Emica Kana is 18 years old. She has always loved writing stories., They were her escape from reality. She always wished that a man would come and save her like they always do in the stories.
Well, she got her wish.
Emica entered a small writing school that was near a river. Her friend had joined her. But, the teacher had an odd vibe around him. Emica became a little scared of him. She especially became scared when the teacher started to pay more attention to her. One day, when she runs from him, she falls into a world of adventure, risk, and abnormalities. 
But, her teacher is what scares her more than this new world. What secrets and schemes did he use to get her here?

365 days, 365 scenes.
Battles among supreme beings.
Poems about losing love.
Dragons showing mercy.
Kids stumbling upon magic.

This journey involves my answering of 365 creative writing prompts in a desperate bid to overcome my laziness.
The prompts come from https://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/ and I write one a day.

THE SITUATION RIGHT NOW: I've gotten over the majority of my laziness. I'm unlikely to update this much. It's pretty much complete. The novel I'm working on is Dark Seas Leading Demise

"Momo... hurry up!!.... we're going to be late!!" Yelled Linda, as she rushed towards the newly constructed building within the school premises.
Little Momo and her, were on their way towards the chemistry laboratory.
Today, they were taking Chemistry 3.
Ever since the beginning of April, they had been taking 6 main courses:
•Biology 1 (Classes of living organisms)
•Math 4 (simple variable math, like find X)
•Chemistry 2
•Chemistry 3 (introduction to lab science)
•Physics 1
•Phyno 4
Apart from these ones, they also had other fun and creative courses that occurred once a week... like:
•Arts & Craft 1
•Ethics & Morality 1 
•Health & Hygiene 1
•Literature 1
•Music 1
• And Physical Education 
Another surprising thing for the students was that this year, the school had created a Student Council body based on the votes from the students.
Also, each class had a class monitor and deputy class monitor that's entrusted in assisting the teachers in class, aiding the weak students, roll call... and so on.
No matter what amongst the 2 leaders, one had to be female and the other male.
Generally, once the winners for both the Male Group and female group emerged.... the students would then vote between the 2, and choose who should be the class monitor or deputy class monitor.
For the biology class, the students were taught the basics like: cells, microbes, plant systems, animal systems, invertebrates and vertebrates.
In short, they were taught about all the classes of living organisms.
Of course for Math 4, they focused on simple variable math... like 5x=10, find X.
In that class, they focused on understanding one to two variable equations..... which were usually linear equations.
For chemistry 2, the students would still focused on reactions, atoms and so on.... but now with the use of calculators, they had begun learning about calculating molecular weight and so on.
Of course just so that the students could breathe a little, music, literature, physical education and arts & craft were essentially a must.
In short, this semester was a busy one.
Today, Linda and little Momo were heading towards the Chemistry Lab in the new school building.
Once they got in, they immediately climbed the stairs until they arrived at the 3rd floor... where they were greeted with a large group of students outside the lab.
The area was bustling with busy students.
Friends greeted each other with hugs or playful punches, while others had their eyes glued on their books as they continued doing assignments that were due in the next class.
Some already had their lab coats and safety wears on, while others were busy wearing theirs on now.
In fact, everyone was doing their own thing as they waited for the class to begin.
Instantly, the duo opened their bags and quickly pulled out their neatly folded lab coats and safety items.
For this class, everyone was required to wear their lab coats, gloves, rubber boots, and goggles.
Linda looked at her watch and knew that it would soon be time for them to go in.
And right on queue, Mother Kim and teacher Gophen opened the lab doors from instead and ushered the students in.
"Morning Teacher Kim!"
"Morning teacher Gophen!"
"Morning teacher...."
"__"
Everyone greeted their teachers, as they walked in and immediately found their usual spot.
The Laboratory was massive, with several working slabs, cupboards with equipments stored in them, and a small storage room at its front.
Linda and Momo immediately spotted their other group members, and rushed over to join them.
Ever since the beginning of the semester, they had been put in groups of 5.
Apparently, these people would be their lab partners throughout the entire semester.
"Alright.... before we begin, you all know the drill.
In front of each group, are 5 question sheets.
You all have 7 minutes to answer them.
Remember, no cheating and no copying.... these small tests make up 20% of your final grade.
Now.... Begin!!"
Linda immediately flipped her question sheet and got to work.
For this Chemistry 3 course, they had 1 theory class on Tuesdays, and 1 lab session on Thursdays.
And at the beginning of each lab session, they would have mini quizzes that would test them on what they had learnt in their Tuesday classes.
Chemistry 3 was a course based on Laboratory work, so they had to know about the equipments in front of them, safety lab hazards and so on.
In fact... Ever since the students knew that these questions were 20%, they had taken them seriously
Linda filled her name and school number on the question sheet, before proceeding to answer the questions.
The questions were straight to the point, and easy to answer if one was paying attention during lectures.
And just like that, time flew by quickly... 7 minutes later, the quizzes collected back by teacher Gophen.
And the papers were collected, Mother Kim began distributing the Lab manual sheets for today's experiment.
.
"Alright.... before we begin our Laboratory experiment, let's recap on what Teacher Winnie has been you all in Chemistry 2." Mother Kim said.
The students immediately took out their books and writing materials.... While others flipped the pages of their books to the last pen-filled page.
It was important for the students to know about what reactions they were going to perform today, hence it was good for them to recap on what they were previously taught.
"So as usual, let's look back on what you all have been learning so far.
I need a few examples of chemistry around us... anyone?" Mother Kim asked, as she waited for the students to raise their hands.
"Yes Filipa?" She said, while pointing at a little girl at the front of the room.
"Air is essentially chemistry, because it's constantly undergoing a chemical change.
For example, we breathe out carbon dioxide and take in oxygen... so air is always changing.
Also... air undergoes changes whenever smoke is released in to the atmosphere by burning, hence it's part of Chemistry."
"Correct!!.
Any other examples of Chemistry around us?" Kim asked.
"Our bodies."
"The ocean"
"When we make bread."
"__"


Chu Yi dies in a car crash and becomes Landon Barn, the illegitimate son of king Barn, ruler of Arcadina. Because his mother was a maid and the king’s greatest disgrace, his father had always despised him. The same could be said for his half-siblings. 

