When we start, the pages are still blank. There is no setting, no plot, no plucky main character in need of a story all to themselves. We sit alone in a dark mental corner. Yet, hark! There appears a little candle in the darkness, lighting the walls of our space with a flickering glow. It draws nearer until we can sense its heat comfortably near our skin, and can breathe in its sweet, waxy scent. Through the newfound light, we now see that the walls of our space are covered with words. Little words, big words, angry words, happy words, all blending together like soft chalky pastels, to paint a picture. No, no, not merely a picture, but a series of pictures, but no, not even that. In fact, they paint a whole world. So what do we see in our world of words? A cold winter’s night, snow falling softly in a forest, trees creaking and groaning in the occasional gusts of wind, the thick amber scent of a woodstove burning... burning... burning in a cabin nestled between two snowdrifts. Its windows are dark except for a lonely candle burning in each one. There isn’t a sound within. We move closer, and look, there! Two bright eyes peer out of the window into the snowy night. They belong to a small figure, a very thin little figure, who soon drops out of view. Hattie Weals, she’s called, and we now see as she curls up in bed with tears making sparkling tracks down her face. There won’t be a Christmas for Hattie this year. Her Papa hasn’t made enough money for even an extra pair of stockings.

As Hattie falls asleep, suddenly the cabin door bursts open, snow blowing violently inside. She instantly runs to shut it before her Papa wakes up, but it won’t close. Snow pours inside, piles and piles of glittering snow, rising into a wave which crashes over the tiny cabin. Hattie is buried. The snow wraps her in a frigid cocoon. It smells of mountain rivers and city rainstorms, and she finds herself falling, falling falling... awake.

Hattie is awake? She’s in a bed? Wrapped in a fluffy down comforter with a roaring fire at her feet? She’s confused. This isn’t her house. Her room is smaller than this one. It doesn’t have its own fireplace. Hattie swings out of bed, gingerly setting little feet onto the floor. Matchstick-thin legs carry her, curiously, out of her room and down the hall, where she finds, oh my! Yet another fire, even bigger than the one in her room, as well as a christmas tree with candles softly glowing on each branch. Present-boxes are piled below it, their wrapping-paper sparkling in the light. Right in front is a flat, green box with a tag that reads: ‘To Hattie, Love A Friend’ in swirling cursive. She hurries over, and looking around furtively, begins to tear the edge of the wrapping paper. But no, it can’t be what it looks like! No one could have known she wanted it! Downy brown curls peek over the edge of the wrapping paper. But it is! It’s her! Hattie opens the box slowly, savoring the view of the perfect porcelain skin, the glassy green eyes, the pouted pink mouth of the doll that she wanted for oh-so-long. It’s almost as if she’s more pretty than the first time Hattie spotted her in the china shop window, if that’s even possible!

“Started without me?” A dapper young man stood in the doorway.

Hattie jumped and nearly dropped her- no- it’s not her’s- the- doll.

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t, I don’t know, I’m sorry...” as Hattie scrambled to find the words, the young man laughed.

“Don’t be silly, Hattie. That doll’s for you. The other children will be rather sad you started without them though. They were quite looking forward to meeting you first.” His eyes sparkled with a mischevious glimmer in the firelight. He turned back toward the hallway. “Oh look, here they come now!”

And came they did! At least ten other children eagerly rushed around Hattie and clamored to see her doll and to open their own presents. What a cheery time they all had! After opening presents, the children gathered around a long wooden table and ate what couldn’t be described as anything short of a feast for kings. Roasted birds and creamy vegetable soups and all sorts of dishes from all around the world filled the little children until their bellies were stuffed and their eyes were heavy. Slowly, one by one, they mumbled their goodnights and tottered off to bed, dragging their presents behind them. Yet, Hattie stayed, staring into the firelight. Warmth and food had made her drowsy, but something kept poking around uncomfortably in her mind.

