“When will I die?” Roger, aged 12, asked the Ouija board.
“Whoa!” said Bernadette, aged 13. “You’re brave!”
They laid their hands on the planchette, and it flew across the board and stopped between the V and the W.
“What does that mean?” Bernadette asked, breathing hard.
“I don’t know,” Roger said. “V is the 22nd letter, W is the 23rd, so maybe I’ll die after college?”
“Or you’ll die in 22 or 23 years,” Bernadette said.
“This is dumb.”
In the year 2045, Roger was crossing 22nd street at 2300 hours when a VW self-driving car took his life.
Author’s Note: If fate exists, I believe it has a sense of humor.
Every day, the boy Jacobo saw the heroes training on the mountain. Running, jumping, fighting with sticks and swords and spears.
Jacobo knew he could never be one of them. He was born with a shriveled left arm – how could he hope to hold a shield? A hero without a shield is nothing, he could never form a shield wall!
One frosty, windy morning, the Dark Wizard awoke from his long slumber and set the mountain on fire with one waggle of his index finger, and all the heroes turned to ash.
And Jacobo thought, “I’d rather be a wizard.”
Author’s Note: Being a wizard means less cardio.
“What realm is this?” asked the first goblin.
“I don’t know,” the second one answered.
They were disoriented from the long fall through six portals and realms.
“How will we survive? How?”
“As we always have, on the bones and marrow of youngsters who stray from their parents.”
“But we don’t know what magic rules this place! How will we trick them into giving us their names? We can’t feast until they tell us their names!”
“See there, in front of those houses?”
“I see signs of some kind.”
“Yes. Young Chelsea is on the swim team.”
“Tonight we feast!”
Author’s Note: I’ve always thought those signs in front yards were a bad idea.