《Kaleidoscope》


 Escape

    A sheet of paper. Perfect snow-white without a single spot. Nothing much different from the other pieces of paper ¨C until you have a look at it in the light. Then you`ll see and subtle transitions between shades of eggshell and floral white, as well as thin squiggly lines ¨C like person`s fingerprints. They really look like the sea waves rolling gently on the shore of the author`s red-lacquered desk.


    Moving inkstick in long monotonous circles made him relax. All the thoughts finally fell right into place. The whole picture was created, like a new map ¨C and he could clearly see every mosaic piece of it. Well then, it`s time to set off.


    The author picked up a long sable-hair brush and dipped it into an agate lake of ink. Just like the exalted churned the sea of the universe to bring forth a new earth.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Suddenly he could hear someone`s steps outside. Oh, no. That must be her. Let`s hurry!


    One small stroke created a light boat at the pier. Another stroke ¨C and a strong gust of wind made ink waves move faster. And so when there was a noise and screaming at the pier, he had been long gone in the sea of his endless dreams.


    That woman on the shore, a reality, had been chasing him for years. Never left him alone with his books and drafts. But he found his own way to trick her. He learnt how to anticipate her arrival to escape into his imaginary ink world. The fast boat of him was now navigating between the reefs at the speed of thought, carrying him away from the raging storm on the shore.

 Morgana

    The gilded goblet clattered to the ground. Heavy eyelids finally gave in to the sweet whispers of wine, and soon the wizard fell deeply asleep on his green-moss bed. At last.


    Softly, like a ghost, Morgana sneaked into a cave. There, on a rust table of granite stone there was a book ¨C her long-awaited pledge of glorious liberty. A silver serpent of a tight book clasp was trying to bite her ¨C but a single word made it shrink and snap wide open.


    Here it is. Morgana greedily inhaled the sweet smell of honey, mixed with a faint hint of wormwood. A bittersweet taste of wisdom made her dizzy. Slowly, the woman savoured that thick viscous wine, feeling centuries of deep knowledge soaking into her hot blood.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Curious forest creatures went scattering as soon as her slender figure shone against the dark mouth of the cave. And though the air was filled with lively sounds, her soft steps now could overrumble the whisper of trees and restless chatter of stream. One glance ¨C and the shy little driads went obediently inside their tree bodies. A tender dungeon of interwined hands arose over her husband ¨C deeper and deeper, burying him forever with a sweet mist of reveries.


    Morgana hesitated for a moment. But not a faint echo of regret cast a shadow on her lovely face. The wind stole a kiss from thin whispering lips and lifted her up in the air to the rising chambers of her illusive palace.

 A Dancer

    Painted screens smoothly slid apart. Long vibrant trills of flute pierced the joyful sounds of feast. Everyone went quiet when a tall fragile figure of girl appeared in the darkness. Dressed all in white, she waited. Waited until the gentle flow of violin spilt on the sandy rustle of drums. And then she began her dance.


    Moving softly on the precious Persian rugs, she created her own intricate patterns of grace. Her slender body bent like a reed in the wind, soar up like a light petal. Her soul spread wide like the wings of a butterfly.


    The guests watched her spellbound, unable to take eyes off that snow-white flower. Their burning glances could easily make any other girl blush with shame, but not her. She was obedient to the music only. She did not dare break its blessed rite. The music was filling the air ¨C and it was calling out her name, over and over again, carrying her thoughts along with the breathtaking flow of voices.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Struck by her beauty, the court poet quickly started a new poem right on the silk napkin. The smoke wisps rising up from the incense burners near seats of important ministers already created a web of intrigues over the girl`s head. And the passion in the king`s heart was burning brighter than the sun with her every gesture.


    She was dancing until the very last chord. Her eyes shut tight and her heart beating so fast that she could barely tell the difference between the reality and long- forgotten dreams. She was dancing like a snow-white swan, balancing on the perfectly-thin blade of beauty.

