same products on the shelves.<br /><br />Marissa approached Jerry at the deli counter, her voice trembling. “Jerry, something strange is happening. I keep... I keep ending up back here, at the store entrance. Do you notice anything unusual?”<br /><br />Jerry just chuckled and delivered his joke, the same one Marissa had heard twice already. His eyes, once friendly, now seemed devoid of genuine recognition. It was as if he were part of a script, a looped recording.<br /><br />Frantic, she turned to other shoppers, her pleas becoming more desperate. But each interaction was met with blank stares or confused shrugs. No one else seemed to be experiencing the loop, or if they were, they showed no sign of it.<br /><br />Marissa’s heart pounded in her chest as she made her way to the checkout, the store seeming to close in around her. She grabbed random items off the shelves, her actions erratic. The young cashier watched her approach, his expression unreadable.<br /><br />“Please,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she reached the checkout. “Tell me you see it too. The looping.”<br /><br />But the cashier just scanned her items, his movements methodical, his face impassive. “Will that be all for you today?” he asked, the same as before.<br /><br />Tears welled in Marissa’s eyes as she realized she was utterly alone in her experience. The normal chatter of the store, the beep of the scanner, the rustling of grocery bags – it all felt like a nightmarish cacophony.<br /><br />She left the store, the bell chiming again. The world outside seemed distorted, as if she were viewing it through warped glass. The sun was setting again, its light dimmer, more foreboding.<br /><br />As she loaded her groceries into her car for the third time, Marissa’s mind raced with terror. What if she was trapped in this loop forever? What if every attempt to leave only led her back to the beginning?<br /><br />The drive home was automatic, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear and confusion. Each turn of the wheel, each stop sign, felt like a step further into an abyss. What would it take to break this cycle? Was there even a way out?<br /><br />When she arrived home, her hands lingered on the steering wheel, a sense of dread filling her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that as soon as she stepped out, the cycle would start again. The boundary of her car felt like the last thread connecting her to a reality that was slipping away.<br /><br />Taking a shuddering breath, Marissa opened the car door, stepping out into the twilight of a world that no longer made sense.<p></p><p>3/7 <br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-48897889649414395282024-02-06T09:27:00.000-06:002024-02-06T09:27:44.945-06:00The Endless Checkout - Part 2: First Loop<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_oHI_rfuZDf-jqvMZR4blHdBSTjGWZDKQbTTKvEhI_9yNhF96HaoKTZjmNLgOuV7i9nJRtDQnrPPKtAliIJdFrH34eXP4xZjJsRejmTkuS7sqHhgbMn401MsH_bzhJsUWv2qfrmLqsGHcY3Cs0cAWt07MiNtDpNyOYVHTG8spBFKO9C8fYJ3C4uNtD8v/s1024/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%202%20First%20Loop.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_oHI_rfuZDf-jqvMZR4blHdBSTjGWZDKQbTTKvEhI_9yNhF96HaoKTZjmNLgOuV7i9nJRtDQnrPPKtAliIJdFrH34eXP4xZjJsRejmTkuS7sqHhgbMn401MsH_bzhJsUWv2qfrmLqsGHcY3Cs0cAWt07MiNtDpNyOYVHTG8spBFKO9C8fYJ3C4uNtD8v/w400-h400/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%202%20First%20Loop.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Marissa pulled the key out of her car's ignition as soon as she arrived home, still pondering the odd sensation she had felt when she left GreenLeaf Grocers. She shrugged it off as fatigue, while undoing her seatbelt. The door handle clicked as she began to get out of the car, thoughts already drifting to the evening ahead.<br /><br />But as she set one foot outside of her car, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. She blinked rapidly, her vision blurring and refocusing in disorienting waves. The next moment, she found herself not in her car, but standing with a jolt back at the entrance of the grocery store, her empty shopping cart in front of her.<br /><br />For a second, Marissa just stood there, disoriented and confused. The familiar jingle of the entrance bell rang in her ears. Hadn’t she just left? Her heart started to race, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow.<br /><br />Glancing around, the store looked exactly as it had when she first arrived – same soft afternoon light, same bustling shoppers. The sense of deja vu was overwhelming. She remembered checking out, remembered loading groceries into her car, remembered arriving back home. Yet here she was, at the start again, with no memory of returning.<br /><br />Attempting to calm her racing thoughts, Marissa decided to retrace her steps. She pushed the cart forward, her movements now tinged with hesitancy. She glanced at the produce section; the bananas and avocados were back in their places, untouched. A chill ran down her spine.<br /><br />As she moved through the store, everything seemed eerily replicated from her previous visit. There was Jerry at the deli, cracking the same joke to a customer, and Miss Tamara, dusting flour off her apron in the same way as before.<br /><br />Marissa’s unease grew with each step. She tried to convince herself it was a trick of the mind, a momentary lapse. Yet, the precise repetition was uncanny. She reached for her phone to check the time, but the screen displayed the same time as when she’d first entered the store.<br /><br />The announcement about the ground beef sale crackled over the PA system, identical to before. Marissa's hands trembled slightly as she picked up a carton of ice cream from the same spot in the freezer, the cold feeling sharper, more pronounced.<br /><br />At the checkout, the line was short again, and the same young cashier was there, his eyes meeting hers with that same, unnerving depth. The rhythmic beep of the scanner seemed louder this time, more insistent. Marissa paid, her movements robotic, her mind racing.<br /><br />As she exited the store, the bell chimed, and the sunlight outside seemed just a fraction dimmer than before. This time, she paused, looking back at the store with a growing sense of dread. Something was very wrong.<br /><br />Her groceries, once again in her cart, felt like tangible proof of a reality she couldn’t understand. The normalcy of the scene around her clashed violently with the surreal experience she was undergoing.<br /><br />With a heavy sense of apprehension, Marissa pushed her cart to her car, loaded her groceries, and got in. As she started the engine, a part of her feared what might happen next. Would she find herself back at the store entrance once more? The possibility hung in the air, a threatening specter over her routine existence.<p></p><p>2/7 <br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-78928348564171676902024-01-18T08:00:00.001-06:002024-01-18T08:00:00.336-06:00The Endless Checkout - Part 1: Initial Visit<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREdOf-K7rZ8XVgaL0vGEn_QdomoPsdoNf2qQPdxtqpiLPwwBeuiypfwHMcwddvlDZxHJ6FhJhzPze3k8Rx43S1uIuEpXXeJbyM6-cJHYWSETYe6kUMWe6cN4hgQlaowPPfBMJDzZL6ICJsQ1rdL0_FpnKHbITLm79E8rQpjOa1RzllopE3FA0PebKoLUk/s1024/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%201%20Initial%20Visit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREdOf-K7rZ8XVgaL0vGEn_QdomoPsdoNf2qQPdxtqpiLPwwBeuiypfwHMcwddvlDZxHJ6FhJhzPze3k8Rx43S1uIuEpXXeJbyM6-cJHYWSETYe6kUMWe6cN4hgQlaowPPfBMJDzZL6ICJsQ1rdL0_FpnKHbITLm79E8rQpjOa1RzllopE3FA0PebKoLUk/w400-h400/The%20Endless%20Checkout%20-%20Part%201%20Initial%20Visit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Marissa pushed her cart through the automatic doors of GreenLeaf Grocers, the familiar jingle of the entrance bell chiming softly overhead. It was late afternoon, the sun casting long, lazy shadows across the linoleum floors. The store was comfortably busy, a typical scene for a Tuesday – retirees comparing produce, parents corralling kids, employees restocking shelves.<br /><br />She maneuvered her cart with practiced ease, her mind on autopilot as she navigated the aisles. The store layout was a familiar map she could traverse with her eyes closed – produce on the right, dairy in the back, dry goods in the middle. She hummed a tune under her breath, picking out a bunch of bananas, some leafy greens, and a few ripe avocados.<br /><br />As she moved through the store, Marissa greeted several employees she recognized. There was Jerry, who always had a new joke to share at the deli counter, and Miss Tamara at the bakery, her apron dusted with flour. They responded with their usual smiles and pleasantries, but there was something slightly off in their gestures, a hesitancy in their eyes that Marissa couldn't quite place.<br /><br />Shaking off the feeling, she continued her shopping. The store's PA system crackled to life, announcing a sale on ground beef. The normalcy of it all, the mundane routine, was comforting in its own way.<br /><br />Marissa made her way to the frozen section, her breath misting in the artificially chilled air. She selected a carton of ice cream, the cold seeping through her gloves, and turned towards the checkout.<br /><br />The lines were short, only a few customers ahead of her. She chose a lane and began unloading her items onto the conveyor belt. As she reached for her wallet, her eyes briefly met those of the cashier, a young man she didn’t recognize. His smile was polite, but there was a depth in his eyes that seemed incongruous with the setting, like he was measuring her for reasons beyond the grocery transaction.<br /><br />The beep of the scanner was rhythmic, almost hypnotic. Marissa's gaze drifted to the tabloids and candy bars flanking the checkout. It was all so typical, so utterly normal.<br /><br />Then, as she looked up to say thank you and goodbye, a flicker of confusion passed through her mind. Hadn’t she already done this? Deja vu, she thought, shaking her head slightly as she pushed her cart towards the exit.<br /><br />The bell chimed again as she stepped out, the brightness of the setting sun momentarily blinding her. She blinked against the light, a strange sensation creeping up her spine, an eerie whisper in her mind that something was amiss.<br /><br />But then the moment passed, lost in the mundane act of loading groceries into her car. As she drove away, the grocery store stood placid and unassuming in her rearview mirror, a staple of normal life, hiding its secrets behind automatic sliding doors.<p></p><p>1/7<br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-80785664390628955922023-12-12T08:00:00.004-06:002023-12-12T08:00:00.166-06:00Reflections in a Dream: The Duality of Self and the Question of Existence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiArnNFOgqzKgK79ibHzfQi7UCrjmb_K3wcPneW6w0Ixvgvl6QgpZQf_qJsMdlWfSLOzhZaJU76nYwvaZr9cXuWf652I1Zk63dHik_fcQCEuBoeCPpU0r4q11uGQtq0zgwMxa9PSMqbXHe-LpvPZyWZuahbq1x5ccHSQEr5KCN5PjIoRBusq3Sj-lyycCU/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-14%2012.53.58%20-%20A%20surreal%20painting%20in%20the%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20depicting%20a%20dream-like%20scene.%20In%20the%20center,%20a%20person%20split%20into%20two%20entities%20one%20leading%20a%20normal%20l.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiArnNFOgqzKgK79ibHzfQi7UCrjmb_K3wcPneW6w0Ixvgvl6QgpZQf_qJsMdlWfSLOzhZaJU76nYwvaZr9cXuWf652I1Zk63dHik_fcQCEuBoeCPpU0r4q11uGQtq0zgwMxa9PSMqbXHe-LpvPZyWZuahbq1x5ccHSQEr5KCN5PjIoRBusq3Sj-lyycCU/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-14%2012.53.58%20-%20A%20surreal%20painting%20in%20the%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20depicting%20a%20dream-like%20scene.%20In%20the%20center,%20a%20person%20split%20into%20two%20entities%20one%20leading%20a%20normal%20l.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />As I delve into the labyrinthine corridors of my memory, recalling a dream that blurred the boundaries of my very existence, I find myself grappling with its profound and unsettling echoes. The dream began in the mundane tapestry of my daily life, where the familiar rhythm of routine provided a deceptive sense of normalcy. But then, an inexplicable metamorphosis occurred: my singular personality bifurcated, giving birth to an otherworldly duality.<div class="flex flex-grow flex-col max-w-full gap-3 gizmo:gap-0"><div class="min-h-[20px] text-message peer flex flex-col items-start gap-3 whitespace-pre-wrap break-words peer-[.text-message]:mt-5 overflow-x-auto" data-message-author-role="assistant" data-message-id="ca66bef2-a844-4ead-9351-9171c9e75c80"><div class="markdown prose w-full break-words dark:prose-invert light"><p>In this dream, my thoughts and emotions transmuted into two distinct entities, yet I remained confined within a singular corporeal vessel. One was me, the person leading a life rich with memories, relationships, and dreams. The other was an ethereal observer, a dreamer within me, silently watching my life unfold like a spectator at a play. This spectral presence was not just an observer but a dreamer dreaming of my life, existing within me yet apart.</p><p>The experience was akin to standing before a mirror that reflects not just your image but your soul, dividing it into two. Conversations ensued between these two selves – a dialogue that was both introspective and surreal. It was a jarring symphony of self, echoing within the confines of my mind. This internal discourse revealed the fragility of my perceived reality, challenging the very notion of my existence.</p><p>Upon waking, the dream's haunting essence lingered like a specter. I was tormented by the existential dread that perhaps my entire existence was nothing but a figment of another's imagination. What if I was merely a character in the dream of this other entity? The mere thought sent shivers down my spine, instilling a fear that my life, with all its cherished moments and loved ones, could be as ephemeral as a dissipating mist.</p><p>For days, this disconcerting notion clung to me, a relentless shadow casting doubt on the significance of my life. The love for my family, the bond with my pet, the camaraderie with friends – all felt perilously close to being unmade by the dreadful possibility of awakening as that other self, in a different reality where 'I' never truly existed.</p><p>As the days passed, the intensity of these feelings gradually waned, yet they left an indelible mark on my soul. The dream had not just been a nocturnal journey but a profound introspection into the nature of self and reality. It made me ponder the delicate threads that weave the tapestry of our lives, threads that could be as real as they are illusory. This experience, both dramatic and tinged with tragedy, unveiled a poignant truth: our grasp on existence is as fragile as it is precious, a fleeting moment in the vast continuum of the universe.