When he turned 15, his father had announced that the city of Baymard would be given to him, and would no longer be under the empire's control. It was a well known fact that Baymard’s lands were barren, and poverty stricken.... For god’s sake, this was banishment.

His deadbeat father had indirectly banished him from the empire.

Chu Yi woke up in a carriage, on his way to Baymard with a system

"So what if my father hates me? So what if I’m banished?.... I will turn my territory into a modern society"

  
.
.
Author here, thank you all for tuning in..... english is my second language... so I promise to try my best.

P.S, please dont compare my Novel to others... not all world development novels have to have the same format.

Struggling with highly anxious behaviours, the lead character Lola begins to experience unrealistic supernatural behaviours which makes her believe that she is struggling with more than just anxiety. She shortly comes across a boxing gym where she meets a female pro boxer that helps her overcome her anxious behaviour. What the two of them do not know is the unfolding apocalyptic journey that lies ahead. There is a villainous dark force leaving Lola to believe she can use her supernatural abilities to help cease the destructive world.

'Life is good.' Carson mused in satisfaction as he pulled his locker open and brought his old nameplate inside.

He may be the tardiest amongst his workmates due to his house's location, but he managed to save their company from bankrupcy with his 'creative' and 'efficient' business strategy. After that faithful incident, his dad promoted him as the new head of their department.

Yes. His dad is the owner of Hotel Del Russo in Toronto, and yet his job position does not fit his image as the son of a CEO. His old man thinks that Carson needs to learn how to work hard for everything he wants. That includes his job title. You can't describe his career journey as a 'pleasant walk in the park'. He started as an intern, then he became a hotel porter. He can still remember those customers who tried to harrass him... He cringed at the memory.

And now, he got promoted as the general manager of the hotel after 3 long years.

"Congrats." His co worker grinned, leaning his weight beside Carson's locker. "I never thought you could actually think of something that will save our company. Look at that nameplate, though!" Jonathan attempted to grab hold of the glimmering, flat piece of metal pinned on the left side of Carson's chest, who managed to slap his hand away before Jonathan could even touch it. "Come on, just let me look at it. I'm jealous." Jonathan pleaded as he followed the new manager.

"Then work hard for it." Carson replied with an eyeroll, snatching his lunchbox seating from his swivel chair.

Jonathan snorted, grabbing his own from his cubicle on the far side of the office. "The tardy talks." He grumbled as he approached him.

Carson snorted back, slinging the bag around his shoulders as he prepared for their break. His phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket making him pause in his tracks. "Go on, I'll follow you in a sec." He mumbled, double-checking the message to check if he had read it right.

:09978918180: It reads. Carson's definitely sure the number is not on his contact list, nor did he actually gave his number to a stranger outside the company. And the next thing he found surprising is the message itself.

:Eira, I need you right now. Could you bring me some sanitary napkins? I'm having a bit of trouble today. I had a leak on my skirt. I'm here at the ground floor comfort room of Hamilton Hotel.:

And he's sure as hell his name is not Eira, or does his nickname. Carson pressed his chatbox ever so slowly, thinking of the best and kindest reply he could say to the poor girl having a bad day.

:Sorry, you got a wrong number.:

But then he erased it as soon as he finished it.

:Sure.:

Message Sent!

Carson grinned as he rounded on his desk, readying himself for the long journey he is about to take from Toronto to Oakville. Taking a key out of his pocket he then shut his door close and locked the knob with a soft click.

"Woah, Carson. I didn't know you were talking about 6000 seconds back there." Jonathan mocked.

"I won't be joining you. I'll be eating outside."

"What? I'm not invited on your mini celebration? Is that how it is?"

"I'm not celebrating my promotion, Jonathan. Someone just called me."

"What? You're taking your break up better than I imagined." Jonathan chuckled. "Didn't you just broke up with-"

"Stop naggin' me. And don't mention that woman."

"Woah, no need to be so harsh." Jonathan raised his hands, trying to calm him. "So where are you really going, then?"

"Hamilton."

"Are you serious? That's 45 minutes away from our building!"

"I am, and I know."


oOo

"Where is she?" She moaned slightly from her toilet seat, dumping another tissue in the trash can with a snort. "It's been 10 minutes already! It's not like taking an elevator ride from the top of this building down to the ground would take that long." She complained.

•Pik Pok•

:I will be there in 20 minutes.:

What the actual fudge? Ryleigh stared at the message for a good long minute before writing a reply.

:Where in the Earth are you?! Don't you fool me, Eira. I'm serious! People are waiting outside and it's starting to smell!:

:I'm serious. I'm in Toronto by the time you messaged me.:

:Just how on Earth did you ended up there?!:

"Oh God, please. Tell me I'm dreaming." Ryleigh groaned, tapping her foot hard against the cold tiles of the comfort room. Another flush were heard from the background, and Ryleigh found herself cringing in embarassment.

"Excuse me. Is this cubicle broken or not?"

"Gosh, why does it stinks around here?"

The sound of her phone distracted her from listening to the complaints. She quickly fumbled to her phone and opened her inbox.

:Just visited Hotel del Russo.:

:You're kidding, right? We're competing with the owner of that hotel.:

:No.:

Digging her nails on her right thigh, Ryleigh let out a muffled scream.

'Now what?' She fumed.

:I'm at the convenience store in front of the building. Please meet me outside.:

'Now, that's not Eira.' Ryleigh thought in suspicion. It's not her when she uses 'Please' in a normal conversation, especially when you're the one who needs something from her.

