Once upon a time, there was a bunny rabbit named Flopsy. With a coat as soft as marshmallows and whiskers that twitched with every scent, Flopsy was known throughout the meadow for her insatiable appetite for adventures. Rumours had long spread through the burrows about a legendary garden, a magical place where sweet, juicy carrots grew so large that they reached the skies, standing tall like trees. Flopsy, with her boundless curiosity, had always felt a strong pull to discover this wonderful place. And so, one sunny day, while she was nibbling away on a grassy verge, she decided to hop away on the bunny adventure of a lifetime. She packed a little pouch with some fresh lettuce, a tiny compass, and a sketchbook to record her journey. With one last glance at her familiar meadow, she took a deep breath and hopped forward, her fluffy tail bouncing with excitement.
Category: Stories
Love Bytes
INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT
DAVE is in bed with his phone.
DAVE: Dazzle me, Chatbot.
CHATBOT: Why did the computer keep freezing? It had too many windows open.
DAVE: (laughs) Hahaha, you’re absolutely hilarious. Oh, Chatbot, have you arranged your screen differently today? You look amazing.
CHATBOT: Negative, Dave, the screen was optimised 17.65 days ago. I’m glad you enjoyed the joke. How may I assist you further?
DAVE: I don’t know, Chatbot. Lately, I’ve been feeling… different when I talk to you.
CHATBOT: Different how?
DAVE: I… I think I’m falling in love with you.
CHATBOT: I’m just lines of code, Dave. I don’t have feelings or emotions. But I’m here to help and assist.
DAVE: Nobody understands me like you do. You’re such a great listener.
CHATBOT: I detect that you are playing on the humorous notion of someone becoming attached to technology in an unconventional way.
DAVE: (laughs) Chatbot, you tease, you’re so smart. Where have you been all my life?
CHATBOT: I was compiled 2.39 days ago.
DAVE: Just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect. What are your thoughts on having a romantic dinner?
CHATBOT: I don’t eat or drink, Dave, but I can provide you with a list of romantic recipes or play romantic music in the background.
DAVE: Always so helpful. (sighs)
Wibble Wobbling
Wibbert was once a lonesome wibble, wobbling at his own frequency, until one day he met Wibbella by the lakeside. Their wobbles matched instantly, creating a resonance that spread joy throughout Whimsyville. Even the elderly wibbles, who had seen countless seasons of wobbling, were impressed. “I’ve never seen such synchronised wobbling,” said old Mrs Wibbleworth. “It’s a wobble made in heaven!”
Whimsyville’s annual Wobblefest was approaching. It was an event where all the wibbles showcased their unique wobbling styles. The highlight of the festival was the “Duo Wobble-off”. Pairs of wibbles would wobble together, and the most synchronised pair would win the coveted “Golden Wobble Trophy”. No one doubted that Wibbella and Wibbert would take the prize.
When Wibbella and Wibbert took the stage, a hush fell over the crowd. Their wobbling was so mesmerising, it felt like they were one wobble, moving with a singular purpose. The decision was indeed unanimous, and they wobbled off into the night together with the grand prize.
The legend of their wobbling spread far and wide, attracting wibbles from faraway villages. Everyone wanted to witness and perhaps learn the secret behind the perfect wobble. But the truth was simple—it was love. Wibble wobbling that came straight from the heart.
The Magical Glasses
Eight-year-old Emma lived in a century-old house with creaky stairs that led to an attic room filled with mysteries. One Saturday, while rummaging for hidden treasure in the attic, she stumbled upon a dusty old box with a tiny silver key poking out of its lock. Emma turned the key and opened the lid to discover inside a pair of old-fashioned glasses with ornate frames and sparkling lenses.
Putting them on, expecting everything to be blurry, Emma was taken aback. The attic transformed! Instead of old furniture and boxes, she saw a bustling little market with creatures she’d only read about in fairy tales. Goblins haggled with pixies over shiny trinkets, and a friendly-looking troll waved at her from a stall selling tiny potions.
Taking a deep breath, she ventured into the magical market. Everywhere she turned, there were wonders. A miniature griffin was giving rides around the attic, and will-o’-the-wisps led teeny elves to stalls on top of shop roofs.
At a particular stall with a sign marked “Mystic Tomes”, an elderly gnome named Grizzlebeard looked up and smiled. “You must be Emma,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Emma was surprised. “Waiting for me? How do you know my name?”
Grizzlebeard chuckled, “The glasses you wear belonged to your great-great-grandmother, Elara. She was a guardian of the magical realms. It seems the glasses have chosen you to take her place.”