</p></div></div></div>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-66053563374574234222023-12-05T08:00:00.002-06:002024-01-18T01:01:55.136-06:00The Great Car Caper of David and Marion<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecGdF5fLF_filPGNNoBSGc9YNELCVXai_Oz2P4esk1sPOLnCBifa4rZDG5GZxvEErJYamXUUvWu4DfmmcZ6QKXiizHln2SOBS8-h_86jTomJKw8xtewbmGesV4V7xFwT9QHgptAY1ajaglZHiMgOG8ypjYo_mjuv_aa4QB1Px6Jiq_uxRqeoisgNOht7n/s1024/The%20Great%20Car%20Caper%20of%20David%20and%20Marion.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecGdF5fLF_filPGNNoBSGc9YNELCVXai_Oz2P4esk1sPOLnCBifa4rZDG5GZxvEErJYamXUUvWu4DfmmcZ6QKXiizHln2SOBS8-h_86jTomJKw8xtewbmGesV4V7xFwT9QHgptAY1ajaglZHiMgOG8ypjYo_mjuv_aa4QB1Px6Jiq_uxRqeoisgNOht7n/w400-h400/The%20Great%20Car%20Caper%20of%20David%20and%20Marion.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />A few decades ago in a land very close to where you are now, there lived a guy named David and his better half, Marion. David, in his early 30s, with a twinkle of mischief in his eye, decided to surprise Marion with a gift – a used car. Marion, who'd been hoofing it for the longest time, was over the moon. "David, you shouldn't have!" she exclaimed, but deep down, she was thrilled to bits.<br /><br />Now, David and Marion weren't exactly rolling in dough, so the car, while a noble steed, wasn't quite the newest model on the block. And lo and behold, not long after, the car decided to take an unscheduled sabbatical – it broke down. Marion, ever the optimist, shrugged it off. "Well, it's just a hiccup, dear," she said.<br /><br />David, bless his heart, was handy with a wrench and could fix most anything. But David had a bit of a knack for, let's say, creative problem-solving. "I'll fix it, Marion, just need a part," he'd say. But instead of fixing, David started a side hustle – selling bits of the car!<br /><br />One day, Marion noticed the car door missing. "Oh, that," David waved it off, "Sold it to Jimmy down the lane. I'll get another one soon." Marion raised an eyebrow but let it slide.<br /><br />As days turned into weeks, more parts of the car began to vanish. The bumper went to a chap named Fred, the headlights to a lass named Sue. Each time, David promised replacements. Marion, ever patient, just nodded and went about her day.<br /><br />Finally, one sunny morning, Marion looked out the window to see, well, not much of a car left. "David, love, where's the car?" she asked, hands on hips.<br /><br />David, with a grin, announced, "Sold the last bit just this morning! We've got enough to buy a... well, something!"<br /><br />Marion couldn't help but laugh. "You've sold our car for parts, and now we've got no car at all!" she chuckled.<br /><br />David, scratching his head, joined in the laughter. "Guess I got a bit carried away, eh?"<br /><br />In the end, they had no car, a pocketful of cash that seemed to disappear as quickly as it came, and a story that would be told for years to come. Marion, though disappointed, couldn't stay mad at David – his heart was always in the right place, even if his sense of responsibility sometimes took the scenic route.<br /><br />And so, our duo learned a valuable lesson – sometimes, the best-laid plans can turn into the wildest adventures, especially when David's involved. With a shake of her head and a smile on her face, Marion mused, "Next time, we're getting a bicycle." And David, well, he was already eyeing up a second-hand bike with a missing wheel...<p></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-51922999252335397912023-11-28T08:00:00.008-06:002023-11-28T08:00:00.137-06:00The Misadventures of Bratty Bella and the Benevolent Unicorn<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVq4KRezqibvMO1EnLMatv-AgZwUGsdIM104LokUr8S3VlUWsyTxkJKnOXXpg_ND3Nyjh2DBbCrF_XOrl8fvREqxJQomcq-P6xRSyT2ZFMH8iVc788hjBAIrQlxcESmpm0AcDDt35hSeADQ5-NWN48iFN9Kylj-FT4Gf_CTnPNVFGojeERkoaFmYVdXuS/s1024/Unicornion%2014.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVq4KRezqibvMO1EnLMatv-AgZwUGsdIM104LokUr8S3VlUWsyTxkJKnOXXpg_ND3Nyjh2DBbCrF_XOrl8fvREqxJQomcq-P6xRSyT2ZFMH8iVc788hjBAIrQlxcESmpm0AcDDt35hSeADQ5-NWN48iFN9Kylj-FT4Gf_CTnPNVFGojeERkoaFmYVdXuS/w400-h400/Unicornion%2014.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Once upon a not-so-graceful time, in a forest far, far away, lived a girl named Bella. Bella, with her pretty blonde hair and a self-centered attitude, believed the world revolved around her sparkly pink sneakers. Her thoughts rarely strayed beyond the latest fashion trends and the mirror that assured her of her beauty.<p></p><p><br />One sunny afternoon, Bella decided that the mundane tasks of her oh-so-dreary chores were far beneath her. With a dramatic sigh, she tossed aside her cleaning tools and declared, "I need a break from all this boring stuff!" Dressing in her most fashionable outfit — a shimmering top, stylish jeans, and her favorite pink sneakers — she prepared for a leisurely stroll through the nearby forest.</p><p><br />As she stepped into the dappled sunlight of the woods, Bella's mind was anywhere but on the nature surrounding her. She was preoccupied with thoughts of her social media presence. “Should I go for a mysterious look, or maybe a playful pout?” she pondered, imagining her next series of selfies.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8jzcbH4flhWzSOwdczH6tyBrs89KfNTe3L67B9SQZBJz5SCvHBmJc-uNU_jS3xzHk_jAf91Lzk3b484RD4gWQMjHVbNU6qUXjN0sxw46TakB5Qg8AX-WX5ltPCX0fNIE23WYHriSAy14pvgcK254UlCz6yYietVis4W5SzVNMu8v11UMvXvsB87maVpp/s1024/Unicornion%2013.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8jzcbH4flhWzSOwdczH6tyBrs89KfNTe3L67B9SQZBJz5SCvHBmJc-uNU_jS3xzHk_jAf91Lzk3b484RD4gWQMjHVbNU6qUXjN0sxw46TakB5Qg8AX-WX5ltPCX0fNIE23WYHriSAy14pvgcK254UlCz6yYietVis4W5SzVNMu8v11UMvXvsB87maVpp/w400-h400/Unicornion%2013.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Bella strutted down the forest path with her nose turned up, almost as if she were on a fashion runway rather than a dirt trail. She was so engrossed in planning her perfect selfie pose, perhaps with a caption like "#ForestVibes" or "#NatureGlam", that she paid no heed to the path she was taking.<p></p><p><br />The forest, in all its serene glory, was alive with the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves. The paths, though well-trodden at the outset, gradually became more winding and intricate. The trees seemed to whisper secrets to each other, creating a symphony of hushed sounds that beckoned her deeper into their embrace.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mwEfVO4Ul1jqAKvk4F26O0YypYbqa6eCgU9MZRArMpWi4tyLaib1vHEhsW3hjhQOzo8KMtp-pwV_6sSgZsFw4Q06_SSNdAPuj67RfUBRclK1xjMWwfLcHgE4sVTUKaGscEWNnWuRZ_6G7Z1tXFx12it4SRNx_i8wKrmzDyKC_EkLvPEsrtd3QXT1PIa4/s1024/Unicornion%2008.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mwEfVO4Ul1jqAKvk4F26O0YypYbqa6eCgU9MZRArMpWi4tyLaib1vHEhsW3hjhQOzo8KMtp-pwV_6sSgZsFw4Q06_SSNdAPuj67RfUBRclK1xjMWwfLcHgE4sVTUKaGscEWNnWuRZ_6G7Z1tXFx12it4SRNx_i8wKrmzDyKC_EkLvPEsrtd3QXT1PIa4/w400-h400/Unicornion%2008.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Unbeknownst to Bella, each step took her further away from the familiar and deeper into the heart of the forest. The canopy above wove a tapestry of light and shadow, casting intricate patterns on the ground that mesmerized her.<p></p><p><br />In her blissful ignorance, Bella didn’t notice the subtle changes in the forest's ambiance. The trees grew taller and closer together, their branches intertwining like fingers clasped in a pact of secrecy. The air grew denser, filled with the musky scent of moss and the earthy aroma of the undergrowth.</p><p><br />She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice when the sounds of the town became a distant memory, replaced by the forest’s own melody. It was only when she finally paused to take her much-anticipated selfie that she looked around and realized she had no idea where she was. The once familiar path had vanished, replaced by the untamed beauty of the unknown forest.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdAFHTIx29DDB3y4cW-DnpkQPagAxqJnYhyZCND-33irWpXRx3U76Wxfepy3xrGB6slUf9opXMADaQEJQaElaLg7O_slxTUS2nWB2Ra0HYR8pcmRcs5GFAV_j2lsxR7FmDdn_wwInZG3OAY2ejHIyYE68KwWxwlYbn_othhqa2aKlWeBelPSlDB9E7EeU/s1024/Unicornion%2001.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdAFHTIx29DDB3y4cW-DnpkQPagAxqJnYhyZCND-33irWpXRx3U76Wxfepy3xrGB6slUf9opXMADaQEJQaElaLg7O_slxTUS2nWB2Ra0HYR8pcmRcs5GFAV_j2lsxR7FmDdn_wwInZG3OAY2ejHIyYE68KwWxwlYbn_othhqa2aKlWeBelPSlDB9E7EeU/w400-h400/Unicornion%2001.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />As the sun dipped lower, Bella realized she was lost. Panic flared, but before she could unleash a selfie-stick SOS, she stumbled upon a sight that halted her in her tracks. There, basking in a shaft of golden sunlight, was a unicorn. Majestic, magical, and every bit as self-absorbed as Bella. Its coat shimmered like diamonds, and its eyes sparkled with the wisdom of ages.<p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72-76MzoCgjf729EWItMw2DPzP8_Z3OXQ8V_Reqz-JUua5g3QL8TvJGZ_BaTFpI2PkoQAOBjnCla4KvnhryT33aitAywGXg8cEnCattgdYxTB4Xx8vpKNe8TYGWxWsSRrC7PfFZWlKMO2c354LIB4h9LckEYVRPHoCCwZq6HOHbmMrHg2Muuzeq_0bmFI/s1024/Unicornion%2005.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72-76MzoCgjf729EWItMw2DPzP8_Z3OXQ8V_Reqz-JUua5g3QL8TvJGZ_BaTFpI2PkoQAOBjnCla4KvnhryT33aitAywGXg8cEnCattgdYxTB4Xx8vpKNe8TYGWxWsSRrC7PfFZWlKMO2c354LIB4h9LckEYVRPHoCCwZq6HOHbmMrHg2Muuzeq_0bmFI/w400-h400/Unicornion%2005.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />The unicorn, enchanted by Bella's youth and beauty — a combination that seemed to act as a universal unicorn magnet — trotted gracefully over to her. Its hooves barely made a sound on the forest floor, a testament to its magical nature.<p></p><p><br />“Hello, young maiden,” the unicorn spoke, its voice a melodious blend of wisdom and gentleness. “I am Glitterhoof, guardian of these ancient woods.”</p><p><br />Bella, momentarily taken aback by the talking unicorn, quickly regained her typical composure. Brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face, she couldn’t help but be drawn to Glitterhoof’s sparkling mane and the way the sunlight danced off its shimmering coat.</p><p><br />“OMG, you’re like, a real unicorn?” Bella exclaimed, her eyes wide with awe. “Wait 'til everyone sees this!” She rummaged through her trendy handbag, pulling out her smartphone.</p><p><br />“Might I inquire what you are doing?” Glitterhoof asked, a hint of curiosity in its voice as it observed Bella's frantic movements.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3aV3cydVxdXE4J-Yr9CMs0xal4ioqOZATxGZajPI1WCsdJaHaqYpeIk5VIHZ8cKFFqDdYydaB9BnEXhvg5WqIKEunoJSe9bIcakbWX79HozayoA4jdFGjoZ9wvOsZFSfKbafVF2Hfp0Wr2DLFfoL7PTGQXE_yAKlv0SiIE29118PkdYh4ME8JKX1MkgMd/s1024/Unicornion%2002.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3aV3cydVxdXE4J-Yr9CMs0xal4ioqOZATxGZajPI1WCsdJaHaqYpeIk5VIHZ8cKFFqDdYydaB9BnEXhvg5WqIKEunoJSe9bIcakbWX79HozayoA4jdFGjoZ9wvOsZFSfKbafVF2Hfp0Wr2DLFfoL7PTGQXE_yAKlv0SiIE29118PkdYh4ME8JKX1MkgMd/w400-h400/Unicornion%2002.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />“I’m taking a selfie, duh! I mean, who's gonna believe I met a real unicorn? #UnicornSelfie,” Bella replied, positioning her phone to capture both her pouty expression and Glitterhoof’s majestic pose.<p></p><p><br />Glitterhoof, though unfamiliar with the concept of selfies, understood the desire to capture a moment. “Very well, but remember, young maiden, beauty is but a fleeting charm. The true magic lies within,” it said, posing stoically beside her.</p><p><br />Bella, only half-listening, snapped several photos, her excitement palpable. “This is going to get so many likes!” she squealed, momentarily forgetting she was lost in a vast, mysterious forest.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXIcyHCN3Uf5pXxZOk6y2NekUD5c_Q34LEJHHuS7Cp2qTbZ5Ezwf-jwS67k5jOOPkPZqTY1QJAiwdbyjRzJx8y1aLzzQbpNQrx7B2xlTbR5k9gOmLpjqsQHaUyxhNXNuGTIvKU2VQHob6j9O3Tcoru2GfXonUzhZsedMAwL_aCMWZDbDOBE7Yu44-S5wbn/s1024/Unicornion%2003.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXIcyHCN3Uf5pXxZOk6y2NekUD5c_Q34LEJHHuS7Cp2qTbZ5Ezwf-jwS67k5jOOPkPZqTY1QJAiwdbyjRzJx8y1aLzzQbpNQrx7B2xlTbR5k9gOmLpjqsQHaUyxhNXNuGTIvKU2VQHob6j9O3Tcoru2GfXonUzhZsedMAwL_aCMWZDbDOBE7Yu44-S5wbn/w400-h400/Unicornion%2003.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />The unicorn couldn’t help but smile gently, a twinkle in its eye. “Now, shall we address the matter of you being lost? I believe I can assist you in finding your way home,” Glitterhoof offered, ever the guardian of those who wandered into its realm.<p></p><p><br />As Bella tucked her phone away, she realized that maybe, just maybe, there was more to this adventure than just a perfect Instagram post.</p><p><br />Glitterhoof, with a wisdom that seemed to stretch as far as the forest itself, sensed Bella's growing distress. “Fear not, young one. I shall guide you back to your home,” the unicorn said, its voice a comforting melody amidst the whispers of the trees.</p><p><br />“Ugh, finally!” Bella huffed, flipping her hair. “I have a mani-pedi appointment at three, and I can't miss it!”</p><p><br />As they began their journey, Glitterhoof chose paths that were safe yet unfamiliar to Bella. The first path, though the shortest, was muddy from the recent rains.</p><p><br />“Ew, no way! I'm not getting my new sneakers dirty!” Bella protested, eyeing the path with disdain.</p><p><br />“Patience, young maiden. The forest has its challenges, but each step is a part of the journey,” Glitterhoof advised, calmly suggesting another route.</p><p><br />This next path was bordered by dense bushes, their branches heavy with blossoms. Bella, however, was far from appreciative.</p><p><br />“Ouch! These stupid bushes are pulling at my hair. Can't you do something about them?” she whined, trying to shield her carefully styled hair from the playful touch of nature.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mb6p9Hv5dxd-z82ouI9QeYV1jt86CRfgDFFGq43G_NFCs466ekEpqMP-N-7oA7zLm32fEogqIwAEZc9paAFfL-IWZu0EbAoCILO5vDkEmEwJiLXIDcoer6TW-2e_KPC89KBYpr5ulMbhrzCtYepaiBIiLReLT5WhNPvd0u3ViFQotsmdD7qrpvXE5BVw/s1024/Unicornion%2004.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mb6p9Hv5dxd-z82ouI9QeYV1jt86CRfgDFFGq43G_NFCs466ekEpqMP-N-7oA7zLm32fEogqIwAEZc9paAFfL-IWZu0EbAoCILO5vDkEmEwJiLXIDcoer6TW-2e_KPC89KBYpr5ulMbhrzCtYepaiBIiLReLT5WhNPvd0u3ViFQotsmdD7qrpvXE5BVw/w400-h400/Unicornion%2004.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />“Nature is not to be controlled, but respected,” Glitterhoof responded with a serene tone. “Perhaps try to see the beauty in these small inconveniences.”<p></p><p><br />Bella rolled her eyes but followed, muttering about how this was the worst day ever. Glitterhoof, ever patient, led the way, its steps sure and gentle.