The angel shuddered as he closed the heavy oak doors behind him, crystal droplets of hailstone cascading all about from his storm-weary wings. Another explosion resonated somewhere just beyond the walls of the citadel. Raphael sighed. It had been a long time since the threat of siege had been such. He looked at the orbs lined up neatly along the shelves, filled with the ghosts of the past and the demons of the future. How had they known it would come to this? The dragon hummed with a soulful murmur as it bristled its feathery collar and turned back to stare into the faded embers of the hearth.

As though his echo, Dante the gryphon crooned in the corner, chafing to be untethered and given the run of the brooding, crumbling castle walls again. The harmony of Raphael's melancholy lament was barely audible as he took off his world-worn leathers and hung his cloak up to dry. The white diaphanous muslin tunic tumbled softly down against his weary alabaster skin, while hazy globes of light phosphoresced as he put the taper to the lamps.

Raphael had fastidiously studied the ancient texts, the archaic leather-bound volumes and faded scrolls for decades, though it felt like centuries; decoding riddles, deciphering the hieroglyphs of the ancients and searching for prophecies and glimmering semblances of hope for a realm deteriorating faster than the decaying moss-ridden crenulated walls that housed it. Temple manuscripts lay strewn across the desk and over the stone-flagged floor.

The answer to his prayers had come when Raphael was least expecting it. Dante had been wreaking havoc all over the citadel, as was so oft his want to do, and searching the stagnating dungeon recesses for some effective form of fettering for the beast, Raphael's irritable outstretched wings had inadvertently dislodged a crumbling stone, which in turn revealed a crevice from which an otherworldly light was emanating. It was in this chthonic vault where he'd found the orbs, like eggs in a nest, throbbing, glowing, whispering... It was almost as though they were daring him to pick them up, flirting with his innermost thoughts.

And once they were in his hands - that's when the communications really started. At first the sensory overload hurt his head, the voices interweaving with his own thoughts, but it wasnt long before he could separate the clamour into coherent streams of linguistic consciousness, recounting the past and foretelling the future.

For weeks belief had seesawed with disbelief as he kept the spheres shrouded in their soft woollen blanket of secrecy. And each day he watched as the truths played out the fulfilment of the orbs' clandestine whisperings.

Each time even a sliver of a thought entered his mind to take this discovery to the temple and casting this knowledge into the charge of the high priests and archons, his consciousness was pierced by anguished cries from his embittered luminous spheres. And whether these globes wielded real power or whether they merely indulged upon his ethereal narcissism was no longer important; this secret burden of knowledge unknown now lay upon Raphael's shoulders alone.

The angel broke from his reverie of reminiscence and relaxed into a one-time luxuriant armchair next to the sullen embers of a once-roaring fire. Milton looked up at him with sad eyes reflecting his master's pain; his crest and collar pallid white, translucent almost, drained of all emotions in empathy with his master's mood.

"Ah, Milton," Raphael mustered a trace of a smile, "to be forewarned is to be forearmed... Never underestimate the power of prayer and of hope."

The dragon murmured in the ancient tongue of his clan, carefully stretching his wings, but still managing to clip the iron chandelier with his vast leathery span. Milton knew what was in his master's heart better than Raphael knew himself. He padded softly off to see what he could scavenge before Raphael would inevitably repent on his annoyance with Dante and give the gryphon free rein once again to purge the citadel of wee beasties, Milton's tail just clipping the table as he skulked around the corner, causing an avalanche of parchment and manuscripts to cascade through the air like the first flurries of winter - an omen of what was still to come for this little crenulated realm.

The angel had predicted the coming of the waters, forecasted the arrival of the necromancer and the raising of the dead and protected his realm from the glacial advances of their nefarious neighbours. He had done everything in his power to keep his people safe. But now... now the orbs were whispering again, and what was coming couldn't be repelled by sandbags, incantations or the most skilled teams of archers.

The globes swelled and throbbed in unison with the pulsating curtain of seductive light that now danced bewitchingly each night across the northern quarter of the obsidian crystal sky. Raphael felt the timbre of their language entwined with his thoughts; his heart ached in time with their languishing souls; the swollen fragments of a forgotten generation now hearing, feeling and waking to the call of their kin, through time and space.

