“I=Am Love”

March 15, 2018 by Patrick Starks

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“If I could fly I’d be an eagle, if I was a dog I’d probably be a beagle. But I am love, so I could just be Cupid, falling in love with all the wrong ones; that made me stupid. Though, my tears are like rivers, finding an ocean to escape, trying to expel passed this plastic world I gape. It is true I am love, but only one turtle dove; no shampoo thereof. But still, I am love, and life is forever precious to me, no matter how far I am pulled from these stars above the sea.”

SUMMER

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March 13, 2018 by Patrick Starks

SUMMER

“Nature, nature, look at all this nature; I’m about to savor it, like these NOW and LATERS. Trees, grass, the lake is all that I can see; including the sea, all in which brings me love and vivid memory. Summer is on it’s way, and I cannot wait to fish again, all in hopes that I find my catch, this I wish to the end. And downing this cherry Slurpee has never tasted so brisk, but tisk, tisk, tisk; my brain becomes frozen to the taste of your lips.  They say dreams come true, and it is you that have shown me that, that this life can be more than a dream, and it is this saying I will tat. You are my summer, Summer; the one and only, the one to keep me grounded, my gravity, I; no longer lonely.”

P.U.M.A Girls

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February 1, 2018 by Patrick Starks

PUMA GIRLS

In Kygo, it is said that the skies are red, and the air is mist, and that all that stand before it become intertwined, in a twist. The people of the city became bound to fear, as they trembled to what lied in the mist, what would appear. Yet, in the midst of it all, there would be a child to challenge those very fears that stalled.

The child was like no other. This child was bold, strong, and cunning; in their florescent eyes one could see that, it was stunning. Abandon at birth the child would then be destined an orphan, that in which would give them more than just strength, but strength in the toughest organ. As tough as the child became, they were still a child after all. They cried nights on end, until they learned more about themselves, and how to fend.

Overtime, the child would buy into the talk of the town, into their sad looks and their frowns. That he or she’s parents did not abandon them by choice; that somewhere in the mist many could still hear their voice. He or she then entered into an unknown world, never to return again, in the hopes that they would rejoin with their family—a new life to begin. Years would go by, and the people of the town would tell their children’s children of the orphan child who they would name after the city, but oh, was it a pity to see them go; Kygo, the child who became a hero to their home.

“S-so does that mean they’re dead?” said a young girl.

“No, no my angel, they’re still alive, somewhere out there.” An old woman replied.

“Why doesn’t anyone go after them? They probably need our help grandma. I thought we were supposed to protect people,” pleaded the young girl.

“I’m sorry, but not a chance little one. Surely you missed everything I just said. Besides, your mother would probably kill me if I ever let you go anywhere near that kind of evil. Even if I let you out in the rain with a jacket on, she would probably still kill me; although, I’m sure it would cause you no harm, we are angels after all. Now, night, night, may your halo shine bright.”

 “Oh alright… Night grandma.”

The old woman gave the little girl a kiss on her left and then right cheek, as she tucked her into a cotton candy cloud. The girl closed her eyes, but as the old woman flew off, one eye remained opened. Little did the old woman know, the little girl would make her way out into the mist regardless of what she was told. However, she wasn’t stupid, she knew it be silly to go out there alone; so, she rallied up a team, one that she knew could get her back to her home.

First, was of course her best friend, Uma. Uma Thurman, she liked to be called, or Kill Bill, which wasn’t really a name at all. It was obvious that Uma was a fan of the famous movie “Kill Bill”, however, it was surprising for her age she was even allowed to watch such; in Kygo such things were forbidden, a sin, but as any child, the children always found a way around to getting access to it. She wasn’t really what any would call the brains of the operation, but she did have two years practice in Jeet Kune Do, and a strong attention for detail, which meant she could just about get out of any sticky situation, and for that she was made co-captain of the team, the protector.  