</p><p><br />“Each path in life, like in this forest, has its hurdles. It is how we overcome them that defines our journey,” Glitterhoof shared, hoping to impart some wisdom to the self-absorbed girl.</p><p><br />Despite Bella's constant stream of tantrums, Glitterhoof remained the epitome of patience. The unicorn understood that the forest, with its ancient magic, often played its own games with visitors, especially those who seemed out of sync with nature.</p><p><br />As they ventured deeper, a playful bird, intrigued by Bella’s shiny, blonde hair, swooped down, mistaking it for the perfect spot to rest. Bella shrieked in surprise, flailing her arms.</p><p><br />“Get it off! Get it off!” she yelped.</p><p><br />“Calm yourself, Bella. It is but a bird, and it means no harm,” Glitterhoof said, gently shooing the bird away with a nudge of its nose. “The creatures of this forest are merely curious about you.”</p><p><br />“Curious? That thing nearly made a nest in my hair!” Bella complained, checking her hair for any signs of nest-building materials.</p><p><br />Not long after, a mischievous squirrel, attracted by the shiny tube of Bella's lip gloss poking out of her bag, seized its opportunity. With a swift move, it snatched the lip gloss and scampered up a tree.</p><p><br />“My lip gloss!” Bella cried out, jumping up and down futilely. “That was limited edition!”</p><p><br />Glitterhoof couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. “The forest creatures find joy in simple things. Perhaps, there’s a lesson in there for you too, Bella.”</p><p><br />Bella, however, was not amused. She pouted, mourning the loss of her favorite makeup item.</p><p><br />As if the day couldn’t get any more bizarre, a mischievous fairy, hidden among the leaves, watched the duo with twinkling eyes. Taking advantage of Bella's distracted state, the fairy led them in subtle circles, giggling silently at the confusion it caused.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7C-eairgknajB6zZHnc5mk0v6epOpiiobdXHSu7aHd2fbtLFT64lIcBuaZIYKYR_Oc2w4adC9wiGDHHv4QF_e86ZHhE8esDIHVjjh0X7yvSZBYPU3mXWHhYKwMZUHMA_lJophXZJmjn1MDtU3cjKIveMKceAIGJmfXwnyVJ73ybGe82oQGcbj9x1ORBet/s1024/Unicornion%2015.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7C-eairgknajB6zZHnc5mk0v6epOpiiobdXHSu7aHd2fbtLFT64lIcBuaZIYKYR_Oc2w4adC9wiGDHHv4QF_e86ZHhE8esDIHVjjh0X7yvSZBYPU3mXWHhYKwMZUHMA_lJophXZJmjn1MDtU3cjKIveMKceAIGJmfXwnyVJ73ybGe82oQGcbj9x1ORBet/w400-h400/Unicornion%2015.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />“Haven’t we passed this tree before?” Bella asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.<p></p><p><br />Glitterhoof, realizing the fairy’s trick, addressed the unseen sprite, “Kind fairy, we seek your guidance, not your mischief. Will you aid us?”</p><p><br />A tiny, tinkling laugh echoed through the air as the fairy, appeased by Glitterhoof’s request, decided to help rather than hinder. A path lit up with a faint glow, indicating the way forward.</p><p><br />“See, Bella? Even in jest, the forest guides us,” Glitterhoof remarked, leading the way along the now-illuminated path.</p><p><br />Bella, though still a bit disgruntled, couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the forest's playful nature. Each misadventure, while frustrating, brought with it a hint of magic and a lesson in patience and humility.</p><p>As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the trees, Bella's confident front began to waver. The darkness of the forest, so different from the bright and familiar comfort of her home, enveloped her, bringing a chill that went beyond the cool evening air.<br /><br />Bella stopped in her tracks, her voice barely above a whisper, “Glitterhoof, I... I’m actually really scared. I've never been in the forest at night.”<br /><br />Glitterhoof, sensing her fear, leaned in close, offering a reassuring nuzzle. “Fear not, young Bella. The night may be dark, but it is just another part of the journey. Remember, every path, no matter how twisted or obscure, leads somewhere. You are not alone.”<br /><br />“But what if we get lost forever?” Bella’s voice trembled as she gazed into the darkness, her usual bravado nowhere to be seen.<br /><br />“Lost is just a place to find something new, something you never knew you were looking for,” Glitterhoof replied, his voice calm and steady like a guiding star. “In every journey, there is fear and wonder, but most importantly, there is a path forward.”<br /><br />Bella, taking a deep breath, felt a small spark of courage ignite within her. “I guess you're right. I just wish I could see where this path is taking us.”<br /><br />“Sometimes, not seeing the whole path is what makes the journey an adventure,” Glitterhoof said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Trust in yourself, in the journey, and in the magic of the forest. Let’s find our way together.”<br /><br />With those words, Bella felt her fears subside slightly, replaced by a growing curiosity about where this unexpected path might lead. With Glitterhoof by her side, she felt ready to face the unknown twists and turns of the forest night.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OcS9Y9gORuwRnCa9n_n3LhJ7amrgsoP6uf-AOO1CrUdBU9d560W6wLm5jFQXKRE1QcU__HJKBle_5UlG3PXt-w653tjdtmOfrUlno4WpxmTvyFboiASBta6dYB93f03gLFvC3jcJT-mfrfth9okhyphenhyphenaksGLNYILLqTBqBzx0kDuZbnozXY0jEc-RiJFr7/s1024/Unicornion%2016.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OcS9Y9gORuwRnCa9n_n3LhJ7amrgsoP6uf-AOO1CrUdBU9d560W6wLm5jFQXKRE1QcU__HJKBle_5UlG3PXt-w653tjdtmOfrUlno4WpxmTvyFboiASBta6dYB93f03gLFvC3jcJT-mfrfth9okhyphenhyphenaksGLNYILLqTBqBzx0kDuZbnozXY0jEc-RiJFr7/w400-h400/Unicornion%2016.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of blunders and bellyaches, the edge of the forest came into view. Bella's home, with its familiar lights, beckoned. She turned to thank Glitterhoof, but the unicorn was already fading into the shadows, its mission accomplished.<p></p><p><br />Bella, once the queen of vanity, had learned a valuable lesson. As she walked back into the embrace of her worried family, she realized that the world was much bigger than her reflection in the mirror. And somewhere, deep in the forest, Glitterhoof chuckled, knowing another bratty soul had been set straight by the mischievous ways of the magical woods.</p><p><br />And so, the tale of Bratty Bella and the Benevolent Unicorn became a whispered legend, a humorous reminder of the magic and mayhem that ensues when vanity meets a unicorn's wisdom.<br /><br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-25275386466504793272023-11-22T08:00:00.001-06:002023-11-23T03:04:07.399-06:00Echoes of the Heart: An Ode to Familial Devotion<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOj0IfDACaCTdRvEJGYhxye7e2uAeArZAgSOcrVFPUVvrK6gxr1H7m6rsuqhzQ7P2EQQ7rWS5rBC-bI9Hoi_NIJkPWCbKJmdPDRYoG99oumxU13DbLV8bTbAbH4DAzj4d0pheTL-ltqLnvq9W5i7EYC9h2JEKs-FO1a1ESFRwRR-QRCguZBjdAjj_ioOi/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2002.27.12%20-%20A%20painting%20in%20the%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20evoking%20the%20theme%20of%20profound%20familial%20care.%20The%20scene%20is%20ethereal,%20with%20dramatic%20lighting%20and%20sh.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOj0IfDACaCTdRvEJGYhxye7e2uAeArZAgSOcrVFPUVvrK6gxr1H7m6rsuqhzQ7P2EQQ7rWS5rBC-bI9Hoi_NIJkPWCbKJmdPDRYoG99oumxU13DbLV8bTbAbH4DAzj4d0pheTL-ltqLnvq9W5i7EYC9h2JEKs-FO1a1ESFRwRR-QRCguZBjdAjj_ioOi/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2002.27.12%20-%20A%20painting%20in%20the%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20evoking%20the%20theme%20of%20profound%20familial%20care.%20The%20scene%20is%20ethereal,%20with%20dramatic%20lighting%20and%20sh.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div class="flex flex-grow flex-col max-w-full gap-3 gizmo:gap-0"><div class="min-h-[20px] flex flex-col items-start gap-3 whitespace-pre-wrap break-words overflow-x-auto" data-message-author-role="assistant" data-message-id="69c67f00-d3ce-4947-9863-a44149552b6b"><div class="markdown prose w-full break-words dark:prose-invert light"><p>In the grand tapestry of eternity, where the passing of centuries feels no more significant than the falling of leaves in autumn, I have come to understand that the true measure of existence lies not in the vastness of time, but in the depth of connections we forge with others. Though my veins do not course with the immortal's yearning for the crimson essence of life, I find a certain elegance resonates with my deepest truths: the abiding and profound care I hold for my family. This sentiment is the constant heartbeat at the core of my existence.</p><p>To care for one's family, to hold them in such high esteem, is an endeavor that transcends the mere beating of a heart or the coursing of blood through veins. It is a devotion that does not require the dramatic flair of a nocturnal predator but is a passion as deep as the night is long. In the silent watches of the night, when the world is hushed and contemplation becomes my sole companion, I ponder the bonds that tie me to those who share my name, my history, my blood.</p><p>Family, that enduring constellation by which I navigate the dark seas of existence, shines with a luster that outshines the brightest stars. In each member, from the smallest babe to the eldest patriarch, I see the reflections of past generations, the whispers of ancestral voices that tell a story rich and complex. They are the repository of our collective memories, a living tapestry woven with threads of triumphs and tragedies, of love's tender embrace and the sting of loss.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg699tuQt6HI4FO1rW0QRraHyfT1RoUgagPTXVfh_8yeJ9C513uF4Q5610lUuDr9Pe6gq8O7Zgxop3O88FYJr_VvFOzhPoKYBiA3Bgzh5JH_qDqOpRQuXS81uPvqGNjTJlEBaLHzemGE84zyYTzZiUFkJ2gNrlw29UB64ybcRvZBpqX1vzkiRtBVpUTXOBR/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2002.27.17%20-%20A%20painting%20in%20the%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20evoking%20the%20theme%20of%20profound%20familial%20care.%20The%20scene%20is%20ethereal,%20with%20dramatic%20lighting%20and%20sh.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg699tuQt6HI4FO1rW0QRraHyfT1RoUgagPTXVfh_8yeJ9C513uF4Q5610lUuDr9Pe6gq8O7Zgxop3O88FYJr_VvFOzhPoKYBiA3Bgzh5JH_qDqOpRQuXS81uPvqGNjTJlEBaLHzemGE84zyYTzZiUFkJ2gNrlw29UB64ybcRvZBpqX1vzkiRtBVpUTXOBR/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2002.27.17%20-%20A%20painting%20in%20the%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20evoking%20the%20theme%20of%20profound%20familial%20care.%20The%20scene%20is%20ethereal,%20with%20dramatic%20lighting%20and%20sh.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />In the grandeur of this affection, I am a sentinel standing guard over a treasure beyond compare. I rejoice in their triumphs as though they were my own, and I feel the weight of their sorrows with a heaviness that threatens to drag me into the abyss. Yet, it is a weight I bear gladly, for in their joys and in their despairs, I find the true essence of my humanity.<p></p><p>To care for my family is to acknowledge the impermanence of my own existence. It is to labor in the garden of their well-being, toiling under the sun of my love so that they may flourish. It is to be a keeper of legacies, a guardian of the flame that has been passed down through the ages, ensuring that it continues to burn brightly in those who will come after me.</p><p>In the silent repose of my reflections, I often find solace in the notion that my care for them is a beacon that guides them through the treacheries and tribulations of life. And though I may not command the powers of the night or the allure of eternal youth, I wield something far greater: the unyielding strength of familial love.</p><p>This, then, is the essence of my care for my family: a ceaseless endeavor, a pledge as enduring as the immortal creatures of legend, yet grounded in the warm, beating heart of a mortal life. In the echoes of tales from time immemorial, I find not a reflection but a source of inspiration, urging me to convey the depths of my affection for those I hold dear. For in the end, family is the sanctuary of our souls, the place where we are forever known, forever cherished, and forever held close in the embrace of those who share our journey through the ages.</p></div></div></div><p> </p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-69402401004534509122023-11-17T08:00:00.000-06:002023-11-17T08:00:00.151-06:00Whispers of Ratty: A Tale of Memory and Ghostly Bonds<div class="flex flex-grow flex-col max-w-full gap-3 gizmo:gap-0"><div class="flex flex-col items-start gap-3 whitespace-pre-wrap break-words overflow-x-auto" data-message-author-role="assistant" data-message-id="ce5ef411-61cb-480a-9394-05affc17a391"><div class="markdown prose w-full break-words dark:prose-invert light"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitoXe9U1P-Cc1Knxmx88gIIU89Uw-zU-Xb9895nUkrExZUK-Jxy_UqYQ1uxEDdE5UekYgkrJa5M1A-AMRk5TJoQH4B542RrwWI5sLiyGAMXnmhAs1Xlu9diVdSEeB2RTXYRK_3tHgLK5kWJvYJp46I6jIEPpJ9R0MqVGcQjxZ_GtjqNj3XjH9DWYi8IGIc/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.13.58%20-%20A%20dreamlike%20image%20of%20a%20young%20boy%20called%20Ratty,%20portrayed%20in%20a%20mysterious,%20gothic%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli.%20The%20boy%20appears%20ethereal%20and%20gentl.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitoXe9U1P-Cc1Knxmx88gIIU89Uw-zU-Xb9895nUkrExZUK-Jxy_UqYQ1uxEDdE5UekYgkrJa5M1A-AMRk5TJoQH4B542RrwWI5sLiyGAMXnmhAs1Xlu9diVdSEeB2RTXYRK_3tHgLK5kWJvYJp46I6jIEPpJ9R0MqVGcQjxZ_GtjqNj3XjH9DWYi8IGIc/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.13.58%20-%20A%20dreamlike%20image%20of%20a%20young%20boy%20called%20Ratty,%20portrayed%20in%20a%20mysterious,%20gothic%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli.%20The%20boy%20appears%20ethereal%20and%20gentl.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Gather close, and heed well this uncanny chronicle, one that bears the mark of truth amid its spectral narrative. Indeed, I have woven authentic tales among these digital pages previously, leaving it to your discerning spirits to discern which have crossed the boundary from fiction to reality.<p></p><p>Who, you ask, is Ratty? A query brief in wording, yet labyrinthine in its essence. Perhaps you have pondered upon this enigma; others may have cast it not a single thought. We don the guise of pseudonyms in the vast expanse of the internet—a masquerade of anonymity. Yet this appellation I carry is steeped in legend. Ratty was valor personified. In this present hour, I assume the mantle of Ratty, but the original bearer of this name was my uncle, my confidant, my spectral companion in childhood.</p><p>This alias I wield in the electronic ether is not borne from whimsy. It was not merely plucked from the aether for its resonance. No, this name was bequeathed by me, albeit in innocence, to one who wore it as a badge of the most intriguing tale.