Steen

Steen was propagated into this world with a huge purpose, he simply had to find out what the purpose was. He and his parents lived in a derelict home and were unemployed. That would all change once Steen fulfills his purpose at the age of fifteen, or perhaps eighteen.

To fulfill a purpose, there usually needs to be an opposition. Well lucky for Steen there would be, for at the age of sixteen, a bad rich man came into town and brought much misfortune to many good people. It was time for Steen to fulminate against the fowl man. The mean rich man spoke nothing but false allusions about a better world, Steen’s uprising had the purpose of bringing him down and sending him back to whatever rich country he came from.

For a long time the protests were relentless, yet the rich man would not stand down. Soon the situation started to get out of hand; people were dying for their apparent disloyalty, and Steen was said to be next of the kill list. Steen decided that there was only one thing left to do, a sacrifice, something unexpected that would shock everyone. So Steen stood in front of the house the smelly rich man lived in and lit himself on fire, symbolizing the sin the filthy rich man had committed. What a hero am I right? Unfortunately we didn’t know if it worked because Steen is dead now, but he sure is laudable. He must be appreciated for everything he’s done.

When Step Lost the Game

As inviolable she thought she was Step had lost the game. Step never thought she would be this upset, she believed she would be fine with one loss. The fact was she had never lost a game before and when she did today, it was all her fault she believed. Step wanted to avoid her friends as they would most likely be disappointed with her; she wander alone in the Forest of Whispers.

 

While walking aimlessly deeper into the forest, Step started to get unnerved from the lack of noise. She stop in search for some sound and heard fate motes of breath, squeak through the atmosphere, emanating from somewhere. The faint breath started to garble, and eventually Step was listening to someone whispering in the Forest of Whispers. “Where are you going Step,” it spoke softly, “you know this won’t solve anything.” Step froze in the spot and could not bring herself to answer. “You might have lost but you will only lose more if you walk away,” the whisper declared. Step remained in on tight standing position, having a small intention, to slightly step away down the path she just walked. “Step don’t do this, DON’T DO THIS STEP!” From that cried whisper, Step sprinted back the way she came, until she crashed into Henry her friend. “Calm down man, it was only me,” said Henry. Step came to the realization that it was Henry who was whispering in the forest of whisper, someone she had lost the game with. “I can’t believe, it was you, why you got to scare me so?” Step asked. “It was only a prank, just for fun, like the game we just lost, I still and fun didn’t you?” Step laughed at her frivoled experience, and felt much better about her day.

Mage & the Mark

In the land Faraway, a young traveler traveled to the Crystal Lake to seek the aid of the only Mage. Unfortunate for the traveler, he bared the ancient mark that was not proudly looked upon by most people in Faraway. As pallid is he was because of it, he was courageous enough to seek help of the Mage.

After days of traveling he found the Crystal Lake and shortly after spotted the Mage looking down on him from a rock.

The Mage at first appeared to be somebody ordinary simply in fancy dress. She had tattoos shaped like hooked swords on any skin exposed, and an odd necklace seemingly made from golden corns resting on her shoulders. The Mage did not move from the rock, instead the traveler made his way closer. He already felt judged and shameful while the Mage remained staring down intently at him. The moment the traveler reached the rock, the Mage cried, “I cannot help you, you bare a stigma of old.” The traveler some how knew eventually that this would happen. “Please you don’t understand my grandfather is very sick and I don’t know what he has but he is dying.” The traveler pleaded. “I presume he holds the ancient mark as well, be gone I can’t help you or your grandfather,” the Mage cried. “Wait listen, it’s not what you think, this mark I hold has been in my family for generations, I have been born with it and neither me my parents or grandparents have any interests in it’s origins, or what it stands for,” the traveler explained.” The Mage sat in silence seemingly unconvinced. “You are not profane, to the history of the mark then?” asked The Mage. “No never have, but I don’t want to lose it either, I believe that the human race will be able to live in peace not dependent on who bares the ancient mark.” The Mage didn’t seem to difficult to convince anymore. She was magnanimous and gave the traveler what he needed, having faith in his belief for peace.

Cyril & Clive

The intimacy between Cyril and Clive was outstanding, an inspirational friendship the world could learn from. Cyril was an artist and Clive was usually his art. Weekly there would be a portrait painted of Clive, until one occasion.

“Well?” Cyril peevishly asked. “Not too bad,” Clive answered. “How can you say that it’s too easy to nitpick, all the small crappy details are too easy to spot.” Clive had another thorough look for the small crappy details Clive pointed out. “You can only see them when you focus on the picture,” Cyril advised. Clive found he should be diligent with Cyril’s work and rather not agree with him. “I don’t see anything too bad,” Clive tried again. “It’s because no offence you don’t have the artist eye, I swear I’m seeing more of these stupid details in my portraits over time, I’m getting worst.” Cyril declared. Clive thought intensely to make a kind remark, that could lighten up Cyril. Then he realized something. “Clive you seeing those small details isn’t an indication you're getting worst, it means you starting to see small details in your work due to your long experience of being an artist, all you got to do is learn from them.” Cyril look at his piece keeping Clive’s stringent statement in mind. For a while he thought and reckoned Clive was right to a prodigious degree. His work was simply opening up more to him, and he had to see how he could sooth the art’s troubles. Such a strong friendship Cyril and Clive had, almost like no other.

Smudge at the Grinning Stone

Smudge is a girl’s name for a very recluse person. Our Smudge is just like that. On far away islands she lived with enough other children to play with, yet never did. Instead the only time when the other children can spot her was at the Grinning Stone after school. Why would she want to be there? Everyone would ask. Nobody can really tell why Smudge remained at the Grinning Stone, it was like her friend, the only friend that understood her. 

Smudge seemed petulant at home, so she didn’t spend much time there. She’d only drop by her house at dinner time and any other normal family home procedures, such as bed time. When it wasn’t time for any of them to be done, she would hide behind swarthy shadow of the foreboding Grinning Stone.

Did this every change?

 

One Tuesday after school, a boy from Smudge’s class, wasn’t in the mood to immediately go home either, and decided to patrol the island. He came across the Grinning Stone, and spotted Smudge sitting there as usual. Five minutes later, for the first since I don’t know, the two children were at the Grinning Stone appearing miserable. They had a chat, about what makes them sad, and why home isn’t as nice as anywhere else on the island. Nobody could tell what they were chatting about, no one could understand anyway. The evening arrived, it was soon going to be dinner time so the Boy and Smudge went home. Since then, Smudge was seen a lot less at the Grinning Stone.