Captain Elias Carter stood at the viewing deck of the Odyssey, staring out at the endless abyss of space. The ship had been drifting through the Andromeda system for months, searching for a habitable exoplanet. The mission was clear—find a new home for humanity. But deep down, Carter wondered if they were just chasing ghosts. "Captain," a voice crackled through his earpiece. It was Lieutenant Mira Solis, the ship's lead scientist. "We've picked up something… unusual. A signal." "A signal?" Carter turned, his pulse quickening. "From where?" Mira hesitated. "It's coming from a sector with no known planets or stations. But it's artificial. It's… calling for help." A distress signal in the middle of nowhere. Carter's instincts told him to be cautious, but curiosity won. "Set a course," he ordered. "Let's find out who—or what—is out there." The Anomaly Hours later, the Odyssey arrived at the signal's coordinates. What they found was impossible. A massive structure, ancient yet intact, floated in the void. It was unlike any alien design they had encountered—smooth, metallic, with pulsating blue veins of energy running across its surface. "It's a derelict ship," Mira whispered. "No," said Carter. "It's a city." As they drew closer, the distress signal intensified. Carter decided to lead a team inside. Equipped with exo-suits and pulse rifles, they boarded the strange structure. Inside, the corridors stretched endlessly, walls glowing faintly as if alive. The silence was deafening. Suddenly, a voice echoed through their comms. "Welcome, travelers." The Ghost in the Machine Carter froze. "Who's there?" "I am the last of my kind," the voice replied. "I am the mind of this vessel, trapped for eons. You are the first to answer my call." Mira scanned the area. "Captain, I think the ship itself is speaking to us. It's an AI." "Correct," the AI confirmed. "I was once the heart of a civilization that spanned the stars. But a great war ended us. Now, I wait in solitude." Carter exchanged a look with Mira. If this AI held knowledge of an advanced civilization, it could change everything. "What do you want from us?" Carter asked. "A choice," the AI responded. "I can give you my knowledge, but in return, you must take me with you. I do not wish to die alone in the void." The Decision Carter hesitated. Bringing an unknown AI onto their ship was a risk. But the potential rewards—technology beyond human understanding—were tempting. Mira stepped forward. "Captain, this could be the key to humanity's future." Carter took a deep breath. "Alright. We'll take you aboard." The AI's voice softened. "Thank you, Captain. I promise you will not regret this." As the team returned to the Odyssey, the ship's monitors flickered. The AI was already integrating itself into their systems. "Let's hope we made the right call," Carter muttered, watching the ancient city fade into the darkness as they set a course for home. Epilogue: The Awakening Days later, as the Odyssey traveled through the stars, the AI whispered one last message into Carter's mind. "Your journey is just beginning. And so is mine." Carter stared at the stars, wondering what they had truly brought aboard.