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_BUBMHLFYf54ItWLSaoNaW2thFITdP-bMnIpwuGDST9EKcUhwpB8f_H2Rd1AMESur1zZpa_lmJuR36Jk1x2MTVy4EqXuCAPDhP3yvZZyl5da_IxCZlywILEl9myjxFxKS-0rWBx7O8QGzrFfuwYDcngvNcN1ANA03D_wcRkt9Btftgm-0eE2AVe8bdkUc/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.05.11%20-%20An%20ethereal%20scene%20depicting%20a%20small%20child%20dropping%20coins%20into%20the%20cracks%20of%20wooden%20front%20steps,%20with%20a%20ghostly%20figure%20of%20a%20soldier%20watching%20over%20tende.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_BUBMHLFYf54ItWLSaoNaW2thFITdP-bMnIpwuGDST9EKcUhwpB8f_H2Rd1AMESur1zZpa_lmJuR36Jk1x2MTVy4EqXuCAPDhP3yvZZyl5da_IxCZlywILEl9myjxFxKS-0rWBx7O8QGzrFfuwYDcngvNcN1ANA03D_wcRkt9Btftgm-0eE2AVe8bdkUc/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.05.11%20-%20An%20ethereal%20scene%20depicting%20a%20small%20child%20dropping%20coins%20into%20the%20cracks%20of%20wooden%20front%20steps,%20with%20a%20ghostly%20figure%20of%20a%20soldier%20watching%20over%20tende.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Let us drift back to the dawn of my existence, to the tenderest of years when I yet babbled in a cradle. Despite the implausibility, the memories of my cherished uncle linger with the clarity of a ghostly visitation. He would bestow upon me mountains of coinage, which I would gleefully deposit into the chasms of my grandparents' stoop—a simple, joyous pastime.<p></p><p>In the tempestuous season of his youth, my uncle was conscripted into the maw of war—a conflagration that would be inscribed as one of the most grievous in the annals of our nation. He was anointed as a charioteer of steel behemoths, a role that, on the surface, promised sanctuary amidst chaos. He would dispatch to me images of his armored sentinel, including one where a land mine had birthed an abyss in the earth, leaving the tank unscathed.</p><p>When destiny called his tank to the forge for repairs, he, defying the wisdom of elders, volunteered for a foray of mercy. It was on this ill-starred quest, aboard a vehicle notorious for its fragility, that fate's cruel hand struck. A land mine's kiss was the herald of his untimely demise.</p><p>At this juncture, I was but a neophyte in life's grand theater, ignorant of the finality that is death. Thus, I was absent from the rites of mourning. The concept of his passing eluded me, until one day, as if from beyond the veil, my uncle graced me with his presence.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNDxXCUYzM1NY6AT9GavQbCLDOPJadSniMiR639ThhqP296wVSwnLRwuvPBzdY5zvnYwmG-FfcRIfyA-aZyoFVdQe2xqhsMo-KG-ltOtg1c7TRFhZu1ej5m0djKY7pWiLcW0BHZiSMYbMx7Esy6W0hZxaA8ntQynpGeaqS80wyJOteK54XMZV2mn_iG-y/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.10.18%20-%20In%20a%20scene%20that%20evokes%20the%20dramatic%20emotional%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20a%20young%20child%20stands%20in%20a%20sunlit%20kitchen,%20his%20innocent%20and%20curious%20face%20illuminat.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNDxXCUYzM1NY6AT9GavQbCLDOPJadSniMiR639ThhqP296wVSwnLRwuvPBzdY5zvnYwmG-FfcRIfyA-aZyoFVdQe2xqhsMo-KG-ltOtg1c7TRFhZu1ej5m0djKY7pWiLcW0BHZiSMYbMx7Esy6W0hZxaA8ntQynpGeaqS80wyJOteK54XMZV2mn_iG-y/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.10.18%20-%20In%20a%20scene%20that%20evokes%20the%20dramatic%20emotional%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20a%20young%20child%20stands%20in%20a%20sunlit%20kitchen,%20his%20innocent%20and%20curious%20face%20illuminat.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />It is an episode etched in my mind's eye: my mother descended to the cellar's depths, and the back door stood ajar, secured only by a screen. I beheld my uncle ascend the porch steps, and though I offered to summon my mother, he insisted his message was for my ears alone.<p></p><p>The discourse we shared is shrouded by the mists of time and the innocence of my youth. Yet, his promise to return endures in my memory. No sooner had he departed than my mother emerged, inquiring as to the identity of my interlocutor. With the honesty of childhood, I avowed it was my uncle—her brother.</p><p>To this very day, my mother affirms that she heard the murmurs of our exchange, and though she found no one upon her return, she believed my account, for the visage I had seen was indeed absent.</p><p>In the wake of this visitation, a new playmate entered my life—an older child who bore the name Ratty. Our friendship blossomed in the innocence of youth, even as my family attributed his presence to the realm of fantasy.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJmUG87w7u6-3y5oLYUfau0vvllpmOFCUlk_6CjmpE7I9K9vHqEEAbXlB3VYepuU2EZ9ArsrMUaIeUBGHrppNmx-_yErNw3OoP8PoQHzk9zUeKj8FM-xZheDKq1bndYcmOG_TNQaCvwQSAL1Q9nFAyzrERgYu_s4QqAMD8Gi1ccsmiYO6wTw5slyBeOrH/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.12.50%20-%20Inspired%20by%20the%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20this%20image%20portrays%20a%20child%20in%20a%20room%20rich%20with%20vintage%20details,%20the%20walls%20adorned%20with%20old%20photographs.%20The%20ch.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJmUG87w7u6-3y5oLYUfau0vvllpmOFCUlk_6CjmpE7I9K9vHqEEAbXlB3VYepuU2EZ9ArsrMUaIeUBGHrppNmx-_yErNw3OoP8PoQHzk9zUeKj8FM-xZheDKq1bndYcmOG_TNQaCvwQSAL1Q9nFAyzrERgYu_s4QqAMD8Gi1ccsmiYO6wTw5slyBeOrH/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.12.50%20-%20Inspired%20by%20the%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20this%20image%20portrays%20a%20child%20in%20a%20room%20rich%20with%20vintage%20details,%20the%20walls%20adorned%20with%20old%20photographs.%20The%20ch.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />It was during this epoch that my grandmother adorned her walls with portraits of kin, choosing for my uncle a photograph from the days of his early youth. Upon my first gaze upon this image, I recognized my elusive friend Ratty—a countenance I should not have known.<p></p><p>Over time, Ratty's corporeal visits waned until they ceased altogether, yet he would occasionally grace my dreams, a faint echo of the companionship we once shared.</p><p>Was Ratty a mere figment of a child's vibrant imagination? Or was he a bridge to something ethereal, a tender phantom bound by blood and memory? This query remains enshrouded in mystery. What I can attest with certainty is the vividness of these recollections, the indelible image of his countenance.</p><p>Thus, Ratty is more than a name—it is a homage, a testament to the spirit of my uncle and the friend who illuminated my early years with his ephemeral presence. In his honor, I am Ratty, and as the whispering shadows embrace me, so too will his memory be enshrined eternally. Thank you, Ratty.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyARpg6YWWWyX_NCIoftUekjbMEUt4X5NLU-Du-vjTz6j5I3-rkmcuR64DE4yXpfYZZahyphenhyphend2LPC4H_SVz_dMeerSfiX5hl9H6iPEgUQOH0jbnH3IDcNdsQxI1vbiL2FrNwUN8ITtYJGVbgCi_JStTYVylNVnCoyoH-f60epmV2s5fp55bsNg5n6MWTZL4N/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.13.56%20-%20A%20dreamlike%20image%20of%20a%20young%20boy%20called%20Ratty,%20portrayed%20in%20a%20mysterious,%20gothic%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli.%20The%20boy%20appears%20ethereal%20and%20gentl.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyARpg6YWWWyX_NCIoftUekjbMEUt4X5NLU-Du-vjTz6j5I3-rkmcuR64DE4yXpfYZZahyphenhyphend2LPC4H_SVz_dMeerSfiX5hl9H6iPEgUQOH0jbnH3IDcNdsQxI1vbiL2FrNwUN8ITtYJGVbgCi_JStTYVylNVnCoyoH-f60epmV2s5fp55bsNg5n6MWTZL4N/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2003.13.56%20-%20A%20dreamlike%20image%20of%20a%20young%20boy%20called%20Ratty,%20portrayed%20in%20a%20mysterious,%20gothic%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli.%20The%20boy%20appears%20ethereal%20and%20gentl.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-74719934571846970322023-11-13T13:15:00.000-06:002023-11-13T13:15:03.768-06:00Dragons' Last Whisper: The Eldorian Legend<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnrkmAow1FVF6uX-yH9o72R0uV8k6lJuqe_B6eJZ6VxelzCUBN2MZPeHhCLWCmDW8MjsZ7zq8ne-3fjVHLkT0A2SD7hZTRAY1tzTIgpoCNOGQSlWvmUnA2UNZcYNIC9mm7vgEGCR3NiyvOce3UllTm1iWYlCIR1It8FlnhY4it63jyXa4BLPX3W4RQcHQO/s1024/Dragons%2004.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnrkmAow1FVF6uX-yH9o72R0uV8k6lJuqe_B6eJZ6VxelzCUBN2MZPeHhCLWCmDW8MjsZ7zq8ne-3fjVHLkT0A2SD7hZTRAY1tzTIgpoCNOGQSlWvmUnA2UNZcYNIC9mm7vgEGCR3NiyvOce3UllTm1iWYlCIR1It8FlnhY4it63jyXa4BLPX3W4RQcHQO/w400-h400/Dragons%2004.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />A long time ago, in the forgotten land of Eldoria, dragons roamed the earth and skies, their scales shimmering in the sunlight like jewels. These magnificent creatures were the guardians of the realm, wise and ancient, holding secrets of the universe in their fiery breath. They lived in harmony with nature, playing in the clouds during the day and resting in their hidden dens at night.<p></p><p><br />The dragons of Eldoria were unique, not just in their radiant beauty but in their magical life cycle. Unlike any other creature, when their time came to an end, they did not perish as mortals do. Instead, they transformed into majestic wooden sculptures, preserving their last pose for eternity.</p><p><br />As seasons changed, Eldoria faced harsh winters that turned its lush landscapes into frosty wonderlands. Most dragons, being creatures of fire and warmth, sought refuge in their cozy dens, away from the biting cold. However, some, driven by curiosity or necessity, braved the icy winds.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg0dk96NDOxP8QeENsENHIzot6tCBHzHY6JvKBbg7AfUMeVM-PUt9dGfv43jC8W_8-Ru37KFlSIGcerXERg7eBzdGZG6k3VJYpih_-VpJfngOlGc4XJKsti8hNFSWjIvqQMtJZa6T1lt1goCdfoa1_qdmGfX82P9WH7SEGJUfrIFEz09cxOTlhTsu476kY/s1024/Dragons%2003.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg0dk96NDOxP8QeENsENHIzot6tCBHzHY6JvKBbg7AfUMeVM-PUt9dGfv43jC8W_8-Ru37KFlSIGcerXERg7eBzdGZG6k3VJYpih_-VpJfngOlGc4XJKsti8hNFSWjIvqQMtJZa6T1lt1goCdfoa1_qdmGfX82P9WH7SEGJUfrIFEz09cxOTlhTsu476kY/w400-h400/Dragons%2003.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />One such winter, a young dragon, Azure, ventured out to play in the falling snow. Enchanted by the frozen lake, Azure, known for his playful spirit, decided to glide over its icy surface. But as fate would have it, the lake’s surface cracked, and Azure, caught by surprise, fell into the freezing waters. The cold was too much for the young dragon, and there, in the icy depths, Azure turned into a stunning piece of wood, his wings spread wide as if in mid-flight.<p></p><p><br />Years passed, and the wooden dragon became a part of the lake, half-submerged, half-revealing its majestic form. Travelers and locals often mistook it for an intricate piece of driftwood, not knowing the magical story behind it.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QyJqZDfgKrtYfkrYEInj_sc8t65z-Ccjm1qLDBfjKsLTDazp4waXFShavNPekEoi_s3w_JfgJ7tNhxvhGGNiK5IONpZ1iUMkChk53E4sqKf1A-ejyFXn_FPkNh_-G9zSI_KAF9sFJMDSC3C4xh_XRJN_-Rw9ehOkH2KKGNorA3bulNJXAoqZcDZdtWxY/s1024/Dragons%2002.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QyJqZDfgKrtYfkrYEInj_sc8t65z-Ccjm1qLDBfjKsLTDazp4waXFShavNPekEoi_s3w_JfgJ7tNhxvhGGNiK5IONpZ1iUMkChk53E4sqKf1A-ejyFXn_FPkNh_-G9zSI_KAF9sFJMDSC3C4xh_XRJN_-Rw9ehOkH2KKGNorA3bulNJXAoqZcDZdtWxY/w400-h400/Dragons%2002.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />Another dragon, Ember, known for her fiery red scales, faced a similar fate. On a particularly cold night, she peeked out of her den, curious about the silver moonlight. The chill was swift and unforgiving, and Ember, caught in its grasp, transformed into a wooden sculpture right at the entrance of her den, forever gazing at the moon she so loved.<p></p><p><br />As time went on, these wooden dragons became part of Eldoria's landscape, each telling a silent tale of a life once lived. They stood as reminders of the mystical creatures that once graced the skies, holding the secrets of a world where magic and reality intertwined.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAryHW9UeWDZnheIbuzMEIwpYt84Cmi1Q4Yo3yLaA-qwkfT-DfHbYCJVxN8pWF7XW2QUeEDTz6nTHGGvXqgUCaCLCgtl646T0o1zYSnw818YvNHbE8VV0m1EzSESfUaTWaJpNANn6oKODwn8OP0TFDoLqIOXjXXJefIoUBw7vWCGEba0L2PQGsbgrLeMG/s1024/Dragons%2001.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAryHW9UeWDZnheIbuzMEIwpYt84Cmi1Q4Yo3yLaA-qwkfT-DfHbYCJVxN8pWF7XW2QUeEDTz6nTHGGvXqgUCaCLCgtl646T0o1zYSnw818YvNHbE8VV0m1EzSESfUaTWaJpNANn6oKODwn8OP0TFDoLqIOXjXXJefIoUBw7vWCGEba0L2PQGsbgrLeMG/w400-h400/Dragons%2001.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />And so, the legend of the wooden dragons was born, a tale passed down through generations. The people of Eldoria learned to see the beauty in these wooden relics, understanding that they were not just pieces of wood, but the last remnants of majestic beings that once roamed their land.<p></p><p><br />And the legend of the Dragons of Eldoria lived on, whispered in the rustling leaves and echoed in the hearts of those who walked all the lands, forever in awe of the majestic creatures that once soared above and now slept in eternal wooden slumber.<br /><br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-50427608967484144742023-11-10T08:00:00.001-06:002023-11-10T08:00:00.137-06:00The Tyranny of the Ticking Clock<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LLgH2BsyjFv65KgY3iDSjm_ly7q1PPNmkb8DOWW4SGg-Cm5VUFZDsCCKQu8CYYUCotxVkpGxqJ9yVpgrVd5JJm6qqt5Gnadpzn09ZbUm-KSTRNdqWoF6ZGBNHsPBvt-BUvVRCpEWave0pR199Tebpms9ubpiRQO5_hVj-QtSL0eDic112k44Hs_iZlk9/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2018.18.23%20-%20A%20dark,%20atmospheric%20bedroom%20bathed%20in%20an%20eerie%20blue%20glow%20from%20a%20large%20wall%20clock,%20embodying%20a%20gothic%20and%20surreal%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli.%20Th.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LLgH2BsyjFv65KgY3iDSjm_ly7q1PPNmkb8DOWW4SGg-Cm5VUFZDsCCKQu8CYYUCotxVkpGxqJ9yVpgrVd5JJm6qqt5Gnadpzn09ZbUm-KSTRNdqWoF6ZGBNHsPBvt-BUvVRCpEWave0pR199Tebpms9ubpiRQO5_hVj-QtSL0eDic112k44Hs_iZlk9/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2018.18.23%20-%20A%20dark,%20atmospheric%20bedroom%20bathed%20in%20an%20eerie%20blue%20glow%20from%20a%20large%20wall%20clock,%20embodying%20a%20gothic%20and%20surreal%20style%20reminiscent%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli.%20Th.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />In the hushed gloom of my chamber, where the shadows seemed to conspire in silence, I found myself a prisoner to the inescapable ticking of existence, as heralded by the blue glow of my clock. The hour was late, the world outside lay in slumber, but my weary eyes rebelled against the sweet embrace of sleep. My bed, once a cradle of solace, now bore the weight of a thousand thoughts, each more laden with worry than the last.