:Why can't you just go in and save me from humilation?: She replied, slamming the send button with irritation.

:Because I can't.:

She could just buy a pad from a vending machine without waiting for 30 whole minutes and giving the other occupants of the room the wrong idea, and there you go, problem solved. The thing is, this building has none at the moment. Her temporary depression intensified as she clutched her abdomen in agony. "Stupid, pesty dismenorrhea." As the pain subsided she pulled her skirt and her blood smeared panties up, grabbed her leather bag and made her way outside the cubicle.

Everyone else stared at her in awe as if some creature had just been summoned from the cubicle. Trying her best to cover her mess with her leather bag, Ryleigh marched outside the room only to be stopped by a woman complaining about her not flushing the toilet bowl. Ryleigh pivoted on her heels to see a woman crumpling her face in disgust.

"I'm sorry." Ryleigh re-entered the cubicle she had vacated not quite awhile ago, scrunching her nose as she took a scent of her own blood in disgust. As the women watched her blood being sucked by the toilet and a new batch of fresh water sprung from it, Ryleigh's face grew hot in embarassment.

Catching a peek of how pale she looks both from embarassment and blood loss from the mirror, she made her grand exit away from the comfort room, traumatized. 'This humilation is too much.' Ryleigh fumed, marching away from the building in shame from herself.

oOo

"Hamilton Station." The announcement drew Carson out of his peaceful nap. He's been searching some things about menstruation and dozed off without knowing.

Stepping out of the train, Carson started studying the skyline with difficulty for the earlier rain had caused slight fog that covers the highlights of the buildings. Catching a glimpse of a high-rise building with a sign that reads 'Hamilton Hotel', Carson hailed a cab from the exit. 'Not much from what I expected.'

It took them a seven minute drive before they reached his destination. Carson opened the car and guided himself out. He straightened his coat and fixed his slightly toussled hair.

Looking up from his spot, he studied the Hamilton Hotel that stood gloriously in front of him. It's precisely built from the curves of the glass that decorated the building itself and the indoor gardens that could be seen behind the windows. A limo parked in front of the main entrance, and the guests gave their baggages to the bellboy who's patiently waiting by the entrance in his dark green velvet uniform. If he remembered it correctly, the Hamilton Hotel has forty floors and five hundred rooms. Not bad for a newly established hotel.

 'So, this is who we are competing with.' Carson whistled in amusement. :I will be there in 20 minutes:. He informed with a grin before he spun around and headed towards the convenience store.

"Good afternoon." A fat, balding man greeted behind the counter before he went back to his calculations for this month's profit.
Ranma went to explore the small store in search for... sanitary napkins, much to his dismay and shame.

A sales clerk appeared on the aisle wherehe had been standing. She then plopped down on the floor with a large box and started arranging the new deliveries that have arrived earlier, which happened to be the thing of his search.

The woman eyed him carefully from where she is crouching before she finally asked the young man who's having trouble on his toes.

"May I help you?"

Carson flinched, looking over the woman crouching beside him. "Uhh... are these things are already out of..." He trailed off, unsure whether to finish his statement.

The woman finally smiled. Slowly she stood up from the floor with a slight groan, dusting her back from the possible dusts that may have gathered to her pants. "You're lucky the delivery just arrived earlier. These babies were out of stock for five days straight. Women from the Hamilton are already complaining."

'That explains it.' Carson thought.

"Did your girlfriend asked you to buy her one?" The older woman cackled, tossing some of the packed pads in his direction.

Carson  blushed even more but nodded, he couldn't say it's for him or for no one, she would think of him as a pervert if he were to say that, or a weirdo if he were to say someone he doesn't know just texted him saying she needed some pads. Carson frowned even more. 'I shouldn't have come here in the first place.'

"Is she regular?" The woman asked him, taking him unguarded.

Carson stuttered from where he was standing. He only hears the word 'regular' on fast food chains, and he often upgrade his meals... So why the heck is he hearing this now?

"W-well, that is... I don't have any idea about these stuffs, you see." He scratched his cheek in utter embarassment, fumbling at the loads he's carrying in his hands.

"Is that so?" The woman frowned.

"Well... is that a big of a problem?" Carson asked, panic started to rise in his gut.

The woman stared at him, and back to the shelf before grabbing two more packs from the shelf and tossing them in his direction which he caught with ease. "That green one is a panty liner, used if her period is about to go away. That blue one is for a common period. The darker has wings. On your right hand is a thing for heavy flow or for women suffering hormonal imbalance, that's pretty unpredictable if you'll ask me. The darker violet has wings. The pink one is ultra thin, used when you're wearing skirts. Some of these are scented since blood stinks like hell, but some women are allergic to scented pads. That one is a tampon. And that one is a menstrual cup. That's pretty convenient and it helps the mother earth!" The clerk explained, looking very enthusiastic about the topic. "What would you consider buying, then?" She finally asked.

"What?" Carson asked, returning her question back. 'Jesus, I didn't understand a thing.'

"I'll take all of them, I guess." Carson mumbled, tossing the packs in the basket sitting beside him.

Grabbing the handle of his basket, Carson proceeded to search for snacks.

As he gathered everything that he thinks she might need, Carson went to the counter.

His shame returned in full force as he handed his basket filled with women's necessities to the old man sitting behind the counter. He waited in a long, torturing and awkward silence as the man sluggishly scanned the prices.

"That's 118 dollars for you, sir."

Taking the paper bag and his change, Carson marched out of the store.

He begab to look for a spot to stay at as he waited for the girl. Seeing a blank spot at the parking, he stood there and texted her.

:Where are you?:

Carson tossed his phone inside his pocket and opened his umbrella as he waited. Idling in a suspicious manner, Carson eyed each women going out from the said building in search for a suspicious girl which he could presume as a suspicious looking, lousy woman trying her best to stay normal to everyone's eye but saw none so far.