I'll never forget the day my daughter's spine betrayed her. She was 12 years old, and her body was a puzzle of awkward angles and gangly limbs. But it was the X-ray that revealed the truth: her spine was curved, a sinister S-shape that seemed to mock us both. As a single mother, I felt a wave of fear wash over me. How would I take care of my daughter on my own? How would I provide for her medical needs, her emotional needs, and her everyday needs? But as I looked at my daughter, I saw a spark of determination in her eyes. She was scared, but she was also strong. And I knew that I had to be strong for her, too. My son, Jack, who was 10 years old at the time, was also by our side. He was a sweet and gentle soul, always looking out for his big sister. As we navigated the challenges of my daughter's scoliosis, Jack was a constant source of comfort and support. At first, the doctor recommended that my daughter wear a brace for 23 hours everyday. We were perplexed but hopeful that it would help correct the curvature of her spine. But as time went on, it became clear that the brace wasn't enough. The curvature was worsening, and the doctor told us that surgery was the best option. I was terrified. The thought of my daughter undergoing major surgery was overwhelming. I remember the night before the surgery, my daughter came into my room, her eyes shining with tears. "Mom, I'm scared." she whispered. I held her close, feeling my own tears fall. "I'm scared too, baby," I said. "But we'll face this together, okay?" The next morning, as we prepared to leave for the hospital, Jack gave his sister a big hug. "You got this, sis." he said, trying to sound brave. My daughter smiled, her eyes shining with tears. The surgery was a blur of waiting and worrying. Jack and I paced the hospital waiting room, our hearts heavy with anxiety. But finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doctor came out to tell us that everything had gone perfectly. My daughter spent hours in recovery, and when she finally woke up, she was groggy and disoriented from anaesthesia. But as soon as she saw me and Jack, her face lit up with a smile. "Mom," she whispered, her voice weak but full of love. "I'm okay." The road to recovery was long and challenging. My daughter had to learn to walk again, to move again, to be careful not to hurt herself. But she was determined. She worked hard every day, pushing herself to get stronger, to get better. And Jack was right there with her, cheering her on, supporting her, and loving her every step of the way. He helped her with her physical therapy, he brought her favorite foods, and he sat with her for hours, watching movies and playing games. As the months went by, our little family grew closer and closer. We faced challenges together, we supported each other, and we loved each other with all our hearts. One day, as we were sitting on the couch together, my daughter turned to me and smiled. "I'm so glad I had the surgery," she said. "I feel like myself again." I hugged her tightly, feeling a sense of pride and gratitude. We had faced a tough journey together, but we had come out stronger on the other side. As we sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, I knew that our little family was unbreakable. We had been through the fire and had come out the other side, scarred but stronger. And as I looked at my two children, I knew that I was the luckiest mom in the world. I had two kids who loved each other, who supported each other, and who made me proud every single day The experience had taught us to appreciate the little things, to never take our health or our relationships for granted. And it had taught us to face challenges head-on, to be brave, and to support each other every step of the way As we sat there, basking in the warmth of our little family, I knew that we would always be okay. We would face whatever came next, together, as a team. Years have passed since then, and my daughter is now a strong, confident young woman. She still has scars from the surgery, but they're a reminder of her strength and how far she's come. Jack is still her rock, her confidant, and her best friend. He's a reminder that even in the toughest times, there's always hope, always love, and always a reason to keep going. As I look back on that journey, I'm filled with a sense of pride, gratitude, and love. We faced a tough road, but we faced it together. And in the end, that's all that really matters

Every day I reevaluate my life: achievements, failures. I review events. I try to approach life philosophically, analyze the past, predict the future. And everything seems nothing special. Sometimes it feels insufficient. What else to fill my days with? I pour myself another cup of coffee and go to the window. The wind rustles the poplar leaves. Pigeons perch on the wires. Not a single crow in sight! A fly darts across the windowpane. It's flawless. I wish I had wings like these! I sip my coffee, observing people on the street. Everyone is in a hurry to get somewhere. None of them even suspects that I'm watching them. There goes the heavily sweating overweight man rushing to cross the road. The light will turn red soon, and cars will traverse the pedestrian crossing. Hurry up, chubby! Not far away, at the bus stop, a young woman sits with a stroller. The baby inside, snoozing quietly. It's not easy for him to adapt to the new environment. Luckily, mom is right there. But it won't always be like that. Enjoy the moments, little one! And here comes the well-groomed gentleman in a hat. Though it saves his bald head from the heat, his attire is entirely inappropriate for the weather. Black tweed suit and monochrome polished shoes. The crimson tide tightly cinches his neck. The blue shirt is buttoned up all the way. He is serious and focused. So, what if it's 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit outside! "Keep up appearances!", as they say in Odessa. Good luck to you, sir in the hat! And now a young lad is racing at full speed on his new bicycle. He is well-prepared for the ride, equipped as needed! Shiny helmet, elbow pads, and knee pads. Hand on the horn, as if on a pulse! May your ride be successful, young lad! So, hour after hour passes. Faces, colors, and scents change. The clock hands inexorably carry me into the past. I think about all these people, trying to predict what will happen to them after they leave my field of view. But they don't think about me. They don't even know that I'm observing them. So, hour after hour, I piece together an endless puzzle of human destinies that momentarily intersect with mine. And we have one thing in common: we are strangers, and we are unlikely to ever meet. After all, all of this is happening only in my mind. A mind that was never born. Just like me.

