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It would be just like falling asleep. He would be dying, but his little girl would get better. She would be able to live a normal life. Mark's arms ached to hold his beautiful girl again, but he couldn't back out now. He never really had a choice. The doctor had offered to save his daughter by putting her mind in another body, but Mark knew she would never forgive him for it if she found out the truth. Not that she would forgive him for this, but at least she would be alive and well. He only wished he could give her the world. He imagined her swimming in an Olympic pool, a light scar on her chest the only indication she had been sick. Her coach cheered her on, and Maddy sobbed with admiration. I love you, Daddy, her little voice whispered in his ear. “I love you too, pumpkin,” he said aloud, a tear slipping into his ear as he closed his eyes. ••••••••••••• A steady dripping sound startled him awake. Awake. He was still here, or somewhere. He instinctively covered his eyes, protecting

There are ways of meeting difficulties. You either alter the difficulties, Or you alter yourself, To meet the difficulties. You do neither. I know, but I don't approve. Things don't pass for what they are, but for what they seem. You were horrified. Shaken into misery. I know, but I don't approve. You're not talking, All you're doing is yelling. I know, but I don't approve. You were desolate, and at the same time, you were gilded. You have seen hodgepodge like this before, You. Your pencil is sharp, and so is your mind. But you need to use it, and sometimes you don't. I know. And I do not approve.

I, a fairly sorrowful soul, stood small in front of my enemy. His eyes lit with hate, his head held disdainfully. He holds nothing in his hands, save for an exercise bar, bound with leather. Only enough to enrage me. He lunges quickly, but I am not so quick. I cry out, but the voice of the crowd drowns out my cry. I struggle, and he drops his bat. Blood leave the flesh of my face. And it is a face, Grey and pleading. So it is, So it will be, For so it has been, Time out of mind. I am the outcast, I am alone.

I've never pulled a prank, Or had one pulled on me, But if I ever pulled a prank, It would have to do with pee. Or maybe toilet paper, Or perhaps some masking tape. Maybe even wrapping paper, Or perhaps a hero's cape. Why am I thinking about pranks? And what I might do? I really don't like pranks. If you don't prank me, I won't prank you.

Chapter 1: Sentry The first thing I noticed was my sense of smell. I could smell everything. I didn’t know what these smells were yet because I couldn’t see anything because my eyes were closed, but I wanted to. I was intensely curious. I opened my eyes. “Melody? Are you ok?” I knew that voice. It was a man’s voice. A beautiful face with chocolate eyes and brown hair filled my memory. Ryan. I stood up to adjust myself better, and sat down on my hind legs. Then I jumped up, shocked. I had hind legs. I had four legs. Something tickled my memory. Something about a plan for me to become a dog. “Melody. Do you remember me?” There was that voice again. Where was it coming from? I sat back on my hind legs again, my powerful ears twisting to pick up every sound in the room. My quiet heartbeat pumped in time with a man's breathing, but all I could see was a black box in front of my face. I twisted my head, and the box stayed right in front of my eyes. It was my nose. I sniffed the air. A

Chapter 1: Awakening The blue eyes were heavy, but I knew what was happening as soon as the sediment began to wear off. I knew at once what I would see. And yes, flashes of his gorgeous face and his three adorable daughters, mixed in with scenes from the plane crash she had just been in, bombarded my mind. I couldn’t feel anyone with me, but this early in our colonization, the humans were still blissfully unaware of us, just how we liked it. My arms suddenly ached for Ryan and his daughters, and my maternal instinct to protect harmonized with hers. This was the harshest punishment our species had ever conceived. I had been assigned to find Ryan and his family which would have been a huge development in our settlement of this planet, thanks to his charisma and fame. Instead, my young host was one of the millions of hopelessly devoted fans of the beloved Canadian actor, and not a single bone in that body had wanted to hurt one hair on his famous head. The other Seekers found out

Home sweet home. I kicked my shoes off and walked over to my bookshelf, stroking Ryan’s pictures in front of my collection of his movies. “Hey, bud. What should I watch today?” I asked, gently caressing my Steelbook copy of Free Guy, but I never got to pick anything before I felt a little jab in my neck. The last thing I understood was that I was thankful that I had the presence of mind to not fall forward into my bookcase. I'm sorry I never got to meet you, Ryan! I thought as I crumpled to the floor. I shot up in bed as the memory/dream faded, clarity and wakefulness taking its place. Clutching my head, I turned to look at the picture hanging next to my window. It was a younger picture of the Canadian actor, and while I had to admit he was nice to look at, I doubted much of it was authentic. A slight feeling of contempt flashed through me, and it scared me. The closer I got to Ryan, the stronger my resolve to protect him became. But the determination to protect him wasn't mine. While

A Dream Worth Keeping “And, cut! Alright, that’s all for this morning; go enjoy your lunch,” Shawn Levy yelled through the loudspeaker. The film crew began to clean up the set, and the crowd of fans at the end of the road squealed, calling out to Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman, begging for them to come over and sign their collectibles. I stood and watched in the corner, too starstruck and overwhelmed to subject myself to another episode of sensory overload. After his squealing fans had gotten their selfies and autographs, and Hugh moseyed over to his trailer, Ryan stretched and rolled his neck. He felt me watching him and looked over at me inquisitively. “Nice sweater,” he commented, strolling over to me and leaning casually against the wall in front of me. I nervously rubbed the back of my leg with my other foot, fiddling anxiously with the golden bow of my “ugly” Christmas sweater, and smiled shyly. “Little early for Christmas sweaters, though, isn’t it? It’s almost summer,” he

I had traveled in time to after Ryan finished filming Van Wilder when he was around 26 about to turn 27. He was alone in a park and since it was early in his career, not quite famous yet. He seemed sad. Of course, I knew how famous he would become. I walked over to him and introduced myself as though I didn’t know how famous he was. “Hey man, you seem lost in thought.” “Oh hello there. Yeah just thinking,” he replied. “What are you thinking about?” I asked. “My new movie I just finished.” “Ah, you’re an actor. Probably really famous, eh?” “Well, not really. I’ve done some stuff but nothing much to sneeze at. I’m Ryan by the way,” he said shyly, extending his hand. “Rhiannon,” I replied, taking his hand. It was just as soft as I imagined. Before I knew what was happening, we were slow dancing together, with You Will be Found from Dear Evan Hansen playing softly. After the dance, I asked him why he was sad. “My character’s father believes him to be a disappointment and it kind of