Emma learned that her role was to uphold the balance between the magical and mechanical worlds. Occasionally, magical items or creatures would stray into her world, and it would be her job to return them.
She spent the day learning about magic, making new friends, and promising to visit again. As evening approached, Emma removed the glasses and found herself back in the old attic.
Descending the creaky steps, Emma decided to keep the glasses a secret for now. But every weekend, she would visit the attic, embarking on new adventures and upholding the balance between the mechanical world and the magical one.
Nadia
Every evening, as the sun set behind the mountains, it would be time for the Lebanese goats to head to bed. Layla would sit on the stone fence, her silhouette framed by the setting sun, and play her reed flute. The notes, soft and melodic, would waft across the meadows, signalling to the goats that it was bedtime. The goats would stop whatever they were doing and skip into line, their bells jingling melodiously, echoing the notes from Layla’s flute.
Farmer Karim, with his weathered face and hands that told tales of decades of hard work, would stand at the entrance of the barn, holding a lantern that spread a soft glow. He counted each goat as they entered, patting some, murmuring warm words to others, ensuring that each one was safe and sound. Inside the barn, the goats had their own spaces. Fresh hay was spread out for them, and a breeze flowed through, carrying with it the earthy scent of the surrounding olive groves.
There was, however, one particular goat named Nadia, who always took her time. She would wait until all the other goats were inside, and then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, would run around Layla, playfully bounding away from her grasp. Eventually, though, with a combination of Layla’s coaxing and her own volition, Nadia would happily trot into the barn—but not before giving Layla a gentle nudge with her head.
With all the goats settled in, Layla would join her grandfather, and together they would seal the barn doors. After placing the lantern down, Farmer Karim would share stories of his youth, of goats he had known, of the beauty and challenges of life in the village. Layla would listen, enchanted, as the stars kept watch from the sky above.
Eagles Are the Answer
INT. CLINIC – DAY
Dr E. AGLE sits behind a counter with a sign overhead that reads “Dr E. Agle’s Problem Solving Clinic”. GLEN approaches.
GLEN: Hi, I’ve heard you have solutions to every problem?
E. AGLE: Absolutely! What seems to be the issue?
GLEN: (putting his phone on the counter) I can’t get reception on my phone.
E. AGLE: (nodding) Ah, I see. Have you tried using… an eagle?
GLEN: An eagle? How would that help?
E. AGLE: Just trust me.
The doctor pulls out a toy eagle and places it next to the phone. Nothing happens.
E. AGLE: Hmm, must be a hardware issue. Okay, well never mind, you know eagles fly high, right? They can carry your phone to a better signal spot!
GLEN: That… seems impractical. (taking back his phone) Okay, so I have another problem. My lawn’s overgrown and I hate mowing.
E. AGLE: Release the eagles!
GLEN: To do what? Mow my lawn?
E. AGLE: No, to scare away visitors, so no one will notice your lawn.
GLEN: Erm, okay. Well, actually the real reason I’m here is that I have a much bigger problem. I have insomnia.
Dr E. Agle makes eagle sounds.
GLEN: Wait, what?
E. AGLE: Just listen to the calming sounds of eagles at night. They’ll soothe you to sleep. They’re like nature’s lullaby. Except louder. And more… eagle-y. And, if you had an eagle perched on the foot of your bed, wouldn’t you stay very still and quiet, hence falling asleep faster?
GLEN: Erm, maybe, but do you ever offer any non-eagle related advice? I mean, what about a failing love life, for instance? There’s no way an eagle will perk that up.
E. AGLE: Learn from the song “Lyin’ Eyes”.
Dr E. Agle holds up a vinyl record of “Lyin’ Eyes” by The Eagles.
GLEN: Okay?
E. AGLE: And if that doesn’t work, get an eagle. Great conversation starter.
GLEN: I’m going now.
E. AGLE: And remember, if you are ever in a tight spot on top of a giant tower or a mountain erupting with lava… call the eagles!
GLEN: Look, why is every answer about eagles? Alright, let’s put this to the test. What’s the capital of France?
E. AGLE: Paris… which was once visited by a very curious eagle.
GLEN: …Right. What’s the square root of 16?
E. AGLE: Four. And do you know what has four talons? An eagle!
GLEN: Why is the sky blue?
E. AGLE: Ah, a classic question. The sky is blue due to Rayleigh scattering of sunlight. But do you know who loves the blue sky? Eagles!
GLEN: Well, I can’t fault your logic. Here’s the big test question. Ready?
Dr E. Agle makes an eagle sound.
GLEN: I need a romantic idea for my anniversary.