 Pilgrim

    Here it is, the door at the end of a thorny path. The pilgrim leaned on his wooden staff and tried to catch his breath. He has been waiting for so long and even gave up any hope. But finally he is here.


    The heavens` door was fascinating. Like a delicate golden lace with shining stones of the stained glass. The light was coming through like a flow of crystal-pure melodious voices.  No sign of a doorkeeper, though. But the door wings seem to be half open. So welcoming, so closely¡­


    One last step, and all he will receive a reward for all his efforts, all suffering and labour. He deserved it, after all, right?


    A pitch-black thought flashed through his head. An impish laughter, a careless word echoed from a distance, piercing the silence of heart with a sharp arrow of a shame.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    The pilgrim stood petrified, feeling his feet firmly rooted to the ground. The cold ran up his veins. A real torment of hell ¨C right there, in front of Heaven. His whole body was agonizing. He wanted to cry, to pray, but no one could possibly help and the cliffs around were stone deaf to his desperate pleas.


    Why? What sin did he commit to deserve such a terrible fate? Right there, when the end was so close¡­


    A feeling of undeserved resentment stirred in his chest. A tiny worm of regret began to eat away his wilted soul. Finally, he gave up with a long sigh. The stone tree turned to dust and ashes right at the heaven`s gates.


    The gatekeeper appeared out of nowhere and shook his head at the pile of dust. Warm wind from the east stirred what had remained of a big dream. And from the very middle of it appeared a vivid bright green sprout of hope.

 Masterpiece

    He`s been standing in front of the easel for quite a long time. His arms crossed, his eyes staring at the flickering dance of candlelight on a canvas. Like a gardener who is looking around his space before making it a lush landscape.


    Finally, he snatched out a brush ¨C and a wide emerald-green smear stretched across the harsh canvas. It was followed by another touch, then another, and so on ¨C more delicate and accurate, getting faster and more certain. The artist barely had time to mix the colors, trying to capture that vivid picture out of his head: silver ripples on the water, soft braids of willow branches, light silhouettes of summer buildings buried in the green.


    All consumed with his work, he remained deaf to everything: a gathering crowd of uninvited guests, long stares and little whispers behind his back. Someone even started to dig through his paints and brushes to learn his secret technique. Other men frowned thoughtfully at his every gesture and keep praising and criticizing without a stop. But with every new stroke the picture became more and more alive, making the crowd cheer and applaud in an exalted manner. The History herself came to take a look at a new masterpiece, accompanied by old Time in a stone-washed coat. The picture was not finished yet, but an intricate frame of interwined fates had already started to cover it.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    The very last stroke ? and they grabbed the painting out of his hands, the golden thalers of praise scattering clearly on the floor. However, the artist could not hear neither jangling of coins nor applause. He gave up his own hearing as an offering to the great spirit of art. He couldn`t give his eyesight or his ability to speak ¨C otherwise how was he supposed to protect his beautiful paintings? But the hearing was the only thing he could do without. And so he stood in front of a new blank canvas, totally indifferent to the temptations of life, ready to strive again with his brush and colours of the soul.

 Bittersweet

    Her quiet haven, her coral realm ¨C so that she called her old garden full of long twisting paths that vein-went through its big overgrown heart. Light bridges, squeaky stairs and wooden pavilions that still keep traces of long-forgotten memories.


    All alone she went ¨C a tall dark figure in a long cloak. Her steps sank in the soft bright carpets of the autumn. Pale colourless eyes glide slowly on the wild blaze of colours. Something is missing here. Something from the past¡­


    Little gesture, white fingers snap in the frosty air ¨C and the burning hawthorn branches bloom with buds of jade-black roses. Compelled by a quick impulse, they fill the air with a rain of fallen petals. Feeling their red silk on her lips she smiles and sighs to herself. Sharp thorns are ready to pierce the thick air yet are unable to pierce her cold heart. One single drop of blood hesitates for a second before breaking into a thousand pieces of red whortleberry.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    A scarlet whirlpool of dance makes her memories pass in a wild blur of a kaleidoscope. The curtain falls, covering bare feet of cold trees. She vanishes in the deep silence among the amber-frozen dreams, and the pure snowflakes of ashes cover her light footprints on the ground.