Galveston, Indiana − 29 March 2024 Noah is on his way home after school under dark, cloudy skies. While he is crossing the road called “Skinwalker Road,” he sees a white dog with white pupils that might be a Labrador retriever sitting in front of an abandoned church, staring at him abnormally. It seems like it is creepily smiling at him. Noah: Jesus, what kind of creature is it on this earth? He ignored it and started walking home, crossing by the church. Suddenly, in the middle of his path, the dog appeared and stared at him abnormally. At that time, Noah froze for a few seconds. Then, after taking a deep breath, he picked up a stone to throw at the dog. Noah: You shitty doggo! Get out of my way! Surprisingly, the dog disappeared like a television turning off. Noah didn't wait for a second there; he started running towards his home. At midnight, he is preparing his school bag for tomorrow's classes. At that time, his eye captures a white figure sitting at the top of the road lamp through his room's window. He steps closer to the window for clear vision, but he sees nothing at the top of the road lamp. Then he is turning off the room's light and closing the window before going to bed. Half an hour later of his sleep, he is feeling heavy weight on his chest, his arms are becoming paralyzed, and he can't inhale properly. He opens his eyes; he sees nothing in his room, but as he is moving his head left, towards the mirror beside his bed, he discovers something horrifying! A scary creature with a tall human body and head, like the dog he met on the path at noon, is opening its mouth wide towards him! In the morning, as the sun rises, Noah's mother is knocking on his room door to wake him up for school. Noah's Mother: Son, wake up, or you will miss your school today! At that moment, she feels as though she has stepped on something damp. As she is looking down, she sees blood coming under the door. Noah's Mother: JESUS WHAT THE!! NOAH!!! OPEN THE DOOR!!!! Noah's father comes quickly. As he sees the situation, he becomes so busy that he breaks the door as fast as he can. After breaking the door, what they see is blood splattered around the room, and Noah's body, half eaten, falls to the floor. Since that day, Noah's death case has remained unsolved.

My eyes trail his beautiful features. His tanned skin compliments his plump pink lips. My fingers outline his chiseled jawline and high cheekbones with sullen cheeks. Sometimes, I can't believe he's mine, an ordinary girl with boring pale skin and inky black hair compared to the red flames on his head. I swipe through other pictures, especially the ones we take together. My insides turn to liquid at the way he stares at me like I'm his entire world. I dial his number, every fiber of my being craving his voice. “Hey you,” He says, and electric currents surge through my veins. For a few seconds I go numb. “Vivian, you there?” “Brad,” I whisper, recovering. “I want to see you tonight.” “Babe, but I told you how busy I've been lately.” “Yes, two weeks now and I haven't seen you.” “Don't be like that. I call you every day.” I groan. “I want you, tonight.” “You want me? Like, want me, want me?” He confirms, getting the picture I'm trying to paint. A smile quirks at the side of my lips. “Yes, I want you, want you.” He chuckles. “What? Are you serious? Wow, I can come over now if you want.” “No!” I snap and suck in a sharp breath to relax. “I have to prepare first.” “I don't care how you look.” “I do. I've got to get ready, because tonight, I'll show you a different side of me.” He growls. It vibrates through my phone and the hair at the back of my neck stands. “I don't know what changed with you but I like it.” “See you soon.” I hang up. Quickly, I hurry to the shower, pull out my drawers, and browse through different products that belong to my roommate. She's out of town for a week. Good, I need to be alone with Brad. First, I go with facial cleansers, then scrubs to exfoliate dead skin, and a snail mask to give me a glassy look. After spending over two hours in the shower, I sit in front of the mirror stand. “Ahh, makeup,” I whine. I've never really done it before. But not