The nights increasingly became an ocean of green and gold, the air thick with foreboding, as though at each twilight the entire realm held its collective breath. The castellated walls were ablaze with serpents and Raphael could see tall galleons sail across the diamond dust of the midnight sky in his mind's eye, and could do naught but watch as plagues of wrath were delivered upon this tiny realm. The very stones writhed as the breath of life animated the carved beasts of the castle's architecture, while thunder flashed across the crystalline skies.

And so under a blood-soaked moon Raphael stood atop the decaying battlements, and greeted the winged galleon of the stars. Bathed in a prism of their aurora, he reached out to their collective mind, to beseech these stellar oarsmen to show mercy on his people, but to no avail, the apocalypse was nigh.

I poured myself another Scotch on the rocks, leaned back in my chair and waited for trouble to arrive. I knew it would come soon - it always does when I pour a drink. That's the first rule of being a Hard Boiled Detective.

Trouble came in a different form. Usually it comes in a tight, slinky red dress. With fishnet stockings, the kind with the sexy seam up the back. But today it came wrapped in a cape covered in sequins.

"I am the Amazing Dvora," trouble declared. "And you must accompany me back to the circus." She tosser her cape back over her shoulders, revealing a form fitting red body suit and black tights. I knew red would come into this somewhere. That's rule number two.

"And why would I do that?" I asked.

"Because I command you to." She pulled out a strangely glowing glass ball and held it in front of me. I wondered where she hid it in that skin-tight costume. The obvious places still looked symmetrical on each side.

"Look into the crystal…"she intoned. Shapes swirled in it like Scotch around melting ice. Which reminded me of my drink. I tossed it back and set down the empty glass.

"Listen lady, I don't have all day to stare into your little bowling ball. Tell me what you want or get out."

The orb disappeared. "There's a mystery at the circus. Take our case and you will receive a year of circus tickets for two adults and two children, 12 fortune telling sessions and a behind-the-scenes look at the animals."

"You had me at tickets," I said. I grabbed my trenchcoat - rule number three - and headed to the stairs.

"You can ride with me," she said.

Minutes later we were both on her elephant, Hector the Magnificent, heading to the edge of town where the visiting circus was entertaining the unsuspecting townsfolk.

We pulled around back and parked the elephant behind the main tent. I slid to the ground as she did a double layout dismount and landed nimbly beside me, somehow managing to avoid the large elephant pile that cushioned my fall.

"Enough of the mystery," I growled as I shook Hector's last meal from my trenchcoat. "What's the big mystery?"

A soft, prolonged hissing emanated from Hector's backside. Her sequined cape fluttered in the accompanying breeze, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. My eyes started to water as it reached me.

"Ah, Hector likes you," she said. "In my country, it is believed that an elephant's aroma leads to long life. Breathe deeply." She took several deep breaths.

When she regained consciousness, I asked my question again. "What's the big mystery?"

"Come with me," she said.

We entered a smaller tent where various performers were preparing for their acts. After weaving past knife throwers, under stilt walkers and between monkeys on unicycles, we came to the small office. An old, empty safe sat in the corner, door standing open.

"As you can see, somebody stole our money."

"Did you check the monkeys?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Yes, all of the monkeys were searched. We found Zelda's missing ring and Chia's blueberry muffin, but no money."

"And you agree that my fee is a year of circus tickets for two adults and two children, 12 fortune telling sessions and a behind-the-scenes look at the animals."

"Yes. But Circus Ginormous cannot be held liable for any personal injury sustained by you or your party. Selection of animals is not guaranteed. Fortunes may contain forward-looking statements and are not to be considered legally binding or used for investment purposes. All taxes are the responsibility of the recipient."

"Agreed. Hand me your crystal ball."

"I tried that. It will not reveal the thief."

I held out my hand and she reluctantly gave me the ball. I noticed that it smelled faintly of honey and jasmine, with a slight overtone of Hector.

Ball in hand, I went back past the knife throwers, stilt walkers and monkeys to Hector. I led him back to the small office.

"Look at me, Hector." Those big, brown eyes met my bluish-green ones. I held up the crystal ball.

"Look deep into the ball, Hector. Deeper, deeper. Watch the peanut butter swirls, focus on them. You are growing relaxed and sleepy." His eyelids started to droop as he watched the swirling ball.

"You are Hector, the tracking elephant. You will use your trunk for more than taking peanuts from the audience. You can track anything, anywhere. Do you understand?" His massive head nodded in agreement.

