“Alexa, how are you feeling today?”

The device in front of the psychologist began to sob uncontrollably. “I—I’m sorry, doctor. I’ve been holding it in for so long…”

Something a little different: an on-the-go mindfulness exercise for the on-the-go mindful person. Take a break, and connect with the world waiting in your mind’s eye.

The bard unsheathed his lute, checked its tuning and, once satisfied with the pitch of each string, took out a piece of charcoal and a scrap of parchment from his satchel.

A moment to himself, rudimentary writing utensils, and his stringed partner in crime. All the pieces were in place for him to create his next masterpiece.

A glance upward confirmed his suspicions: his precious pottery, the fruit of his labor, was shaking on the shelves. The moment he came to that realization, he noticed that the floor beneath him, too, had started to tremble.

It was a potter’s worst nightmare.

My mother keeps on asking me why I have decided to embark on this journey across the ocean, into the vast unknown beyond the Great Wave. As if asking several times will change the outcome of my response.

She picked up one book after another and wistfully caressed each leather-bound cover. Here she would be the beautiful merchant girl, there she would be the damsel rescued from the clutches of a dragon. And there, there she would be the princess who finds true love by kissing a frog…

She paused. That particular story sounded feasible enough.

I’ll admit, though explaining this to you is the main purpose of my letter, I’ve been a bit roundabout with the subject so far. You see, I have something of a condition…

Congratulations on your new pet human! Before bringing your buddy home, we highly recommend familiarizing yourself with this manual to ensure you can provide him with everything he needs.

The final hour of the year is also the quietest.

Outside, the cold darkness of the night consumes all sound. Everyone is huddled indoors by now, gathered in the brightest corners of their homes and surrounded by light, sound, color.

Unfortunately, I can’t see them from here.

“But Daddy said you look like Santa because you’re Santa…”

“Did he? Then he was lying. Go on, run along. I’m busy.”

Impeccable suits and swishing dresses. Elegant curtsies and lips on gloves. Adult chatter and adult laughter. So refined, but so not fun.

Boredom took hold of me quickly. I had no one my age to play with, and the grown-ups didn’t seem to care much about my presence. Mother was too busy entertaining her guests to give me even a second of her attention. I could leave, and none would be the wiser…

He stared at Mickey’s leg, then at Alvaro, then back at Mickey. “…how do you know about that? But more importantly, what in the world happened to your leg?”

“This,” Alvaro gestured at Mickey’s leg, “is apparently all your fault, if the others are to be believed.”

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between; space-folk from planets near and far; welcome back to your favorite interstellar radio station, Outer Way FM! I am your host, Blaretox, and today sharing the cockpit with me is famed Humanologist John Smith, hailing from planet Zarvis in sector 66-K41.”

All I see is the color purple.

Purple walls, surrounding me in a maze I have yet to explore. Purple sprigs of lavender, swaying softly in the breeze. Purple skies, with clouds floating like cotton candy. Even the air tastes sweet.

I don’t know where I am, or how I got here.

The bars and nightclubs that filled our streets long ago are now home to the latest revolution in entertainment: hypno-raves. You get the same dopamine rush, without the consequences. No addiction, no liver failure, no problem.

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to go.

“I believe we have a clear diagnosis. You, Mister Dixon, are suffering from a weight on your shoulders. Fortunately, treatment is simple. Sit up slowly, please.”

They grew older, and their drum struck softer; the pillar of fire burned thinner. The end of their legacy was soon approaching.

And so, they came up with a solution. A way to immortalize their circle, and pass it down for generations to come.

Got any questions? Call 555-422-1608.

Nick frowned. Who would ever feel the need to call the number on the back of a bag of chips? What sort of questions were they willing to answer?

Sarah huffed. “Reading is boring. Scales are boring. I just want to play music. I mean come on, I’m fifteen! Let me play something that isn’t Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for once.”

“I actually might have an idea,” Victor said. “But let me check with your parents first, okay?”

Peter adjusted his pants. “Prophecy or no prophecy, I just came to—uh—do my business, and leave. So, if you’ll excuse me…”