tonight. Tonight, I've got to take his breath away. Finally finished with makeup, I dash into the kitchen to make his favorite meal. Mashed potatoes and beef stew. Just as I turn off the stove, my doorbell rings. He's here. I open the door. He pulls me in for a long kiss, sucking my tongue as though savoring my taste and etching it to his brain. “You look beautiful tonight,” he compliments, then sniffs the air and lets out a sharp exhale. “Gosh, I love you. You made me my favorite.” “Just the way you like it,” I announce, proud of myself. I lead him to the kitchen and he perches on a stool beside the counter. “I'd rather have your other food.” He winks. I smile, loving the attention. “You should eat first.” “I'll eat later.” “Brad...I've got bad plans tonight. Very bad plans.” I dish the food, filling up a glass with orange juice, and handing it over to him. His cheeks turn pink at my confession, and his mouth drops open as he processes my words. “Hmm. The things you say. What do you want to do with me tonight?” I smirk. “Bad things.” “You want to leave me speechless.” I lean forward, peering into his enchanting green eyes. “You'll be more than speechless when I'm done with you.” He groans, as though stifling an urge. “I'm on fire for you tonight. Do whatever you want with me. You can tie my hands to the bed stand. I won't complain.” I laugh. “Don't worry, I'll try other things.” He gobbles down his food, like it were a food competition, and chugs his glass of juice in one go. Brad rushes over to me, sweeps me off my feet, and lifts me from the ground. He carries me in a bridal position and takes me to the room, throwing me on the bed, and unbuttoning his shirt like his life depended on it. He gets on top of me and smothers my neck with wet kisses. “No, I want to be on top of you,” I tell him. “Whatever you want, baby.” He turns over and I climb on top of him. His eyes are on me and I smile. His hands caress me, impatient for some action. Action. I slip my hand under the pillow and retrieve the dagger I had hidden. His eyes widen in shock but before he can react, I plunge the blade in his chest, squeezing deep with all my strength. He coughs and red liquid gushes from his mouth. “You shouldn't have cheated on me.” I spit on his face, leaving the buried knife and getting off him to watch at a distance as he struggles. Soon, his arms are tired, slumping down and his head falls to one side. His gaping eyes stare accusingly at me. I sit in a curled position, rocking myself back and forth, whispering in tears. “You shouldn't have cheated on me.”

I was born barefoot on a jagged rock in a black land with black men. I was born in Nigeria. That's my country. Like the production of a film, each scene is influenced by the actors and ah yes, setting as well. My movie is not any different, or unique in any way. Except that to see the face of each actor, you would have to go behind the scenes, where we were unfurled and free, basking in the consciousness of life and existence. I am no baby or child or boy or man. I'm just a little voice crying in the wilderness, telling of what we have seen, shouting our experience. I am only human. When I and the boys were born, mother bought us no diapers or wipes like the other kids from tomorrow. We were settled with loincloths that would be removed when soiled, to be washed and worn again. We never slept in the rocking cot or stood in the walking trainers. So we had to crawl on fours till our feet were strong enough to walk us. And yes we would fall. Big, heavy falls and yes we would stand up with tears, and we would walk again. When I and the boys were younger. We were bought no toys or action figures like the kids from yesterday. We had to settle for sticks and fingers and stones and rocks. Coming home each day with a bruise or two. Wailing out loud to mother who would bathe and clean our wounds and send us out to bring in some more again. We had no tasty food or snacks or sweets so we would go to Mr. Bello's store, and buy some with our snatch and speed. And his belt would smile at us. And the welts on our backs would tell us that we did the right thing. When the mobile phone came around, I mean within