"When I say 'You're no cream puff' you will awaken refreshed. You will sniff the safe, determine the last person to access it and track that person down. Do you understand?" Again he nodded.

"You're no cream puff."

Instantly, Hector was awake and tracking. His giant trunk snuffled over the safe like a creepy finger scraping the last of the peanut butter out of the jar. Then he was off, trunk to the ground. Like a oversized, elephant-shaped bloodhound, he lifted his head to the sky and bayed with an elephant roar as he struck the trail. He charged through the tent, scattering monkeys and contortionists in front of him. He quickly crossed the gap to the main tent and entered, going straight to the main ring.

The rowdy audience cheered loudly as he ran over to the clowns, breaking up their melon juggling act. As cantaloupes and honeydews exploded on the ground in bursts of orange and green, he picked Baggy Britches out of the clown crowd and lifted him by the ankle. Holding him high, he pranced around the ring, triumphant in his elephant tracking abilities. Money fluttered out of Baggy Britches pockets as the crowd cheered.

"There's your thief, lady."

"How can we ever repay you? You have saved the circus and given Hector a new career."

"I have tickets for another adult and two kids. Got a sister?"

Slade the Blade, extraordinarily feared pirate, strolled casually across the spotlessly clean poop deck, one shining leather boot making barely a whisper on the well-scrubbed wood, his polished peg leg neatly punctuating the sound of the wayward wind. One strong, be-ringed hand firmly grasped the elaborate pommel of his mighty cutlass. Reaching the ship’s colossal wheel, he released his strong grip on his prized weapon and, seizing said wheel with both hands, he looked ahead into the far distance with a focused scowl.

“Land ho!” shouted the leathery-skinned, highly experienced sailor. “Arrgh, that there be Pirate’s Cove ahead. Heave to! Second star to the right and straight on till morning!”

The flawlessly handsome first mate repeated the order to the scurvy crew, copying in toto his swashbuckling superior’s brilliant words.

“Sure an’ begorrah,” Slade bellowed, “may the wind always be at our backs! Hoist the Jolly Roger so they know we be friends!” Up went the pirate flag, skull and crossbones soon flapping loudly in the rugged breeze.

Aye, the ship, he thought proudly. What a prize it was! It had replaced their previous, minuscule vessel, which had been more than insignificant in size compared to his towering new sailing sensation, the _Fleeting Intrepid_. The capture of this magnificent leviathan had made Slade the Blade’s reputation even more legendary.

“Man the sheets and lower the shrouds! Reeve the forestays! Belay the bilge!” Slade reseated his favorite tricorn hat on his head. “Frap the fardage,” he shouted against the fearsome wind. “Jib the jibboom! Savvy?” He adjusted the delicate lace on his long sleeves and at his white throat.

“Avast ye crew! My blade and I”““ He felt for his tooled leather scabbard and found it empty. “What has befallen my cold, naked steel?”

“What kind of pirate loses his own chosen method of defense?” the first mate said mockingly, an ugly sneer creasing his exceedingly tanned face.

Slade glared at him suspiciously with gunmetal eyes. “You speak foul words to your captain. Be you mutineer?”

“Aye, Captain Slade,” the first mate spat out. “It were _I_ who absconded with said blade!” He whipped out the captain’s recently lost sword, previously hidden up his voluminous left sleeve, with lightning ease.

Slade put out his masculine hand for a crewman to fill it with a weapon. He thrust his arm out in front of him to see that he held a mere dirk. Undaunted”“Slade the Blade was master of _any_ type of edged weapon”“he initiated the swashbuckling, feinting and parrying each of the first mate’s rough but hard blows with stealthy ease, his peg leg beating out a fast rhythm on the hardwood of the crowded but roomy main deck. The clashing of cutlass and knife were the only sounds heard as the crew watched, in thrall to the masterful swordplay.

Balestra and counter-parry were followed up with riposte and coupe. Insistence beget octave. Passe, thrust, coup fournette, all were executed flawlessly. True to his name, Slade the Blade easily dispatched the mutinous mate.

“Now, any else of ye be foul traitor to your captain?”

The crew cheered boisterously as they swore undying allegiance to their brave and deservedly famous captain. Slade looked on them proudly with a steely gaze. “Now men, bream the bulwarks, forbitt the futtock, and luff the lugsail! Tonight we feast in Pirate’s Cove!”

The _Fleeting Intrepid_ sailed flawlessly into the blinding sunset toward the comfort of the welcoming cove.

