When it comes to how I write Bible Journals, I read the Bible chapter my church community is currently reading and journaling about, and as I read I look for a Bible verse that resonates with me. I then write about it, often guided by God throughout the process.

When it comes to how I write short stories, I usually have ideas that float in my head for days. Eventually I start writing the story, and at that point all of those ideas begin to come together, and more ideas pop into my head as I write.

Regardless of what I write, I just about always have to force myself to do it. I love the world of writing and its significance very much, but I almost never start the process feeling motivated, but as I start writing the motivation comes to me.

Three days passed before he found the dead body. 17 had been searching for weeks for any sign of life in the ravaged city. The formerly boisterous and buzzing metropolis of Boston was unrecognizable in present-day 2442. Historical books were filled with the sights and sounds of the incredible city that once was. The lights would shimmer in the night and the busyness of the city never seemed to falter. That Boston that was once so loved, just like most cities throughout the world, could only be seen through figments of imagination.

And only through imagination could one see the beauty which Earth once was.

Now the sky was painted gray, a gray that epitomized the deathly feeling which filled the air. The city truly was in ruins. Dirt and dust swept through the corridors between buildings as the traffic signs creaked back and forth, ever so slowly yet so continuously like the hands on a clock. Cement peeled off the sides of apartment complexes and the once red bricks were all a lackluster shade of gray. The sidewalks that were once allowed not a moment of rest now lay barren and deformed, crushed together and protruding out of the earth.

Frankly, Earth was not the appropriate term to describe anything at that time.

17 walked down these empty streets, attempting to avoid the caves of cockroaches that filled the sewer openings and puddles of acid rain. He had no say in whether he was sent here or not. 17 had been sent to find any remaining bodies from the apocalyptic catastrophe that had happened 7 years ago. A disease that initially only seemed like a passing cold to many became a monstrous virus that came far too close to ending the human race.

They had called it Doomsayer.

It had killed 97% of humans at the time, a population that was fast approaching one hundred billion people. Earth became bereft of most wildlife besides few species of insects, and food supplies vanished almost immediately. Even with the hyper-advanced technology of the time, nothing could be done. Hospitals were built in hours and numerous cures were thought to have been found, but the disease spread like fire in an oil mine. Whoever remained was sent to Mars, which had been discovered as habitable in the 24th century. These humans stayed in large and advanced domes on the planet which were purified with oxygen and artificially organic plant life. The migration seemed fairly successful and sustainable over the past seven years, but people wanted to know if there was anything left back home. The change was far too quick for many, and the people wanted closure above anything else.

No one had been let out to Earth until less than 2 years ago when the first search force was dispatched in Shanghai. They were looking for any remnants of the past, any signs of life that could allow for a return back home. Everyone wanted hope, but few were desperate enough to make the treacherous trip back to Earth.

17 was on Earth by luck, but in his mind, that luck was nothing more than a curse. He had escaped from the disease all those years ago with his infant son and wife.

His parents weren’t as fortunate.

He never let anyone know it, but the night he was told that he would be sent to earth was one of the hardest of his life. He couldn’t bear to imagine never seeing them again. Expeditions were still in their preliminary stages, and there was still no way to guarantee a return. The power was out of 17’s hands, and he now found himself on Newbury Street in the heart of a desolate Boston.

Even with no sign of life anywhere, the city of Boston in all its destruction was a place where entropy reigned supreme. 17 could feel the barren city consuming him with its jarring silence, and felt his anxiety creeping up through him. He needed some form of respite. A mossy building that seemed somewhat intact caught his eye at the corner of the road, and he decided that it would be as good of a place as any to begin his search. He had been assigned the inner city zone, but the extreme number of razed buildings and ragged stores made it difficult to choose a place to begin.

The building was more or less 5 stories tall, with discolored bricks comprising its exterior. 17 could tell that it was an old living complex by the half hooked signs that creaked with the intermittent wind gusts and had the barely legible word “Apartments” inscribed on it. The sidewalk was jutting out of the earth as 17’s eyes wandered up the staircase to the main entrance, where he saw a stone door.

That door was ajar.

He then looked around the building and noticed that the lamps were flickering ever so erratically.

There was not supposed to be anyone else here.

17 wanted to walk away. He begged his body to comply. He wanted to report this back to HQ and get the hell away from the building. He wanted to run away screaming. He suddenly wanted the jarring silence of the city back.

But he also didn’t.

His body took him up the stairs, not his mind. The door blew further open with a gust of wind that was stronger than any of those prior. The inside of the building was open and cold, an entire circular lobby with no windows except one that doubled as a roof. An elevator was near the eastern corridor, and the elevator light was somehow still working. There was a reception desk at the center of the lobby. 17 approached it mindlessly, looking for anything to show him where he could go.

The building felt alive.

“BRRRRRRRRIIING, BRRRRIIIING, BRRRRING!”. 17’s heart skipped a beat. The telephone had broken the silence. He felt his senses come back and ran to the entrance door. It was jammed shut. The fear consumed him. He flew up the twisting flight of stairs, the light from the sky shining directly down upon it. He did not look back. When he reached the top floor, a sudden and ear-piercing screech came from the westernmost wing of apartments. 17 ran east. He had never run faster. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, not to kill him but to make sure he could never escape. He came to a dead-end and went right into the only doorway in the whole east wing.

There was a lamp in the corner of the room, it had been burning for 7 years.

A bunker door in the ceiling opened, and it started to crawl out. It took on a human form but walked on all fours. Its face was deformed like it had been burned in a century-long fire. The creature came up to 17’s ear, whispered the words “They are coming”, and fell lifeless on the floor.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep."