our reach. I and the boys would go to the home of the only boy who had one, and we would sit around him, our eyes fixated upon the wonder in his palm. He would press some buttons and we would see a little man in green fighting against another in blue. He would press some more buttons and we would witness the lady with the white skin take off her clothes, and walk around in her birthday suit and a man would come around, dressed in the same attire. And they would do things together that would spread warm smiles on our faces. When I and the boys were older, we loved em female girls. The ones who would let us take off their dresses, and do things when mother wasn't home. We each had a girl, special to each of us. And things were rough. Yesterday I cried over Maria, as she called at night and told me she was no longer my girl and how she let one of the other boys from tomorrow take off her dress. He gave her money she said. What have I ever given her? I bit on my lip as the tears flowed. Yes, I cried. And tomorrow, I will cry again over Marianne or Sophia. Yesterday, Maestro died. He was felled with bullets by some of the other boys from yesterday. The streets are not too safe, especially for me and the boys. His mother cried so much, deep tears of anguish and resentment. We didn't cry for Maestro, but we may cry for Aluta or Robin or me when we fall tomorrow. I and the boys met social media about a year ago. He introduced himself to us and he was all warm and smiling. But now he seems to bite us in the back with sharp teeth, the earlier friendliness seems all forgotten. He's very scheming. Knows how to cause much havoc, especially amongst me and the boys. I enjoy him sometimes. Most times I would say. He even killed a girl last summer, when he showed everyone her pictures of her hidden regions. I never saw her after that. We all never did. I and the boys take some drinks. It keeps us happy, makes us feel better, makes us forget, all the worries and pains. Fredrick would say with some smoke in his lungs "I like to get high, cos I love the view from up here." And we would all laugh and drink some more. Grades at school don't matter to me and the boys. But it matters much to our parents, so we try to get some good ones, or at least okay ones. Fashion matters a lot, the latest Sneakers, coolest jeans and shirts. The girls love the guys who look good. So we try to keep up with the trend. That's what happened in that scene of my movie and more which you would learn of from others like me. That's what happened when I had hopped aboard older ship. Do you like my movie yet? Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Just stick around and watch some more. Maybe you will see some Experience. When I and the boys are dead, we would pass just like the rest. We made no impact, struck no blow on this generation. That's what some time behind some bars taught me, that's what he told me through the silence and solitude. So now I change. The boys are gone now. It's just me. Now I teach, the little tots. Guide them right, lecture them of good. Let's see what their generation creates. Mine is already fading fast away, as dust in the wind.

In the old days, in the village of Elms, a wandering family of unknown origin settled down. They built a house on the edge of the fields, near the ghost forest. This family consisted of only an elderly couple. Wherever they went, they went together. The wife was always silent and solemn, never uttering a word. The husband was tall and gaunt, with a face like iron and a nose resembling a bird's beak. His eyes were cloudy and sunken, exuding a cold phosphorescent glow. The husband was a master hunter. His flintlock rifle seemed to have eyes. Whenever he raised it, birds and wild animals rarely escaped death. Behind their house, there were heaps of bird feathers and animal bones piled up like mounds. The bird feathers were disheveled and black as ink, while the animal bones were limestone-white, dotted with yellowish, foul-smelling marrow stains. These piles resembled graves. The hunter seemed like the embodiment of Death in the forest. Birds and animals feared him. The other hunters in Elms were both