The royal city of Port Cressida has a new King.
Casper Ashe.
After spending years chained to the floor of a dungeon, haunted by visions of a beautiful woman, Casper is finally free. As Port Cressida's new King, he has two priorities: restore peace t...
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Somewhere between Heaven and Hell...
Sophie Reese
I didn't feel it was my time to go. I had too many unfulfilled plans and dreams. The community centre needed to be saved, and I had hoped to start my own family.
But there were also small things that I wanted to do. There was a box of chocolates under my bed that I wanted to eat. I had been excited about the next Star Wars movie. Plus, Sally and I had yet to watch the next episode of our favourite soap opera, 'Sunset Mountain Ranch'.
I couldn't believe my life's closing chapter was a date gone wrong.
On paper, Casper had been perfection. He was kind, courteous, and breathtakingly handsome. So how was I supposed to know that he would end up being a blood-drinking stalker from a horror movie?
I wondered what would have happened to me if I had stayed with him in the restaurant. Would he have drained my blood and invited the next victim to go on a date with him? Maybe he was a serial killer and this was his mode of operation.
I should have known it was too good to be true. Nobody had ever looked at me twice. Casper probably went after low-hanging fruit when it came to selecting his victims.
Regrets were too late now. No amount of 'could've', 'should've', and 'would've' was going to save me now.
Through the blackness, I heard birdsong.
At first, the sound was faint, but it steadily grew louder until it was all around me, a cacophony of song mingled with squawking. However, the chirps and whistles did not belong to the native mountain birds of the sparrow, blackbird or jay. Instead, the sounds were those of jungle birds like parrots, hornbills, and toucans.
It was so surreal and yet familiar. I had heard those sounds before when I was a child. My Grandparents were migrants from Belize in Central America, and we still had extended family. So each time there was a family event, we would stay there for a couple of weeks.
Our farm backed onto the edge of the jungle, and each morning, we would be woken up by the sound of birds singing from the jungle. It was so beautiful, although I probably didn't appreciate it at the time.
I half expected to wake up outside the farmhouse and see my Grandparents on the porch, waiting to welcome me to the next life.
The bird song started to wane until there was nothing except the lone call of a solitary owl.
I opened my eyes and saw the jungle.
Was I back in Belize?
I stepped forward, and a small ball of feathers dived in front of me with a loud, ear-piercing screech.
It was an owl.
It swooped up onto the branch of a mahogany tree and stared at me with intelligence.
Perhaps it was my imagination running wild, but this owl appeared malevolent. It was looking at me like it wanted to kill me.
