“I’m sorry Jack. You’re too poor. My father will not allow me to marry you.” Guinelda’s words stung like a thousand hornets. With a heavy heart he dragged himself back to his downtrodden farm.
Later, as he slept on his straw bed, a cool breeze blew through the open window and whispered in his ear, Go to the Lost City. It is there you’ll find your fortune.
He bolted out of bed and looked out the window. The withered crops swished in the moonlight.
Jack packed and left his dilapidated cottage. He asked the wizened old woman in the village about the Lost City. “How’ll I ever find it?”
“Listen to the wind. It will guide you,” she hissed. Continue reading
Alice hurried along the path of the ancient forest in fading light. Listening to her elders and obeying were two different things and now she was hungry and lost.
She collapsed on the sofa, kicked off her red boots and threw the boat key on top of the coffee table. She remembered the movie Die Hard and dug her toes into the cool carpet. I need a drink. 