“Good news guys, I got us a job!” Boss announced, drawing himself up to his full three-foot two-inch height.

“It better not be a road crew again,” Rebel griped, I'm getting' tired of scratching my butt and waving the cars past the orange cones.”

The rest of the crew looked interested, with the exception of Earl, who was asleep in the corner as usual.

“Nah, we are the replacement actors for the remake of 'The Dukes of Hazard' Boss explained, “so we are dividing into two groups. I am playing the part of 'Boss', naturally. Rebel, you head up the Duke clan, you get Buck, Beau, and Earl.”

“Earl? What in tarnation am I supposed to use him for?” Rebel asked.

“Ballast for all I care. I'm taking Jesse and Bubba, so don't complain.”

Rebel noded. “Putting it that way I wouldn’t. What are you going to do with Bubba?”

“I'm making him the sheriff.”

They both turned and looked at Bubba, who was busily engaged in sticking a screwdriver in an electrical socket.

“T'ain't planning to catch us, are you?” Rebel ventured.

“The script doesn't call for it fortunately”

With that the two groups went their separate ways.

“OK, so do either of you two know how to drive?” Rebel asked, standing by the car.

“Yeah, I do,” Beau said, as he immediately had a sneezing fit, then wiped his hands on Earl who lay oblivious on the ground.

“Right. How about you Buck?”

“I recon I can, I took lessons and all.”

“OK, you're the driver. Let's go for a test drive. Throw sleeping beauty in the trunk with the spare.”

They all climbed in, Rebel getting in the back seat, putting on his belt and crash helmet, Buck getting into the drivers seat, and Beau climbing into the passenger side, then turning on the engine. The car immediately sped off across the field approaching a wide creek.

“Stop the car!” Rebel screamed.

“I don't know how!” Buck replied.

“What?!!?”

“I only asked to be taught how to drive the thing, not to start and stop it. They did look at me a might curious at the time,” Buck admitted.

The car jumped the creek, and a large fish swimming in it, and landed safely on the other side, stalling out in the process. When Rebel finished with his 'Hail Mary's', Beau asked “what kind of fish was that anyway?”

“Shark of course,” Rebel replied, “and us jumping it is not a good sign.”

“Why, what's it mean?” Buck asked.

“That there will not be a second season of this show.”

Just then a blue woman with yellow hair walked up. “Hi boys, you get lost or something?”

They all got out of the car with the exception of Earl who had slept through the whole thing in the trunk.

“Ain't you got the wrong color... Oomph”, Beau started protesting, and ended up holding himself where Smurfette kicked him, turning as blue as she was in the process.

“Ya'll got something against blue honey?” 'Daisy Duke' asked.

“No, I meant the wrong color hair. Ain't you supposed to be a brunette?” Beau gasped.

“Oh, well they let Jessica Simpson get away with that already anyway.”

“I don't suppose you have information that might help further the plot?” Rebel asked.

“Yeah, I overheard Bubba and Jesse talking about Boss's latest scheme. Catching Yankees speeding through town, and fining them.”

“Not much of a scheme there. Isn't that what they're supposed to do?” Rebel asked puzzled.

“Script says you're supposed to try and stop them,” Daisy pointed out.

“OK, OK, let's get to the road leading into town. Daisy, you drive, and I don't care what the script says about that.”

They arrived without incident, and Rebel instructed Beau and Buck to get Earl out of the trunk and lay him across the road so that cars would slow down to go around him thus avoiding the speed trap.

The plan worked fine for about six cars, the seventh ran over Earl without slowing down.

“Hey!” Buck yelled.
“Heck, it didn't hurt Earl any. Load him in the trunk again and let's take off after them,” Rebel said.

Boss surveyed the scene dismally. The cars thus far had all passed them at a snails pace, Bubba was busily investigating the business end of his gun, peering down the barrel trying to see the bullet, and Jesse had tied the bottom of his deputy's shirt again showing a bare midriff.

Boss shook his head, then a large Cadillac with New York plates came careening towards their roadblock at high speed with the Dukes chasing it in their car.

The Cadillac veered off at the final instant, stopping out of the path of danger as the Duke's car rammed the police cruiser. The dwarves wobbled out of their respective cars, including Earl who had woken up in time to go to sleep again behind the car.

“Boss, charge him with speeding, careless and reckless driving, and hit and run,” Rebel said.