Some women noticed his lingering eyes. A group of girls batted their eyes towards his direction, giggling girlishly. He rolled his eyes in boredom and diverted them away from the group.

"Oi, boy. Only my customers could stand outside my store, unless you'll buy something inside." The owner tapped his foot rapidly on the pavement with a frown, waiting for him to go away.

"But I just bought something from ya." Carson defended.

"Then you are no longer my customer." The owner hurled back.
"Fine." Carson tried his best to stop the urge to add any more comments. Grumbling, he waited for the lights to traffic light to turn red.

"Go away." The owner barked.

"It's still green."

"I know. Go away."

Carson growled under his breath in annoyance. As the traffic lights turned red he walked across the pedestrian lane.

As he strided across the lines, he spotted a woman resembling Snow White: From her blue business coat, yellow pencil skirt, a red bow clipped on her ash blonde wavy hair, flat shoes and her oh-so pale skin. But the last description doesn't look so usual and natural at all. It seems...

Unhealthy.

"That's right." Carson muttered, quickening his pace towards the woman waiting outside the entrance.

She's holding her phone at one hand and the other behind her back, typing furiously as tick formed on her brows. A wind blew hard on their direction, sprinkling some water on her face.

"You'll be paying me this time, Eira." The woman growled dangerously, which he found kind of cute. Carson gulped down a bubble of laughter as he take his place beside the woman.

As soon as she flung her phone at her chestpocket an unfamiliar ringtone beeped beside her and the rain that sprays on her face perpetually was surprisingly gone, making her switch her head to see the object of her stunner.

A young man, about the age of 20, stood there holding an umbrella, shading her on purpose.

He's much taller than her, about 7 inches or more, with a dark black hair fixed in an ideal prom-looking hairdo. He has a perfect chisled jawline and an aqualine nose. His thick eyebrows were full, and his left one is attractively scarred. His greenish gray deepset eyes gleamed as he stared across the street, feigning ignorance. He's dressed in a casual looking suit that somehow hugs his form, complementing the body beneath the fabric. His chiseled arm is laden with two paper bags filled to its opening with things, whistling casually.

The man's genuine action got him a raised eyebrow that spoke volumes. As if he began to notice the look she's giving on his way, the man fully turned his face towards her and returned her stare.

Ryleigh tried to shrug it off. In this situation, she must first get herself away from the scene. She's starting to smell like blood and she needs to find a bench where she could sit and rest her pounding head. 'Stupid blood loss.'

"Now, where's Eira?" Ryleigh tried to move away from the guy and from the obvious embarassment she'll undergo if she stayed any longer, although some part of her mind has been dying to know what's his name.

Keeping her bag firmly against her back, Ryleigh slowly stepped a foot to her side, before sprinting off away from the scene.

However, much to her dismay, the man followed her. Increasing her speed,  Ryleigh took a turn to a corner, trying to lose the man, but the man had managed to catch up with her pace, the umbrella still hovering over her head.


"Miss, I come in peace." The man shouted after her.

Not all heroes carry weapons, some carry a pack of tampons.

And not all heroes fly with their capes, others travel miles by trains.

A faithful encounter. A kickoff disaster.

Writing on the paper I put!
Harry Potter movie addition 
1989 On January 1 ( two years before the movie action start) ps no actions of the character Will stop affect series outcome but sub rolls like small characters could change:
Transmitted 
Name Dave Sellioke
Origin Canada Ontario Toronto
Citizenship British and Canadian also US 
Mother and father
Deceased
Unknown mother Unknown father
Inheritance Secret accounts Cash 1 million US at bank is in New York- Vault 7099 Gallons 90.000.000.000.00= 450.000.000.000.00 Uk euro
Location London Diagon_Alley
Magic level 17 year old 
Age 9
This character has identification when he begins.

January 1 1989

(Dave Sellioke) I am looking around I see Diagon Alley the colour was exciting. Imagine you going back in time to 1600s to 1800s with the mix in the 1900s to 1600s and add magic that is what I feel. I see Eeylops Owl Emporium and Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour also Flourish & Blotts and Gambol and Japes but what Stood out was the white building that was tilted like the leaning Tower of Pisa this building was Gringotts Wizarding Bank I walk in I see floor paved with marble and has a long counter stretching along its length, behind which goblin clerks work at tasks such as counting coins and updating account ledgers. I walk up to a goblin and ask to go to vault 7099 I show my key he says follow me. Twists and turns as we go down to the near bottom. As I hand the goblin the lantern I got off the cart as we walked up to the vault, the goblin put down the lantern and asked for the key. He then proceeded to open the vault. The gold I saw was high to the top. 
I walked in and got 10.000 gallons, I then wanted to speak to the vault Manager. I then meet SwordHilt and asked for him, investment opportunities.

It was completely dark when I woke up. The house was silent, and no sounds came from the street. I lit my bedside lamp and checked my watch: it was a quarter to two in the morning. There was no way I could go back to sleep: I was wide awake.

For a while I just lay there, with chaotic thoughts racing through my head. Waking up early like that was a bummer, because by the time afternoon rolled along I'd be dead on my feet unless I managed to take a nap in the meantime. But then I remembered that I would be on the bus to Montreal in the afternoon, and could probably snatch some sleep there as long as the other passengers didn't make it impossible.

I got up, dressed, and tiptoed to the kitchen downstairs to make myself a coffee. I did everything very quietly; I didn't want to wake up my parents. I didn't even use the coffeemaker - it makes sounds like a guy throwing up - just put a heaped tablespoon of ground coffee into a mug and then waited for the water to boil, throwing nervous glances at the kitchen entrance when the kettle began to hiss and gurgle. I drank a couple of mugs, and smoked a couple of cigarettes on the back deck, looking at the night sky. The paranoid chatter inside my head that always started the moment I woke up died down; it was time to act.