Second, was Maddie, short for Madalyn. Maddie was only one letter short from her actual name, so it really wasn’t much of a difference to begin with, but it was what she preferred from the rest. Maddie was definitely something one would call the brains of the operations. Although, her appearance was different from the stereotypical smart girl; she was no Velma from ‘Scooby-Doo’, or any Laney from ‘She’s All That’, she was just Maddie. She didn’t wear glasses, she didn’t wear quote on quote—nerd clothes, guy clothes, barely any clothes for that matter.  Maddie was truly something out of an Abercrombie commercial, and it was easy to say that her influence was from the planet earth as well, although, it seems she’d really take it to the extreme, more than others.  But on the plus side, Maddie could just about build anything from scratch, and with her dad being the cities handyman, it wasn’t a surprise at all that she would be taught the ways of wizardry—a dream come true, to satisfy her father’s misery.

The crew was almost complete. There was just one thing missing, the final piece, the last crew member; Arma, who they all called armadillo. Unlike Maddie’s nickname, which isn’t often mentioned without a black eye.  Arma was okay with hers, she was a southern gal after all, or at least she wanted to be. Arma was a strong believer in the southern hospitality. She would even paint her wings red, white, and blue, while here halo remained true—a dedication to the big red state.  Arma’s skill wasn’t what many would call special, at least not for where they were headed, yet, some would disagree that being a fine chef was a useless talent. Arma could just about create gourmet dinners out of nothing, southern dishes to be specific. None knew how to cook at all, and all figured they would starve without her, and so Arma was brought on as the final piece to the puzzle.

The tank, the technician, and the medic. The perfect combo for any fierce excursion.

“B-but what of the leader, the girl that wanted to go in the first place. What was her name?”

“No one really knows. All that anyone knows is that her name started with a “P”. The P.U.M.A girls was what they called themselves, the only angels to actually wear shoes, specifically Pumas, as many above remained barefoot. But if I had to bet, the leaders name was probably Patricia, or something like that,” Said the man.

Bright eyes of a little girl then blossomed. “But my names Patricia.”

“That you are. Are you the leader? It’s okay, you can tell me, I won’t tell your mother, I pinky swear it.”

“Stop joking around dad.”

“Well it’s the truth ain’t it.”

The little girl blushed as the man kissed her on her right and then left cheek.  He tucked her into to covers that wrapped around her like clouds. A click and clack, and the man cut the night light on as he turned his back.

“You can turn the light off dad, I don’t need it anymore.”

The night went off. A heartfelt smile pierced through the dark, the man’s little girl was growing up, too fast he prayed, but he was happy for her; even envisioning her being a big star on a red carpet one day made him teary eyed.

The little girl then dreamed of the mist, one she would wake up to, one she would not be  ready to persist.

“Patricia wake up! We gotta go!”

TO BE CONTINUED

 

 

Crazy World

January 24th, 2017 by Patrick Starks

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Hop out of the bed, and into the shower, where did the time go, it’s already been an hour. Now waiting at the bus stop to head towards a job I don’t like, daydreaming that I could be headed towards a coffee shop instead, plotting my next story to write. No, my dreams are not yet faded, but I have seen for others this fate; forgetting all they ever loved of this life, having hearts filled with hate. People scurry around the office as if someone’s life is better than their own, but my life is important, I refuse to believe in such, this victory I have sewn. I told them, then fire me, because I refused to be their slave, and then they put down I was insubordinate, would not behave. But riding back home has never felt as good as this, the girl I crushed on at work even gave me a kiss. A kiss goodbye, no, this was a kiss of more to come, a greeting, I could taste through the wisp of her sensual breathing. The skies then opened up, as they blessed me with great weather, should I continue rhyming, could I be any more clever. And as I sip on this triple shot mocha and pour my heart out on paper, I can’t wait for the next chapter of my life, what may happen for me later.

 

VJ the Rottweiler

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January 5, 2018 by Patrick Starks

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There’s nothing like the smell of fresh cut grass, the warm touching of the sun, and the drool of a life-size Rottweiler to get you up in the morning. Yup, me and V.J the Rottweiler were an item, partners in crime even, best friends, we did everything together. And at the time that we met, I was just a toddler, and as was he. It was easy to say that we were both pups during those years, new to the world and eager to learn about all its mysteries; although, as the months passed on, V.J would double in size, now becoming somewhat of a big brother to me, second big brother to be exact, couldn’t forget about Giovani.