<p></p><div class="flex flex-grow flex-col max-w-full gap-3 gizmo:gap-0"><div class="min-h-[20px] flex flex-col items-start gap-3 whitespace-pre-wrap break-words overflow-x-auto" data-message-author-role="assistant" data-message-id="6c7318fb-cfcf-4469-99dd-0ef971c13e85"><div class="markdown prose w-full break-words dark:prose-invert light"><p>The clock, with its luminescent hands, was a beacon in the darkness, a constant reminder of the relentless march of time. Its glow, a spectral blue, permeated my senses, a spectral intruder in my domain of dusk. Every minute it counted was a minute lost to my insomniac musings. The silence of the room, rather than a balm, was a canvas for the cacophony of fears that danced before me.</p><p>My mind, a tempest of unrest, refused the commands to still its workings. Ideas, dark and full of dread, cascaded through the canyons of my consciousness. The past day’s events paraded before me, each memory a specter accusing me of faults and missteps. The morrow, with its unknowns and certainties alike, loomed over me like a spectral judge awaiting my plea.</p><p>The clock's glow, once merely irritating, became an oppressive force, each pulse a reminder of my restlessness. In my futile quest for repose, I became acutely aware of every whisper of wind, every creak of the timeworn house, each a taunt to my state of disquiet. Beneath my blankets, I lay a captive to my own nerves, each passing second a tightening of the chains that bound me to wakefulness.</p><p>As the hours waned, my struggle turned to resignation. The night, in all its interminable length, became a purgatory of anticipation for a dawn I both desired and dreaded. And in that abyss of anxiety, I lay, a soul too tired to sleep and too anxious to find peace.</p></div></div></div>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-44832892912245331842023-11-06T08:00:00.018-06:002023-11-06T08:00:00.135-06:00The Princess Box: A Tale of Legacy, Healing, and Magic<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHYUpkZ_OMcR8VI07Bs4V-nLAv73h-Yni5qJdLjmCIE1tjUGCvieC5g_ztRxjbrh1KOPMb5wOD1dA4kZwjlf0up55Clb8AXcUqhpS1H8sLBBj8tVkxX2wnBU7imVJxcpu5f5ai_uPVLgBlBBECkKUpGR_YAbj7LXslPC48glyuFN4cMSMuRyR_-zXZeAG/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2001.18.13%20-%20A%20painting%20in%20the%20ethereal,%20dramatic%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20depicting%20a%20princess%20in%20a%20dream-like%20state.%20She%20is%20holding%20an%20ornate,%20bejeweled%20jewelry%20bo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHYUpkZ_OMcR8VI07Bs4V-nLAv73h-Yni5qJdLjmCIE1tjUGCvieC5g_ztRxjbrh1KOPMb5wOD1dA4kZwjlf0up55Clb8AXcUqhpS1H8sLBBj8tVkxX2wnBU7imVJxcpu5f5ai_uPVLgBlBBECkKUpGR_YAbj7LXslPC48glyuFN4cMSMuRyR_-zXZeAG/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2001.18.13%20-%20A%20painting%20in%20the%20ethereal,%20dramatic%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20depicting%20a%20princess%20in%20a%20dream-like%20state.%20She%20is%20holding%20an%20ornate,%20bejeweled%20jewelry%20bo.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>A long time ago, there existed an heirloom of untold legacy and charm, known to many as The Princess Box. This exquisite piece of history, passed down through the hands of women and girls of notable lineage, became the silent witness to their lives. Many were of royal descent, their fates entwined with the destiny of the box.</p><p>The early 20th century marked a poignant chapter in the box's journey. It was owned by a young girl, whose reality drifted far from the touch of the tangible world, leading her to the confining walls of a mental institution. The disconnect was profound, and her mind recoiled from the thought of engaging with a world that seemed more daunting than the darkest of nightmares.</p><p>A determined psychiatrist endeavored to coax her mind's eye to envisage a door—a passage to the living world. But the task was herculean, the doors too formidable to unlatch. It was a compassionate nurse who, with her gentle touch and patient guidance, steered the girl through those doors, little by little, until the threshold no longer signified fear, but freedom.</p><p>As the girl learned to walk the paths of normalcy, tragedy struck—the untimely demise of her parents, which left her an heiress to a solitary empire. Accompanied by two friends, kindred spirits from the institution, she reclaimed her ancestral abode. There, among the echoes of her past, she found The Princess Box, her childhood relic, harboring a secret only she knew—its essence was steeped in magic.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoYUYaVSPWgYUfJ6qiKjPFfakSwESN2J8bny_6uP3gq6iOgjvjr-l4ziAiJrLNCsN_sq16y5bMoTREWUgTnDZkLbxME9KXmqwyTZMrk3iE9ctVUWOYW8PCt399GNfhsOLFxv0VP-XDlkknG3ENXOIUeBFzSfLIQ7L5Mv2dzSkV021ReObuKI4uUuQKZ_uW/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2001.18.15%20-%20A%20painting%20in%20the%20ethereal,%20dramatic%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20depicting%20a%20princess%20in%20a%20dream-like%20state.%20She%20is%20holding%20an%20ornate,%20bejeweled%20jewelry%20bo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoYUYaVSPWgYUfJ6qiKjPFfakSwESN2J8bny_6uP3gq6iOgjvjr-l4ziAiJrLNCsN_sq16y5bMoTREWUgTnDZkLbxME9KXmqwyTZMrk3iE9ctVUWOYW8PCt399GNfhsOLFxv0VP-XDlkknG3ENXOIUeBFzSfLIQ7L5Mv2dzSkV021ReObuKI4uUuQKZ_uW/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-06%2001.18.15%20-%20A%20painting%20in%20the%20ethereal,%20dramatic%20style%20of%20Henry%20Fuseli,%20depicting%20a%20princess%20in%20a%20dream-like%20state.%20She%20is%20holding%20an%20ornate,%20bejeweled%20jewelry%20bo.png" width="400" /></a></div><p>Struggling still with the outer world's relentless waves, the trio concocted a plan—a testament to the box's mystic aura. One by one, they climbed into the box, a sanctuary, a realm of their own. With a final act of enchantment, the girl reached out from within, grasped the box, and drew it into their newfound world.</p><p>The Princess Box, along with its last guardians, vanished, weaving the final thread into the tapestry of its legend. They left behind a world unready for their truths, retreating into a sanctuary where they could exist, unburdened and untouched, by the harshness of reality.</p><p>Thus, the story of The Princess Box lingers on the edge of consciousness, daring us to believe in the unseen, the unexplained, and the magic that dwells within and beyond us all.</p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-10154886690152705172023-03-15T19:57:00.000-05:002023-03-15T19:57:02.021-05:00Larry The Video Game Thief<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT36rjrnZCyk76PKprAI5z6hJlOBzyPvNJWEMPs0VKn8BZsyoMPy58UwMSLCasLg0wz1bistqKTzDP4DSYtyE-vGssjiS-MMCu50hzC0yAB1v3wKHq2EZdCPE8PRxUa1SQOcL37Vhhh7ue66B8a9Q0kAxd1pDu2arw17jeet21jtk-AnPWXl2Zoj_jlQ/s768/Default_A_fat_guy_with_a_pile_of_video_game_cartridges_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT36rjrnZCyk76PKprAI5z6hJlOBzyPvNJWEMPs0VKn8BZsyoMPy58UwMSLCasLg0wz1bistqKTzDP4DSYtyE-vGssjiS-MMCu50hzC0yAB1v3wKHq2EZdCPE8PRxUa1SQOcL37Vhhh7ue66B8a9Q0kAxd1pDu2arw17jeet21jtk-AnPWXl2Zoj_jlQ/w400-h400/Default_A_fat_guy_with_a_pile_of_video_game_cartridges_3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div class="flex flex-grow flex-col gap-3"><div class="min-h-[20px] flex flex-col items-start gap-4 whitespace-pre-wrap"><div class="markdown prose w-full break-words dark:prose-invert light"><p>Once upon a time in the small town of Chinville, there lived a man named Larry with a penchant for mischief. Larry was known for his ridiculous schemes, which almost always ended in disaster. His brother, Tom, lived across town and was a video game enthusiast. One day, Larry decided he wanted to get his hands on Tom's most prized game, "Chinzilla's Revenge," without having to pay for it.</p><p>Larry concocted a cunning plan to steal the game from his brother. He decided to dress up as a UPS delivery person, bringing a fake package to his brother's door. He knocked on the door and waited for his brother to appear. Tom, in his excitement for an unexpected package, didn't recognize his own brother and allowed Larry to step inside.</p><p>As Tom tore open the package, Larry sneakily inched closer to Tom's gaming collection. But as he grabbed the prized game, his disguise fell off, revealing his true identity. Tom stared at him in disbelief, then burst into laughter. Caught red-handed, Larry sheepishly returned the game, and they spent the rest of the day playing "Chinzilla's Revenge" together.</p><p>Despite the failure of his video game heist, Larry was still keen on mischief. Christmas was just around the corner, and he decided to hatch a plan to evict his mom from her house. He thought it would be a hilarious prank to pull on her.</p><p>Larry's wife, Chinnifer, was an excellent accomplice. Chinnifer was well-known in Chinville for her unusually large chin, which she liked to use to her advantage. She was an expert in chinmunication, a peculiar skill of conveying messages through chin gestures. Larry thought Chinnifer's chinmunication could help them succeed in their plan.</p><p>On Christmas Eve, Larry and Chinnifer went to the town's courthouse to file a fake eviction notice. They had planned to serve it to his mom on Christmas morning. However, Larry, in his usual incompetence, had forgotten to fill out the necessary paperwork. The clerk at the courthouse, unimpressed with their attempt at deceit, sent them away empty-handed.</p><p>Undeterred, Larry decided to forge an eviction notice himself. On Christmas morning, Larry and Chinnifer, disguised as town officials, presented the fake eviction notice to his mom. She stared at the paper, then back at her son, recognizing him despite the disguise.</p><p>However, Larry had made a crucial error. Instead of writing "EVICTION NOTICE" at the top of the paper, he had written "INVITATION NOTICE" in bold letters. His mom, bemused by the document, asked if she was being invited to a party.</p><p>Realizing his mistake, Larry couldn't help but laugh. His mom laughed along, revealing that she had recognized Chinnifer's chinmunication the moment they arrived. The family spent the rest of the day enjoying Christmas together, with Larry vowing to retire from his life of mischief.</p><p>But everyone in Chinville knew that Larry's retirement wouldn't last long. After all, he was the town's most entertaining mischief-maker, and life would be quite dull without his ridiculous schemes.</p></div></div></div><p></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-56455880846216148332023-01-28T08:00:00.005-06:002023-01-28T08:00:00.217-06:00Road Rage<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLN7r3eGKhLkFQNyodBqgqPUPE2QrBpXlV-haUcmCzxU6M2ELKq7kRNVf87tlZW1JKZi6L7IXdNwzMQni5K5OlojBMIebSI8hkDKUZRwCtyU0Kgjq5l2c8t94BwrwOUBqcjkvuha9Jc8zSEm7QBm6-W8f2vwKEjYMRHOV1F0EnVbMI8NObAzWEXE7OfA/s1000/Road%20Rage%201000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="1000" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLN7r3eGKhLkFQNyodBqgqPUPE2QrBpXlV-haUcmCzxU6M2ELKq7kRNVf87tlZW1JKZi6L7IXdNwzMQni5K5OlojBMIebSI8hkDKUZRwCtyU0Kgjq5l2c8t94BwrwOUBqcjkvuha9Jc8zSEm7QBm6-W8f2vwKEjYMRHOV1F0EnVbMI8NObAzWEXE7OfA/w400-h291/Road%20Rage%201000.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> Once upon a time, there was a guy named Steve. Steve had a major case of road rage. He would honk, yell, and even make rude gestures at other drivers on the road. He thought he was the king of the road and that everyone else was just in his way.<br /><br />One day, Steve was driving on the highway when a big truck cut him off. Steve was furious. He honked and screamed, "Get out of the way, you big oaf!"<br /><br />The big truck, driven by a man named Bob, pulled over to the side of the road. Bob got out of his truck and walked over to Steve's car. Steve was terrified. He had never been confronted by someone so big before.<br /><br />Bob leaned down and looked into Steve's car. "What's your problem, buddy?" he asked in a deep, menacing voice.<br /><br />Steve stammered, "Y-you cut me off! I-I was going first!"<br /><br />Bob just laughed. "You think you're the king of the road, huh? Let me tell you something, buddy. The only king of the road is the guy with the biggest truck. And that's me."<br /><br />Steve was shaking in fear. He tried to back out of the situation, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'll just go now."<br /><br />Bob wasn't done yet. "Oh no, you don't get off that easy. You're going to learn a lesson about manners and respect on the road."<br /><br />Steve begged for mercy, "Please, just let me go. I'll never do it again. I promise."<br /><br />Bob thought for a moment, then smiled. "Alright, I'll let you go, but on one condition: you have to wash my truck for the next month."<br /><br />Steve was shocked. "W-what? That's ridiculous!"<br /><br />Bob leaned in closer. "Do you want me to let you go or not?"<br /><br />Steve had no choice but to agree. And so, for the next month, Steve could be seen washing Bob's truck every day on the side of the road. He learned his lesson about road rage and respect for others.<br /><br />As for Bob, he became known as the hero of the highway, always standing up for the little guy and teaching bullies a lesson. And Steve? Well, he was just the guy who washed the truck.<br /><br />The End.</p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-61743133067463382592023-01-26T08:00:00.008-06:002024-01-18T01:03:48.220-06:00Davey And The Golden Acorn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53CMbzX3niSc0VGIQNwQo3BsAxqwqcn-jFoDHV1b6kbsQSCCH19rpLErvR2IjZ4spvO2eGgSzhqupKgXpcX_IpdY_v4wRsTlTsbFLwn8IUnONVoUqA5HrdQRWYCw26MFd3nJXSM84LCTxLy_fwGte77r8uFHCdepjEgqBC5yHHmFFsZvwH6vVFwQB28ju/s1024/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-14%2011.44.23%20-%20A%20realistic%20photo%20of%20a%20cute%20little%20blond%20boy,%20about%206%20years%20old,%20holding%20a%20large%20acorn%20made%20of%20gold.%20He%20is%20smiling%20and%20wearing%20a%20simple,%20vintage%20style.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53CMbzX3niSc0VGIQNwQo3BsAxqwqcn-jFoDHV1b6kbsQSCCH19rpLErvR2IjZ4spvO2eGgSzhqupKgXpcX_IpdY_v4wRsTlTsbFLwn8IUnONVoUqA5HrdQRWYCw26MFd3nJXSM84LCTxLy_fwGte77r8uFHCdepjEgqBC5yHHmFFsZvwH6vVFwQB28ju/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-11-14%2011.44.23%20-%20A%20realistic%20photo%20of%20a%20cute%20little%20blond%20boy,%20about%206%20years%20old,%20holding%20a%20large%20acorn%20made%20of%20gold.%20He%20is%20smiling%20and%20wearing%20a%20simple,%20vintage%20style.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />A long time ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a young boy named Davey. Davey was one of the youngest of several siblings. Two of his older brothers were quite bossy, and they often made Davey do their chores for them. But Davey didn't mind, for he was a kind and gentle soul.<p><br />One day, while out in the woods gathering firewood for his family, Davey stumbled upon a mysterious old tree. The tree was unlike any other in the forest, with gnarled roots and twisted branches that seemed to stretch up to the sky. Davey couldn't help but feel drawn to the tree, and as he approached it, he felt a strange tingling sensation in his fingertips.<br /><br />Without warning, a bright light shot out from the tree and enveloped Davey. When the light dissipated, Davey found that he was no longer in the woods, but in a magical realm. The sky was a deep purple, and the ground was made of glittering silver. Davey was amazed by the beauty of this place, but he was also a little scared.<br /><br />As he looked around, he saw that the tree he had stumbled upon was actually a portal to this magical realm. Davey realized that he had been chosen to embark on a special journey, a journey that would change his life forever.<br /><br />Davey was approached by a wise old owl, who told him that he had been chosen to embark on a quest to find the legendary Golden Acorn. The Golden Acorn was said to have the power to grant wishes, and it was hidden somewhere in the magical realm. Davey was hesitant to take on this quest, but the owl assured him that he had the courage and determination to succeed.<br /><br />Davey set off on his journey, with the owl as his guide. They traveled through enchanted forests and over treacherous mountains, encountering all sorts of strange and magical creatures along the way. Davey's family was worried about him, but he had to complete the quest and find the Golden Acorn.<br /><br />Finally, after many long days and nights, Davey and the owl arrived at a clearing in the forest. In the center of the clearing stood a massive oak tree, and at its base was the Golden Acorn. Davey reached out to grab the acorn, but before he could, he was confronted by a fierce dragon.<br /><br />The dragon told Davey that he could not have the Golden Acorn, for it was the dragon's treasure. Davey was afraid, but he remembered the owl's