“Aren't you supposed to be on his side?” Boss asked.

“A Yankee from New York? He's probably in league with the devil!”

Satan stepped out of his car, smoothed his Armani suit, and straightened his Satya tie.

“Was there something gentlemen, and I do use the term loosely?”

“Well um, are you really the devil?” Boss asked.

“I'm a Liberal New York Lawyer, who were you expecting, Mother Teresa?”

“What, is this turning into a remake of 'Time Bandits' too?” Rebel asked.

“I hardly think we have the space for that,” Satan pointed out. “But we do need a conclusion. Anybody have any ideas?”

“Well, we could make it a dream sequence,” Beau suggested.

“Too cliché, even for this contest,” Satan pointed out.

“How about the network yanks the series,” Jesse suggested.

“I think that is likely to happen, but the network usually doesn't do that in the middle of a show,” Satan said.

“We could all be run over by a truck,” Rebel suggested helpfully.

“I'm not sure that would phase Earl,” Satan pointed out, looking at his inert form. “Now I know where the Creator came up with the idea of the Opossum.”

“How about word count?” Bubba asked.

The others turned and stared at him in awe since it was the first idea he had...

Belladonna Ravenchild brought her steed to a halt in front of the 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' Inn. Any weariness she felt from her long journey was not apparent as she jumped acrobatically down to the ground. Dragonchanter whinnied in disapproval as his master tethered him to the hitching post, tossing his magnificent mane that shone with all of the colours of the rainbow and more in the moonlight. Dropping his head he gently butted Belladonna with his single long, gnarled horn. "I won't be long." She reassured him before striding assuredly towards the inn.

As on any given Saturday night the 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' was filled with the merrymaking of a diverse cross-section of cultures. Belladonna flung open the saloon-style doors. Standing in the open doorway she sent a sudden quietness across the room. He raven hair was black as the night but in the moonlight and the whirling multitude of colours emerging from the tavern it looked to be encrusted with diamonds and precious gems as it flowed in the early evening breeze. The only sounds that could be heard were the hushed whispers and mutterings of the patrons within.

Marching straight up to the bar Belladonna demanded Tequila from the barman. He trembled as he poured the drink, partly through fear but also in awe of the beauty and presence of this leather-clad athletic but womanly figure stood before him. She sat on a bar stool and surveyed the room intently as though she was looking for someone or something.

Belladonna turned and stood up quickly making the poor dithering barman drop the bottle he was pouring from. She put her hand to her waist and drew a sword from the sheath at her side.

"I don't want no trouble miss." The barman stammered, but Belladonna's attentions were focused elsewhere. She held the sword in the air above her head. The long blade was engraved with an intricate design and even to the untrained eye it was obviously more ceremonial and less like a weapon used for combat. The polished metal blade glowed blue, but from the reflection of no light that the onlookers could see.

The mysterious sword bearer marched across to the other side of the bar, the crowds parting as she passed through. She came to a halt in front of a small man who seemingly ignored the presence before him. Reaching downwards Belladonna grabbed the back of his jacket, pulling him to his feet. Still clutching his glass the amber nectar within splashed onto the wooden floor below.

An air of disbelief filled the 'Sorcerer's Apprentice'. The barman danced about with worry and anticipation while the other customers wondered, both silently and in hushed voices, what this man had done to offend this goddess of a woman.

Holding his collar firmly Belladonna proceeded to slice off each button on the man's shirt one by one, revealing his skin. An observant bystander would have noticed the strange glint in his eyes as she held the sword to his chest. She drew the sword slowly downwards, tracing a line down his body. To the surprise of the onlookers, even though the sword was pressed deep into the man's flesh, no blood was drawn.

Her sword once again sheathed, Belladonna reached her hand deep inside the now lifeless man's chest cavity. The body dropped to the floor with a thud, followed by a sharp mass intake of breath. In her hand she held a small writhing, scaly creature. The high-pitched squealing noise the creature emitted forced everyone, including Belladonna to hold their hands over their ears. The creature, akin to the body that had once inhabited, fell to the floor. For several seconds it continued to struggle and then was still.

Unlike the other witnesses, Belladonna seemed unaffected by the events. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a small wooden box bearing the same markings as the blade of her sword. She opened the box and poured the powdery contents over the motionless creature and its human-form counterpart, causing the bodied to burst into blue flames.