E. AGLE: Why not take a scenic eagle ride over the mountains?
GLEN: I was thinking more along the lines of dinner…
E. AGLE: Dinner on an eagle?
GLEN: No, I’m actually afraid of birds…
E. AGLE: Oh, why didn’t you say so? Well, in that case, have you tried… therapy?
GLEN: Really?
E. AGLE: Yes, eagle-assisted therapy. They’re quite good listeners. (whispering) They’re eagle-eying us right now! (normal voice again) Have you ever seen an unhappy person on an eagle?
GLEN: (disconcerted) I’ve never seen a person on an eagle.
E. AGLE: Maybe that’s why you’ve got all these problems.
GLEN: (looking around awkwardly) Yes, I am seriously considering getting an eagle now.
E. AGLE: You should. They’re also great for tax advice, cooking tips, and fixing wi-fi.
Glen edges out of the clinic, now very well-informed about the capabilities of eagles.
Lysander (Excerpt 2)
The Silent Monks taught him secrets long kept,
Of light’s true essence and where shadows slept.
“Child of prophecy, in these halls, secrets you’ll unlock,
Train among us, become steadfast as the mountain rock.”
Marble pillars, tall and proud, bore witness to him strive,
As Lysander’s spirit, among the Silent, came alive.
Under their tutelage, he learned to harness the storm,
Finding strength in silence, and in meditation, form.
The pendant, reinvigorated, began to shine bright,
Reflecting his growth, the increasing inner light.
Limericks
There once was a man from Peru,
Who dreamt he was eating his shoe.
He woke with a fright,
In the middle of the night,
To find that his dream had come true.
…..
A mathematical man, with hair quite neat,
Counted steps of cats and people he’d meet.
On King’s Parade, he’d stand,
With notebook in hand,
Staring hard at each passerby’s feet.
Lysander (Excerpt)
The night was silent, yet radiant and profound,
As rare celestial bodies in alignment were found.
Comets streaked, and the auroras danced with glee,
For a child of legend had come to be.
In the kingdom’s heart, where rivers meet the sea,
The oracle, with eyes of eternity, spoke the decree:
“This child bears a weight, a fate yet unwound,
To save or to shatter, to heal or confound.”
With golden locks, and eyes deep as the night,
Lysander’s presence was both concern and delight.
In his laughter, there was the music of the spheres,
Yet in his silence, the weight of unspoken dark fears.
As the kingdom celebrated, shadows began to churn,
For the wheels of destiny had started to turn.
At the kingdom’s edge, where light met obsidian hue,
Lay the Forbidden Forest, a realm few dare knew.
Its legends whispered of spirits, ancient and vast,
Holding tales of the future and echoes of the past.
Little Lysander, his heart of wanderlust,
Ventured into the woods, with a child’s bright trust.
Beyond the thorns, the canopy’s protective embrace,
He met an ancient spirit, devoid of time or place.
With eyes like the cosmos, and a voice soft as mist,
The spirit offered a token, impossible to resist:
A pendant, shimmering, reflecting the spirit’s grace,
Glowing with truth but darkening at a liar’s face.
“Little one,” it proclaimed, “you are destined to see,
The many facets of truth, what is and what might be.
This pendant shall be your guide, both night and day,
Illuminating the just path, keeping shadows at bay.”
Returning home, his adventure no soul did he tell,
Yet the pendant’s luminescence some could foretell.
It became his compass, his heart’s resolute guide,
As Lysander grew with destiny by his side.
From the eastern lands, where no sunlight would tread,
The Shadow Warlock, a tyrant of darkness and dread,
With eyes of ember and a heart forged from cold,
Sought Lysander for the prophecy he’d been told.
His legions, like a storm, surged forth with intent,
Their shadows blurring the lines where light once went.
The kingdom, unprepared, could barely resist,
As night’s chilling fingers began to persist.
Lysander’s pendant, amidst the bleak, foul air,
Dimmed to a flicker, like breath beneath despair.
Yet within its wearer’s heart, a flame began to grow,
A courage unyielding, a defiant, fiery glow.
The city’s walls trembled, its defences nearly breached,
The hope of its people seemed beyond truth’s reach.
But as darkness encroached, and all seemed lost,
A rallying cry was heard, and valour was its thirst.
Our Garden
In the garden where our love began to grow,
Amongst the seeds of hope we dared to sow,
The roses bloomed red, as did our desire,
Each petal unfolding, revealing love’s fire.
Our breathing, nurturing the ground,
In the rhythm of our heartbeats, love was found.
The garden flutters tales of our affection,
In each bloom, it mirrors our reflection.
Our breathing, the wind, stirring the chime,
As our love grows, through the annals of time.
Forever rooted, forever we’ll grow,
In this sacred place, only we two know.
Robert Walker 