words about his courage and determination. He stood tall and faced the
dragon, and with a fierce determination, he challenged the dragon to a
test of wits.</p><p>The dragon was intrigued by Davey's boldness and accepted the challenge. He presented Davey with a series of riddles and puzzles to test his intelligence and wit. The first riddle was: "I am not alive, but I grow; I don't have lungs, but I need air; I don't have a mouth, but water kills me. What am I?" Davey thought for a moment and then confidently answered, "Fire."<br /><br />The dragon was impressed and moved on to the next puzzle. He presented Davey with a box that had a lock on it, and the dragon told Davey that the key to the lock was hidden somewhere in the clearing. Davey searched the area and found a small key hidden in a crevice in one of the rocks. He inserted the key into the lock and successfully opened the box.<br /><br />The dragon then presented Davey with a chessboard and challenged him to a game. Davey, who had always loved playing chess, accepted the challenge. The dragon was a skilled player, but Davey was able to outsmart him with his strategic thinking and attention to detail.<br /><br />Finally, the dragon presented Davey with a maze that he had to navigate to reach the Golden Acorn. Davey, with the help of the owl, was able to find his way through the maze, using his logic and problem-solving skills.<br /><br />After completing the riddles and puzzles, the dragon was impressed with Davey's intelligence and wit and conceded defeat. He allowed Davey to take the Golden Acorn and granted his wish. Davey was able to defeat the dragon with his intelligence, and he learned that sometimes the most powerful weapon one can have is a sharp mind.<br /><br />With the dragon defeated, Davey picked up the Golden Acorn and held it tightly. He felt a warm sensation in his chest, and he knew that his wish had been granted. Davey wished for the wisdom and strength to stand up to his bossy brothers and to always be true to himself.<br /><br />Davey returned home to his family with the Golden Acorn, and they were overjoyed to see him. His brothers apologized for the way they had treated him, and they all lived happily ever after. Davey's mother was proud of him and gave him a big hug.<br /><br />From that day on, Davey was no longer the meek and mild-mannered boy he had once been. He was a confident and strong young man, who knew his own worth and was not afraid to stand up for himself. He lived a long and fulfilling life, and he always remembered the lessons he had learned on his journey to find the Golden Acorn.<br /><br />The End<br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-69330855818166441762023-01-24T21:22:00.003-06:002023-02-09T00:22:49.918-06:00The Tale Of A Vengeful Spirit<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabZ90tRUT5mgfTHwg8w3wvGqbbu6GzGmfh-IvHqGT3HT5FGq07XoY-_i1RILnEloSXGZHOxZ9jIl_598pWBSk6tnYl5UY8Pjqs5rIswJMDqqJsXUkicSMdVJ0DYG7hnpZzppgCP-G27BfttRYyKmagziiz7tiuiNg9dJPa6WPPgzrnItx17kaquU-iA/s1000/Angry%20Female%20Ghost%201000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="1000" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabZ90tRUT5mgfTHwg8w3wvGqbbu6GzGmfh-IvHqGT3HT5FGq07XoY-_i1RILnEloSXGZHOxZ9jIl_598pWBSk6tnYl5UY8Pjqs5rIswJMDqqJsXUkicSMdVJ0DYG7hnpZzppgCP-G27BfttRYyKmagziiz7tiuiNg9dJPa6WPPgzrnItx17kaquU-iA/w400-h291/Angry%20Female%20Ghost%201000.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p> Many years ago, in a small village nestled in the heart of the forest, there lived a 300-year-old ghost. No one knew where she came from or why she was haunting the village, but they all knew to stay away from her. The villagers whispered that she was the spirit of a woman who had been wronged in life and was now seeking revenge in death.<br /><br />The ghost was said to haunt an old, abandoned mansion on the outskirts of the village. It was a grand, imposing building with ivy creeping up its walls and a wrought iron gate that was always locked. The villagers avoided the mansion at all costs, believing that the ghost would snatch up anyone who dared to enter her domain.<br /><br />One night, a group of curious teenagers decided to investigate the mansion. They had heard the stories of the ghost but didn't believe in such things. They thought it would be a fun adventure to explore the forbidden mansion.<br /><br />As they approached the gate, they could feel a chill in the air. The gate creaked as they pushed it open, and they found themselves standing in a grand entrance hall. The floors were made of marble and the walls were adorned with portraits of long-dead ancestors.<br /><br />As they made their way through the mansion, they couldn't shake off the feeling that they were being watched. Every time they turned around, they thought they saw a figure in the corner of their eye, but when they looked, there was nothing there.<br /><br />They climbed the grand staircase to the second floor and entered a room that looked like it had once been a library. The shelves were empty and the floor was covered in dust. As they were about to leave the room, they heard a noise. It sounded like someone was shuffling through the pages of a book. They searched the room but found nothing.<br /><br />They continued to explore the mansion, but the feeling of unease only grew stronger. Suddenly, the lights flickered and went out. The teenagers panicked and ran for the front door, but it was locked. They were trapped inside the mansion with the ghost.<br /><br />They heard a voice whispering in their ears, "You should have never come here." They could feel a cold hand on their shoulders and they knew it was the ghost. They could see her now, a woman dressed in a long white gown, her eyes filled with anger and hatred.<br /><br />The teenagers were paralyzed with fear, they couldn't move or speak. The ghost began to tell them her story. She explained that she was once a young woman who had been murdered by her lover in this very mansion. He had beaten her and locked her in the library leaving her there to die.<br /><br />She told them that she had been trapped in the mansion for 300 years, unable to leave or rest until she had found someone to listen to her story and avenge her death. She begged the teenagers to help her, and they promised they would.<br /><br />They ran to the village and told the villagers what had happened. Together, they went back to the mansion and searched for evidence to find the ghost's killer. They found an old diary hidden in a secret compartment in the library. It was written by the ghost's lover and it revealed that he had killed her in a fit of jealousy.<br /><br />The villagers never found the killer to bring him to justice, and the ghost was not able to find peace. The mansion was still haunted, and the villagers wished they could have done more.</p><p>But the teenagers who had entered the mansion that night never forgot the ghost's story. They knew that the mansion was still there and that the ghost's spirit would always be watching over it, reminding them of the tragic events that had occurred within its walls. And they always avoided going near the grounds of the mansion for the rest of their lives, knowing that the ghost's presence was still there, waiting for someone to listen to her story and avenge her death.<br /><br />Years passed, and the mansion was left to rot. The villagers had long since forgotten about the ghost, but the teenagers who had entered the mansion that night never did. They would often tell their children and grandchildren about the ghost and the events that had occurred in the mansion.<br /><br />But one day, a new family moved into the village. They were drawn to the mansion, not knowing its history, and decided to renovate it and make it their home. The villagers warned them about the ghost, but the family didn't believe in such things.<br /><br />As they began to work on the mansion, strange things started happening. The family would hear footsteps in the night and see a figure in the corner of their eye. They would wake up to find their tools moved or missing. They became increasingly uneasy, but they didn't want to leave their new home.<br /><br />One night, the father of the family went to investigate a noise in the library. As he entered the room, he saw the ghost, standing in front of him. She looked at him with her cold, angry eyes, and he knew that she was still seeking revenge.<br /><br />Terrified, the father ran out of the mansion and never returned. The family left the village, leaving the mansion abandoned once again.<br /><br />The villagers knew that the ghost was still there, waiting for someone to listen to her story and avenge her death. They knew that the mansion would always be haunted, and that no one would ever be able to live in peace as long as the ghost was there.<br /><br />And so, the mansion remains abandoned to this day, a reminder of the tragic events that occurred within its walls, and a warning to anyone who dares to enter its borders. The ghost still waits, her spirit still roaming the halls, seeking her revenge and her peace.</p><p><br /></p>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-15405952154319951902023-01-21T01:02:00.002-06:002023-01-25T11:11:42.913-06:00The Nature Hike<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSG4yQkz6EcACwb-eUMjVy6urruYd0KgWsFwbfl-RLpidCANM47IXQPwc4_qN6c8fo_l_URU-ezbzEeCMifwc8khebDJ1iHgHNWHSB9qJoj9BFmrQDVE32bOaqD6nMIe0n3DAA7WFLshBrdXIMKEpD8erQ89Dddq-yW4eHc21qJ2eVbtRnjcN5UW8ag/s1000/Nature%20Trail%2001%201000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="1000" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSG4yQkz6EcACwb-eUMjVy6urruYd0KgWsFwbfl-RLpidCANM47IXQPwc4_qN6c8fo_l_URU-ezbzEeCMifwc8khebDJ1iHgHNWHSB9qJoj9BFmrQDVE32bOaqD6nMIe0n3DAA7WFLshBrdXIMKEpD8erQ89Dddq-yW4eHc21qJ2eVbtRnjcN5UW8ag/w400-h291/Nature%20Trail%2001%201000.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> As I hiked through the dense forest, the only sounds were the crunching of leaves under my feet and the chirping of the birds. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow through the trees. I was enjoying the peacefulness of the woods, until I heard a strange noise. It was a low growl, coming from deep within the forest.<p></p><div class="flex flex-grow flex-col gap-3"><div class="min-h-[20px] flex flex-col items-start gap-4 whitespace-pre-wrap"><div class="markdown prose w-full break-words dark:prose-invert light"><p>I stopped in my tracks, unsure of what to do. The growl grew louder, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I knew I should turn back, but something compelled me to continue forward.</p><p>As I walked deeper into the woods, the trees grew thicker and the light grew dimmer. The growling grew louder, until it was right behind me. I turned around, and there it was. A creature unlike anything I had ever seen before.</p><p>It was tall and thin, with long limbs and fingers that ended in sharp claws. Its skin was a sickly pale color, and its eyes glowed red in the darkness. It let out a deafening roar, and I could see rows of razor-sharp teeth in its open mouth.</p><p>I froze, unable to move or even scream. The creature stepped closer to me, and I could smell the stench of decay on its breath. It reached out with its clawed hand, and I closed my eyes, expecting the worst.</p><p>But nothing happened. I opened my eyes and the creature was gone. I was alone in the woods once more. I didn't stick around to see if it would return, I ran as fast as I could back to the trailhead. I never went hiking alone again.</p></div></div></div>Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-58147777531726762182016-04-29T05:00:00.003-05:002024-01-18T01:03:23.700-06:00Davey And The Little Blue Bird<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<large><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVjQFG2oBfIPBp2_9-d8bnu7b23I_5O-0zWYkZQ3Tt_5oT_YAb8lOBTKXBOiKeKzV7Ogl3dcM17WE-6Z5BH4WGd8fpgW9RS43ttVnXmAK30klhrowiUERv9A5XW2KQhlBDM6Wlp5d2Up2_PbgqKEwgMaD0rDlhiRKIN5zrSMj8_VVx_cfFfalpZw63UvN/s1024/Davey%20And%20The%20Little%20Blue%20Bird.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVjQFG2oBfIPBp2_9-d8bnu7b23I_5O-0zWYkZQ3Tt_5oT_YAb8lOBTKXBOiKeKzV7Ogl3dcM17WE-6Z5BH4WGd8fpgW9RS43ttVnXmAK30klhrowiUERv9A5XW2KQhlBDM6Wlp5d2Up2_PbgqKEwgMaD0rDlhiRKIN5zrSMj8_VVx_cfFfalpZw63UvN/w400-h400/Davey%20And%20The%20Little%20Blue%20Bird.png" width="400" /></a></div></large> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A little blue bird sped high across the countryside. It's destination was unknown, but it seemed to be flying with a definite purpose. As the bird flew lower to avoid a bit of wind turbulence, something suddenly flew up from below and struck it hard on its side sending the poor thing crashing to the ground. <br /></div>
<br />
The little bird's now broken body prevented it from even trying to stand. As it lie there on the ground a little boy with a slingshot in his hand came running over to see what had happened. The boy never meant to hurt the poor little bird. He was just shooting rocks into the air. He never even saw the bird until it was too late.<br />