Where I was from, most parents would have cringe at today if they ever had their little ones near, but not my parents, not Tarzan and Jane. Mom and Dad were something else. They were everything a child could ever want in a parent—sympathetic, strict, positive, strong, wise and loving.  And even though my family and I were what some would call country, we truly enjoyed those moments while we had them.

Our home was built by the hands of my dad, on an opened field, with only tall grass to surrounded it, along with the creatures that hid in them. As dangerous it was to roam the field, there beside me stood my bodyguard as always; a Rottweiler whom most would run from today if they ever saw such.

Rattlesnakes, scorpions, black widows, even cougars were what V.J and I were up against. Sure, we felt we could defeat all that were on the list, however, the cougar would have been frightening, and a deathmatch if encountered. My brother Giovani told me the story about dads wrestle with the giant feline, how he took him down, but as I’ve gotten older I really doubt that such ever happened. Dad does have that big scar on his shoulder though. And every time I ask him about it, he just dances around the question to Stevie Wonder.

Like dad, me and V.J were not afraid. After all, we had our cat Sylvester for the snakes, as cats are known to have in their spreadsheet of professions. On most days, mainly weekends, Dad, VJ, and I would make our way to the barn. There in the barn we had a horse, who we named Copy. Still to this day I have no idea the meaning behind why dad gave her that name, but yup, that was her name, Copy. Dad fed her the typical apples and carrots, and she would waste no time to work her way down to the bottom of the bucket. I usually would feed her hay, but mom made me stop after Copy had accidently mistaken one of my fingers for a piece of that hay. But don’t worry my fingers are still intact. V.J as well had learned a valuable lesson from the black beauty, the bump on his head still left him memory of it. Dad would try to warn V.J, more than he could count. Vj’s courageous soul would get the best of him, and in the end, Copy would show V.J just how much courage he had in his furry body.

The bell would ring. That was a sign from mom that supper was ready. And man was the supper good, just thinking about it makes my stomach growl. Flame broiled hamburger patties, complimented by homemade fries. Giovani was already in the kitchen with his face stuffed as much he could stuff him. In my family food was an Olympic sport, if you did not get to the table in time, you would lose, and be left with an empty stomach to show for it. Me and V.J without hesitation headed in right after Dad.

Sorry son, but you know the rules. No dogs or pets in general, at the table.

Come on dad.

—You know the rules. Plus you know it ain’t sanitary to have that dog around all this good food. All those flees and mess.

—Yes sir.

I took V.J to the garage where we kept most of his things. He had the patio to stay too, but last time I left him there he was surrounded by thousands of scorpions. I couldn’t leave my buddy out all alone. So, the garage was always our second alternative. I took a handful of fries with me and a patty on our way to the garage. I wasn’t going to let my friend starve. He did have Mud Bay, but come on, if you were a dog, is that honestly something you would be okay eating ever day, no variety, no nothing, just pellets in a bowl along with a bowl of water—I don’t think so. Once I gotten VJ settled I headed back inside, but just before doing so gave him a big hug, for assurance that I would be back. He gave me a hug back, wrapping his gigantic caramel-colored paws around me. I was still little, but VJ was a gentle giant, an intelligent one to be frank. There aren’t too many dogs out there that know how to jump up and hit the garage door button to let themselves out, but somehow our VJ did, and because of that I knew he could take care of himself.

Me and the fam would say our prayer and then eat, regardless of what greedy ass had eaten already, we still prayed and still ate. And after kicking my brothers ass in Mario Kart 64 afterwards, it was time for me to hit the hay, as most children at that time were told.

Time to go to bed baby. Go brush your teeth, you to Giovani. We got a long day tomorrow and I want to get ahead of all the chaos. People are like ants nowadays. Everywhere. You know, there use to be a time I could drive down the road and have it to myself. But I don’t miss those days. Getting pulled over, your daddy being harassed by cops was enough. I’ll admit, we live in a good era, don’t you two forget that. Now get going.

What mom said, mom got, and we didn’t dare challenge it. Not even dad, and he was freakin’ Tarzan.

The next morning was descent, not to cold, not, to hot, but just right. For once we were given a break from the southern hospitality of the sun.

—Mom do I have to go. Why can’t I go out with my friends. I’m in high school!

—Don’t raise your voice at me Giovani. You are not going, and that’s that. I need you to help me with your little brother this evening.

