I jumped accepting this spell might not work but at least I had to try.

The Green Man had been appearing in my dreams for two consecutive weeks, trying to show me through weird symbols and events that my Grandmother's life was in danger from the property developers intent on buying up the back portion of her enormous garden. The woodland area. Wanting to build a private road to their new homes constructed on the McKenzie land.

They tried buying for a nominal fee, then upped the price. But now they were running out of time and didn't care what...

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This is a confession that I wrote for you. Only you. And I know you won't understand this because your heart doesn't race at the sound of my name or voice. But I wrote this because I hope you do understand this. That you do feel something when you hear my name or voice.
I always seem to be behind you. It's not even one step that's separating us. It's a million steps that I'll never be able to close up because your expectations are slowly eating me up. Everyone seems to love you and I'm afraid that I do...

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Beatirix shuddered as a cold wind whipped across the stage, and she clasped her hat tightly to her head. Stage fright had her firmly in its clutches, but an outdoor performance only increased her anxiety. What was she thinking? Singing in the shower was one thing; this was totally different. She imagined the sea of faces before her and felt her heart beating even faster. Her breath caught in her throat at the thought of him in the audience. What would he think? Would he think her a fool, an artist, or a lunatic?

As the audience murmurs rose at...

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I don't like the truth. It gets messy, tangles in with lies and becomes one big pile of words that could mean life or death or nothing at all. I don't like lies either, to decieving. I don't like words in general, to much noise, I prefer silence. In silence no one can deceive or trick you. No one can force you to listen to anything unwanted, but most of all they can't remind me. They can't remind me of my weakness. Not that it's my only weakness, but it is a big weakness, it is the king and all...

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The convention awaits, but yet she can't bring herself to walk up the escalator. She should, she knows that. She should race up the moving stairs to reach her goal all the sooner, but it seems undignified somehow. Sure, her Leia buns are mere headphones, and her white satin bathrobe a poor approximation of the space princess's Senatorial garb, but her persona is the most important part of the costume. For tonight, she is Leia. She adjusts the black-rimmed monstrosity that sits upon her nose, clutches her tickets, and steels herself for the trial before her. If only she carried...

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He was a great runner. Clare ambled along at the back, jogging along, lost in a daydream as usual. He steamed ahead, focused on the finishing line. He had lapped her once already; she had felt the wind pick up, the footsteps thumping on the ground, then he'd passed her in a blur. The other girls were right behind him, wanting to be the first ones to be with him when he finished.
There, he'd finished, she saw. The girls were surrounding him, praising him. One even dared to reach out and push back a stray lock of hair. Clare...

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Lola, she was a dancer... something about flowers in her hair or was it her underwear? He couldn't actually remember the lyrics to the song or who sang it, but the melody pounded in his brain like a ballpeen hammer. What the hell was he going to do? Lola was a crappy name anyway. What the hell did it stand for? Lolita? Margola? Or some sort of anagram, or whatever the hell it was when you smushed the first letters of a bunch of words together for the sake of brevity. All he knew was that Lola, whatever it stood...

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She drove at a breakneck speed. Her sister sat in the backseat, reclined against him, eyes rolled up in awe. She turned the corner on two wheels, the screech of the tires raising demons from hell.

Halloween, an old car, her doting sister Cinderella, as stupid a princess as ever, wrapped up in the arms of a 57 year old vampire wannabe.

"HE'S 57!!!" She shouted as the car righted itself. "It's true!" her sister cooed.

"I'm sorry. 57!! and still dressed up as a vampire!"

She punched the gas on the straightaway. The green clock said 5am.

"Vampires are...

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Red by Monica

She stood there. The first thing he noticed was the red of her heeled shoes. He always liked the color red but in that moment it repulsed him. She drifted closer to him as he peered at her through his dark rimmed frames.
“I miss you” she said through whiskey laced breath.
He stood there for a moment and let the words splash onto his face. He quickly wiped his brow removing his glasses in order to also wipe them clean. He looked at her once again and felt the urgency to grab her, to kiss her, to love her....

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”Beware the Bwgan Fawr.” the old Vicar sighed. “Every chapel has to have its ‘Ysbryd capel’…”

“Its chapel ghost?” the younger clergyman replied. His pronunciation was still more ‘gog’, more Northern, than the man he was replacing felt comfortable with. Too… foreign. If such a phrase could be used for a fellow Welshman.

A shame, his body was found the morning after his first Midnight Mass. Just outside the chapel door, lying as if it had carried a great weight across the threshold, and then collapsed with the release of his burden. A heart attack, they said. Strange in someone...

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