The last stanza of Robert Frost's

" Stopping by woods on a snowy evening ". I credit this poem for getting me interested in poetry, I loved the beauty of its simplicity yet for me it expressed something so profound about life... for we all have miles to go before we sleep. (When I first read it, I nearly cried.)

Things usually bend before they break. They warn you of their failure with hairline cracks and fractures. But if you live with your demons long enough things get brittle. And when the fall happens, it happens all at once.

I’m back in town in late October, the season in Chicago when it’s not so cold yet the air slices your skin like a driven nail, but cold enough that steam billows from the subway vents making the whole city feel foggy, and the sky turns that mournful shade of withering gray. I walk the broad streets and breathe in the smells of diesel and popcorn. I want to say I miss them, but my lungs feel like they’re full of ash. A shadow passes above.

I tell myself it’s a plane because that’s what I always do, and if I don’t look up I can believe that’s true.

I call up my old college buddy Nigel to see if he can meet for beers and wings like we did in the old days. I told my girlfriend I was here on a business trip, but really I just needed to get away from… well, you know… or maybe you don’t. But I was fleeing all the same.

Nigel and I used to haunt the bars of Lakeview, but I guess we’ve grown up since then. He wants to meet at a more upscale pizza place downtown. I walk there past dark alleys and see them out of the corner of my eye, the lethal shadows hiding behind dumpsters and peeking out from around corners, dripping with ichor, and their faces full of hate. I turn up the collar on my jacket against the lake shore wind.

I settle into the booth across from Nigel and exchange the usual pleasantries. I absentmindedly tear off a piece of pizza while he catches me up on his work at the museum where they’ve received a new collection of precious stones from… well, I don’t catch that part. I’m only half listening as I gaze between the window blinds at the darkening sky, and I think I see the beating of huge wings in the haze above. I shake off the vision. Now isn’t the time. I take a sip of my beer but it’s flat and acrid.

Nigel carries on. He’s always been the life of the party. We met back in college when he would drag me to parties with inflatable pools, kegs, and pretty girls. He would dance and make friends and get phone numbers, but I never quite fit in. I just felt like people were always staring at me. Maybe I was wrong, I’m an anxious man. But they’re staring at me now.

I snap to and look out over the restaurant and everyone is looking at me, like a butcher looks at meat. I hear the rhythmic pounding of the dragon’s wings. I feel the shadows creep from the alleys, all swaddled in knives and rage.

Nigel talks about his trip to Maui and his fling with a Korean expat. He orders a margarita and I feel a pain in my gut and double over, coughing up blood on the seat of the booth. The clouds close in like smoke in a burning house. I look up and see Nigel sip his drink as the crowd cheers against the Marlins. I start to feel myself slip but I don’t call out to him. We were never that close.

I recently came across a card I made for my grandmother a long time ago.

After seeing a whole bunch of "rewrite the roses are red poems" challenges, I figured I would post it.

After reading it, I remain firmly convinced that my eight year old self was a genius.

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

I can be any color

to love you!"

Sometimes, you really need some 8 year old wisdom in your life.

do i have

a purpose?

or am i

just another

floating wreck

spent of joy

full of splinters.

why am i here?

in this poem,

i hide from

insecurities.

do i have

a purpose?

or am i a

speck of dust

in the wrong

place at the

wrong time?

i don't think

i know who

i am anymore.

am i even

here at all?

i read sob stories on the internet

wishing i could reach out and help

but i am stuck in my life of privelege

lamenting over things i cannot change

lamenting over people i cannot save

i want to help people,

but i'm trapped in my naive body,

locked in a room of inexperience

i keep trying to give advice

but i really need someone to give me advice

because i don't know who i am

or what i'm doing.

i try to help people,

a misguided therapist

speaking through personal experience

but my experience is limited

and i don't know how to help.

how can i offer advice when i can't follow it?

what right do i have to help people

when i can't even help myself.

if i could be there,

without risk of disease,

i would reach out,

i would hug,

i would protect.

but there's only so much you can do through a screen.

i read sob stories on the internet

i wish i could save people from their own hell

but i am just another username

on another screen

waiting for someone

to reach out to me

the way i want to reach out to them.

Hi everyone!

For a long time, I've had my website linked in my profile. But recently, I decided to switch to a different website builder and make a new website.

The link is this: whitewolfe32.wixsite.com/wolfe

A little bit complicated, but the site is miles above my old site.

If you enjoy my work and would like to see more, please check it out!

Thanks,

A.C. Wolfe

In a small cobblestone village, where everyone is kind and hardly ever cruel, lived an enchantress named Misabel. Her castle laid on the highest hill and could be seen from most windows. Though she was highly feared by all the villagers, Misabel was considered to be the most beautiful woman in all the land. Her hair was sleek black like a raven. Her skin was smooth as silk. She had emerald green eyes that could pierce like the sun and lips as crimson as the delicate petals of a poppy.

Many a man laid before Misabel to be her lover. And yet, those who disagreed or did not do her biddings would find a short drop to their death by the noose’s grasps. Biddings such as the collecting of fine jewelry and destruction of clothing from widowed ladies whose late husbands had been indebted to the enchantress or killing of the villagers’ livestock for her amusement. Their corpses were displayed in the village square as a warning to others who choose to not comply. However, this still did not stop the men from going to her chambers and the women pleading for help with offerings in matters of love, fertility, and the like. Nevertheless, it should be well known that the dark magic of Misabel comes with a price. Unfortunately, when one is desperate enough, one does not care what that price may be.

So when a middle-aged couple bought a farm on the outskirts of the village and learned of the enchantress’s power, they were all too eager to implore for her services. For years, the farmer and his wife had wanted a child of their own. And for years, they were unable to conceive on their own.