—But momma…

Mom gave Giovani the look. And when she gave that look, it be wise to not even think of a challenging plea or it be your last. Giovani became silent. Overtime we would finished getting dressed, and were on our way out for a trick or treat time. Before mom could even get to the garage, the door was already opened, VJ had let himself out into another day of adventure.

—That dam dog.

Mom had figured it out. Not like it was hard though, the claw marks near the button clearly identified who the culprit was, and his name was VJ. As we drove down a sandy road, I called out his name, hoping he would chase after the car to say goodbye to me, as he always done. There was no VJ. I called again, still nothing. And then I called for the third time, but this time with more ump, and there he was revealed, subtle, but I knew it was him.

VJ had the saddest look in his eyes, like he didn’t want me to leave. He limped his way out to reveal himself clearly, along with the injuries he had gotten. I’d ask mom to turn back around so that we could take him with us, something was wrong, but vision of him faded before I even got the chance to speak.

—He’s fine baby, we will be back later today, I’m sure he knows that.

That Halloween night was long, it was perfect, I had a full bucket of candy, even a new toy as additional bonus, but little did I know when I came back home things would no  longer be the same. It was dark, cold, something was different about home. It was quiet. Too quiet. I called out VJ’s name, this time more than I had done before. There was still no sign of him, no paw steps, no bark. Just silence.

—Clark! Clark!!

Mom yelled for dad. I rushed over to see what was going on as we jumped out of the car, but then Giovani stopped and held me tightly. Tears rushed down my face, just as fast as I had gotten to the scene. It was VJ,  laying on the ground, in one of his favorite spots, only he wasn’t a sleep. I called his name again, Giovani held me even tighter, then mom joined in.

—I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry. Everything will be alright.

—Mom what’s wrong with VJ…

Mom became speechless. She looked at dad, and dad looked to ground. He was speechless as well.

—Well… baby you see VJ is a sleep right now. And he will be for a long time.

—B-but when is he going to wake?

Mom this time just rocked me back and forward, saying nothing. Dad let me say my last goodbye. It felt like a whole day had gone by standing there, but I knew it only had been a few minutes. Dad picked VJ up and carried him off, I cried harder. I could tell dad wanted to as well, but he always dealt with pain differently then most—dad loved VJ like a son.

—Damn Cougars, sons of bitches!

Dad had already assumed what happened, the swears in the background told me that.

—It hurts, I loved that dog. Little shit. Even through his death he found his way back to us, back home.

At the end of it all, I at least got to see my best friend one last time, and for that, I am blessed to have gotten that chance, as I know many sometimes do not.

Rest In Peace my friend. May we be rejoined once more in the next life.

—Love you always

 

F.R.A.G.I.L.E Minds

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December 2, 2017 by Patrick Starks

FRAGILE MINDS

High School was hell for me, more so life as I viewed it. My mind was fragile, just as most people’s minds are, it was human I would trick myself into believing. In my life, sadness would always swarm around my head like fruit flies, blocking all confidence that I ever had to exist, and I really, I honestly, just wanted just that—to be free from it all. Me and Linda always felt life to be just a big popularity competition, a competition for the insecure we laughed. I obviously wasn’t on the top chart as you can tell by my tone of confidence, not even the top million, but I knew Linda would be at least somewhere in the rankings—to me Linda was better than any Beyonce, or Katy Perry, she was life. At night when me and Linda gazed at the stars, she and I would always talk about someday leaving the planet and traveling to another, naming our two to three children—Pluto, Venus, or Mercury in which we both believed to be unisex. Linda and I were truly soulmates, together to the end. Out of all the people I had grown to know in my life, all I had grown to love, I never knew that it would be Linda to take her own life. Continue reading

Becoming Human

November 26, 2017 by Patrick Starks

BECOMING HUMAN

When I met God for the first time it was unlike anything one would imagine. He wasn’t really tall, nor short, he wasn’t dark nor light, he wasn’t anything in particular, he was everythingؙ—the wind, the rain, the trees, the sand even, you name it, and he would be at least one, if not them all. Most had assumed that God was, in fact, he, but not even we as gods soldiers knew what God truly was, let alone his gender if he had one. God was god, it didn’t really matter what he was to us, although, hearing gentle voices through the wind was enough for any of us to fear what he or she could be if pissed off in any way. It sparked not only mine but everyone else’s curiosity to discover the mystery of all mysteries.