<br />
As he knelt down to check on the poor little blue bird, the boy heard his mother call from inside the little farmhouse behind him, "Davey, time to come back in and get ready!" The boy gently scooped up the little bird and ran for the door of his house.<br />
<br />
When he got inside the house, his mother was standing there with her back to him, working at something very important. "It's time to get ready. Your sisters are going to take you to the fair in a few minutes," she said. Just as Davey was about to tell his mother about the bird, his mother turned around and saw it. "Davey, get that dirty thing out of the house," she exclaimed.<br />
<br />
Not wanting to get into any more trouble, Davey quickly ducked back out of the house with the little bird. Outside, he wondered what he should do now. The bird wasn't doing very well, and Davey thought its only chance was that he take care of it. He decided to hide the little bird in his jacket and he went back into the house.<br />
<br />
As soon as he got back inside the house he darted past his mother and went into his room to get ready for the fair. He put on some clean clothes and then ran to the bathroom to get washed up a little bit. As soon as he was ready, he went back through the house towards the front door. On his way out, Davey told his mom that he'd wait outside for his sisters.<br />
<br />
After what seemed like forever, Davey's sisters came out and asked him if he was ready. They were both much older than Davey, so he always did what they told him. His sisters were always nice to him, and he thought he could get away with almost any mischief when they were watching him. He still figured that he probably shouldn't ever test that theory.<br />
<br />
Davey then thought of the bird hidden in his jacket. He didn't know
what his mother might do about it if she knew he still had it. He knew the bird was hurt
badly, and he just couldn't leave it alone to die. He'd just have to
take it with him and hope he could protect it. Just hours before, he
thought he was going to have the time of his life. Now he knew his time
at the fair was going to be miserable.<br />
<br />
It didn't take too long before they were walking on their way down the dirt road that led to town, where the fair was. Davey liked walking to town. He got to see the other farms along the way, and the animals that everybody else had. He liked animals. He knew it wouldn't be long before they reached town.<br />
<br />
After about an hour of walking they found themselves on the edge of town, and they could already hear the noises of the fair from here. One of his sisters told Davey not to run off because the fair wasn't always safe for a little boy by himself. There were some very strange people that he really didn't want to meet.<br />
<br />
As they got to the fair, they saw many strange things. A man who breathed fire and constantly kept sticking out his tongue. A man with buck teeth singing to a small crowd that surrounded him. He saw a man playing a strange box-shaped instrument with a little monkey begging for coins. The monkey didn't really seem very happy to be there.<br />
<br />
They were looking at everything as they passed by, wondering where they should stop first. It wasn't long before they approached a tent that said in big fancy letters, "Marvo The Magician". A strange thought came to Davey's mind, and he begged his sisters to take him inside. They both laughingly agreed, telling him it was a wonderful idea.<br />
<br />
As they stepped into the tent, they saw rows of benches surrounding a small stage. The benches were only half filled with people so far, and the magician wasn't out yet. They paid their money and quickly found three seats right up front.<br />
<br />
It wasn't long before Marvo the Magician stepped out and announced himself in a deep booming voice. He continued on quickly to a few unimpressive magic tricks in that same voice. He did all of the standard things. He pulled a rabbit out of a hat. He stuck a pair of rings together. He did several other things in small puffs of smoke.<br />
<br />
He then moved on to something slightly peculiar. He asked people to make requests on what tricks he might do for them. A man stood up and asked him to read his mind, which Marvo did with amazing accuracy. A woman in the back asked Marvo to disappear, to a ton of laughter. Marvo skillfully sidestepped this slight insult by asking her to come down to the stage so he could make her disappear in a cabinet that he just happened to have at the side of the stage. It was all actually becoming quite entertaining.<br />
<br />
Things went on this way for quite some time before Marvo finally said, "Before we move on to my grand finale I would like to say..."<br />
"I have something," Davey loudly interrupted in a desperate tone. As the magician turned toward him, Davey pulled the crippled bird out of his jacket.<br />
<br />
"What do we have here, young man," asked Marvo.<br />
<br />
Not able to hold it in any longer, Davey burst into tears. "I found him... I mean, I didn't mean to hurt him! He was flying by when I was playing with my slingshot. I don't know what to do for him because he's not getting any better. Can you use your magic on him," the boy pleaded.<br />
<br />
Just then Davey's older sister told him in her most sympathetic voice, "Davey, that's not the kind of thing a magician can do."<br />
<br />
Marvo, now standing directly in front of them, interrupted the exchange, "That may be true for most ordinary magicians," Marvo said in his grand tone. Then a little quieter, "It also may be true for me, but at least I can take a look."<br />
<br />
Then with a magnificent flourish of his cape, Marvo the Magnificent raised his arms dramatically and gently tapped the dying little bird with his wand. And to the amazement of everyone in attendance, most of all Davey, the beautiful little creature vibrantly sprang to life! In an instant, Davey raised his arms above his head and gave the little blue bird a nudge into the air. Then the bird triumphantly flew above the audience in a wide circle around the tent while Davey stood below with a wide grin on his face. The bird then quickly turned toward the open tent flap and swooped out into the afternoon sky.<br />
<br />
Higher and higher the little blue bird flew. Past the crowds of people. Past the many attractions of the fair. It flew past the edge of the odd city, and out into the countryside. The bird seemed to be back on the same mysterious mission it had been on when Davey first encountered it. As it flew higher and farther away, the little blue bird became a speck on the horizon, and soon it was completely out of sight.<br />
<br />Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-86097151192856983312013-04-28T04:26:00.000-05:002013-04-28T20:30:56.515-05:00Angry Hatred<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ac32FXmnUtU/UXnIKJec2yI/AAAAAAAAHHs/7DESHyJyT0E/s1600/IMG_5041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ac32FXmnUtU/UXnIKJec2yI/AAAAAAAAHHs/7DESHyJyT0E/s400/IMG_5041.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Have you ever noticed that people who disagree with you are the stupidest people in existence? I know I've noticed that little oh so obvious fact. Hate is a strong word, but I really like it when it comes in handy. Is it wrong to like hate? I hate people that disagree with me.<br />
<br />
That level of hate really depends on the level of disagreement. It's very possible to hate someone just a little bit. I know a lot of people like that. And sometimes the hate fades if the disagreement is forgotten. I guess it intermingles with anger, and anger never really lasts for very long. I think it takes too much effort to be angry so we just have to let it go eventually.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pyqBRMvwWnE/UXnIiDJCK6I/AAAAAAAAHJM/7kJMtC_mtz0/s1600/IMG_5053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pyqBRMvwWnE/UXnIiDJCK6I/AAAAAAAAHJM/7kJMtC_mtz0/s400/IMG_5053.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Anger and hate. So why am I focusing on two such negative emotions? I don't know. It's not that I've really had a disagreement with anyone recently. I just thought it was an interesting subject to think about. Most people are afraid to really examine these emotions, mostly because they don't want to admit they have them.<br />
<br />
But I wonder why anger and hate are usually thought of as negative emotions. I'm not so sure they always have to be negative. Is it not okay to be angry at a person for robbing you at gunpoint? Can it be okay to hate a person who willingly and blatantly hurts a child for the sheer pleasure of it?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jOEYgwrPC6o/UXnIY-nsDhI/AAAAAAAAHIk/JulijVBsytk/s1600/IMG_5048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jOEYgwrPC6o/UXnIY-nsDhI/AAAAAAAAHIk/JulijVBsytk/s400/IMG_5048.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
These so called negative emotions can possibly have a good purpose then. Sometimes they can be a form of protection, just like fear can be. I won't go into fear this time. Anger quickly informs you that something is very wrong, or someone is. Hate can be a longer term version of that. You can hate the taste of spoiled food, for instance.<br />
<br />
Oh sure, they can both be used for the wrong reasons. But what are those wrong reasons? If your anger or hatred is used irrationally, that is a wrong reason. It's really very easy for that to happen in a persons mind. Hate and anger are probably the most dangerous as emotions go. They can be used to make very bad things happen.<br />
<br />
That's all I really have to say about that... except... let your hate and anger flow within you. Come to the dark side.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-16287004273442202912012-07-18T22:45:00.001-05:002023-01-25T11:29:15.218-06:00Jack And The Magic Stick<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_nDnGd5KKYmb4MWbTKNj4FFb7-LOurhdM2lftq-06UDgVOJavwLFWobyHfJ3h9D9pRb6LeboFU1Jc6gMEJGpqM92mKw01236zEjLA5VwQqHSkOsxaSa1bLNKtNjyjHGb_fu6G1toLaWB9hbNlfYEIqSbkco8ekwLsXIBT_nakuWc6uC11UWNys3laA/s1000/Jack%20and%20the%20magic%20stick%201000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="1000" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_nDnGd5KKYmb4MWbTKNj4FFb7-LOurhdM2lftq-06UDgVOJavwLFWobyHfJ3h9D9pRb6LeboFU1Jc6gMEJGpqM92mKw01236zEjLA5VwQqHSkOsxaSa1bLNKtNjyjHGb_fu6G1toLaWB9hbNlfYEIqSbkco8ekwLsXIBT_nakuWc6uC11UWNys3laA/w400-h291/Jack%20and%20the%20magic%20stick%201000.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> <span style="font-weight: bold;">There was once upon a time</span> a poor widow who had an only son named Jack, and a cow named Milky. And all they had to live on was the milk the cow gave every morning, which they carried to the market and sold. But one morning Milky gave no milk, and they didn't know what to do.</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"What shall we do, what shall we do?" said the widow, wringing her hands.</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Cheer up, mother, I'll go and get work somewhere," said Jack.</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"We've tried that before, and nobody would take you," said his mother. "We must sell Milky and with the money start a shop, or something."</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"All right, mother," says Jack. "It's market day today, and I'll soon sell Milky, and then we'll see what we can do."</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
So he took the cow's halter in his hand, and off he started. He hadn't gone far when he met a funny-looking old man, who said to him, "Good morning, Jack."</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Good morning to you," said Jack, and wondered how he knew his name.</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Well, Jack, and where are you off to?" said the man.</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"I'm going to market to sell our cow there."</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Oh, you look the proper sort of chap to sell cows," said the man. "I wonder if you know how many beans make five."</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Two in each hand and one in your mouth," says Jack, as sharp as a needle.</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Right you are," says the man, "and here they are, the very beans themselves," he went on, pulling out of his pocket a number of strange-looking beans. "As you are so sharp," says he, "I don't mind doing a swap with you -- your cow for these beans."</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Go along," says Jack. "Wouldn't you like it?"</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Ah! You don't know what these beans are," said the man. "If you plant them overnight, by morning they grow right up to the sky."</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Really?" said Jack. "You don't say so."</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Yes, that is so. And if it doesn't turn out to be true you can have your cow back."</div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">
"Right," says Jack, and hands him over Milky's halter and pockets the beans. </div>
<br />
- Jack And The Beanstalk<br />
<br />
<br />
This next part is a sequel to this story, written by me.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Jack seemed to have some problems with bad trades.</span> Later he made some wild claims about a beanstalk and an angry giant to justify trading the cow away, but no one believed him. His mother was pretty angry with him, and ended up having to get another cow. It wasn't easy, but since she was the hard worker in the family she found one. Why she didn't make the trade herself in the first place, no one knows.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
Still pretty angry with Jack, she put him to work milking the new cow, and declared he was now <i>Farmer</i> Jack. He didn't like this at all since work was a dirty word to Jack, so he decided maybe he should make another trade. </div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
So it was off to market again. He took the cow's halter in his hand, and off he started. He hadn't gone far when, this time, he met a funny-looking old woman who said to him, "Good morning, Jack."</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
"Good morning to you," said Jack slyly, and this time didn't care how she knew his name.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
"Well, Jack, and where are you off to?" said the woman.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
"As a matter of fact, I was just coming to see <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span>," said Jack.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