I crept up the stairs and into my bedroom, shut the door, and started packing. I planned to be away for a week at most, so I didn't need to take a lot of stuff. What was more, I'd be staying with a friend (yeah, I actually have a couple of friends, maybe I'm not that fucked up after all). If I needed something, Roch - my friend - would help me out.

I guess I should say a few words about Roch (pronounced Rock - he's French). I met Roch at school, and we quickly became friends. We were both smokers, and I'll be forever grateful to him for helping me maintain my favorite addiction when my parents cut off my pocket money. He'd always offer me a cigarette when we went for a smoke during a break between classes, and gave me another to smoke after school. Cigarettes were about fifty cents a pack, so it cost him over a dollar a month, but he never said a thing, made no remarks such as 'you owe me a carton by now' that you get to hear when you're always cadging a smoke from someone.

The other thing that bonded us was that he was forever getting bounced from one place to another, just like me. I told you my father was a diplomat: for me, that had meant changing countries and cities every couple of years. By the time I landed back in Toronto at the age of sixteen, I had lived in half a dozen different countries, in places like Rome, Vienna, Paris, London, Stockholm - Stockholm actually was pretty shitty, even worse than Toronto. You may think that it's cool to have been to all those different places, and maybe it is when you're on a pleasure trip. But for me, every time we moved meant a new school. I'd adjust to a new curriculum (always painful - I'd get lousy grades for the first few months), learn about the city, make a friend or two - and boom, it was time to move again.

Roch was in a similar situation. His dad was a hotshot manager and efficiency expert working for a consultancy firm, which sent him to various places all over the world. He was originally from Montreal, but got sent down to Toronto to improve things at a big meat-processing plant. He was to  stay there for a while, so he took his family with him, but he must have kicked ass a little too hard, because his contract was cut short and they all moved back to Montreal after just a single year.  Roch and I became quite close by then: in addition to the smoking, we both hated Toronto, and shared many joyful moments complaining how awful and boring it was to live there.

When Roch moved back to Montreal, we kept in touch, exchanging letters at least once a month. Around Christmas, he shocked me by writing that he wasn't going to university. A rich relative of his had died, some aunt or whoever that owned several houses in Montreal. She had been renting them out, and she left them all to his family. Roch's Dad appointed him manager of this real estate enterprise. Initially he'd wanted to sell all those houses, but thanks to the fucking Front de liberation du Quebec real estate prices in Montreal took a nosedive, and he'd decided to hold on to them until the market rebounded.

To tell you the truth, I was quietly hoping that I'd be able to get a room in one of those houses, and get a break on the rent. I hadn't yet broached the subject to Roch, but I was planning to do that during my upcoming visit. I thought it would work out okay; he'd already invited me to stay with him when I came over. He had moved out of his parents' place and was living in one of those inherited houses, keeping an eye on the tenants and fixing things when something went wrong. He'd written me that something was going wrong all the time; it was an old house.

I was imagining how cool it was going to be to stay there while I was packing, and I was done in no time at all. I was only taking a big airline travelling bag  - I had about half a dozen of these from various airlines, mementos of the travels I mentioned earlier; you got a couple of freebies from an airline each time you traveled first class, and diplomats always got to travel first class together with their families. Anyway, so I was all packed and ready to leave around three in the morning. My bus didn't leave until seven thirty, I had tons of time - the subway wasn't running yet - and so I stood and looked at the packed bag I'd put on my bed, and I had the realization that I didn't want to return home from my trip. I wanted to leave for good, or for bad, or whatever. I couldn't stand the thought of coming back, and getting sucked right back into the family swamp.

I didn't even have to make a conscious decision - I just unpacked the airline bag, put it away, and pulled out a canvas holdall I'd bought at an army surplus store: a large tube of rubberized fabric with a wide strap that you could put over your shoulder and across your chest, to carry the bag on your back. I bought it because it was big enough to contain a folded easel - I had been planning to paint a series of watercolor landscapes, but then I started working at the two jobs I'd told you about, and nothing came of it. I guess I could have taken the easel out to the backyard and painted something there, but you can bet your ass that the moment I did that, my parents would begin popping out of the house at regular intervals to look over my shoulder and make stupid comments about my painting. I tell you, the thought of coming home from Montreal made me feel sick.

And so I packed as if I was leaving for good. I had a very hard time choosing what to take and what to leave, and eventually I took out the easel and left it behind: it took up too much space and was too heavy. I could use a sketchpad instead, I didn't really need an easel: that's the advantage of using watercolor, pencil, or charcoal. You go into oil or even acrylic paint, and you can't do without an easel, plus you need literally gallons of paint thinner to get yourself clean afterwards. I just couldn't be fucked to do all that, and anyway I hate the smell of paint thinner.

I was all ready to go at half past three in the morning, and I couldn't stand staying in that house for a moment longer. I picked up my bag and went down the stairs like a trained commando. I forgot all about the third step up from the landing - it creaks loudly, it's almost like the groan of a dying man - and when it did, I froze for almost a full minute. It took me nearly that long again to close the front door: when the the lock snapped shut, it sounded like a fucking pistol shot. I walked down the driveway avoiding twigs and bits of gravel as carefully as if they were mines, and when I made it to the sidewalk I literally crept for a couple of hundred steps. I was wearing cowboy boots with leather soles, I was sure I'd wake up the whole neighborhood if I walked normally.

It took a while to get to the end of the block, because I lived in Rosedale, a posh part of Toronto with big houses surrounded by big lawns. My plan was to get to the subway station and wait for the first train there, equipping myself with a soda and something to read at the all-night convenience store nearby. The bus station was at the waterfront; there was no way I'd be spending money on a cab down there, at night it cost an arm and a leg.