 Illusion

    His shelter. A small peaceful haven behind black roaring madness of the storm. The soft rustle of leaves echoes in the crystal-clear serenity of the pond. Emerald streams of willows flow from the sky like a tune. Scarlet blanket of silky poppies covers the grass between mighty roots. He is welcomed here. He can feel it in the warmth of the old wrinkled bark of willow under his hand. He can hear sympathy in a gentle whisper of breeze among the plants. Like a dream coming true ¨C here, in the most sacred corner of his heart. He has been waiting a long, long time to get there¡­


    With a great effort he lifts his blade for the last time. Bloody flashes cut the jade surface of duckweed.  The battle is over. Now he`s just a lonely traveler seeking some peace after so many years of bloodshed. For a brief moment a shadow of her face appears among iridescent wings of dancing dragonflies. She`s waiting for him. And he can`t make her wait any longer. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    A warrior sealed in heavy armor, deafened by clashing of swords and bell rings ¨C now he can finally shake that weight off his shoulders and breathe deep. In the sweetness of the air he falls into a good, sound sleep, the last knight of the Round Table. And the whole island vanishes with him in a faint magic mist.

 Scarlet Flower

    She was balancing on the edge of the cliff, a little dowle of scarlet-red feather. All alone and frightened among the cold rough rocks ? yet unwilling to back off. Comme on, let`s do it one more time¡­


    One step after another... A sudden gust of wind almost blew her away right into the gaping jaws of the abyss. She stood still. She could feel beads of sweat running to the beat of her shallow breathing, the mocking trembling song of echo still ringing in her ears. Far below she saw the sharp fangs of cliffs in the misty ravine. The abyss was staring back and waiting for her to make a wrong move. But the girl picked up her silk skirts and started dancing again. She must overcome her fear. She had to.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    A multi-faced monster, much more terrifying than a hollow grin of the deep was waiting for her tonight. She had to please it with her dance, sacrifice herself to the insatiable need of the audience. That`s why she kept coming on the cliff every single day, to practice on the verge of death ¨C completely unaware that her every move was being stared at.


    So passionate was her dance that it woke up a giant troll from its petrified sleep. Every morning he looked out for her tiny figure in the stones. Her every gesture made cold stones get warmer and warmer. A huge palm she was dancing on was holding her carefully and never let the girl get too close to a dangerous edge. Every day he was waiting ¨C waiting for that little scarlet flower to bloom in his ugly stone hands.

 Oblivion

    No one showed him the way, yet he managed to get through the waste of absolute nothingness. He had neither fear nor despair. All alone in the darkness he stood and glared at the luminous coral floating in its pitch-black quiet crib.


    A shade of the deep-blue ice turning to pearly white at the edge. The freeze breath of eternity among glowing speckling of cerulean stars. Their cunning glint reminded of that light ringing of long forgotten dreams which made him take one reluctant step after another.


    The time has come. The twilight shadows closed around leaving no other way but to the shining rose in front of him. It time. Time to forget and let go of all the bittersweet memories he has collected during his journey.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Once he got closer to the jade-leaved bush, his mind was immediately carried away with the flow of delicate fragrance. Cool spring strands of velvet leaves slipped through his fingers and left cold sparks of royal-blue blood on his hands.


    The fog disappeared and that seemed to be such a weight off his mind. Off he went, a new vessel for a young wine of life. But a thin golden thread of his memories already got weaved into an intricate pattern of his previous transformations.