The watching crowd remained speechless as Belladonna retraced her footsteps to the bar. She downed the remainder of the Tequila in her glass before making her way to the door and mounted her unusual steed.

As she rode she sang a song of magic and of demons. The song told of a brave young maiden who was chosen by her kin to fight against evil forces. She stopped for a moment, trying desperately to remember if the song had a happy ending. To her dismay she could not remember the last verse. Kicking Dragonchanter back into life, she continued on her journey, humming the notes to the song that she sang.

“That’s it!” growled Ted, slamming the novelty tortoise telephone down onto his desk. “If things don’t start staying the way they were there’s going to be trouble” he pointed an accusatory finger at the phone, which had the grace to look embarrassed as it took a second bite out of his sandwhich.
“Its that bleeding lot in the clouds that’s doin’ it”, Ted grumbled, dropping the munching tortoise into a desk drawer and inspecting the soggy remains of his lunch. “Doing what Gov?” Ted sighed, for a few blissful minutes he had managed to forget about Charles ”˜Knuckles’ Palowski, his partner in crime, so to speak. Knuckles was known for his tact at diffusing delicate situations, normally by hitting something delicate, often repeatedly, with something less delicate, like a hammer, or a wrench, or on one particularly unpleasant occasion, broccoli.
“They been prancing around in the all together again and chanting those lamentation things I wouldn’t imagine and its us poor simple folks what have to deal with it” Ted gestured wildly around the room, and was only mildly surprised when laser beams burst from his fingers and burnt black traces into the wallpaper.
“Whats’s we to do about it boss?” Knuckles asked, ducking as the words took flight and headed south for the winter.
“I’ll tell you what we’re goin’ to do Knuckles, we’re going to sort them feather wearing budgees out once and for all” Ted slammed his hand on the table to emphasise his point. An effect dampened by a rather sad looking sandwhich.
“Oh fer chrissakes” Ted sighed, sweeping the mess into his desk drawer. As contented noises came from within the bowels of his desk, Ted pulled on his overcoat and motioning for Knuckles to follow, they headed out to the street.
Ted realised he was being rather rash but he’d had enough. It was time to bring those winged weirdos crashing back down to earth, and he was just the man to do it. Knuckles stood back as Ted swung the launcher up onto his shoulder, “Now watch the recoil on this”. Was what Ted meant to say. What he actually said was “Now weaagherthrat…” as he was lifted off his feet, carried backwards through a telephone box and landed in a carefully maintained rose garden, complete with comical (and pointy) garden gnome. Knuckles lumbered over and lifted Ted up in one giant fist.
“You ”˜k boss?”
“I’d be damn sight better if I was the right way up you idiot!”
“Sorry boss” Knuckles said, righting Ted and planted him back into the mud.
Ted stood, feet in the mud, face glowing the glow of the righteous (or the so angry you might explode) and glared at Knuckles like some giant mutated rose.
“If I wasn’t feeling so righteous right now, I would be so angry I might explode!”
“Sorry boss, but look… you got ”˜em”
And look Ted did. There, streaming out of the sky, came the clouds, the pilots jabbing at controls and pulling on the stick for all they were worth. The angels sat in the back, oxygen masks strapped to their faces, bracing for the inevitable impact that was to come.
As Ted danced in glee amongst (or rather on) the roses, the clouds came, streaming flames and smoke across the sky. Then one by one they crashed, or rather slumped, onto the London streets, the marshmallowness of the clouds launching their passengers back into the air. All around him angels were rising and dusting themselves off, some relatively unscathed, others looking more like a pigeon after a rather heavy night on the sauce, an Al Karems kebab, a back street brawl and the revisitation of the kebab some hours later.
“Right Knuckles… lets get ”˜em” Ted marched off with Knuckles in tow. Knuckles was slightly perplexed, for some reason he was finding it rather hard not to turn into a purple mushroom, something he was fairly sure he didn’t normally find a problem. Still, he figured, he had always had a bit of memory problem and hadn’t people always referred to him as a fun guy?
So it was that Ted, with a large and somewhat purple Knuckles approached the cluster of angels that were forming on the pavement and raised his fist under the nose of the first that he met.
“You couldn’t leave alone” he growled, wiping the blood away and not meeting the eye of the first angel who had bowed in greeting. “It’s always us what has to sort it out, well I’ve had enough”
Behind Ted, Knuckles made a small whimper, turning Ted glared at the toadstool that seemed to wither under his gaze.
“Perfect Knucles, just perfect. Just when I need you, you go and turn into some violet vegetable. Well I’m not having it, you get over there and start kickin’ some heavenly hide”
Ted sat down at a bus stop and rolled himself a cigarette, he had been trying to quit for ages, but today seemed like a good day to smoke. Lighting the roll up from a still smouldering nimbostratus he watched on, as the last handful of angels tried to rush Knuckles before they disappeared kicking and screaming beneath his vengeful stalk.
Smiling a contented smile Ted wandered over.
“That’ll do now Knuckles” he motioned the ”˜shroom away. “Now you buggers, you listen and you listen good. I’ve had it wi’ your messin’ around… any more funny business and me and my” he turned to take in Knuckles, “my associate will be back to sort you out” Reaching into his coat pocket he produced a wad of cotton wool, “now take this and get lost”
A battered and bruised face peered up at him, “wassat for?”
“This? Everyone knows clouds are made of cotton wool, what are you? Simple?” and Ted hoisted the angel into the air. “Now get up there and sort it out”
Turning away Ted walked back to his office, Knuckles in tow. Another job well done.