I got to the corner and was just about to turn into the street leading to the station when there was an explosion of light. I was blinded for a couple of seconds, frozen to the spot like an unlucky rabbit crossing the highway. I heard a car engine start up, and mercifully the lights stopped shining in my eyes, but I'd lost my night vision and didn't see the patrol car until it pulled up right next to me.

"You got any ID, kid?" said the cop in the driver's seat.
"Yes," I said. "Sure". I swung the bag to the side and was reaching for my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans when the cop in the other seat said:
"Hold on. I know this guy. It's the Ryman kid."
"You sure?"
"Sure I'm sure. They live in a house halfway down the street. Hey, kid. Wait a second... yeah, Michael. Your name's Michael, right? What are you doing out at this time of night?"
"I'm on my way to the Greyhound bus station," I said. "I'm catching the morning bus to Montreal."

They both laughed the way people laugh when they know they're being told a lie. The cop in the driver's seat said:

"That's still a few hours from now. What, you planning to walk all the way there with that bag? What have you got in that bag?"

I felt a rush of anger and said:

"My personal belongings. I'm going away for a year. What are you gonna do, frisk me? What is it to you, anyway? I'm not doing anything wrong."

I'm sure that would have gotten me into trouble if I hadn't been identified earlier as the Ryman kid. Toronto cops don't take lip, they take revenge on anyone who dares to stand up to them. But I was the Ryman kid, we lived in Rosedale, we were wealthy and thus respected members of the community. The cop in the driver's seat actually sounded apologetic when he said:

"Take it easy, now. We see someone creeping around with a big bag this time of night, we get suspicious. They call it an occupational hazard. Hang on." He turned to his partner and they conferred for a few seconds in low voices. Then he turned back to me and said:

"Hop in. We'll give you a lift, at least part of the way."

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, by then my paranoia was beating its hairy chest with its fists and making growling noises. Cops don't have to beat you up or arrest you to give you a hard time. All they've got to do is decide you need to explain a few things at the police station. You end up sitting on a chair for hours and hours, waiting for someone to take down your statement. In the meantime, other cops are continuously bringing in various lowlifes, most drunk, some with vomit on their chests, and depositing them on seats next to you. I've been through that routine a couple of times already - maybe sometime I'll tell you more about it - the point is, it's not a nice way to spend time. So I said:

"Thank you, officer. That's very nice of you, but I'd rather walk. Can I go now?"

He was so surprised he didn't answer, just turned away and looked straight in front. The other cop didn't say anything, either. So I moved the bag in to the right position on my back, and resumed walking, no more creeping, I let my boots hit the pavement: whack-whack-whack. I sneaked a look over my shoulder after a few steps: they were still parked on the wrong side of the street, engine running. I walked on.

I was so angry that the rest of walk, buying stuff at the convenience store, waiting for the train at the subway station - all that passed in a sort of haze. The Ryman kid! That's exactly what I wanted to escape from: being the Ryman kid. Fuck that. I was still angry when the first train finally came, angry when I bought my ticket, angry when I boarded the bus. A fat middle-aged smartass in a horrible blue suit and a porkpie hat tried to muscle his way in front of me when we were about to board, and I gave him a good thump with my heavy bag, pretending the strap had slipped off my shoulder. I said 'sorry' right away, so that he couldn't make a scene. I got myself a seat at the back of the bus. The ride was a bit bumpy when you sat there, and that made sure no one sat down next to me: the bus was maybe half-full when we drove off.

I felt like Armstrong and company must have felt when they blasted off in Apollo 11 on their journey to the moon. I'd bought a paperback in the convenience store to read on my trip, but I'd forgotten to take it out of the bag's side pocket and now it was stowed away in the luggage hold, out of reach. I looked out of the window until Toronto disappeared from view, cheered inwardly, then closed my eyes in order to embark on a mental trip of all that was going to happen once I arrived in Montreal.

I didn't fall asleep. I basically lost consciousness, blacked out.

I don't remember the rest of that trip. I have a hazy memory of arriving in Montreal and Roch greeting me at the bus station. He actually came out there to drive me to his place, I'd written him beforehand, and told him when I'd arrive - and I remember him pulling the cork out of the first of a series of bottles of wine when we got home. I also remember it was pretty good wine: I had several glasses in quick succession.

And that's it, that's where my memories of that day end. Pity, because as I found out later, a lot of interesting stuff happened that night.

NOTICE
This work is available to read online exclusively at Webnovel.com.
https://www.webnovel.com/book/14813966006779805
If you are reading it at a different site, it has been copied and reproduced without the author's consent. The owner of that site is a thief.

On the 10th of August, 1972, almost exactly ten months after my eighteenth birthday, I left my home and cut all ties with my family. This is the story of what happened next: to me, to people I knew, and to the world.

NOTE: All of the characters in this story are fictitious; however, many of the events described really took place. One of these, the  Montreal Museum of Fine Arts robbery in 1972, was the greatest theft of art in Canadian history.
It remains an unsolved mystery to this day, and is the first of many historical events that will involve the hero of this story.
Current update schedule: 2-5 chapters a week