Far from being rich, the only item they had of value that may tempt the enchantress was a brooch. The brooch once belonged to the wife’s grandmother and no matter how many times her husband begged for her to reconsider the offering of the brooch, she would not listen. If this was the only way for them to have their long-awaited child, then so be it.

The following morning, the rooster crowed and the sun stretched above the horizon. The wife awoke, dressed in a ragged floral shawl around her shoulders, and headed to the kitchen to prepare a measly breakfast for her husband before he went to work in the fields. She kissed him goodbye with the false pretense of paying a visit to friends, the brooch held tight in her hands and wrapped delicately in cloth, and she set off towards the enchantress’s castle. The cloth was light blue with a speckled print of calla lilies and was, oddly enough, the only part of the wife’s mother’s wedding dress. Why she chose to wrap the brooch in this particular piece of cloth, she wasn’t exactly sure. Perhaps, she hoped that the sentimental belongings of the two generations before her would bring the luck she needed for the journey ahead, a journey that seemed to take longer than expected.

Along the dirt path and through the woods that led to the main cobblestone road into town, she passed anxiously the shop owners setting up their goods outside in the partial blue-tinted light while trying not to draw too much attention to herself. The crispness of the morning air made the wife cling to her shawl and gripping the wrapped offering tighter as she finally started to hike up the hill to the enchantress’s castle.

No further than half way up the hill did she decide to stop and rest upon a rock, regardless of the fact the morning’s dew hadn’t fully evaporated and her bottom would become wet. The wife gazed up into the sky and listened to the birds chirping. And as she closed her eyes, feeling the sun’s warmth against her face, she was filled with nervous excitement. Taking a deep breath, she watched a robin nearby dance and poke his head between each blade of grass. This. This was the world that she and her husband wanted to share with the child that she was becoming more certain the enchantress would bestow upon them. A world of such simple treasures, like the robin near her. With this thought in her mind, the wife stood up and continued to walk.

When she reached the castle, she was surprised that she wasn’t stopped by any guards, as she pulled open the iron collared door, or any servants to greet her. The only greeting she received was from the long rows of statues holding candles. She looked upon each with amazement.

How life-like these statues look. It is as though they are frozen in time, the wife thought.

At the end of the rows, stood a throne made from entangled rose-less vines. A beautifully curved and haunting woman suddenly appeared upon the throne. It was as though the woman had been apart of the vines. The wife could assumed that this woman was none other than the Enchantress Misabel due to this sudden emergence having to be the work of magic. Terror raked over the wife’s body as she hesitantly stepped closer. With each step, her heart pumped more predominant and faster. Keeping eye contact, the wife watched the enchantress sit nearly motionless with a raised eyebrow that seemed to say this interaction would be a waste of the enchantress’s precious time. It wasn’t until the wife stubbed her toe on the bottom step beneath the thorny throne that the enchantress spoke.

“Why are you here?” Misabel hissed.

“Most beautiful Enchantress…” the wife stuttered, dropping to her knees.

“I know my name!” interrupted Misabel.

“I’ve come to offer my grandmother’s brooch,” the wife.

“Why?”

“My husband and I are new to the village…”

“My village,” Misabel interrupted.

“Yes, your village. For years, we have wanted a child of our own and for years, we have been denied. We’ve heard of your great power…”

“… And you are hoping that I may grant you a child. You believe a musky silver brooch will be enough of an offering for me?” Misabel said with a chuckle.

“It’s the only thing we have that is worth any value.”

“Is it, now? I have little use for a brooch such as this. Be gone. I will not aid you in your request.”

“You won’t?” the wife said, as if she was gasping her last breath.

“Do you really wish to argue with me, dear woman?” Misabel calmly asked.

The wife turned her gaze to the black stone floor.

Misabel continued, “If you do, you might want to take another glance upon my collection of figurative sculptures, for it will be your fate, too. Each one was once a resident in the village. Each one came to me with a poor offering and each retaliated when I refused to provide my services. So I ask you again, do you really wish to argue with me?”

Carefully looking back at the multitude of marbled protesters, the wife thought to herself, No wonder the statues looked so real. If I choose to argue, can I really bare to leave my husband all alone in this world? No, but I’ve also traveled all this way… And yet, there just has to be a way to gain the enchantress’s help without it resulting in the same fate as the statues.

She returned eye contact with the enchantress and took a breath.

“I do not wish to make you cross but I will give you anything for my husband and I to have a child of our own,” pleaded the wife.

Though the enchantress was taken aback by the wife’s strength, she only grinned and rose from her throne. Like fast moving groups of ominous storm clouds, her long gown rippled as she stepped down from her thorny throne to stand at the wife’s level. Misabel gently placed both of her hands on either side of the woman’s face and lifted it closer towards hers.

“I will do this thing for you and your husband,” Misabel said, so kindly that it almost sounded like threat.

“At what cost, most beautiful enchantress?” panted the wife.

“No need to worry,” chuckled the enchantress. “Now go home to your farm before I change my mind.”

Released from Misabel’s embrace, the wife carefully exited the castle. With dueling emotions of confusion and pure joy, she ran down the hill as quickly as she could without falling. Throughout the village, she hardly noticed the people going about their business, and nearly knocked over a few.

When the wife finally arrived at the gate of the farm and took a moment to catch her breath, she went in search of her beloved. She decided to check the barn first to see if he was feeding the mare, the cow, and few chickens they had. The mare, however, was not in his stall or within the fence, which meant that her husband was still working in the fields.

