In the twilight yawn of heaven's black rose two tall trees of sombre peeking green, their tops a round as if drawn in mathematical precision. And as I gazed at them for a blessed moment, the kind that could be any length at all in the twinkle of eternity, I saw the eyes of an owl, great and wise. Before I could breathe another, before my brain was capable of any other notion, I was behind those green owl eyes in the sky looking down upon the black-cradled ground. For these were the eyes that watched all the galaxies in the dominion of love, the ones that belong to our guardian, our God. And to them I was a speck, safe and happy, so at home there in the sky, there in a place that touches our reality and yet belongs to another.The vision? Tell the vision? Tell of what we dream will be? To show the vision, to tell the vision, we will need a tell-he-vision show, naturally, my dear Watson.From the beauty of the dreamscape, in the place between the thoughts and the movies of the nighttime

The confessing codes need a master to handle them. They cannot be interpreted by one who is an amateur of the craft. Everybody confesses everything, their deepest crimes and fears in everyday language. For a code-breaker it is simple to follow the trail and expose them all. Gemma was one of the linguists who could break them. Some saw what she did as magic, yet in truth she was partnered to the positive universe, a tool of the divine force and saw nothing special in herself. She was as natural as the trees and the fish in the oceans. Yet in the "junk" speech, the ad libs and the stories people tell, in their creative flourishes, there are clues. Much is actually junk, fears of nothing and misplaced guilt, yet a master such as her could tell what was real because the universe placed flags only she could detect, shone lights that only she could see. It was as if her soul shone a black light and the criminals were marked in some invisible ink. She was the ultimate detective, the one sent

Home baking was a thing I picked up, such as some learn the guitar or take up some sport. At first I wasn't so good, but the more I paid attention to the details and tips, the better I got and the more fun it was. I learned to grease my pans properly and measure my ingredients right. Now that I'm actually a good baker, now that the things I make can hold their own with what professionals make, I am free to make up my own recipes and change things around. I love that. It's just as with anything I guess, you have to learn the rules before you can break them in your own artistic way.The woman sits in the chair by the window until she is moved back to the bed. In the bright spring daylight her hair is snowy and skin like a wax dummy, crudely carved with tools too sharp. Her head is in constant motion as if agreeing with sentiments no-one else can hear or perhaps the ruminations of her own mind, mulling over a lifetime that draws to a close. On her dresser stand many photographs including

My home was the definition of "perfect", and by perfect, I meant perfectly still. Not an utter of noise coming from children's crying or fighting, no screaming and arguing from a wife, no disturbing sound from the television or radio - all in all, no distraction at all. Especially while I was having a man-to-fish word of advise with my only roommate, Sam triple zero eight."Do tell me Sam triple zero eight, how is it that the woman from page two hundred and twenty three was totally mad?" I asked him and he was lost in deep thought. It was a befuddling question indeed, "perhaps she was cursed?" I asked again, and the wind gushed in via my open windows. "Sam triple zero eight, do say something." Snorting at my funny question I realized why my roommate hadn't uttered any reply. "I know right? There is no such thing as a curse."Sunday morning was going so well as it usually did. It was my day off like it used to be every Sundays and I was having the day of my life. You see, I whisked a

The room was dark, as it used to be, and my eyes, heavy and blurry. Was I still sleeping?But I could see her. My heart, my love and my soulmate. Slender and sublime she was. Her face held a natural youthfulness. Dashing black hair dropped down to her waist. I called her, my Rainha because she truly was my only real lover. Yet, death had seemed not to like me. He stole my Rainha from me.Her eyes that used to be merry and daring, now looked quite blank, and I wondered why. Was she not happy where she was?I opened my mouth to speak but they seemed not to obey. Frozen still and numb, I watched. The entire scene repeating itself like it used to. I was going to scream, tell her to watch out. It was coming and she could still make it. She must not eat that food.Don't die again. My Rainha, watch out. Don't die again. Put down the food. It's poisonous. Don't eat it.My whole body was stiff to the point I couldn't manage myself to look away. Maybe if I could slightly tilt my head to the lef