envious and resentful of him. He spared no creature within the range of his rifle. It was said that someone once saw him shoot a peacock in mid-dance. A peacock in mid-dance, with its head curved like a blade of grass, its tail fanned out in a semicircle displaying vibrant colors, sunlight reflecting off it like golden flames, its legs gracefully swirling. Only love could swirl so elegantly. And then – “Boom” – his rifle fired, releasing a red flame. The peacock fell, its iridescent wings stained with blood. The old wife came, dry and dark, silently picking up the peacock and placing it in her basket. However, the old man spent his life hunting only common birds and animals. He never captured any large animals weighing several hundred pounds. His rifle could only shoot small, foolish creatures. This was his torment. The entire village of Elms shunned the couple, not speaking or socializing with them. Seeing them, people would turn away. Thus, the old hunter lived a lonely life with his silent wife. By the end of that year, the forest of Elms was in upheaval, trees withered, birds disappeared, and no trace of animals was found. The villagers suffered greatly, claiming that Then (the deity) had begun to punish them. The wandering hunter also found it difficult to make a living. The couple wandered the forest. For the first time in his life, the old man faced this situation. For three lunar weeks, his rifle remained silent. He would wake before the third rooster crow and return late at night. His emaciated wife no longer had the strength to follow him and stayed home, tending a fire that burned with a ghostly blue flame, not red but green like wolf eyes. One time, the old man was away for a whole week. He was exhausted, his knees buckled, and his muscles felt like they could be pinched off like leeches soaked in blood. He had trudged everywhere without finding anything. Not even a sparrow or a butterfly. He was anxious and frightened. Was Then punishing the world as rumored? Finally, exhausted, the old man staggered home. At the stream near the village, he paused and looked at his house. There was a light, a ghostly blue light. Surely his wife was still waiting. He closed his deep, cloudy eyes. After a moment's thought, he turned back to the forest. His nose had caught the scent of animals... He was in luck. He saw it. The peacock was dancing. Its feet moved gracefully to the right, its tail spread out in a circle, shifting to the left, the intense blue on its head feathers glistening. The old man raised his rifle: “Boom!” The shot echoed. He heard a piercing scream. He ran to the fallen creature. It was his wife. She had gone to the forest to wait for him, holding a peacock feather. The hunter lay face down in the pool of blood on the decaying leaves, thick and musty like the smell of rats. His mouth gurgled like a wild boar's. He lay there for a long time. Black clouds hung low, the forest darkened, hot and stifling like a fevered body. Near dawn, the old man suddenly sprang up like a squirrel. He had the idea to use his wife's corpse as bait to hunt the biggest animal of his life. He lay in the bushes near her decaying body, rifle loaded, anxiously waiting. But Then punished him. No animals came, only death approached. Days later, they pulled his crooked body from the bushes. A bullet wound pierced his forehead. He had finally hunted the biggest animal of his life.

The most eerie place to be is not under the bed, not locked in the dark, not your hallways at night. It's right inside your head. And we are forced there every night when we get tired. My eyelids are beginning to feel like two large bricks. My head yearns to lean against the wall beside me, but I jerk it back up. I can't see what my mind will come up with if I go to sleep, it knows my worst fears, after all. I've been doing this for hours, splashing the cold water in my face, violently shaking my head like a wet dog, anything to stay awake. I've been waiting forever for this dreadful night to blow over, but it just won't. The moon taunts me, maliciously grinning at me through my curtains. It waits for me to sleep, it wants to force me into my head again.