Sure enough, with their mare tied to the plow, there he was, pushing the plow from behind. He hadn’t seen his wife happily run over to him in quite some time. When the wife told him about what happened at Misabel’s castle, he was both in disbelief and concern; the latter because of the stories they had heard about the enchantress and that her services always came with consequences. The fact that she didn’t tell his wife what the payment was, since she had refused the brooch, (even though, neither of them had taken notice that the brooch was no longer in the wife’s possession).

In nine months time, the couple gave birth to an angelic baby girl named Xhoana (Ana for short), whose curly hair was white as the clouds, mesmerizing eye that emanated pure love, skin as soft as a peach, and cheeks that were as red as roses. As the days turned into months, the farmer and his wife began to forget about the mystery of their payment to the enchantress.

It wasn’t until the clock struck midnight on the day that would mark Ana’s first birthday that the couple’s naiveté and forgetfulness would have a rude awakening. So quickly and so strangely, the wife fell ill. The doctor was summoned and in an hour, she arrived. Tests and medications were administered, yet all proved to be useless and the illness was incurable. And before the day ended, the wife died. What a tragedy it is to leave a farmer to raise his daughter alone; what a worse tragedy for a child to grow up without her mother.

As the years went on, Ana grew into a beautiful and kind young woman. Her only memories of her mother came through the many stories she would beg her father to tell her before bed. These stories and her daily strolls through the woods were, for along time, her only escape from the small world she lived in; however, there was no doubt that she loved her father and she did what she could do to help ease the pain of her mother’s untimely death.

Each morning after making breakfast for her father and the few hired field hands, Ana would hitch the wagon to the mare that was filled with barrels of the farm’s vegetation and ride into the village. The baker would buy wheat and fruit and the inn would buy her vegetables. She happily conversed with everyone she came into contact with along the way and helped whomever she could.

The young men, who in the past offered their love to the Enchantress Misabel, would approach and present Ana during her daily errands with flowers, in hopes of courtship. She would always politely receive their flowers, even though the fire of true love never seemed to ignite with each suitor. But the young men were not the only ones to admire Ana’s beauty. The majority of villagers would, though very cautiously, talk to one another about Ana. Some declared that she was truly the most beautiful of them all, even more beautiful than Misabel.

But, what those few young men and even the cautious villagers should have remembered in their village was that even the trees have ears… ears that are loyal to the enchantress and had sent their resident crows to dispatch the bad news to their mistress.

What jealousy filled the castle walls that one could swear an illuminated emerald fog rolled partially down the hill. This would not stand. There was only room for one great beauty, and that was Misabel. But how to rid her village of Ana? She could have very well ripped out the heart of the young maiden, consumed it, and then erase her villagers memory of her, but there was no fun in that. Even the thought of adding Ana to her collection of statues was too boring and easy.

“So how do I get rid of Ana? Or rather how should I punish her for her angelic beauty? Those long, golden curls, rosy cheeks, and those blue doe-like eyes… How despicable!” Misabel said to her crows, while pacing around her throne room and then over to the balcony.

As she looked out into the horizon as the sun retired for the day, the most brilliant idea rose to the surface. Amongst the yellows, coral reds, and plum purples pirouetting above the blacken land, the solution was so simple: a curse. A curse that the power of true love couldn’t even possibly triumph.

She quickly rushed to her supply chamber, which also held past offerings, through a secret tunnel in the basement of her castle. It had been eighteen years since the last time she truly need to concoct an elaborate spell, and the key to this particular one lied within a dusty box on the top shelf.

The excitement exuding within her chest made her fingers tremble as she reached for the box. Carefully, Misabel placed it on the table behind her and with one finger, lifted the brass latch to open the box. She giggled as she gazed upon the contents of the dusty box. A ragged, light blue cloth speckled with Calla lilies cloaked around an object.

See, when the farmer’s wife had come before the enchantress, all those years ago, Misabel charmed the woman into forgetting to take back with her that the pathetic offering of a brooch. And since then, the enchantress’s instincts always proved to be quite reliable, for she stored the piece of jewelry away until an opportune time. Did she know when that would be? No, but she didn’t care. As she casted her curse upon the brooch and strung it on a strip of the cloth, Misabel was quite pleased at her own ingeniousness.

Emerging from the basement and into her throne room, the enchantress commanded for her carriage to be made ready. When the black Victorian carriage decorated in animal skulls and elaborate metallic vines, drawn by four black stallions pulled around, Misabel didn’t wait for her footman to step down and open the door. And by her order, the carriage flew down the hill towards the farm with a tornado-like speed.

To her delightful surprise, as she arrived in front of the farmer’s cottage, Ana was outside sweeping the cobblestone path that lead to the front gate. A smirk swept across her face as she watched how taken aback the young woman was at seeing the gruesome carriage a few yards away, and Misabel’s footman, with a stark white bird mask, opened the carriage door. An iridescent and tarred waterfall of a gown immediately overflowed the doorway.

The enchantress’s smirk turned into a diabolical smile that quickly terrified Ana and had her dropping to her knees and averting her gaze. Though it is said that vengeance is best served cold, Misabel was not one to follow the rules of this game. She glided to the girl’s side and almost like the mother Ana hardly knew, the enchantress caressed the girl to stand and face her.

“My dear girl, one as beautiful as you should never bury yourself in such filth,” said Misabel.

“To what do I owe this honor, divine Enchantress?” Ana meekly asked.

“Why, you my dear! I’ve come to give you a gift!”

“But I have done nothing to merit one.”

“But you have! Have you not recently turned eighteen?” the enchantress cordially responded.

“I have,” Ana said, bewildered, goosebumps trickling down her arms at the thought that Misabel knew when her birthday was.

“Well, your mother bestowed upon me an heirloom that once belonged to your great-grandmother to give to you on your eighteenth birthday, my dear,” Misabel informed.

