Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom lived a princess, alone in a tower. And she was totally fine with that. I mean, who wants to share coffee in the morning with someone else anyway? She had a great job, a couple of guys she dated casually, and a yoga routine.

The End.

Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom under the sea, lived a princess mermaid who was really sick of being a fish. Plus, her dad was so overbearing. So she got some legs from Amazon, worked hard in school, and landed a scholarship to Harvard Law, where she graduated the head of her class.

The End.

Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom lived a princess with skin as white as snow. The queen hated her for being so pretty, so she left. She is now a Victoria’s Secret model and exclusively dates short men.

The End.

Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom lived a princess who had a curse put on her by a moody and evil witch. Instead of keeping in on the down low, her parents told her to steer clear of any and all spinning wheels. Informed, she avoided the curse and no one died.

The End.

Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom lived a girl with a step-mother who was a nightmare. Along with her two daughters, she treated our hero like a slave. So she filed for emancipation, won, and started her own house cleaning business. She fell in love with the lawyer who handled her case, who used to be a mermaid. They are getting married this summer.

The End.

“So, are you sure?” Old man with unhealthy greenish pale skin and with tall black hat slowly turned to the girl. “You are so young, so pure, so innocent!” his chapped lips smacked every word, “You sure this is the only option, little fifteen?”

“I have no choice. This… or The Shard (rem. of the author - The Shard is the tallest building in London, 306 m.)” sharply said the girl, surveying the room. It felt sinister, with rotting dry walls and cracked concrete with red stains of an unknown origin. The room was empty, except for two black and white armchairs with a hypnotizing pattern. Her body unwillingly jerked when she caught the sight of two guards that had led her here. They stood near the door like toy soldiers - blank faces, same clothes. Only they were fatter than the toy soldiers.

“That’s the right thing… Relax, and have the most wonderful meal of your life!” The old man grinned, revealing his yellow, decaying teeth, and handed her a greasy piece of cake with some mold growing on it and stinky spoiled juice in a cracked glass. The girl sighed and stared with disgust on the food but begun eating it. She closed her eyes and held her breath as not to smell anything and quickly wolfed down the cake, following it up with the juice, which she drank in one gulp. The old man leaned towards her, resting his arms on his knees.

“Do you feel it yet?,” quickly and enthusiastically whispered he, “The madness, the magnificence of being insane! My, it took me a lot of time to find all the drugs needed to prepare this! Believe, my child, it won’t be long until you realize that this is everything you had ever wanted. The bliss of craziness… Join me in my game, Alice!”

A man in the cat mask entered the room, carrying an old radio with him. It played high-pitched psychedelic music. She tried to block her ears, but she couldn’t move her arms. The girl’s pale skin was slowly turning to red and her terrified wide open eyes were filling up with blood. Her breathing became harsh and frequent and veins on her neck were pulsing. One of the guards came closer to the girl and with one quick movement of the knife, her gorgeous shiny black locks fell on the floor.

“Your mother will never hit you again, your boyfriend will never dump you, your friend will never betray you…” continued the man grabbing the girl’s shoulder and shaking her violently. Her mouth filled with foam. Finally, her head and body went limp. After a minute, her eyes opened wide.

She found herself in the beautiful garden with marvelous flowers and grass, sitting on the throne in a fantastic dress with golden locks lying on her shoulders. The air smelled of strawberries and tea. Opposite her there sat a gentleman in a tall black hat and a fine costume, behind him there was an enormous cat and jazz was playing in the background. Mad Hatter took her tiny hands and solemnly proclaimed, “Welcome to the Wonderland, Alice!”

Hello TTT Agency, this is Tai Sensei (future famous author), I'm messaging you because I'd like to book a week-long trip to two separate time leaps in the distant future. Don't worry about sending me to the past, I'm sure I'd screw it up somehow - knowing me. We don't want to create a present day apocalypse now do we (haha, you think I'm joking >:), so I'll spare you the waver forms and broken contracts of terms and conditions policies I never read. 

Anyway, I'd like my first visit to be in 2018, around the time How to Train Your Dragon 3 gets in IMAX theatres. I know what you're thinking; "it's just a year, can't you wait?" Well the answer is No! I've already waited two years (when they started making it), this last year is just rude. 

I'd only like to spend about half a day in this year, just enough time to see the movie and fangirl for a few hours. My next destination, for the duration of my week, would be spent on some random date between 2027and 2037, during the height of my career as an author. I just want to get a copy of the book I wrote, plus the movie they made off my book, plus the fighting/adventure/RPG/visual novel game they made off the movie/book/short stories combined. Oh, and the PlayStation X to play the game on. One carry-on bag should suffice.

If you're thinking: "wow, you're just going to plagiarize off your future work." Then you're wrong. I'm going to edit off my future work, and it's not plagiarizing if it was made by me, so ha! - *sophisticated clearing of throat* - Where was I?  

Oh right, the expenses; I'm able to contribute a grand total of $10.00 for the initial payment (Yep, you read right. That's double, decimal, double digits of money). For the rest, I will be steal- I mean borrowing sufficient funds from my future self and delivering it to your company in the given deadline of between 2 minutes from now to eventually. I look forward to doing business with you and thank you for your service.

Sincerely, 

TaiSensei the almighty awesome-tastic cool superior warrior dragon tamer evil ninja assassin spy in disguise the first 

It wasn't so much that the doll meant anything to her; she was sixteen, of course it didn't, but seeing it thrown into the garbage bag, ready to be shipped off to Goodwill, made her pause. She only remembered playing with it twice in the ten years that she had had the doll. Once, when she had first gotten it on Christmas, only months after Mr. Sniffles, the family pug, died, where she twirled the brunnette curls in her tiny fingers, before pushing it to the side. The other time, she was eleven and she was cleaning up her bedroom, and had stumbled upon the thing in the back of her closet. She had moved it to her shelf in half hope of playing with it again, but from there it only collected dust instead of use. Now, it was going to Goodwill, a better place for it, she knew, but something bubbled inside of her, reminding her of what she could've and should've done.