“Coming to bed, Hattie?” Asked the young man, who had sat silently at the head of the table all evening. He now stood up, however, and began to stoke the fire.

“Well, I don’t know,” Hattie replied. “Will I wake up here in the morning? Have I just dreamt up all- all this?” The young man laughed, as he had before, and as if picking up a small cat, lifted her easily into his arms.

“My dear, there’s nothing fake about any of us. See?” He poked himself on the shoulder. “About as real as it gets.”

“But, but I won’t wake up here,” said Hattie, whose eyes were beginning to droop.

“No, I’m afraid not,” sighed the young man. By that point, they had arrived at Hattie’s room, and he gently laid her on the bed.

“But how will I know it’s real then?” Asked Hattie. Sleepy eyes stared up at him sadly. He handed her the doll.

“You’ll know, my dear.” He winked and stepped into the doorway.

“But I don’t even know your name,” Hattie called.

“My name’s Nick.” The man smiled. “Now sweet dreams to you, Hattie.”

And with that she sunk back, deep, deep, into feathery dreams of snow and softly glowing candles.

Cold air on her toes eventually woke Hattie. She was in her own bed, in her own room. The door to the cabin stood slightly ajar, wind whistling through the crack, and Hattie hurried over to shut it. Yet as she made to crawl back under the threadbare blanket, she let out a squeak of surprise. Smooth porcelain skin and silky locks met her fingertips, and eagerly, -oh goodness, how exciting- she pushed back the blanket to find the doll of her dreams! And tied neatly around her wrist was a little tag, which read: ‘To Hattie: Have a Merry Christmas Your Friend, Nick’.

The walls of our mental corner grow fainter as our little candle burns low, until the words written upon them are nothing more than vague sketches. And despite the world painted so intricately by the words we have been able to see so far, there are still yet thousands more words we haven’t read, fading away into the distane on walls we cannot hope to fathom the length of. The story is not complete, and it never will be. But for now, our pages are filled, the main character given an adequate story all to themselves, and our hearts are left a little warmer than they were when we started. With a little pfft, the candle goes out.

Baby Suzie, Suzie Baby,

Don’t go near the Slasher House, kids

That’s where Suzie lives.

She has hair like gold,

Golden girl

She has dresses of lace like spiderwebs

Delicate girl

She has skin like a china doll

But she’s American as apple pie.

Suzie Baby,

She teases the boys with giggles,

blowing kisses and dropping worms on their heads

but they can never catch her if they try.

Don’t try, boys

They say she’ll kiss you then kill you with kindness

Leave you with your heart bleeding out in your hands.

--

Baby Suzie,

Laughing at her uncle Chuck the butcher

as he makes her favorite dinner, barbecue,

for the eighth night in a row

Eight nights for eight years

Suzie just turned eight.

But Suzie doesn't know

that the pulled pork is pulled pectoralis

fresh from the fine little boy next door.

Suzie doesn’t know until she knows

from the little brown shoes in the garage and the missing posters around the neighborhood

And then she’s gone too

Golden hair and china skin left to marinate in bags of A1 sauce and mystery spices until perfection.

--

Baby Suzie, Suzie Baby,

Don’t go near the Slasher House, kids

That’s where Suzie died, twenty two years ago.

She has hair like gold,

Golden girl

She has dresses of lace like spiderwebs

Delicate girl

She has skin like a china doll

But she’s American as apple pie.

She teases boys and girls with giggles,

little footsteps pattering just around the corner

but they can never catch her if they try.

Don’t try, boys and girls

They say she’ll kiss you then kill you with kindness

Leave you with your heart bleeding out in your hands

Dead, like her.

The fire we built to make s'mores with begins to sputter its demise. You curl up next to me on the sand, where we watch the sun slowly paint the world in shades of honey and pastel. The lake in front of us ripples where a breeze buffets the surface and you pull closer.

"Isn't it beautiful?" You whisper.

"I wish I could live in this moment forever," I reply. You pull away and look at me, your eyes serene and golden in the glow of the sunset.