Pin drop silence fell over the room as soon as Liz said these words, as everyone stared at her, wondering whether they were dreaming.
These were all senior managers and employees who had worked in the company for decades, and they had never been addressed in this way by anyone.
Hence, some of them stood up with anger, but they were made to sit down again by Liz.
"If you have complaints about the way I talk to you, you can send them to the CEO directly after I'm done. We do not have time. While we are talking, Sam Raimi is merrily working his way towards causing this company a loss of millions, or possibly billions of dollars. Will you dare to take responsibility for that if it happens?"
This made them shudder, as they all knew just how high the stakes were.
Liz knew that it was impossible to be liked and feared at the same time. At least, in the short span of time she had, it definitely was not possible.
However, they already had negative impressions of her due to her 'reputation'. 
So, she no longer cared about being 'liked'. All she wanted was results, and for that, she would be as rude and ruthless as needed.
Glaring, she locked eyes with each and every one of the 20 individuals in the room.
Each of them matcher her gaze for a few seconds, before looking down.
There was only one exception: a bald man wearing a suit.
His ego was apparent on his face, and he looked like he was deciding whether to shout in response.
"You-get out. You're fired from this team. I'll recommend that you be fired from the company itself, but that's not my call. I don't know how capable someone can be if they don't know how to put aside their emotions and ego when needed."
Hearing this, the entire room gasped.
This man was the branch head of the Toronto office! He was their superior, and now, he was being made to leave?
Even the bald man, himself, couldn't believe it.
With shock on his face, he sputtered, "B-but, I'm the Branch Head!"
Clapping her hands, Liz replied in a cold tone.
"Great! But there's one problem with that: I don't care. OUT!"
With indignation on his face due to being shouted at by a woman at least 20 years younger than him, the branch head gathered his files and headed to the door, grumbling under his breath.
Just before leaving, he said, "I'll make sure the CEO hears-"
BANG.
Before he could finish his sentence, Liz walked to the door and banged it shut on his face.
As silence appeared in the room again, she looked at them and waited.
It took 2 seconds, but they understood.
As one, they started moving, making Liz nod and sit on the head of the table.
"I want everything. All the data we can pull about his life. If we want to figure out what he's doing, we need to know where he's been. You are authorized to use all resources: even those from the government."
….
3 hours later, Liz had a thick stack of documents in front of her.
With a crease in her forehead, she was going through them and trying to make sense of just what this man was up to.
The meeting room was empty, as the others were busy running around and trying to extract more data.
As a knock sounded on the door, Liz looked up to see one of those in the meeting from before poking their head in.
"Ma'am, she's here. She's waiting for you in conference room-2."
Nodding, Liz got up and followed the man.
A minute or so later, she was led into a room where a frail, old day wearing a cardigan was sitting and waiting for her.
"Miss. Raimi, thank you so much for coming in."
As Liz extended her hand, she frowned when she saw the old lady ignore it.
Yet, she noticed that there was extreme panic on the woman's face, as if she was very afraid of something.
Closing the door quickly, Liz sat down with a concerned expression in front of her and asked, "What's the matter, Ma'am?"
This was Sam Raimi's mother.
The first information she had gotten was that this woman, Margaret Raimi, was living in Toronto. It sounded like a coincidence, but it was surprising to see a police report filed online with this woman accusing her son of hitting her.
It had been quite shocking to see, and Liz had taken the chance to call her in by telling her that she wanted to talk about her son.
Sam hadn't been convicted, but it was written in the report that he had moved away.
By luck, the woman had agreed, but seeing her now, Liz wondered what her reason was.
Once again, she tried to coax her.
"Ma'am, whatever it is, I promise to try and help. I just want to find out more about your son, Sam. Is it Ok if I ask a few questions about him?"
It was the mention of that name which did the trick.
Looking up with fearful eyes, Margaret Raimi spoke in a shaking voice, startling Liz and making her take a step back.
"BE CAREFUL! HE'S CRAZY!"
This was something she had already gathered in her meeting with the man, but what had shocked her was the terror in this woman's tone.
What the hell had that man done to her?
"What happened between you two?"
Deciding to cut to the chase, Liz decided to ask this question.
In response, the woman took out an old newspaper clipping.
In it, a man's face could be seen which looked similar to Sam. It detailed how he had hung himself after writing a suicide letter blaming the Bradshaw family for taking away his business.
Liz had already read about this, so she stepped forward and said, "I know what happened to your husband, ma'am. Did finding out about it later traumatize Sam?"
When Margaret replied, Liz's eyes widened, making her sit down quickly and wonder whether she had heard right.
"H-He was made to watch when his father hung himself."

Liz didn't know what she was getting into when she accepted a job offer to work as the personal assistant of the acclaimed coldest CEO in New York. Born in one of the richest families in the world, her employer was rumored to be more machine than man, with many resigning before her because they couldn’t handle the work atmosphere.

The money was good, and she could stay with her family instead of leaving a step-brother who was still a kid and an irresponsible mother alone.

It was only later that she realized that the word ‘cold’ wasn’t enough to describe this man who, without her knowledge, led a life which was not as perfect as others imagined.

Find out what happens when a fiery love meets a frigid heart that has been frozen for decades.

This is a story of emotions, family, and friendship.

Disclaimer:
All Characters, places, event, depicted in the novel are entirely fictitious, any similarity to the actual events or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Release Schedule: 14 Regular Chapters per week(700-900 words each)

Weekly Powerstone Bonus Chapter Goals:

Top 15: 5 Bonus Chapters

Top 10: 10 Bonus Chapters

A fiber of connection from miles away...



Our places on this earth are divided by oceans setting us apart from one continent to another. Several countries speaking several languages to understand each other. People with several cultures and beliefs. Different personalities and opinions.

In this chaotic world, we live in called real life we search for a place to escape from that reality. To be accepted as who or what we are. We have found that in the music we sing. In the books, we read. In the movies we watch. In the places, we travel and visit. Everywhere in which we get inspiration to face reality head-on.

We write stories or poems to inspire others, reading the words we weave from our own world. For some of us, it is simply an escape from reality into a world in which we can use our imaginations to dream make-believe or to live our secret fantasies or just plain be creative.

Getting on the web gives us more ways to share and get connected to other people with the same kind of thinking from across the ocean. Some of the people we meet along the way give us reasons to smile again. It's where we become friends, get to know them well, and get so close that we even trust them enough to share our own greatest fears.

I was a living a kind of living death when I found solace here on Stories Space. A place to write, camouflaging my hatred and sadness from myself when I was reading all the poetry and fictional fantasies created by the writers. I found another escape from reality and indulged in reading.

My feelings from my own troubles in life had made me feel so empty that only through laughter and reading could I be free and somewhat whole again.