I'm so glad you remembered grandpa until the day you died. Had you looked at him with that happy blank stare that you used for so many of your children and grandchildren, the one that said, "Hi, do I know you?", his heart would have shattered. But thankfully your marriage, a blessed 56 years(minus one day), was so strong that you remembered him. He held your hand as your dementia claimed the rest of us. Grandpa was the one light that shone bright in your world. You managed to hang on up until you had a chance to renew your wedding vows, and I think you were waiting for that day. I am sure you knew the importance of it; what it meant to him. You slipped away peacefully, grandpa by your side. Thank you grandma for remembering him.

I sat down at the table, she was at the other end. Her welcoming smile seemed to tell no lies and pulled me towards her like the opposite poles of a magnet. Her silky soft red hair was like that of a waterfall I had seen as a child. She was beautiful, enchanting and I couldn't look away, I didn't want to look away. I watched her mouth form the words,"Let's make a deal." I don't think I quite registered what she said till she snapped and thunder roared down on us. I look behind her as the lightning struck where a clear shadow of wings could be seen. She was an angel! An angel, I was being talked to by an angel! She cleared her threat and repeated, "Let's make a deal."

This time I responded, "What kind of deal?"

"I want something."

"What?"

"I want your soul."

"Why would I give your that?"

"For your father'ss life, I believe isss a fair exchange," she slithered.

"No one person's life is a fair exchange," I retorted, but in someways I didn't agree.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want—" what did I want? "—my family, everyone of them, to be sane and healthy."

"That's a lot to ask for."

"In exchange for my soul, I think not."

"Yes a soul is worth a lot, but I could get twice even quadruple this for way less."

"But I presume every soul is different and I bet mine is of pretty high cost."

"No, no it isn't, but I will accept your deal," as those words left her mouth a large contract appeared in front of me. Without a second thought I signed it. A sly smile spread her face when I rolled it back to her. "You don't know what you have done."

"And how would you know that... Lucy."

I never really thought I could die. I'm young, and life stretched out for me like an endless expanse of road, the kind found in the country- flat and straight but with so much opportunity and beauty. To think that I would die some day was impossible to me.

I am the embodiment of the teenage cliché.

Yet, by means I will not go into, I now not only recognize I will die, but I know it will be soon. I can't say anything to you while I'm here, but I hope you find this when I'm gone because there are things I need to say, and I need to know they were received.

I'm not quite ready to die.

I have a pile of letters and stories and poems on that little black box you always asked about. You can open it now. Please do. Please read every written word contained inside. I think you might realize some things I never told you.

I have secrets that I don't want to keep.

The box should be sitting on a pile of notebooks. Read those as well. I wrote a lot of beginnings, but no endings. I'll let you do those. Let my characters live out their stories. Please don't let them hang in suspension eternally.

My characters mean more than I do, in the end.

Share my words everywhere you can. Maybe my body can't go on, but in many ways my thoughts can. I don't care if no one knows my name, but I don't want my being to be forgotten. I want to make a difference.

Words are the essence of being.

I don't need a fancy funeral. Donate my organs, let them be helpful. I might be dead, but most of me should still work with a proper system. I want to be cremated. Scatter me in the winds. They say death is an adventure, after all.

Practicality will make me happiest.

Thank you, and I'm sorry.

You'll be fine without me.

You never really needed me.

He could still taste Sam on his lips.

He punched the wall and felt the knuckles in his left fist reverberate with the force, a burning cascade shooting up his wrist to his arm. He knocked his head forward, slamming it into the brick, and shoved his boot against the solidness. He kicked and he kicked again. He kicked until he felt the pain dully in his foot, quaking. He tasted blood in his mouth, the metallic tang, and the rough etch of brick across his forehead.

He was still, slumped against the wall. He didn’t kick anymore, but he felt the aches in his feet, his grazed knuckles, his scraped cheek from Ginger’s slap. He felt it wobble inside of him, unending.

“Goddammit.”

His voice was hoarse, his body slow. All of it poured into the unrelenting wall, the anger and the sorrow. Goddammit, goddammit, running over and over in his head. Goddammit.

He wanted to go back, but he knew he couldn’t. Ginger would only slap him again. And then little Joy would start crying. It would just be a mess. He hated messes.

He clenched his fists. His heart burst into those clenched knuckles, racing for him. His breath was still coming out fast, heavy heaves. He wanted to punch the wall again, but it was a distant thought.

He pushed away from the brick, looking up at the setting sky. It was sticky outside. He turned onto his back and slid to the ground, sitting there. He watched a passerby walk down the street and turn down the road. He waited until his knuckles stopped throbbing and then some before getting up, the rough scrape of gravel on his jeans and his hand burning when he had to lay his palm against the brick to stand.

He hobbled away from the brick wall and over to the sidewalk, seeing Ginger’s shocked face rumble through his mind. He stepped along the cracks of beige, the slight summer breeze on his cheeks, kissing the red cut there. Ginger’s nails had been sharp on his skin, the swift cut, the sharp shrill of her shriek ringing in his ears. He couldn’t go back, not again.

He walked across the road to the other side, followed the path of dirty sidewalk with children’s chalk paint, and turned at the corner and made his way there, where Sam lived.