A race of emotions filled Ana as she watched the enchantress pull a necklace from her pocket. She had heard many rumors about Misabel, but none of them suggested that she was a kind and generous individual. Yet, here the dark clothed woman was giving a necklace to her that once was her mother’s and great-grandmother’s, a lowly farmer’s daughter.

Ana graciously accepted the necklace and was about to put it around her neck, when her father rushed from the cottage and stood between his daughter and the enchantress.

“What do you want?” snarled the farmer.

“My, my, my, what a temper you have there,” replied the enchantress.

“I will not ask you again, witch!”

“There’s no need to call names, dear farmer. But if you must know, I have come to give your lovely Ana a belated birthday gift.”

“She doesn’t want one! Especially if it’s from you!”

“Well, it’s a bit too late for that, isn’t it? As you can see, she has already accepted it,” the enchantress said calmly.

“Don’t think I’m not aware that there would be a price for the wish my wife asked from you all those years ago. In exchange of us being able to have a child of our of the own was my wife’s life to be cut short,” shouted the farmer.

“Whatever do you mean? Your wife became ill and died of natural causes,” Misabel responded.

“In the course of one day? I think not!” the farmer retorted.

“Father, what is this all about?” inquired Ana.

“Your father is becoming a bit senile in his old age,” the enchantress warmly spoke. “Now, put on the necklace. I want to see how it looks on you, my dear.”

Before the farmer could prevent his daughter from doing so, Ana placed the cloth-strung necklace around her neck. And just before he could rip the necklace off her neck, a a dark crimson mushroom cloud surrounded the young woman and sent him flying backwards. The malevolent cloud begun to spin with the speed of a small tornado, and then stopped. When the ring vanished, the farmer and his daughter looked around to see if anything had changed, but everything looked the same.

“You see, no harm has come to the girl,” said the enchantress.

However, the words spoken were ones of jinxed articulation, for severe pain consumed Ana, starting with her hands. The pain was like hot coals. She stared at her father and then back at her hands, her pinky fingers melded into her ring fingers and her middle fingers into her index fingers. Then, as the paired fingers began to partially fuse together, they hardened and blackened into hooves.

Her shoulders began to feel uncomfortably itchy and as Ana turned to look at one of them, a huge bubbling rash appeared. A rash that spread, similar to wild fire, all over her body, before tearing open and gushing wool.

The young girl’s bones shifted, shrunk in certain areas, and expanded in others. Ana’s screams became bays. Her pupils went from being round to vertical slits. And lastly, before the burning pain ceased, her ears elongated.

As much as Ana was relieved that the pain was gone and still very confused at what had just happened, she wanted nothing more than to take a rest. Both her father and the enchantress, appearing as giants, loomed above her. Ana tried to ask what she had done to deserve such a punishment but could only manage the reverberating sounds of the sheep she now was.

Luckily, her father asked for her.

“Why have you done this? What has she done to deserve this? Turn her back!” he screamed.

“What a selfish man you are. You’ve known the extent of my power. While you and your sad wife did settle on the outskirts of my village, your farm is still within the borders of my jurisdiction. Pitiful lot you all are to think your daughter can outshine me!” voiced the enchantress.

“Outshine? In what—” the farmer started to say before being silenced by the raising of the enchantress’s hand.

Becoming quite bored with the conversation and also quite pleased with herself, Misabel turned and glided back inside her carriage. The mortified farmer ran to the carriage window before the coachman could whip the horses into motion.

“Please turn my daughter back! However her beauty has wronged you, I beg you! Ana is a kindhearted girl,” pleaded the farmer.

With much distain for having the farmer’s crummy fingers dirtying her magnificent carriage, Misabel leaned her head out of the window and glowered at the man until he released his hands.

“I’m not without heart. It is only when the sun emerges to radiate its light on my land that you daughter will be in the form of an ewe. And when nightfalls, she will return to her despicably kind and beautiful self. Now listen carefully, farmer… She has until her twenty-fifth birthday to find her true love. And while a true love’s kiss is part of breaking the curse, as in all good curses, her love must also cut out my heart and consume it before the kiss and before the church bells’ sixth ring that evening,” the enchantress chuckled to herself. “And that will not be an easy task because the young man will most likely be added to my collection of statues within my castle’s walls before he even has chance.”

“But those church bells never ring! They are broken!” exclaimed the farmer.

“They will ring,” the enchantress answered coyly. “They will ring, hence forth, on every birthday your sweet daughter will have. Oh, and one more thing… If that necklace ever leaves your daughter’s neck, between now and when that sixth bell rings, she will fall to an early death… like your dear wife.”

Misabel did not wait for the farmer to reply before ordering her coachman to take her back to the castle.

With many of the villages as small as this one, nothing stays a secret for long. Hope of breaking the curse quickly seemed impossible to Ana, especially when all the young men resumed their love and alliance to Misabel. And just as the enchantress had said, the broken bells rang on every birthday at exactly at six in the evening. Her father, however, refused to lose hope and would travel to neighboring villages in search of suitors. Some tried their luck to cut out the enchantress’s heart and some were too afraid to make the journey. Those who did tried, never returned from the castle.

Ana made it a habit, especially during the first few years, to sleep during the day and wander the woods at the night. And since no one in her village would befriend her, animals became her only companions. Her closest friend was an Australian Shepherd named Hud who belonged to the farm ten acres away from her home. Although the two could only understand one another while Ana was in her sheep form, they were still inseparable under the moon’s light.

She would eventually spend her birthdays solely with Hud, deep in the woods and far from the enchantress’s cruel tricks; Hud never failed to keep Ana positive as she came closer and closer to her twenty-fifth birthday. When one allows themselves to dwell on only the negative, one misses out on all the beauty that everyone and everything has to share, however large, small, or unaware one may be.