Unlike the ones below, we in the clouds would spend most of our days hunting down the answer of what was, instead of wrapping ourselves in mediocrity. We read from some of the oldest works of literature man or woman had yet to discover—all in the hopes that the answers we sought would shine like the sun. But I found at an early age that not every book had the answer, at least not the ones we held in our angelic hands.

I was never sold on the assumption that God was a male. However, the ones below the clouds we stood would have so many different stories of what God was. it was hard for anyone to believe what was the true fact about him or her. The stories to me were no different than the books I would collect overtime—great, clever, close to reality, yet not reality at the slightest, but of course, they were all fiction.

As the years went on, myself and the others eventually stopped saying the word god in general for we all felt that the saying depicted that God was a male. So, we, I, decided to make a decision for us all, to give God a name that depicted what we didn’t know about him or her. “Nonamay,” short for (no name), this was now the name. And Nonamay shockingly wasn’t offended by it at all. They were just thankful that we finally ridded them of a name that had no meaning to them at all—not even they found the word God appropriate.

“W-w-w-wait. Why don’t we just ask them what their name is?” said a soldier from the back. “I mean, have any of you even bothered to ask…”

No one said a word, they just all gawked and stared at the man as if he were mad. No one ever asked God, I mean, Nonamay a question and got the answer, no one.

“Well fine then, I’ll ask him myself, cowards!” yelled the soldier stomping his way towards a child-like spanking.

Indeed, we were men, but as the saying has always gone, we are all his children.

The soldier distanced himself from the rest of us. He stood in nothing but an empty space of fog and rain, yelling at the top of his lungs to the god we all followed so confidently. And over time the soldier gave up as he walked his way back in shame. The others snorted in laughter like the wild boars they were, and due to the silence that laughter would echo from cloud to cloud. I was furious. Somewhat angry at the men. We all needed answers, and yet Nonamay still played with our minds.

Thinking back to it, I couldn’t even see why the people below believed in Nonamay at all or even bothered to believe that they existed. I mean, Nonamay still to this day hasn’t presented themselves, not a voice, however, all still believed. And here it was I, Nonamay’s soldier, doubtful of why I followed them in the first place. I guess it was the admiration I had for them. To me, and I’m sure to the other soldiers, Nonamay was strong, patient, understanding. But when it came to their life everything had to remain a secret—never giving a soul a reason to judge was their intention I believed for humans especially find anything to judge about the ones they know. And out of all that we as Nonamay’s soldiers had given, and what the ones below never gave, I could never understand Nonamay’s love for them—the humans.

I always thought the humans to be weak, jealous, selfish, and violent little creatures. It hurt to think of the thought that Nonamay would put any of them before us. And Nonamay would always find a way to back them up no matter how many facts I had against them, facts that left no reason to keep them alive that is. Nonamay’s reason was always they same. And oh how sympathetic Nonamay was for such an ignorant species.

He felt that they were learning from their failures, that the violence had dumbed down a lot since the wars they fought in the 1900s, that no matter the struggle they were adaptable creatures, and to Nonamay this was touching—to Nonamay the humans were the greatest piece of artwork thou created—Nonamays pride and joy, we soldiers called it.

Nevertheless, my rebuttal to his plea was that even though the violence between man had faded, sadly their connection with each other had done the same. The humans now let all of their happiness be distilled into now a tiny device—glass and plastic, and within it their greed, their envy, their hate, their loneliness, their insecurities, all in which none ever seem to want to admit they had. With all these things of toxicity at their fingertips, I, we all pleaded to Nonamay that it had to be the works of Skydra, sadly, Nonamay found him innocent as well, just like the humans—a fool he was.

Nonamay and I would continue to have our debates about the subject at hand, some that notably became heated enough to the point we’d both be drenched with sweat by the end of the day, and oh yes, Nonamay could sweat to.