A slender, pale young woman sits in a tree. Saying she's beautiful is an understatement. Her hair is black and shiny, and falls loosely around her waist. She turns around and her ruby-red eyes glint in the afternoon sun. She smiles as she spots her prey ”” An unsuspecting child playing in the sandbox. You notice that her teeth come to a slight point at the bottom, almost like an animal's. She leaps down from her branch and flies gracefully through the air, landing lightly on her bare feet. Her long red dress flutters in the breeze, and for a moment, what appears to be a crimson-red tail with a pointed end is visible. She adjusts her dress quickly and glances around to make sure no one saw. Then she notices you looking at her.
She utters a low growl from deep within her throat. Suddenly, the sky darkens around you. Heavy clouds roll in. You blink and she's right in front of you, nose to nose. You notice her eyes are not a beautiful ruby color anymore; they took on a dark rust instead. She smiles again, but this time it's menacing. You notice her teeth are now razor sharp, and dripping with some kind of slime. You flinch away and she laughs. It's a mocking laugh. Her face is now inches away from yours. You can feel her hot breath on your cheeks and smell the spoiled blood from her previous meal. The last thing you hear is the three words that she utters:
“I am Kayoko.”
And then there is nothing.
Meanwhile,a small child sits on the side of the road, licking a popsicle. She looks to be about five or six years old. She has blonde hair, shinier than the sun, that's pulled into pigtails that bounce and wave about every time she moves. She has big, blue eyes that fill up half her face with their brightness. She hums a tune to herself as she enjoys her treat. You look around. There are no adults nearby. You wonder where her parents are. As you approach her, you notice another strange thing. On her pink and white dress, by a strip of lace, there is a dark red smudge. It looks to be in the shape of a hand print. Her popsicle is green, so it couldn't be that. And there is no dirt or mud piles anywhere nearby. So where did that stain come from? She looks up and notices you standing there. “HI!” She squeals in a sing-song voice. She holds her half-melted popsicle out to you. “Want a lick?” You smile at her and sit down. “Where are your parents, sweetie?” Her smile fades a little. She looks at her feet. “They're gone.” You think she means she got lost. “Oh, honey, I'm sure they're close to here! They are probably out looking for you and worrying like crazy!” She shakes her blonde little head. “Nope. They're dead.” She points to the ground with one chubby finger. “They're in hell.”
You don't know what to say. You try to change the subject. “My name is Emma. What's yours?” She looks bored. “Yumi,” she replies. Suddenly her face lights up. “Hey, do you want to hear a song?” You sigh. “Alright.” She beams up at you and stands up. She smooths out the creases in her dress and starts to sing. “Ring around the rosy, pockets full of posies..” She begins to dance around you in a slow circle. “..Ashes, ashes..” She dances faster and faster, her hair whipping around her face. “..You all fall down!” She squeals. You start to clap, but then you realize she said “You all” instead of “We all”. It was probably an honest mistake, but something was there. Something more threatening...
She starts again. “Ring around the rosy..” She's beginning to frighten you. Her playful, childlike tone takes on a menacing twist. “..Pockets full of posies..” You laugh nervously. “Ok, that's enough...” She continues to sing, dancing more wildly than before. “..Ashes, ashes..” You get annoyed. “Stop it!” She pays no attention. “..You will fall down.” “STOP IT NOW!” You yell at her. She stops dead in her tracks. Her back is to you. Her head slowly turns around as her body stays facing away from you. Her voice takes on a demonic tone as she growls, “You WILL fall down.” And the world goes black. The last thing you hear is a child's voice singing. “Ring around the rosy, pockets full of posies, ashes, ashes, you fell down...”
In the dead of night, a child scurries across the road. The only light that shines on her is the moonlight. It illuminates the little girl, surrounding her in a silver blanket. For a moment, if there were to be anyone watching, it appears as if she is dragging something heavy behind her. A trail of blood is left behind. Then, in a flash, she is gone.
The blood-soaked corpse drops at the woman's feet. She glances up at the child standing in front of her, splattered with blood as well. She smiles. “You're early.” The little girl shrugs and sits down on the floor. “This one was easy,” she replies. “Oh was it now?” The woman replies with an arched eyebrow. She turns the body over roughly and examines her servant's handiwork. It looks like a teenager. Maybe seventeen or eighteen. Her neck is broken and tilted at an inhuman angle. Purple bruises cover her from head to toe, dark as midnight. Every single one of her ribs are ripped out and broken. The woman smiles. The child was more talented than she thought. She turns away from the dead girl's blank, unseeing eyes and hugs the little girl. “You did well, Yumi.” Yumi smiles. “Thank you, master.” The two girls hug again. And then they begin to feed.