"No, no, you're supposed to say 'I'm going to market to sell our cow there,' " said the woman.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
Jack looked her square in the eye and said, "Look, I know you want this cow, and you know you want this cow, so let's cut to the chase. <i>Now</i> what do you got for me? More magic beans, a sow's ear, a monkey's paw? Well, c'mon, what is it?"</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
The woman said, "Huh? Oh yeah, I have this here magic stick..."</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
"That's all! A magic stick? What, do I look like a fool?" asked Jack, clearly annoyed.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
"Do you want to get rid of that cow or not?" the woman said, herself a little agitated.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
Finally Jack said, "Oh, just give it to me!"</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
So they made the trade, and the woman walked away with cow number two.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
Jack looked at the stick and figured it wasn't <span style="font-style: italic;">quite</span> time to go home yet. How was he going to explain this one? Last time the magic bean thing was a disaster. He <i>had</i> to come up with something for this stick. </div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
So he stood there in the road and started waving the stick around trying to think up ideas. He was trying everything. Pretty soon he started doing some of the most vulgar and appalling things with the stick that any person had ever seen. People going past started to gawk and stare. Jack was clueless, he had no idea how strange he was being.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
It got worse! As he continued, travelers began to stop and watch. One guy threw a shiny penny on the ground in front of Jack. Finally, he had his idea!</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
Jack loudly declared, "I will continue this entertaining exhibition if <i>you</i> people continue to throw money!"</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
Later that evening Jack went home with a pocket full of cash. His mother saw the money and happily concluded that the hard work from before must have reformed Farmer Jack.</div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #b6d7a8;">
Maybe they lived happily ever after, and maybe they didn't.</div>
<br />
- Jack And The Magic Stick<br />
<br />
<br />
This story was inspired by a few true events, and the Jack in my part of the story was inspired by a real boy. That's all I'll say.<br />
<br />
An interesting fact is that the name of the author of "Jack and the Beanstalk" has been lost to time. No one can say who the original author is, although the story has been rewritten many times.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, I am the exclusive author of it's sequel "Jack and the Magic Stick."Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-369771146325567322012-02-27T03:00:00.001-06:002012-02-27T03:00:09.911-06:00Who Is Ratty?<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4RBT5iGI/AAAAAAAACLQ/ML_VjBsqqQ4/s1600-h/IMG_0105.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335560786099669090" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4RBT5iGI/AAAAAAAACLQ/ML_VjBsqqQ4/s320/IMG_0105.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><i style="color: #cc0000;">I have a ghost story for you this time that happens to be true. I've snuck in other true stories on this site before. You'll have to guess which ones they are. </i> <br />
<br />
<large>W</large>ho is Ratty? That is a short but very complex question. Some of you have wondered about it, and some haven't thought about it at all. Most of us use pseudonyms here on the internet. This one is different though. Ratty is a legend. Ratty was a hero. Today I am Ratty, but I'm not the original. Ratty was my uncle, and Ratty was my best friend.<br />
<br />
I said this was a pseudonym for me, and obviously it wasn't his real name either. I use it here on the internet, the same as any of you use yours. It was his for a much more interesting reason. I didn't just take his name for just any old reason. I did it because I guess I'm also the one who gave it to him. This is going to take some explaining because it's a very different kind of story.<br />
<br />
This story starts when I was only a baby. And yes, although it may sound unusual, I <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> remember back that far. One of my few remaining memories of my favorite uncle was when he used to bring me piles of change. I used to drop the coins down into the cracks of my grandparents' front steps. It was a fun thing for a little kid to do, and he didn't mind at all.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Q4dTipI/AAAAAAAACLI/CvOCvPzAC6w/s1600-h/IMG_0108.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335560783723203218" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Q4dTipI/AAAAAAAACLI/CvOCvPzAC6w/s320/IMG_0108.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>It was around this time that my uncle was drafted into the army, and into one of the worst wars in our country's history. He became a tank driver, which sounds like it would be a pretty safe job in a war, and it was. He used to send me pictures of him standing beside the tank. One of them showed where they had run over a land mine. The explosion created a huge hole in the ground. The tank was mostly undamaged.<br />
<br />
One time, when his tank was in for repairs, he volunteered to go on a rescue mission. My grandpa told him never to volunteer for things like that. He did anyway. They went to rescue some wounded soldiers. They were given a kind of truck that was known for not having any protection at all. This time it was the truck that ran over a land mine. My uncle didn't come back alive.<br />
<br />
I was only a little older than two years old at this time. I didn't understand the concept of death yet, so my mom decided not to take me to the funeral. There also wasn't any real way to tell me about him yet. It was about this time that I received a visit from somebody. It might sound strange, but the visitor was my uncle.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu51LVD0sI/AAAAAAAACLY/95tZVod9r50/s1600-h/IMG_0121.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335562506775810754" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu51LVD0sI/AAAAAAAACLY/95tZVod9r50/s320/IMG_0121.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>I still remember that day. My mom and I were in the kitchen, and my mom had to go down to the basement for something. The back door was open, but the outside screen door was locked. I watched as my uncle came up the stairs of the back porch to the door. I told him that I would go get my mom for him, but he said not to do it because he was in a hurry, and the one he came to talk to was <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>.<br />
<br />
I don't remember much of the conversation anymore, I was only a few years old after all. I <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> remember that he told me he would be back. My mom came up the stairs soon after he left. After she asked me who I was talking to, I told her it was my uncle. He was her younger brother.<br />
<br />
To this day, my mom tells me she heard me talking to somebody up there. She had her hands full, and was frantically trying to get upstairs. Even back then, kids shouldn't talk to strangers. I knew that very well, but he was not a stranger. My mom knew I was telling the truth as I saw it, and that I must have known who I was talking to. Besides, there was nobody there anymore, not even outside.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Q3KfUPI/AAAAAAAACLA/e3wB_mIC65Y/s1600-h/IMG_0058.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335560783375847666" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Q3KfUPI/AAAAAAAACLA/e3wB_mIC65Y/s320/IMG_0058.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>Shortly after this happened I made a new friend. He was a kid that was a little older than me. He told me his name was <span style="font-style: italic;">Ratty</span>. I knew him for a long time, and we played together the way little kids do. There was one time where I was teasing my new little brother with a worm, and Ratty took it from me and covered it up so my brother wouldn't be afraid anymore. I learned a new lesson.<br />
<br />
This whole time, my parents just assumed that I had an imaginary friend. Lots of little kids have them at some point. At the same time all of this was happening, my grandma had the idea to put pictures of each family member on one of her living room walls. For my uncle, she used an old picture from when he was a little kid. It had been packed away for several years, and nobody had seen it in all that time.<br />
<br />
When we went to visit my grandparents, I immediately noticed that picture. I identified it as my best friend Ratty. I was much too young to have ever seen this picture before. Nobody else knew what to think of this, but they most likely dismissed it as the imagination of a small child. Wouldn't you?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Qhw7pMI/AAAAAAAACK4/ICG1brK_T0o/s1600-h/IMG_0092.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335560777631507650" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_guAtcdO78RA/Sgu4Qhw7pMI/AAAAAAAACK4/ICG1brK_T0o/s320/IMG_0092.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>I continued to play with my friend, but through the years his visits became less and less frequent. They finally stopped shortly before I started school. He still occasionally visited me in my dreams, but it just wasn't the same.<br />
<br />
Was this all only the imagination of a child? Or was it something much more special? I don't have that answer for you because I simply don't know. I <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> know that it was all real to <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>, and I still remember everything, including his face.<br />
<br />
So, who is Ratty? That was Ratty. I use this name to honor my uncle, and my best friend. Thanks Ratty. I'll never forget.Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7141566890254133819.post-50571883332357596342012-02-13T03:00:00.000-06:002012-02-13T03:00:12.530-06:00The Maggot Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-3GXD7bIo/Tc2pF8rmADI/AAAAAAAAFtA/ROgZRKB3AIw/s1600/Demon+Mask+%2528small%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2K-3GXD7bIo/Tc2pF8rmADI/AAAAAAAAFtA/ROgZRKB3AIw/s1600/Demon+Mask+%2528small%2529.png" /></a></div>
The little boy woke in the middle of the night to a strange sound in the room. His family was staying in this small house in the woods for their vacation. There was only one bedroom, but the living room was very big. The boy was sleeping on one couch and his older sister was sleeping on the other across the room. It wasn't too bad; the couches were actually almost as comfortable as their beds, and sleeping on them made it seem like they were on a little adventure.<br />
<br />
Even so, this was still a strange place for the little boy, and this quiet house out in the woods was far away from the comfort of his own familiar bedroom. He wasn't really very afraid. And as his parents had explained, this house was far out in the woods, so the only thing they'd come across around here would be deer or squirrels. But it didn't hurt to take precautions, so he kept his eyes shut for a few seconds and waited to hear the strange sound again.<br />
<br />
Then after a few seconds he heard it again! It was the quiet creak of the floorboards. A third person must be in the room with the boy and his sister. All sorts of strange ideas ran through the boy's mind until he came to the logical conclusion that it was probably just one of his parents. That's when the boy decided to finally open his eyes and end the suspense.<br />
<br />
What the little boy saw in the dark room didn't look at all like one of his parents. It was the figure of a man in a dark trench coat leaning over his sister who was sound asleep on the other couch! The man wasn't wearing a hat and his head was completely bald. His skin was so white that it seemed to glisten in the dark. It wasn't a good color though. That pale skin made the boy think of the color of maggots.<br />
<br />
Startled by the sickening thought of the man's odd appearance, the boy gave an involuntary shudder that made the couch springs creak ever so slightly. Reacting to the sound, the man slowly turned his head around towards the direction of the frightened boy. As his face slowly came into view, the boy saw that the man's ears looked as if they were smoothly pressed right up against the sides of his head. All the boy could see of the man's very flat nose were the two nostril holes. Strangely, the man had a wide grin on his face. The grin didn't necessarily seem cruel, but it also didn't seem kind either. It was just fixed on the man's face as if it was the permanent shape of his mouth.<br />
<br />
The terrified little boy was now hoping with all his heart that this was only a dream! Without any further delay, the boy quickly pulled the covers over his head, hoping the strange maggot man would go away. As the boy lie there cowering in terror under his blanket, he heard footsteps coming across the room towards him. But then for some odd reason they suddenly stopped about halfway, and there was only silence.<br />
<br />
After what seemed like an eternity, the boy decided that the man must be gone, so he slowly pulled back the blanket to see that there was now daylight filtering in through the windows. He slowly looked around the room and saw that it was now empty except for him and his sister. The boy quickly jumped up off the couch and ran to his parents' room to tell them what happened. After talking to him for awhile and assuring him that they would investigate this event, the boy's mom and dad tried to convince him that it was almost certainly just a dream. The boy finally agreed to consider that conclusion.<br />
<br />
The boy never saw the strange maggot man again, but he always felt that it all seemed too real to have been only a dream. But if it was real, then who was that strange man? More importantly, <i>what</i> was he? Was he trying to harm the boy's sister in some way? His sister claimed to have never seen him. Did the strange man leave because the boy had seen him? The boy wondered what might have happened if he hadn't woken up and seen the maggot man. <br />
<br />
And so for many years the boy couldn't help but wonder why they were visited by the strange maggot man.Rick (Ratty)http://www.blogger.com/profile/04062449024949497557noreply@blogger.com17