One night, a month before her twenty-fifth birthday, during one of her strolls in the woods, Ana fell asleep against an oak tree. A light breeze combed through her golden locks, and a young man on his horse rode towards the girl’s direction. Still fast asleep, Ana was completely unaware of the trotting of hooves, as was the man of her presence. That was, until his horse whinnied and Ana screamed.

The man dismantled and slowly kneeled before her, not wanting to frighten her more. As the moonlight beamed upon their faces, Ana was surprise to see how handsome the young man. His skin was as dark as chocolate and his lips were thin and strong like marble; his build was one of a skillful hunter. Normally, this should have frightened her, but his eyes held a courageous story untold and genuine love for every living thing. How she then wanted to know his story, though she had never seen him before.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” the traveler said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Who are you?” Ana softly asked.

“Henry, my lady. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“Xhoana, but everyone calls me Ana.”

“Well, dear sweet Ana, I did not mean to awake you, but I am not from these lands and am quite lost. I was wondering if you may assist in telling me where the nearest seaport is?”

“Two days west of here,” she responded.

“Curses! That’s what I feared.”

“If you need a place to rest for the night and something to eat, I’m sure my father would gladly put you up in the barn,” she offered.

“That would be most kind,” he responded.

As Henry and Ana walked back to her farm with his horse trotting closely behind, she listened to the adventures that lead him to her part of the forest. She didn’t once dare speak about herself in case the traveler was actually the enchantress in disguise. He seemed almost too good to be true.

Approaching the cottage, Ana asked Henry to wait by the gate so she could run inside to ask for her father’s permission. When she returned, with a smile on her face and lantern in hand, she led the traveler to the barn. After Henry fell asleep and as the sun splashed pinks, reds, oranges, and yellows into the sky, Ana wistfully glance down at the palms of her hands and watched her fingers meld into hooves and the wool take over her skin. She looked up at the sun as tears flooded her sheep eyes before joining the rest of the herd living on the farm.

When Ana looked over to see Henry exit the barn and not Misabel, her heart leapt for joy! Indeed, it wasn’t solid proof that he wasn’t enchantress, yet Ana raced towards the open kitchen window and carefully propped her head up to peer through.

How much more handsome he looked in the daylight, Ana thought. Though he may not be Misabel, someone as handsome as he must have a wife and child missing him terribly back home. Even if that weren’t so, how could he ever love a sheep who was only a maiden come nighttime? In a month’s time, it wouldn’t matter either way…

With a heavy heart, Ana slumped into the dirt under the window.

“How glad I am my daughter found you when she did! Your supplies look to be almost depleted!” exclaimed the farmer inside.

“They were indeed. Where is your lovely daughter? She missed breakfast and now lunch?” inquired Henry.

“She is an early riser and works as a seamstress in the town over. Ana will return after the sun goes to sleep,” the farmer said quickly.

“Ah, that explains it. I’m very grateful of your kindness. Please let me work on your farm to return the favor before I venture west.”

“You are truly an honorable man.”

A fortnight passed, and the traveler remained lodged in the barn. With every morning arising, Henry would asked where Ana was and every time, her father’s answer would be the same: “She is an early riser and works as a seamstress in the town over, Ana will return after the sun goes to sleep.” Every night, Ana and Henry strolled the forest, falling deeper and deeper in love.

Their strolls were far from being a secret. The trees, as mentioned before, have ears and loyalties to uphold. And with whispered messages to the enchantress’s crows, Misabel was filled with rage of how close Ana was getting to breaking the curse. Yet, she wasn’t completely angry, for three days prior to Ana’s twenty-fifth birthday and with unwavering confidence that no one would succeed in obtaining her heart, oh, did Misabel have a plan to prevent the young maiden’s success in finding true love!

She first persuaded one of her lovers, the baker, to make a small pie specifically for the farmer. In the pie, a potion was poured that would not only entice the farmer to eat it for himself alone, but to sell his daughter (in her sheep form) to the neighboring farm. Five more pies were made to be given to this neighboring farm. This particular farm was the one that Ana’s Australian Shepherd friend, Hud, resided. These pies would ensure the four members of the neighboring farm and Hud were disillusioned into thinking they came into possession of a most rebellious ewe, a ewe that would need to be chained constantly and be slaughtered three days hence.

The enchantress applauded herself again for her own ingeniousness as she watched her lover travel to deliver all six pies. She was so elated she transformed herself into one of her crows so that she could follow. Hud, chowing down on his pie, was her favorite part. Her eyes widened as she watched the neighboring farmers ride over to Ana’s farm, her father accepting the money, Ana struggling to resist the rope going around her neck, and Hud growling like they were strangers.

In this game she put into play, the only unpredictable variable was the traveler. One might think she would be frustrated at not taking this into consideration, but being the gambler, the enchantress truly was so tickled and curious.

Will he figure out what is happening to his true love in time? Does he know that she is the sheep being sold? happily thought Misabel, happily. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t! Either way, I must fly closer for a better look! Perhaps, I will try to rip off that stupid necklace around Ana’s sheep neck in front of him! Oh, how utterly delicious!

A few laughing caws emerged as the enchantress swooped down towards the terrified Ana, her fellow crows following her lead. Misabel pecked and clawed, while the farmer and the others stood and watched. Sticky, warm liquid trickled down Ana’s body as she bayed for help. Fully aware of the traveler’s kindness towards animals, Misabel held the brooch in her beak before yielding to the traveler’s hit and flying away into the forest, her crows trailing behind her. After the neighboring farmers left in their wagon with Ana being dragged behind them, the traveler confronted the farmer.