 A Magic Carpet

    "Here," the brother said, throwing a roll of old rags at him. Ahlam sneezed, which made a little red panda jump and hide behind the door. The door of the house that was supposed to be his.


    "Take this and get out!"


    His wife''s grinning face peeked out from his back. Cunning witch. She hated him from the very beginning. And now she even set his own brother against him.


    Well, he''d been worse. Ahlam took the bag on his back, grapped the panda and went along the hot dusty street.


    Happiness is not made in money. And frankly speaking, he would consider a blasphemy to share grandmother''s belongings. She brought them up after their parents'' died. She meant everything to them ¨C well, at least that was what he thought until his brother suddenly showed his dark greedy side after the funeral.


    "That should be enough for us, right?" he turned to panda that was playing with a dry fig ¨C the only thing he got to eat in his old hut.


    Now, he said to himself, let''s look at what is in the bag.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Her smell. A delicate hint of incense that permeated her old prayer beads ¨C no wonder that brother''s wife didn''t like them. Once covered with dark polish, they looked completely white now as granny had always kept them by her side.


    Ahlam took out a piece of cloth with unfinished embroidery. That was nice. He would make a good cloak out of it.


    And what is this?


    A carpet. Well, maybe that would be too much


    for an old rug with its canvas so worn-out that it was falling apart every time he touched it. And all those strange blue feathers ? .... tried to pluck them out though they seemed to be growing roots right into the fabric.


    Never stop flying, my boy. Keep dreaming high, but don''t let the wind throw you at the sharp stones of reality.


    Grandmother''s voice blew through the room like a soft distant ringing of crystal bells. And it seemed to give life to an old carpet too, as the fabric suddenly turned into a rich tapestry and the flickering feathers covered the bottom, making the cloth rise above.


    "Where are you going? No, don''t do that!"


    But the panda was quick enough to jump on the carpet and Ahlam didn''t have a choice but to follow her as he couldn''t let a tiny creature go before him when it came to adventures.


    So it could fly? Ahlam didn''t believe his eyes. What should he do now?


    Calm down. What''s wrong about it? he thought. Now he was free to go anywhere he wished. What was the name of the girl living on the outside of the village? He really liked her lovely smile. How about visiting her right now?


    "Let''s go!" he commanded to the carpet that obediently flew out of the window. A new life, a new road...   A new page in his story.

 Green-eyed Monster

    The battle was over, yet he didn''t feel a bit of relief. The enemy was defeated but along with the fuming corpses of griffins and half-man-half-animal soldiers of all kinds there were also the bodies of his own men. The silver uniform was gleaming in the setting sun, making the bodies fall out like snow-white flakes of ash.


    Rest in peace, he whispered, his lips dry and the smell of blood and gunpowder still felt on the tongue.


    "My king, we found him!"


    The general''s hand pointed at the small coppice. The body of Gunnar, his true friend and the bravest knight was half-buried in the ground beside a massive bulk of a rocky hyena. Its master''s head was lying nearby, looking like a huge unrooted stump in his horned helmet. But before he passed to the underworld, his gilded halberd had stroke a fatal blow at Gunnar.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    The king fell on his knees, trying to turn his friend''s face to him. But the silver spell already turned the body into a fragile statue.


    No... No, Gunnar. Not YOU!


    A splash of cerulean-blue caught his eye. A delicate flower grew right from the pile of dust that used to be Gunnar''s hand. He was gripping it before he died. And there was something else. A thin golden ring, too small for a warrior''s finger. A ring with two swans kissing. The queen''s ring.


    "My lord! We''re in a trap!"


    Something bigger than the army, a huge storm was coming ¨C but that couldn''t be what the king felt. The king roared and caught his sword. Everything went dark and hazy for a moment. His soldiers were gathering at his side to fight a huge shadow that rose behind the trees. The king didn''t care. It was easier for him to face a terrible monster in front of him than to hold that green-eyed beast of jealousy in his soul.