One would call me crazy to challenge our supposed creator, but I was Nonamays general, it was my responsibility to put forward the best interest towards our kingdom. However, I would be telling a lie to say that Nonamay did not get angry with me. With the memories of Skydra still manifested in his mind, Nonamay feared I’d become just like Skydra, one he adored more than the humans ironically, but Skydra was below us now, and further below the humans—this was how I’d gotten promoted to general.

Before I even had the chance to explain my case to Nonamay or apologize for my arrogance, the whole sky would go dark. I became lost. I was now trapped within my own frustrations.

“Here I am baby, here’s mommy, and look that’s daddy over there,” said an anonymous woman. “Jack! Jack… Oh, he’ll wake up soon honey, daddy just went for a little nap.”

Within a few minutes, everything became bright again. It was cold, I could barely see a thing, everything was blurry. There was an odd number of people that surrounded me. But the one I noticed the most was the woman that spoke. I had never met a human before in my life, but there was something about this woman that felt right, and comforting—she was warm like sand on a summers day. She then held me close to her chest delivering to me nothing but kisses of affection. I wanted to yell even louder, like the sirens bestowed in the oceans of Poisidon. I really hated humans, but still, something about this woman felt extremely pleasant.

As traumatized I became from what had just happened. I couldn’t help but noticed that the woman had a heavenly smell to her as well—a remembrance of the home Nonamay had cast me from. However, before she and I could get even more acquainted, I immediately was pulled from her arms by a strange man in turquoise, he looked like a tortoise.

“Alright, mam. Get some rest, you will be with your child again soon enough,” said a strange man.

The man was frightening, I couldn’t tell if he was really human or something else. He had no mouth, no hair. All that I could see was his beady little eyes as they pierced through the glass that surrounded it.

As much as I tried to shake away from him, he confined me tighter into a warm furry substance that made me calm again, and it somewhat reminded me of the wings I use to have. He then took me down a pathway in which felt like a lifetime to go through, although, I was half asleep, so it really didn’t matter. We entered a room to the right, and as we entered it the sound of cries would wake me out of my subtle slumber. I found myself now surrounded by little tiny humans, it was amazing, and horrifying all in one. With all the screaming and hollering I wasn’t sure if I would ever get the chance to sleep again or escape from the situation Nonamay had put me in.

Nevertheless, the next day when I awakened my story would begin in ways I never thought would happen—my test from Nonamay—my path to becoming human.

Beauty of Seattle

October 22, 2017 by Patrick Starks 

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Part 4

The whole room would turn into a tornado as all the novels and plays from the rarest of Greek literature surrounded us. The Beast however wasn’t afraid, not even concerned for the conditioning of those books; he was content, embraced in the moment. One book here, two book there, as they smacked the side of the Beast face from everywhere. No ripple of movement was formed upon his bristle skin, as I would continue to play dodgeball in the very study that the Beast had led me in, and there in the middle of it all, bestowed the beauty. Continue reading

Tonka and Barbie

October 8th, 2017 by Patrick Starks

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Season 1 / Episode #2

Here I was, at Barbie’s new home, her new playhouse as some would call it—it had an awkward feeling, nothing welcoming at all, nothing that felt remotely like home; if anything, it felt like the home of Frankenstein, as all I would witness was madness and the baring of slight suspicion within the room. The place was cold, had a smell not usually identifiable to the nose—lingering within the nostrils, no matter how hard you blew, never able to escape, not a cold, not a flu. As well was it poorly lit—making it difficult for even ones with twenty, twenty vision to see, and for that I found where I laid would not be my cup of tea, not warm, nor cold, but neutral. Continue reading

My Reasons Why

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September 30th, 2017 by Patrick Starks 

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(Episode 2) / Plus Bonus quote!

Ron and I still had the painting of Mona Lisa—the painting would maintain its mint conditioning, but I would fear for how long. And so, I kept it close, pressing it against my sternum, but gently, I didn’t want to ruin the one reason to why Ron and I were here—a world magical to only the books I’d read to my little princess, Dalila. And I didn’t trust Ron, my so-called partner in crime—crime was a thing he was champion at, but a partner I’d always second guess. He’d always reek of dishonor and lies, the very traits a criminal should have; however, Ron still had a heart, he wanted to be back home just as much as I, to try and win back the heart of the woman he’d lost—the painting would be his ticket back in her heart. Continue reading