I made my own heaven in purgatory.

A friend told me to write down all of my pains and troubles in poems or stories. Another friend of mine told me to be fierce in my poetry writing. I found friends who helped me give my own life a reason to continue living again through writing.

Writing makes me calm every time my mind gets into a panic mode. The pains and the fears of the unknown are my muses for writing.

When I met someone who understood me and made me feel needed and loved my poetry changed its tune. It made me think of happy thoughts. I got inspired by the things I saw and the happy memories of my childhood that I could write about.

Painful memories and realities were always there and so I wrote about them from time to time.

When that someone left me I continued writing. The same inner muse I had gained I used to keep on writing.

Then, out of nowhere, I got to know you. I became happy again. This time I got even more inspired and more creative, experimenting with my writings.

I set aside my shyness and reservations to write creatively. I still can't overcome some of my shyness and reservation but I am blooming, inspired by you.

You became my muse.

The man in the moon. The stars in my darkest hours. When at night I can't sleep thinking of you calms me to sleep.

The sunshine after the heavy storm. Where all the dead trees come to life again. That keeps me warm when everything gets chilly.

My own little heaven in my real life purgatory.

Writing...

Rune's Prose & Poetries

LUCID DREAMS

my wandering crazy mind is just doodling in the sands...

it's just me ...this is a collection of my amateurish writings of poetry, short stories, and prose...

These are all short stories compilation a different story per chapter.

WARNING: Adult contents, please be advised that you're reading EROTICA


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
RuneMcGrey
Copyright©2014-present

All writings remains MEG Cabingan a.k.a. RuNe also known as runemcgrey's property.
Don't use it for any other purposes without her permission.

After their lectures, Fern and Emily walk through the huge library and sit in their favourite study room. 

Sitting down at the big table in the middle, Fern asks, "You actually remembered to reserve the room, right?" 

Grimacing, Emily says, "Of course I did. I will forever have the embarrassment of being kicked out etched in my memory. How was I supposed to know that we had to make a reservation?"

Fern chuckles and says, "Honestly, I have no idea. At least we know now." 

Once the two are settled in, they immediately dive into their work. 

Fern has her papers, highlighters, and laptop spread across half of the table. On the giant whiteboard wall, Fern has scribbled out an outline for her proposal. Switching between writing on the wall and typing on her laptop, Fern is in a world of her own.

In comparison, Emily is sitting on the other side of the table with only her laptop. As she searches for papers on her topic, she regularly gets distracted by random thoughts that pop up in her head. Soon, Emily is spending more time looking at cute pictures of animals than getting any actual work done. 

Looking down at her word count and realizing that she hasn't written anything in 30 minutes, Emily huffs and gets up. 

Confused, Fern looks up and says, "What's up?" 

"I just can't focus." Starting to walk towards the door, Emily says, "I think I'm going to go find a snack." 

"Wait." Indicating towards Emily's laptop, Fern says, "Show me your paper. Explain it to me." 

After mentally debating whether or not she wants to have this conversation, Emily says okay and sits next to Fern. She pulls up her paper and starts telling Fern about the topic. 

"I'm writing about squirrels and their role in the ecosystem. They're pretty important for the dispersion of tree seeds." 

"I've never thought about squirrels as important for the spread of trees, but I guess that makes sense. Do you have an outline that I can read?" 

"No, I don't like outlines." 

Fern narrows her eyes and says, "That's like saying you're going to go on a road trip, but you don't have any driving instructions." 

"Well, I did drive to Toronto without instructions last summer." 

"Yea and you kept having to stop and ask people for directions. Just because you don't like it, doesn't mean that you can skip it. " 

Realizing that Fern isn't going to let this go, Emily starts to avoid eye contact and slowly reach towards the doorknob. Once she's close enough, she points to the whiteboard and yells, "What's that- a typo?" Not taking the time to see if Fern falls for her excellent distraction, Emily rips the door open and- 

She gets hit in the back by the cap of a whiteboard marker. 

Crap. 

Turning around and looking at Fern sheepishly, Emily says, "Does this mean that you aren't going to let me leave until I finish an outline?" 

Unamused, Fern crosses her arms and says, "Yes! Now get to work." 

Reluctantly returning to her work, Emily says, "yes, ma'am."

.... 

At one o'clock in the afternoon, Emily has finished her outline, and Fern is just wrapping up her proposal. 

Fern is channeling her inner famous actress and is dramatically reading out her research proposal. She only drops her drama character when she stops to correct errors in the document. 

Ignoring the tedious nature of a research proposal, Emily selectively pays attention to the cool science. Whenever all of the aspects of Fern's logical argument come together for a fascinating conclusion, or Fern looks particularly proud, Emily lets out a cheer of applause. 

After Fern has finished performing, she sees in her periphery a group of disgruntled students staring at her and Emily. 

Lowering her voice, Fern sits in her chair and says, "There are a bunch of grumpy people looking at us. Maybe I got a little too excited." 

Rolling her eyes, Emily says, "Eh, who cares. We'll never see those people again." 

Unsure, Fern says, "Okay." Focusing on her laptop, Fern opens up the submission folder of the project proposal and turns in her assignment. 

"Finished! Let's get out of here." 

Packing up her stuff, Emily says, "Wanna go celebrate?" 

"Yes! Let's go to the local gardening store. I want to get some seeds." 

"Seeds?" 

"Going on an adventure to look at gardening supplies sounds like a great time." 

Giving Fern a dubious look, Emily shrugs and says, "I'll come along."

A young university student, Fern, is a mess. She has yet to find something that makes her feel passionately excited. 

When Fern receives a bad mark on a research project proposal, she is forced to seek help from a professor and discovers the magic of biology. 

As Fern pursues her fascination with the field, she and her friends will inadvertently revolutionize the world's understanding of the planet and its inhabitants.

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