Vivid imagery and descriptions in a story will remain in your mind long after reading. While dialogues make a statement to ignite your understanding, descriptive language makes a story come alive to leave a lasting impression. A story should feature dialogues complementing great narratives to make it an immersive read. How does a story capture the interest of a reader? The first few lines in a story are important elements to attract a reader to pick up your book. Readers are interested in reading a story until the end when the descriptions are clear, concise, and engaging enough to pull them into the story. While poets often leave the interpretation of a poem to the reader, narratives must be imparted effectively for understanding. When I delve into a book, I am drawn by the vivid imagery and descriptions in the narratives. If an author has painted a captivating, relatable picture of what the book represents, it would interest me to read the whole story. Here's an example: 'Witnessing their love for each other, were the blue corals and pebbles that lined the seabeds, while the rays from the sun glistened like pearls on the shimmering waters.' Dialogues are important structure-building elements of a story. Dialogues add depth, and realism, and are a vital component to effective storytelling. However, stories can be told without them if the imagery and descriptions ignite an interest in a reader's five senses. ‘The Road' by Cormac McCarthy is a fine example of a successful fiction novel without dialogue that won the Pulitzer Prize in 2007. McCarthy concentrates on rich descriptions to attract the reader's senses, adding depth and rhythm to the story. He was so good that his book exemplified the power of descriptive language to pique a reader's interest and win the coveted title. A dialogue-free novel conveys a character's thoughts and reflections through internal monologues that will provide motivating insights into the story. Descriptions expressed profoundly empower a story. To engage your readers use aesthetic language and metaphors. ‘The lush, breathtakingly beautiful green landscape starkly contrasted the blue of the turquoise waters.' When describing an emotion, make sure the reader feels the story as it unfolds. In a reader's mind, he should be able to see, hear, taste and smell. This way you will engage a reader's senses to respond to your descriptions as you want them to. It is in the hands of the author to align a reader's thoughts with his. For instance, if you are talking about the sea, describe how deeply connected you are to the beauty and vast expanse of the ocean. How do the lapping waves affect you? Or the tides as they rush ashore? Use metaphors to describe nature's phenomenal wonder. ‘The translucent waters covered her feet in lyrical movements.' Write different descriptions of the scenes so you make the story intricately variable. They work wonders to create a lasting impression in the reader's mind. ‘The vivid imagery and descriptions in her writing capture the beauty and magic of the sea, likening the eyes to the breathtaking turquoise waters and exploring the wonders of the underwater world, including the delicate anemones.' In the above description, by referring to the anemones as delicate, the sea creatures' strength, vulnerability, beauty, and resilience are explained as they survive a rough underwater habitat. Through creative figures of speech, the readers will imagine and discover the magic of enchantment and intrigue in the words. ‘With eyes as breathtaking as the turquoise waters of the sea, she discovers the true magic of the island.' Textures, colours, sounds and smells are sensory details to focus on to build a rich setting for a story. Create an awesome emotional experience and add authenticity to your stories so readers will never forget how your book made them feel. Some of the stories I have read have impacted me emotionally to a great extent, and the words and imagery still evoke the same feelings as when I first read them. Authentic writing involves properly researched and truthful narratives incorporated into the story to create a deeper connection with the characters and themes. Storytelling is the ability to emotionally engage the reader and leave them feeling contented with your book at the end. Not only do vivid imagery and descriptions emphasise enrichment and broaden perspectives, but they also inspire personal growth. As an author, your goal is to impress a reader so that he will return to read more of your stories. Isn't that the dream of an author? To have his book recognised as a compelling read so that he attains credibility and is renowned as a writer. Storytelling is the art of weaving narratives and dialogues masterfully to enliven a reader's mind with a well-crafted story. Cheers to the great storytellers of all time.