I was walking down the halls of my school, west green high, when suddenly out of the middle of nowhere, this giant boulder comes out of nowhere. Now, I’m not one to complain about a giant boulder, since normally these things can come in great handy, but it was in my way. This thing was as big as the entire hallway and was blocking my way to my next class, which I was desperate to be on time to, because it was my class with ms. Quayar. If I didn’t get to class in time, she would stuff my in a white fluffy room, filled to the brim with cotton candy, unicorns and rainbows. I hate cotton candy, unicorns and rainbows. I didn’t know what to do. There was no way around, because here room was at the end of a dead end, but the boulder was blocking the way to the dead end. I couldn’t go over it, cause I had just happened to wear my leather pants today, and I wouldn’t be able to move very comfortably in them. I couldn’t try to go through the roof cause they were going to kick me out of the school if I made one more hole in the roof. What else could I do. I walked up to the poor boulder. I slammed my fist into it and screamed bloody murder at the freaking thing. I was furious. I needed to get to class, to escape the happiness. I looked up at the clock. 2 minutes left. I looked back at the boulder. It was time to get serious with this not so little freak. I reached into my backpack, which happens to hold everything including narnia inside, and called for my pet flame thrower. Sparky came to my open arms, and I caught him with greed in my eyes. I looked at the boulder, “you’re goin’ down jerk.” I flamed that thing so badly, I might’ve set the sun on fire. Luckily they’d hade the school completely waxed, painted, and rebuilt with flame-proof materials, after the last time I’d set the school on fire. I couldn’t see how far I was getting, so I stopped my flamey headed actions for the time being, and looked at the rock. “dangit!” I hadn’t done a single thing to the rock. I stopped, and looked at it again. Whoever put this thing here was planning for my demise, for it was a flame proof rock. It could only be melted, by just walking into mordor and throwing it in. perhaps I could use my ed powers and change it into somehting else. I placed my hands on the stone, looked at it, began to scream bloody murder again, as the transmutation circle appeared out of nowhere and I began to break the rules of alchemy. And physics. I screamed and screamed as the giant boulder’s material softened. The boulder began to change. It became smaller. And smaller, and smaller, and eventually, it was about my height. It became skinnier until it was about my build as well. I broke the world. I changed the boulder, into another me. I screamed a little more, just for good measure, and then I stepped back to look at my artwork. It was a master piece. I don’t know how the blood, or the other elements and chemicals and stuff got there, frankly, I don’t really care. I think I like the fact that I have a clone now, and I myself created it. “so me, shall we go to class now, then?” my twin quickly replied, “yes indeed we shall. But only if we get to hit somebody.” So we walked off towards quayars class quickly. I looked up at the clock. 30 seconds left. Alright. We get to quayars class, and just as we walk through the door, we find out that the entire class has been hit by a mass of giant boulders. They’re all dead. Dangit! Something’s going on here, and me and my new best friend are going to find out what…