“What was that about?” asked the traveler.

“What do you mean? I had a ewe that has been causing me much trouble, so I sold her,” said the farmer.

“When did you send word that you had a ewe to be sold?” the traveler asked.

“I hadn’t, but it was very fortunate that those men came because I was at my wits end.”

“I don’t recall you expressing anything of the sort.”

“Well, it’s done, and I can relax now,” the farmer exhaled.

“Very well. Where is your daughter?”

“In the village over. She will return as soon as the sun goes down.”

That is where the conversation ended. The farmer left to work with his farmhands and the traveler followed along with him. The next two nightfalls, the traveler eagerly waited for Ana at the edge of the woods like he always did, but as hours trickled like raindrops, Ana never came. As bad fortune continued to rear its ugly head on the second nightfall, the traveler became increasingly suspicious and went into the farmer’s house to ask if he had seen her, but the farmer was already fast asleep. He decided to wait until morning before inquiring again.

As he laid his head down to sleep, certain things began to make sense to the traveler. How or why, he did not know, but what he did know is that this revelation oddly made complete sense. The sold ewe! She always wore the same necklace that Ana did. But what were the odds? And why did he only see Ana at night?

He kept these puzzling notions to himself, although, they plagued him all through the next few hours until both his mind and body were too exhausted toss and turn the matter for the time being. It wasn’t until the rooster sung, signaling it was time to rise with the sun that Henry was yanked awake by the reminding need to confront the farmer once more. This time with more determination for answers.

As he entered the farmer’s house, Henry pushed aside the farmhands trying to make their way to their usual seats. He took no notice of how unfazed the men were by this and waited not for the plate of his breakfast to leave the farmer’s hand onto the table, Henry growled his question into the farmer’s ear.

“Where is your daughter, for I am quite certain she did not come home last night?”

Though this hadn’t been the first time the traveler had asked him about the whereabouts of his daughter, it was the first time the farmer had eaten the enchantress’s pie that he began worryingly question it himself. It seemed like an eternity before he answered Henry. And as the farmer watched the sun slowly put its head down to sleep and the moon marched to its station, he slowly put the pieces together alongside the traveler.

“Today’s Ana’s twenty-fifth birthday!” gasped the farmer.

“What of it and how does it pertain to where she may be?” The traveler asked.

“What have I done? How could I have been so blind?” the farmer whispered to himself, staring down at the creaky wood floors. The tip of his worn down leather shoes pressing on one of the floorboards, as though it would help him in answering his own questions. And when it didn’t, the farmer looked towards the ceiling. Perhaps his late wife, who he was certain was in heaven, would somehow bare guidance in this matter.

“Farmer!” the traveler yelled hoping to bring the old man back to the here and now.

“The curse,” answered the farmer.

“The what?”

“The curse! Look, can’t waste any time! We have until the church bells strikes six this evening. And while it may seem that we have plenty of time, the enchantress is powerful and my daughter’s life may be at stake,” shouted the farmer.

“I don-don’t un-understand,” Henry stuttered.

“I know you don’t, but trust me when I say that you need to go to the farm, where I unknowingly sold the ewe—“

“Ana,” interrupted the traveler.

“Yes, Ana!” The farmer answered before continuing. “Go to the farm and get her back by any means necessary, while I travel to the castle to cut out the enchantress’s heart for you to consume.”

The farmer raised his hand to stop the traveler from trying to question him once again and guided him to the front door.

Though still very much confused, Henry obliged the farmer’s orders and mounted his horse. He rode as fast as he could to neighboring farm, the wind whipping across his face. Yet the closer he got to his destination, the further the sun seemed to retreat. The trees and fallen branches, that were so easily avoided, became dangerous obstacles.

A foul stench and barely burning lanterns greeted as he pulled the reigns to lead his horse down the farm’s gravel road. Despite the thrashing winds beckoning behind him from several yards away, it was so eerily quiet that it made the traveler stop and get off his horse. And as much as his instincts were screaming for him to listen to the wind and back away, his love for Ana and his foolishness for not realizing her secret sooner gave him the courage to continue. However, his boot had barely stepped into the stirrup, when a cold barrel of a rifle pressed against his temple.

“Who ar-ya?” asked the neighboring farmer.

“My name is Henry. I work at the farm that you bought the ewe from a couple of days ago,” answered the huntsman.

“Ar-ya now? We about to shoot that there ewe fer meat. Wanna war-ch?”

“You can’t do that!” exclaimed the huntsman.

“And why not? Its mine, itinnet? I paid fer it.”

“I’ll buy her back from you. Please!”

“A traveler who don’t wernt an animal killed? Well that will give me boys a laugh fer sure!”

The neighboring farmer had the huntsman put his hands behind his head and pushed him around the back of the stables, where the ewe was tied to a post echoing what the traveler had just said with a hearty chuckle to the farmhands before knocking Henry out with the butt end of his rifle.

Meanwhile, the farmer ran as fast as his legs would carry him towards the castle. Though he would have arrived much sooner on horse, he didn’t want to waste the already dwindling time saddling the animal. A stumbling fool he did look as he past the villagers, through town and up the castle’s hill, the farmer made it to the castle and quite out of breath. Similar to what the traveler had experienced, prior to rendered unconscious, the farmer begun to notice the uneasy silence and the invisible barrier between the retreating sun and the terrifying darkness. From where he stood and as his breathing evened, he looked in every direction for a sign of any of the enchantress’s guards being aware of his presence, but there wasn’t one. Not a single guard or crow, which sent a shiver down his spine.