"Me too," you say.

And for the first time ever, we kiss. I try to record everything I can about the moment, so I can remember it forever. The way your lips still taste like hershey's chocolate from the s'mores, the way the hairs on my neck ignore gravity to stand straight on end, and the way the wind has chilled the tip of your nose so my skin tingles where it touches. I wish so badly I had a camera and could take a picture of now, freezing it for eternity. Saving this moment for when you are old and life has left you disillusioned, so you can look at this snapshot, and maybe your eyes will glow just a little like they did in the sun's last rays, and you will be able to smell a hint of smoke from the dying fire.

“I got that summertime sadness…” –Lana Del Rey, Summertime Sadness

I shut off my music player and open my eyes. The sky is a delicious azure and the scent of freshly-cut grass hangs in the air although we haven’t mown the lawn in weeks. It’s your run-of-the-mill summer day in your run-of-the-mill small town, but I can’t enjoy it with school starting tomorrow. It’s not fair. I know we got out in late May and all, but it’s only mid-August. School shouldn’t start until Labor Day.

‘Not fair, not fair, not fair.’ The words bounce around my head as I wander inside and up to my room. I want to check out the old lamp I picked up at a flea market a week ago. It looks like something out of Aladdin so I rub the handle on top as a joke. Suddenly the lamp becomes very hot and starts to shake. A wisp of gold smoke comes out of the spout. It smells like cumin and roses. The whole room is soon completely immersed in the smoke. Then a genie-like shape forms.

“I AM JAHALZABAD!!!” Booms the genie. “I CAN SOLVE ONE PROBLEM FOR YOU!! WHAT DO YOU WISH TO HAVE RESOLVED??”

“Wait, um, Jahalzabad,” I start, confused. “Why do you only solve problems?”

Jahalzabad rolls his misty eyes.

“I knew it was a bad idea! But all the other genies were like ‘ooh too many people are wishing for more wishes, that’s not okay,’ so here I am. A problem-solving genie. Wow, that sounds lame! I don’t hear the pizzazz in that, do you, kid?”

I shake my head. He’s right.

“So, seriously,” he continues in a normal voice. “Spit it out. This is embarrassing for me, you know. I want this over with.” He crosses his arms and stares at me.

My mind has gone almost blank.

“Uh,” I say.

“Well, call me back when you’ve made up your mind. Until then, FAREWELL HUMAN!! DON’T FORGET THE GREA-"

“Wait! I know what I want to have solved!” I cry. Jahalzabad pauses. “My school starts tomorrow but I don’t want it to. That counts as a problem, right?”

“I’d say it does. So you want a longer summer break?” Asks Jahalzabad. I nod. “Well, how long?”

“At the very least until after Labor Day,” I reply. I wonder how he’s going to pull this one off.

“Very well, kid. Your problem has been… SOLVED!!!” He snaps his fingers and disappears into the cloud of gold smoke which is then sucked back into the old lamp. I look outside. Nothing looks different. I don’t feel different. Maybe it was a hoax or a hallucination or something. I pick up my music player and go back outside into the sunshine.

**

Small Town Times

BREAKING NEWS: SCHOOL SYSTEM SHUT DOWN DUE TO ASBESTOS DISCOVERIES

In the local middle school and high school, officials have discovered airborne asbestos during their annual inspection. A known carcinogen, asbestos remains in many older buildings as an insulator. “But when it gets out and into the air, asbestos can cause all sorts of issues for human health, including lung cancer. Which is why we had to shut down the schools in order to safely remove it. The health of our students and teachers should be our first priority,” says a statement released by the superintendent last night. It is uncertain just how much time it will take to remove the asbestos and replace the insulation in both buildings. “We would estimate about 6 weeks to get everything done so the school can open. Maybe longer,” comments Mr. Andrew Snyder, one of the five school inspectors. The school board has tentatively put the school start date at September 5. More information will be in the evening edition.