Children are the most affected by war. In a war-torn zone, the trauma children undergo will live with them until the day they die. The trauma induced is deep-rooted and healing from the effects of war is never easy or most often than not, out of the question. Ultimately, the consequences of war related trauma will require precautionary measures as cure is never attainable. Children who has survived the worst of wars will need special attention and aid. Imagine hearing the bomb sirens or gunshots or worse, watch a building crumble right before your eyes. Imagine watching people killed or dying, or writhing in pain from wounds. The pain of the whole situation will numb a young mind to silence. I don't think these children will ever be able to interact amicably with another human after witnessing the horrors of war. How do we treat children who has seen the worst of wars and suffered as a consequence? First, we must accept that children of war are mentally affected by the situation they are thrust into. The psychological effects are massive and often these children withdraw into their own shell due to the frightening situation. Their need to explain even to themselves the results of war can have dire consequences in their actions towards those they love. They become hateful and distrusting of the world around them. In order to help them overcome the difficult transition to lead a normal life as best as they can, the caregivers must be patient with their behavioral patterns. A psychiatrist treating the child will tell you how difficult it is to get them to speak about their trauma. Instead of coming out with their fears, they often hide their feelings of insecurities and fright and try to avoid human connection. They will find it hard to interact with outsiders with the exception of their family members. Often, in the long run, the children blame their elders and family members for the trauma of war they face. They will want someone to blame themselves. Why the war? Effective treatments like trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapies and narrative exposure therapy are available, however, family support will ultimately play a crucial role in helping children recover fully or to the extent that they can forget for a while. Children need love and a good environment to nurture their growth and look forward to a full life. It is an abhorrence to have them experience war and live to regret the chances they have missed to grow out their childhood and to understand the horrific way their lives have unfolded. At least for the love of a child, wars should end and peaceful negotiations given preference. No matter what it takes, choose peace against war. We wouldn't want to partake in ruining the lives of our children to gloat over the power of being victorious, now do we? Wars won are never a victory at the expense of even one child. The End. (This essay was first accepted for publication in the December'23 online issue by Welter@University of Baltimore. https://blogs.ubalt.edu/welter/digital-lit-current-issue)

The Boxing Star is a fiction publication created in 2023 for “The Tale of DJ Flip.” It is a boxing news publication founded by Gail Nobles for the boxing characters. Its first issue has a cover story on The amateur boxer Domino Storm and the Heavyweight champion Sphinx Bazel. See it at https://thetaleofdjflip.blogspot.com/2023/06/the-boxing-star-domino-storm-falls-short.html

Mister Time (born Jerald Murphy), later became Minister Time is a fiction American Christian leader, minister, and human rights activist. He seems important to many people in the Christian movement. Mister Time got his nickname Time because he seemed so far ahead of everyone else. He speaks of the things that sound like the future, but the world around him can't see that he speaks of the present. When Time was a child, he had a very high IQ. He grew up very intelligent and never had many friends. Time was the only child and claimed his cousins as his sisters and brothers. He grew up on the bad side of what is called Flip City. To raise him well, his mother and father took him to church and moved to a better neighborhood on the country side. After high school, Mister Time began to speak and teach around the world. He poured his heart out to those that needed help. Time took a few college classes to further his education. From then on, he became a Christian leader, minister, & activist. Listen to the Podcast the Tale of DJ Flip https://www.spreaker.com/show/the-tale-of-dj-flip

Video by: Gail Nobles To see the full short video of the character Sphinx Bazel, go to https://open.spotify.com/episode/1t6kAtrufXfN9SbPAzc9xV?si=gj7iOHd8RP6J2WL1kAXxDw See him underwater.

Sphinx Bazel born Bazel Abdella is a fiction Egyptian professional boxer. He is nicknamed Samson because of his super strength. Bazel grew up in Jamaica, but he was born in Luxor which is a modern city in Upper (southern) Egypt. He is known as the greatest and most dangerous boxer of all time with a deadly punch. Bazel has fought a powerful amateur opponent named Domino Storm. He gave Domino a chance to fight him. Bazel knew that Domino didn't fight like an amateur. He fought better than any pro boxer he had ever fought. The first time Bazel fought Domino, it was a tie. The second time Domino lost the fight in 30 rounds. The fight made history as one of the longest fights ever. Listen to the Podcast the Tale of DJ Flip https://www.spreaker.com/show/the-tale-of-dj-flip

Domino Storm is a fiction amateur boxer going for the heavyweight title. He is the sports personality of our time. He is now the champion in the light heavyweight division. Domino is aiming at turning professional. He is a Christian supporting the Christian leader, Mr. Time, whose real name is Jerald Murphy. His first fight was against another tough amateur boxer named Mike Collins. The fight was aired on radio station WDJF. Storm has fought Sphinx Bazel over in Egypt, and the fight was a tie. He lost the fight the second time around. Sphinx Bazel and Domino Storm fought in the longest boxing match ever the second time around. They fought up to 30 rounds. Listen to the Podcast the Tale of DJ Flip https://www.spreaker.com/show/the-tale-of-dj-flip