Little did he know, the enchantress had not expect the farmer to be so bold as to try to enter her castle alone nor find the trap door to her storage room of magical items. She was in crow form watching the traveler’s interaction with neighboring farmer. Her piercing emerald green eyes widened in immense pleasure. Misabel also did not expect her guards to have fallen asleep at their stations and the farmer to take the bow and arrow that never missed. But one thinks so little of others and too high of themselves, it is easy to dismiss these sorts of thing.

The farmer quickly, yet cautiously, exited the castle and ran to the neighboring farm, the bow and arrow snuggled tightly under one arm. Though he didn’t doubt the competence of the traveler or the young man’s love for his daughter, the reminding knowledge of how unpredictably powerful the enchantress was would not allow him to not assist the traveler in getting his daughter. There was also the paternal desire for the curse to be broken and for Ana to ability to lead a normal life.

Back at the neighboring farm, when the traveler returned to consciousness, he rubbed his head and was dumbfounded as to the reason behind knocking him out without tying him up. He looked up after his vision cleared to see the neighboring farmer and his men with their backs to him. Sitting close by and chained to one of the stable walls, was Hud. Henry tried to get the dog’s attention because he knew the close relationship Ana and Hud had, but it proved to be useless. Like the men, the Australian Shepherd’s attention was on the ewe and how they were going to skin her.

Finding the strength to stand up, the traveler crept toward the rifle, loosely gripped in the neighboring farmer’s hand. Henry had never considered himself to ever succumb to nervousness, but at this moment, he was. The traveler’s palms became clammy and his heart raced. The second his hand wrapped around the barrel, the element of surprise disintegrated. Hud, the first to pick up on Henry’s ploy, barked and growled.

Amidst the fight over the rifle, the traveler did his best to kick and punch his other opponents. The span of what felt like forever, the traveler had gained control; although, that was the only thing he had control over with a few broken ribs and blood nearly blinding his left eye. But his opponents seemed to have temporarily given up trying to fight the traveler for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure.

The traveler stumbled to free the ewe, feeling a bit silly apologizing to the sheep, even though he knew it was Ana. His love did her best to aid back towards the farm. They were not half way through the forest when the church began to strike the first bell, declaring it was six o’clock. A green eyed crow flew to low branch in a tree just a few yards in front of them. Its caw sounding very much like an hysterical laughter.

And as the bell sounded a second time and becoming quite annoyed at the crow’s laugh, the traveler had failed to notice Hud sneaking up behind them until the dog was upon Ana. Falling backwards and disoriented, Henry wasn’t realizing what was happening until the bell struck for a fourth time and Ana’s neck had been snapped. Pulling himself onto his feet and watching Hud cowardly running away for the dog finally realized what he had done to his friend, the traveler rushed to Ana’s side and cradled her sheep head in his arms.

“Please, don’t leave me,” the huntsman said to her as he wept. “I have failed you in more ways than one and I’ll never forgive myself for not realizing your secret sooner.”

Strangely in sync with the sounding of the fifth bell, a hissing whistle flew over and past Henry’s head. It startled the traveler so much that he turned his head to see where the sound had ended. An arrow. An arrow sticking right into the green eyed crow’s heart. It was until he heard the thud from the crow’s body hitting the ground that Henry turned his head back to the direction to which the arrow had come from. Stunned and surprised to see the farmer with a bow in hand that the traveler sat frozen in place as he watched the farmer run by him to pick up the dead crow.

It took Henry a few moments to realize that the farmer was kneeling by his side and speaking to him.

“A knife!” The farmer shouted.

“What?” The traveler asked.

“Do you have a knife?”

“Uh, yes,” the traveler answered, fumbling in his pocket for the knife before handing it to Ana’s father.

The farmer jabbed the knife into the crow’s chest, not bothering to remove the arrow first, and then sunk his fingers in to pull out the bird’s heart.

“Eat!” The farmer said, nearly sticking the warm heart in the traveler’s mouth.

“What?” Henry asked. Though he vaguely remembered the farmer telling him that in order to break the curse he must eat the heart before kissing Ana, it still puzzled him to a certain degree.

“Eat!” repeated the farmer.

As he obliged and as the sixth bell rang, the traveler leaned in to kiss her cheek and whispered, “I love you.”

Silence rested in the woods. The wind ceased to blow, the ants stopped their march, and the seedling paused just below the surface. All seemed to be lost, the curse not broken, and the enchantress won—

An illuminated rainbow blanketed Ana’s body, so brightly that it startled Henry into backing up against the closest tree and covered his eyes with his arms. The silence in the woods quickly turned into a deafening sound. From the birds, the insects, the wolves, to the squirrels; all screaming at the top of their lungs. And then — the ruckus stopped. The colorful light vanished.

As, Henry pulled his arms away from his head, the dead sheep in front of him was gone, too. He didn’t bother standing and scrabbled on all fours to where his love’s body used to be. He swept the dirt away and pulled out some of the plant life, as though that would help materialize her once again. On his knees and his head in his hands, he begun to cry once more.

What had just happened? Had he failed his love again?

“Why do you cry, my love?” asked a familiar voice.

The traveler was both bewildered and overjoyed, as he turned around to face the young woman the voice belonged to. He wasted no time in standing up and kissing her. Henry could care less of the inordinate amount of pain he was in… Ana was alive!

“I love you too,” she whispered, as she carefully ran her fingers through his hair.

“Oh my love, you’re alive! I thought I had lost you twice,” said the traveler .

“You found me and that’s what matters.”

“I will never leave your side again.”

“Nor I.”

And from that moment forth, Henry and Ana were not the only ones to be blessed with happiness. All who had be turned into statues were freed from the entrapment and the castle was soon demolished for the villagers never wanted anyone to feel enslaved by fear from tyranny again.

THE END.